#IM SO TERRIBLE WITH WORDS BUT YEAH MY HEART IS WARM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gracie-eilish · 4 days ago

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Hi! I have a request but the beginning is slightly suggestive. It’s kinda like a post smut fluff type thing?

Maybe something where reader and Billie have been friends for years, and the night prior they end up doing the deed. and the beginning is that in the morning after they yk.. reader assumes Billie wants her to leave and that it was a mistake but Billie asks her to stay and assures her it wasn’t a mistake and that she wants to be more than friends

I really don’t know if this even makes any sense at all, but I figured no harm in asking, right?

best/girl friend

warning: allusion to smut but not actual smut, nudity

i meant to post this last night but i had to get up for work at 3:30 (terrible awful horrible ik) this morning so i fell asleep early. anyways by the time ur reading this im probably taking my post work nap:) enjoy!

The air between you was thick, electric, still crackling with the remnants of what had just happened. The room smelled like her—warm, familiar, safe—and yet, everything felt different now. Your skin tingled where she had touched you, and as you lay there, heart pounding, you realized you had no idea what to do next.

Billie was quiet beside you, her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. Your eyes traced the slope of her bare shoulder, the curve of her collarbone, the way her fingers absentmindedly played with the sheets. She looked deep in thought, almost lost in it, and for the first time all night, you felt unsure.

You swallowed. “So…”

Billie blinked, turning her head to look at you. “So,” she echoed, her voice softer than usual.

A small silence settled between you, not quite awkward but something close to it. You fidgeted with the edge of the sheet, trying to find the right words, but everything felt too big, too complicated.

“I—” You started, but Billie beat you to it.

“Was that�� okay?” she asked, her brows knitting together slightly, her voice quiet.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “I think ‘okay’ is an understatement.”

That earned you a small smile, but it faded just as quickly. Billie bit her lip, glancing away like she was warring with something in her head.

You reached for her hand instinctively, running your thumb over her knuckles. “Billie, what’s wrong?”

She hesitated. “I just…” She sighed, shaking her head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

A pang hit your chest, but you forced yourself to nod. “I know.”

She turned back to you, her eyes scanning your face like she was afraid of what she’d find there. “Do you regret it?”

You barely let her finish before you shook my head. “No,” you said firmly. “Do you?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if debating whether to be honest. Finally, she exhaled. “No,” she admitted, almost like it surprised her. “I don’t.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Billie let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “God, this is weird.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Her eyes softened. “No?”

“No,” you murmured. “It’s just me.”

She exhaled slowly, like she was taking that in, like she was letting it settle.

A moment passed before she whispered, “Yeah. Just you.”

And there was something in the way she said it that made your stomach flip.

Another beat of silence, then Billie suddenly moved, rolling onto her back. The loss of her warmth made something ache inside you, but you ignored it. You figured this was your cue to leave. That’s what she always did, after all—no lingering, no overcomplicating things.

So you shifted, preparing to slide out from beneath the sheets, reaching for your clothes.

You barely made it an inch before fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.

“Stay.”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it made your breath hitch.

Slowly, you turned to face her. She wasn’t looking at you like you were a mistake. She wasn’t looking at you like you were just another name in a long list of people she’d leave behind.

She looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world.

Her blue eyes—so big, so bright—held something raw, something you’d never seen before. Her heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in the space between you.

“Please,” she whispered, voice barely holding together.

Billie never said please like this.

You swallowed, the weight of her gaze pressing against your chest. “Are you sure?”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I think I knew before I even kissed you,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t want this to be like all the other times.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tight. “It’s not.”

She let out a shaky breath, something vulnerable flashing across her face before she murmured,

“Come here.”

And you did.

You let her pull you back into the warmth of her body, let her press her lips to your forehead, let her arms wrap around you like she was trying to convince herself you was real.

A few beats passed before she spoke again, her voice a little sheepish. “You should shower, though. I—I mean, we—” She cut herself off, groaning and hiding her face in your hair. “I just mean you’ll feel better.”

You laughed softly. “Are you saying I smell?”

She pulled back, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips while she giggled. “Nooo!!! You’ll just feel all fresh and clean and.. better.”

You giggled with her as she chuckled, sitting up and stretching before nodding toward the bathroom. “C’mon,” she murmured. “I’ll help.”

You let her guide you inside, your legs still a little weak beneath you. She turned on the water, testing the temperature before turning back to you. There was a flicker of hesitation in her expression, almost like she was nervous again.

You arched a brow. “You sure you’re not just trying to see me naked again?”

Billie scoffed, though her cheeks turned pink. “Shut up,” she mumbled, before carefully helping you into the shower.

The hot water felt like heaven against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Billie touched you. She moved slowly, running a soapy washcloth over your arms, your shoulders, your back. Her fingers skimmed over you so gently it almost made you shiver.

“You okay?” she asked softly, searching your face. You nodded.

“Didn’t think you were the type to take care of your hookups,” You murmured teasingly.

Billie let out a quiet laugh, though her cheeks turned pink. “I’m not,” she admitted. Then, more softly, “You’re not a hookup.”

Your chest tightened.

She rinsed you off with gentle hands, tilting your chin up so the water could wash away the shampoo. Her thumb brushed your jaw, lingering there, her gaze locked on yours.

“You’re so pretty,” she whispered.

Your breath caught.

“So are you,” you murmured back.

She bit her lip, as if trying to hold back a smile, before giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Back in the bedroom, Billie handed you a pair of her pajamas—soft, oversized, drowning you in her scent. You slipped them on, and before you could do or say anything else, she grabbed a brush and settled behind you on the bed.

She worked through your damp hair carefully, as if she was afraid of hurting you. The rhythmic strokes of the brush were soothing, almost hypnotic.

You hesitated before whispering, “What does this mean?”

Her hand stilled for a moment. Then she set the brush down and moved to sit in front of you. Her eyes met yours, searching. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “I just know I don’t want you to go.”

Your heart clenched. “Okay,” you murmured.

She let out a slow breath, as if she had been holding it, then reached for your hand. “Can you stay?”

You squeezed her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Billie pulled you back into bed, the weight of her arms around you careful, deliberate. You fit against her like you had been made for this, like this was where you were always supposed to be.

She was holding you like you were something fragile, like she couldn’t believe you were real.

Her fingers traced soft circles onto your back, her breath warm against your temple. “Your heart is racing,” she murmured.

You smiled against her skin. “So is yours.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh, nuzzling into your hair. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Guess you do that to me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your heart flipping at the sight of her—flushed cheeks, sleepy eyes, lips slightly parted. She looked wrecked, but not in the way you had seen before. Not just physically. She looked like she had fallen, and fallen hard.

And maybe you had too.

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re kinda screwed, huh?” you teased.

Billie grinned, ducking her head. “Shut up,” she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her.

You laughed softly, leaning in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed into it, her arms tightening around you.

She was a goner.

And so were you.

#billie eilish #wlw #fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie x fem reader

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sleepyhutcherson · 6 months ago

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please write for peeta!! <3

18+, smut, minors dni, gn!reader, teasing, begging.

it’s my birthday! here’s this short thing i wrote for peeta…haven’t wrote in a bit so bare with me. also im back :D

On a boiling hot summer day, Peeta has his cheek pressed up against the counter, his head to a side as he hunches over his seat. There had been barely any customers today, but luckily you came by to give him some company for a bit until you had to head out to run a quick errand, leaving Peeta waiting for you like a puppy.

You weren’t gone for too long so you’re surprised when you walk into the bakery to see your poor boy suddenly so drained. His face is flush, beads of sweat evident, strands of his blond hair sticking slightly to his forehead. He was obviously just looking forward to going home, clearly tired and overwhelmed by the heat.

“Hey,” you greet, approaching him by the counter. He doesn’t sit up, glued down to the cool counter as he hums a simple response. “Tired?”

“Hot.” He mumbles, a soft whiney sound following. You run your hand through his blond hair, softly petting him, wishing you could do something to get him to feel at least a little better—he still had a few more hours until he could close up. “I Want to go home.”

You frown a little, his tone desperate. “I know, I know,” you soothe, continuing to pet his hair. All you wanted was for Peeta to feel good. “You can go home in a few hours…” that doesn’t make him feel much better, you notice that immediately.

With a soft sigh, you simply make your way over to the other side of the counter where Peeta was at. This causes him to sit back up, perking up with confusion. “What are you…?” He simply watches you, brows knitted.

You knew your boyfriend well.

You stand behind him, your hands beginning to message his shoulders carefully. He’s surprised by this but immediately relaxes, not even questioning you. He lets out a soft sound of pleasure, his muscles relaxing at your touch.

“You’ve been working so hard,” you praise, your hands continuing to work with his shoulders. Peeta melts against your touch, feeling himself ease up at your words and touch, eyes slowly closing. “You deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Peeta’s eyes blink open, his body reacting with excitement, having some idea at what you were hinting at with that tone you used. He clears his throat that suddenly went dry, trying not to be obvious about how much he desired you right now but he was always terrible at hiding it.

“Yeah,” he replies, turning around to face you now. You’re standing up while he’s still sitting in his chair which only makes you tower over him, something that oddly enough made him hard.

Your hands cup his face, holding his gaze as he stares up at you with those puppy eyes that always made your heart warm. “Mm, yeah you do,” you softly caress one of his cheeks with your thumb, staring down at him. “Too bad we’re still here.”

Peeta’s eyes soften, brows furrowing together at the thought of you making him wait. You were only teasing, you loved seeing him beg desperately. “No, no, we can…” he trails off shyly, still looking up at you but now much more flustered.

“What was that?” You ask, one of your hands travelling to the back of his head, tangling your fingers between his hair. He swallows, words failing him as he tries to speak but he’s so fucking lost when you have him like this. “Hm?” You yank his hair back a little, his head lolling back slightly, a soft whimper leaving his lips involuntarily.

“We can just…” he stammers again, heavily panting now as you tug on his hair. He can’t bring himself to say it, and the only thing that falls from his lips is a pathetic plea, “please.”

You smile, somewhat content with his response. “Aw, my poor boy,” you coo, letting his hair go now. He looks back up at you now, eyes soft and full of lust.

You settle yourself between his legs, kneeling down in front of him. Now he’s looking down at you but the roles haven’t changed. You run your hands over his thighs, looking up at him with a slight grin as he tries his best not to make a sound. Sure, there had been basically no customers all day but it was still a possibility for someone to walk in.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” Your hands inch closer up as you speak, holding his gaze. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back any sound. “Okay?” You sternly ask and he nods immediately. You smile, “good boy.”

Peeta lets out a soft groan when he hears your praise, your hands making their way up to his clothed crotch making him buck his hips up. “Shh, it’s okay.” You softly say, moving past to start to unbuckle his pants for him.

Before you know it, you have him in your hands, stroking his length at such a slow pace that it practically has him crying.

“Please, please…just—just…” he sighs, face flush. His beautiful skin was glistening in sweat, more than before, cheeks pink.

“What, hm? What do you want?” You tease, your hand stopping fully. He’s trying not to buck up into your hand but you’re making it so difficult for him.

“I want you,” he mumbles, gripping the armrests to the point where his knuckles turn white. “I do, I do. Please, please just…I want you.”

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mushynka · 3 months ago

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Ah, Bloody Hell! (Origins Logan x fem. reader on her period)

Fluff/Comfort/Fun

Tw. Period/blood mentioned. English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy ❤️ totally not write that couse im on my period rn

The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, bathing the modest cabin in a warm, golden light. Outside, the forest hummed with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves, but inside, you felt like you were at war with your own body.

Curled in the middle of the bed in a thick blanket cocoon, you groaned as another wave of pain seized your abdomen. It was the kind of pain that made your entire body tense and tears well up in your eyes without warning. Your period cramps, usually manageable, had decided to stage a full-on rebellion this month.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, his usual tough demeanor softened by the obvious concern etched on his face. The rugged mutant was far more comfortable dealing with threats of the clawed or explosive variety, but the sight of you in such visible discomfort left him feeling helpless.

- You sure there ain’t somethin�� I can do? - Logan asked, his gruff voice laced with worry.

You opened one eye to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his hands were twitching slightly, as though ready to claw the cramps out of existence if he could.

- Unless you’ve suddenly developed a healing factor for other people, I don’t think there’s much you can do - you muttered, your voice muffled by the pillow.

- Doesn’t mean I’m gonna just sit here and do nothin' - Logan replied, standing up with a determination that made you wince.

The cabin’s small kitchen was suddenly alive with the sound of clanging pots and pans. You frowned, confused by the ruckus but too miserable to get up and investigate. A few minutes later, Logan returned, holding a mug of something steaming and suspiciously thick.

- I made ya tea. Or… somethin’ like tea.

You sat up gingerly, taking the mug from him with some trepidation. - Logan, what’s in this?

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. - Chamomile. Or it mighta been thyme. And honey. Lots of honey. Thought it might help.

You sniffed the concoction, and your nose crinkled. - It smells like wet grass.

He gave a shrug. - Figured it’s better than doin’ nothin’. Drink up.

Despite your skepticism, you took a small sip, instantly regretting it as the bitter taste coated your tongue. - This is terrible - you said, setting the mug on the nightstand.

- Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a chef - he grumbled, crossing his arms. - So, what’s next? Heat pack? Blanket fort? Tell me what you need, darlin’.

A weak laugh escaped your lips. Logan’s attempts to help were clumsy and borderline ridiculous, but his earnestness warmed your heart. - I appreciate the effort - you said, reaching for his hand. - Blanket fort sound tempting. But what I really need…

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. Asking Logan Howlett, grizzled mutant extraordinaire, to go to the store for period supplies felt like a monumental task.

- What? What do you need?- he pressed, leaning closer.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. - I need you to go to the store.

Logan raised an eyebrow. - For what?

- Pads. Or tampons. And maybe some chocolate. And chips. Definitely chips.

His expression shifted from confusion to mild panic. - You want me to… to buy those… things?

- Yes, hun - you said, your cheeks heating up. - I can’t exactly get up and go myself right now.

Logan rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something under his breath about “getting too old for this.” Then, he straightened up. - Alright. Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me.

- Thank you - you said, your voice soft. - Just get the ones with wings if you’re buying pads. And maybe some ibuprofen.

- Wings? - he repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. - What the hell kinda pads have wings? What are they doin'? Flying around and gather your-

You groaned, grabbing a pillow to cover your face. - Just ask someone if you need help, okay?

- Yeah, sure, because that won’t be awkward - Logan muttered as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzzed overhead as Logan wandered the aisles, his expression a mix of determination and discomfort. The small-town store wasn’t particularly busy, but the shelves seemed endless, and he had no idea where to start.

Eventually, he stumbled upon the aisle marked Hygiene. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the sheer variety of products. Pads, tampons, liners—some in colorful packaging with phrases like “ultra-thin” and “super absorbent.” Others boasted about being organic or fragrance-free.

- Bloody hell…- Logan muttered, scratching his head.

- Need some help there, bud?

Logan turned to see a young male cashier, probably in his early twenties, grinning at him.

- Uh, yeah - Logan admitted, feeling his face heat up. - I’m… pickin’ up some stuff for my girl. She said pads with wings. That’s a thing, right?

The cashier nodded, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. - Yeah, it’s a thing. Here—these are pretty popular. - He grabbed a pack off the shelf and handed it to Logan.

Logan looked at the package, his lips moving slightly as he read the words overnight protection. - This good?

- Should be. You might wanna grab some tampons too, just in case - the cashier suggested, pointing to another section of the shelf.

By the time he returned to the cabin, arms loaded with bags, you were feeling marginally better but still miserable.

- Got your stuff - Logan announced, setting the bags on the table. - And don’t you dare ask me to do that again.

You peeked into the bags, biting back a laugh when you saw the assortment of snacks and supplies. - Logan, you got overnight pads. I asked about regular ones.

You leaned over to kiss his cheek. - You did good, honey. Thank you.

- Well, excuse me for not bein’ an expert - he shot back, flopping onto the bed beside you.

- Yeah, yeah - he muttered, though his lips twitched into a small smile. - Next time, you’re takin’ me with you and explainin’ all this in real-time.

As you shared a bag of chips, the tension of the day melted away. Logan’s gruff but well-meaning efforts reminded you why you loved him. He might not have all the answers, but he was always willing to try—for you. And that was more than enough.

You chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder. - Deal.

End.

Hope ya'll like this little something. Now I gotta go being miserable period dumpling...

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seraphicloves · 4 months ago

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𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅?

⊱✿⊰ summary: the overblot aftermath except yuu has my personality lmao

⊱✿⊰ warnings: book 2 spoilers, lowkey bullying leona (but nice), yuu is reader, fully self indulgent, fluffy tho, like a few refs to reader being small cuz im smaller than even ruggie so yeah. Thats like the only physical depictor i think

⊱✿⊰ notes: i had this dream last night and boom bam i made this. I think its preppy and also its lit ny personality and also leona is like 😍

your eyes slowly fluttered open, the bright fluorescents adding to the dull ache in your head. as your vision adjusted you realized you had quite a few people surrounding you. ace and deuce and jack and grim? what happened...?

"what happened?" you muttered out, sitting up in the...cot? you were in the infirmary but why? the last thing you could remember was playing the special round of spelldrive and grim mentioned something about a special move.

"at the beginning of the second half grim threw the disc at your noggin and knocked you out." ace answered barely concealing his snort, "don't you remember?"

"no i don't remember." you grumbled, narrowing your eyes in a glare. ace gave you an apologetic smile that you weren't sure held any real sorry in it.

"i was trying to aim for victory!" grim exclaimed, pumping his fist up. he smiled widely at you and plopped into your lap. despite your annoyance you curled your arms around him, letting him snuggle into your chest.

"you amateurs need to work on your throwing skill." jack replied with an eyeroll.

deuce quickly interjected with a gentle smile, hoping to ease any tensions that might appear. "i for one am glad you're awake! i was scared the hit did some real damage."

"true, you were asleep so long you even missed the closing ceremonies. they're taking everything down now." ace said, still trying not to laugh. evem through your annoyance you couldn't really blame him. it did sound kind of funny that you got hit by a disc because of grim's terrible throw.

"which dorm won?" you asked suddenly, words falling from your lips hurriedly, "how did savanaclaw do?"

even with leona being so underhanded you still wanted him to get what he wanted. he just wanted to feel like he was good enough, something you could relate to heavily. you hoped none of them could tell the way your face warmed with your rambles. maybe you could blame it on pain meds..if this place even had them.

suddenly that growly rumble of a voice filled your ears, leona saying, "diasomia won, unsurprisingly."

your eyes jumped to where leona was, him and ruggie in cots side by side. leona looked goregous, with his long hair still braided and a few bandages scattered across his dark tanned skin. you really ought to focus instead of fangirling over his looks like a silly school girl.

"there was nothing we could do to stop it." ruggie added with a sigh, looking slightly more healed now, "it didn't help that we took a beating from every other dorm before we got to them."

you winced sympathetically, unsurprised the other dorms had gotten their revenge out during the game. even still you felt bad, but perhaps that was your annoyingly empathetic heart talking.

"housewarden! ruggie!" jack exclaimed, turning his body around to see the others in their cots. you slowly sat up, ignoring your dizziness in favor of getting the chance of getting closer to leona. you are surely going insane, why were you wanting to comfort leona after everything he did? why were you wishing to kiss his hurt away in front of your friends no less.

leona tsked, his arms crossed over his hardened chest as he said, "being stuck in the infirmary for anything other than a mid-day nap is about as lame as it gets."

his eyes wandered over to you and you felt your body warm, self conscious about the way you look. you could feel that your hair was a bit tangled and your clothes were slightly frumpled, making you wish leona would suddenly forget you existed. did he think you look bad? you looked at your hands, trying to cease your racing heart.

"and what's worse? none of the diasomia kids ended up here." ruggie pouted, his ears flattening aganist the top of his head. you felt your lips quirk in amusement, finding the small boy's annoyance kinda cute. he reminded you of your friends from your world (though that thought suddenly made your heart feel heavy.)

ace nodded and started talking about the head of the diasomia dorm, apparently being a major powerhouse. you didn't doubt it, seeing as half the guys at this school were insanely large or annoyingly good at magic. they still scared you, seeing as you were neither of those things.

"with that attitude you're never going to beat them." jack said with his fist clenched, all good old determination, "i didn't beat them but i will next year! i'll do anything it takes."

"does 'anything' include your capacity for evil?" leona asked with a slightly malicious grin. you felt mildly deranged for wanting to kiss it off of his face.

"have you learned nothing?" you asked, fighting the urge to get closer. once his grin widened, deliciously evil glint in those pretty brown eyes you felt your resolve wavering.

so you did get a bit closer, sitting on the chair beside his cot. he didn't seem displeased with your proximity as he said, "i didn't realize this was an after school special."

you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past your lips, eyes lighting up with amusement. he was insufferably wonderful. "i didn't realize you knew so much about those after-school specials."

ruggie interrupted with his infamous laugh, making you feel suddenly aware of the way you were sort of flirting with leona. you backed up and looked shyly away, grateful your friends didn't seem to notice the way you had been half tempted to settle your and leona's debate with kisses.

"there's the leona i know!" ruggie said, making jack roll his eyes. jack reminded you of captain america if he was part of the omegaverse, but the boy's brain might explode if you tried explaining that to him..

"i can already tell this won't end well." jack muttered with a slight shake of his head. you felt your lips curve into a grin at the same time as leona. even though you most definitely didn't want leona try to cheat his way to the top you also liked his...ambition. you were far gone.

deuce, ace, and grim chimed in talking about how they wanted to play in the tournament for real next year. a small part of yourself wondered if you'd still be around by next year or if crowley would have found a way home for you by then. then you quietly wondered whether you would return to your old life or stay in your new one.

suddenly a little boy with red hair bounced into the room, jumping onto leona without a care in the world. your eyes widened, surprised by the freaking kindergartener entering the infirmary. he was adorable and sort of reminded you of your younger cousins, who were all around his age.

"unca! there you are! i finally found you!" the child giggled, hugging up close to leona. leona looked shocked for a moment before his face relaxed to his usual pissed off look and he hugged the kid back.

"unca leona...?" jack mumbled, matching your confusion. all the boys seemed equally confused that this tiny person was calling leona uncle and cuddling up to him without getting beat into a pulp.

"this is cheka, my brother's son...my nephew." leona explained boredly, ruffing the boy's hair. your eyes widened, reeling at the sudden revelation.

"so this is the next in line for the throne." ruggie said in a low tone, amusement filling his expression. you were still shocked this adorable little baby was leona's nephew.

"unca! i saw you play, you were sooo cool!" cheka giggled, his hands tapping against leona's shoulder in a badly attempt at rhythm, "teach me how to play pleaseeeeee!"

"fine, fine just stop screaming in my ear." leona grumbled, plucking cheka off his body and putting him down. which made cheka notice everybody around, particularly you.

the tiny redhead ran to you, jumping onto your lap. he was very similar to your cuddly baby brother so it was easy to just wrap your arms around cheka and let him hug you. you giggled, amused by leona's nephew.

leona was about to protest, and you could have sworn you saw a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. it gave you the smallest glimmer of pride, close enough to the third year that you saw the tiniest details.

"so the source of all leona's anguish is..." jack began, struggling to understand what was happening. everybody was to be quite frank.

"this innocent angel." you finished for him, ruffling cheka's hair. cheka giggled and squirmed in your arms, eyes wide and happy as he looked at you.

"shuddap, all of you." leona grumbled, "stop gawking."

you grinned and couldn't help the way you decided to sit on his cot beside him. you were small enough that you could fit on the bed at his side. cheka seemed happy by this decision because he could now crawl freely between you both.

despite leona's annoyance, he wrapped his arms around your waist to prevent you from falling off the cot. ruggie raised his eyebrows in silent shock, probably surprised to see his big scary upperclassmen cuddle with the random girl who just appeared at the school.

cheka rambled incessantly, asking questions and talking to leona. cheka seemed to idolize leona, making you wonder if he realized that. does leona know how much cheka loves him?

ruggie was laughing like a maniac at the new side of leona they had all discovered, probably wanting to use this as blackmail. you did think it was funny, but it was also freaking adorable seeing leona so soft. leona nuzzled his face into your shoulder, glaring at the first and second years all laughing their heads off.

"are these your friends?" cheka asked, turning around to look at them all. then he looked back at you, "is she your girlfriend?"

"oh for sure. we're besties with leona." ace grinned, even happier when cheka asked about your relationship with leona. you felt your cheeks warm, lips opening to deny the assumption.

but leona didn't give you a chance as he grumbled, "i won't forget about this."

though the boys were still amused they decided to leave, laughing and talking about "unca leona". the older boy glowered, tightening his hold on your body. hell even ruggie left, feelinf well enough to leave the infirmary for a moment.

"you gonna marry her?" cheka asked, bouncing on leona's stomach. leona groaned and pulled the kid off of him, so he wasn't treating the third year like a jungle gym. cheka glanced at you and added, "what's your name?"

"my name is [name] but everybody calls me yuu." you said, ignoring his first question and especially ignoring the way your heart throb at the idea. it was silly, you were a teen and thinking about marrying leona.

leona also ignored the first question just mumbling out a quiet, "furball always trying to start stuff..."

suddenly cheka jumped up, hearing the voices of his attendants. the little redhead ran away as quickly as he came, probably going to cause more chaos. he really was lucky he was so adorable...and the fact he was a prince.

being alone with leona made you acutely aware of the way he was cuddling you. his arms wrapped around your waist and his tail curling around your shin. he was warm, his firm body pressed aganist your back in such a comforting way.

"i didn't say this earlier," he began, his low timbre full of the beginnings of sleepiness, "but im sorry for hurting you when i overblotted. i didn't mean for you to get involved."

you blinked with surprise, your heart stalling as a lump in your throat. maybe he really did feel remorse for what he did, the thought sending a flutter of excitement through your tummy.

slowly you turned so your front was against his, faces inches away. you were both laying down on the small cot, his strong arms keeping you steady and grounded.

with that delightful dizziness in your head, you leaned in and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. he froze, soft gasp of surprise falling from him. his arms tightened around you, squeezing the skin on your waist.

"its okay, leona. i'm not mad." you replied softly, gifting him your forgiveness like you were sent straight from god. not that you knew if he even had a god in his world. perhaps even without a god, you wondered if he knew how to worship one. if he might worship you like you were one.

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luv4fushi · 1 year ago

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omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #not my best work tbh

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givemeacigarettesvp · 4 days ago

Text

Part 2 to this drabble

Reader discretion is advised💝

Warnings; smut (unprotected p in v sex, semi-drunk sex, blowjob, leaving marks, womb fucking, brief titsucking, premature ejaculation), alcohol, not proofread, im terrible at writing smut, and new to tumblr <3 but it’d be a crime if i left all the sexual tension hanging in the air so, found a way… i guess. Mad insecure about this one.

Wc: 2k

“I don’t play pool, love.”

“Only blackball?” You scoffed.

“Only blackball.” He confirmed.

“How unfortunate,” The automatic doors open before you as you enter, swaying towards the counter with calm and confident steps as Price follows. “i was only taught pool at my time in New York. Guess you’ll have to teach me then.”

The lobby is dark and sleek, it smells fresh. A TV hums softly in the background, in front of a U shaped couch.

You lean against the counter, talking to the receptionist. “28th floor.” You reach for your back pocket, taking your card out of your wallet—

Your eyebrows go up to your hairline when you notice Price trying to pay from the corner of your eye, immediately swatting his hairy forearm away from the pos machine. “You’re my guest. Behave.” You glare right into his bright blues; all these years of war, conditioning and smoking yet they haven’t faded one bit. You’d stare and admire them for hours if you weren’t trying to stay in character: the cool, mysterious woman. You’re never like this.

The elevator lift, love. It’s a lift. rings and stops, the doors opening before the floor.

The room is massive, its walls are painted in either a dark red or black, details with an inviting burgundy; one wall is solely made of glass where city lights add to the sultry atmosphere. The lights are yellow, the room is overall dimly lit. The floors are marble, they clack when you walk. So is the counter in front of the shelves stocked with all kinds of beverages.

Massive, massive. Bunch of empty space, a couch to crash or to fuck on and a table in the middle, a TV on the wall, all in the other corner.

In the middle of the room, there stands the pool table. The light bounces off the varnish, the oak is shining. It’s clean, high quality and far from old.

John examines the place before he’s tossed a cue, raising his arm to clean his nose with his sleeve, now painted blue with the block of chalk in your hands.

“So, since you know your ‘blackball’ all too well, might as well give me a workshop, yeah?” You lean on the pool table, examining the cue in your hands. “Or maybe you want to play with a person who doesn’t know so you can brag to your friends that you won—“ you’re interrupted when he shushes you, counting 15 balls and placing them in the rack, in the middle of the table.

“Where are my colours?” You question, eyeing the balls on the table.

“Just red and yellow. Got a problem, pretty thing?”

“That’s my phrase.” You furrow your eyebrows.

He clears his throat. “When you break—“ you raise an eyebrow. “scatter the triangle,” he explains. “and a ball goes in, you get to choose which colour you want to play. If none goes in, we take turns until it does.” He waits for your nod before he continues.

“Pot all your balls before potting the black one. You pot it before potting all your balls? Foul. Hit my colour? Foul. You pot the cue ball? Foul. You miss? Foul. And a foul means i get two free shots. If no balls are potted, it should at least touch a cushion. Or it’s a foul.” He raises an eyebrow when you click your tongue in annoyance at the last part. “Keeps the game active.” He excuses.

Whole time you listened to his calm words listing off the rules, you thought about how you could listen to it forever. Voice raspy from years of smoking, every word rumbling in his chest and grazing your skull, the warm tone is a chef’s kiss. You keep your eyes on his for a few more seconds after he’s done speaking, praying for the first time after years that your stance and demeanor are doing at least a decent job in hiding the hearts in your eyes.

You’re thankful you’re a lady, because you’d have the most obvious boner known to man.

Just from his voice alone? Shit, this isn’t good.

After a moment, you respond with an acknowledging hum, turning back and sauntering towards the bar. “What do you drink?”

“Whiskey. No ice.”

“Ya sure? ‘S gon’ taste like piss.”

━━ ✦ 🎱🥃 ✦ ━━

You’ve taken red, but lost the lead by a sliver.

“Aren’t you too good for a ‘beginner’, hm? You had me give you a whole tutorial, sweetheart.” The room is suffocating, it got so hot suddenly before neither of you even realized. “Beginner’s luck.” You take off your jacket with a huff, the back of your shirt is see through because of your sweat.

You have one ball left, he has none, his only goal is the blackball.

You can’t let him have this.

You switch from an open bridge to a closed one, there are beads of sweat on your face, a single drop falls on the cloth of the table. You close your eyes and swallow, throat now feeling dry. You lick your lips, take a breath…

Fuck.

You slam the cue on the table before reaching for your drink, taking a long swag. You steady your breathing before bending over the table again.

He’s trying not to look at your cleavage. Not to ogle so openly at your nipples now visible through your shirt. He really is.

Trying.

And failing miserably.

Steadying yourself, you draw the cue back slightly, ready to take your shot.

Suddenly, his hand is on the small of your back for ‘emotional support’ just as you do.

You miss.

You fucking miss.

Your head shoots back, you get up and glare at him. “What the fuck?! That’s cheating!” you break character, your voice shaking with fury and… embarrassment? A breath is taken to calm down, it’s okay. Things happen. He plays dirty, so will you.

“What’s cheating?” He tilts his head, grabbing his cue and confidently swaggering towards where he’ll take position. You click your to tongue in annoyance, running it over your teeth as he bends over the table,

“Have you always wanted to be a soldier?” you had asked him his profession earlier that night, chatting over the game like good old friends. Like you’ve known each other for years. You’re calmer now, way over your little tantrum.

“I wanted to be an astronaut when i was younger.” You huff a laugh at that. “What stopped you?”

He didn’t respond.

You might’ve crossed a line.

Well shit.

“Well, i can’t take you to the moon but i can take you to cloud nine if you want.” There’s a smirk in your voice as you shift your weight to one leg to another, crossing your arms: devouring his crotch shamelessly with your eyes.

He feels it. Your gaze on his boner.

His breath hitches.

He misses.

Your smirk widens, your laughter booms through the room and fills his ears. You shake your head, bending over the table and potting your last ball, the 8-ball following after, quickly finishing the game.

And before you know, his lips are on yours. His paws are on your hips as he presses you against the table— the loser’s shot of vodka long forgotten.

His kiss is devouring, he swallows you whole.

You groan into his mouth, hands flying to the back of his head, into his short hair. You can feel him throbbing behind his zipper, it causes you to smile into his lips. Your hands drift lower, one hand on his abdomen and the other on his shoulder as you lead him away.

He walks backwards until he can’t, his calves nudging into the couch. You push him down and settle on his lap, tilting his head back and roll your hips as you lift yourself, hovering over his thighs to angle your lips on his. His hands find your ass, groping and squeezing aggressively, attempting to expel some of the tension.

You stop and push yourself away from him, sliding off the couch and dropping onto your knees between his legs. One hand explores his chest as the other unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down. His boxer briefs have a wet patch on them, you swear you sense a throb when you give it the smallest kiss.

Your hand sneaks into his underwear, feeling his bare cock under, damp and slick with leaking pre. You run your hand along it, his breath catches in his throat.

“Sensitive are we?” You tease as you pull down his briefs, taking his tip into your mouth. You pull back short after, give his cock a long lick following a vein and sink your pretty lips down on it. All the way down your throat, until your nose is touching his bush. His eyelids flutter, he throws his head back and his mouth hangs open. A groan is stuck in his chest, one that he knows will shatter whatever sense of pride he has left once it escapes.

His hand darts to your hair, not leading you, but rather resting his callused fingers in your hair, tangled. You go down on him once more, his cock dipping in your throat. His back arches off the couch and he grips your hair tighter, trying to lift you off of him but you refuse, taking him deeper.

“F-fuck love, i can’t—“

He cums.

Hard.

Right down your throat, way before he meant to. You chuckle around him, the vibration sparkling around his overstimulated member. He tears you off and away from him, panting. His hands lock around your wrists, yanking you on your feet. He drags you across the room and slams you on the pool table, snatching the back of your thighs and dropping you down on it. He pulls your pants and knickers down with a single tug.

It’s when you truly see how enormous he truly he is. By size and girth, he is huge. You can see veins and he often throbs and jerks, his cock dangles heavy from its sheer weight. His tip is red and leaking, looking almost furious. He gives himself a couple pumps and plunges deep into your cunt, all the way in. It’s your turn, for your mouth to be hanging open and your eyes rolling back, eyelids fluttering, head being thrown back and back arching as you claw at his back aggressively.

He doesn’t even start off slow, just bullying his way into your womb, way ahead of your gummy walls. One of your hands fall on your abdomen and you swear you feel a bulge, though you don’t dare look down. It’s all as if he’s taking revenge for making him moan like that and shoot ropes of cum down your throat embarrassingly quick.

You feel it every single time he pulls out, it feels like emptying your guts and forcing them back in every time. You feel so full. He makes you feel so full. Your cunt clenches around him tightly, you’re close.

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, you’re both sweating profusely. It drips down and finds its way into the messy mix of bodily fluids between you; your slick, his pre and now sweat. It’s disgusting when you think of it. But it’s so obscene you can’t help but feel excited.

He lets an animalistic groan escape as your cunt strangles him,

“Fuck, dove… you’re gonna snap my cock in half if you keep doing that—“ his eyelids flutter, he fights with himself, tugging gaze down on your fucked out expression instead of letting his eyeballs roll to the back of his head. Because it is exactly what keeps him going. He goes down on your breasts and twirls his tongue around one as he squeezes the other, biting and sucking. You take a sharp breath and moan, just what is this man doing to you…

“Shit— im close.. im close, i— FUUUUUCCKK…!” You gasp when he flips you over, your stomach crashes into the table, your breath leaves your lungs. He pulls out and plummets into your asshole, his hips stutter as he orgasms, whereas your legs buckle as your release trickles down your thigh.

You’re both panting, even when you look back and ask,

“What’s your name again?”

“John.”

“Okay, John. Let go of my wrists please.”

im not confident in writing smut </3 but it would be a crime if there wasn’t any with this so i tried my best!!!

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skz-streamer · 2 years ago

Text

Sensitive S/o

Pairing: Skz x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Misunderstanding?

Warnings: Sensitivity? Slight crying, weights, frustration, small arguments...Im not really sure what to put here so lmk if I missed anything :)

Notes: ARGHHHH I HAD SUCH A HARD TIME TO COME UP W DIFF SCENARIOS SO IM SORRY IF ITS A LITTLE WORDYYY :((( Suchhh a cute ask though thank you lovely anon The Ask :)

Summary: Skz and their sensitive s/o

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Full word count ~4.8k ;)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chan:

"So, Y/N," Chan began with a cheeky grin, "did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook dinner for the members?"

You chuckled, your heart fluttering at the familiar tone of his voice. "No, you haven't! Do tell."

Chan launched into a hilarious account of his culinary mishaps, imitating his fellow members' shocked expressions as they took their first bites of his concoction. You couldn't hold back your laughter, and your eyes sparkled with delight as you listened to his animated storytelling.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the two of you settled onto a park bench. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jumping from one topic to another. Chan's arm rested casually around your shoulders, and you leaned into his comforting presence. His jokes and lighthearted banter continued, wrapping you in a cocoon of happiness.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey, Y/N, did you know that you're the only person who can keep up with my terrible puns?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh please, Chan. Your puns are legendary. I just try my best to match the greatness."

He grinned a warm and affectionate smile that made your heart flutter. "Well, you succeed spectacularly"

As the conversation flowed, your heart felt light, and the world seemed to slow down around you. But just as the laughter and stories continued, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Chan's teasing took a slightly sharper edge, and a comment that was meant to be a joke struck a chord in you.

"Come on, Y/N, don't be such a crybaby," he teased lightly, not realizing the weight his words held for you.

Your smile faltered, and you felt a pang of hurt deep within. You knew he didn't mean any harm, but sometimes, even the lightest remarks could trigger a sensitive nerve. You tried to shake it off, forcing a chuckle as you replied, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just can't handle the master of puns, that's all."

But Chan noticed the change in your demeanor, his keen eyes picking up on the shift in your tone. His expression softened as he realized his words had landed differently than intended. "Hey," he said gently, his voice a warm reassurance, "I didn't mean it like that, Y/N. You know I'm just messing around, right?"

You nodded, your throat tightening as you struggled to keep your emotions in check. You hated how easily certain comments could bring tears to your eyes, even when you knew they were meant in jest. But it was hard to shake off the sensitivity, a part of you that you sometimes wished you could control better.

"Hey," Chan's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. "It's okay, really. I didn't mean to upset you."

Your lips quivered into a small smile as you looked into his eyes, grateful for his understanding. "I know, Chan. It's just…."

He sighed softly, pulling you into his embrace. "Y/N, you don't have to help it. Your feelings are valid. If something bothers you, it's okay to feel that way."

As his arms encircled you, a warm sense of comfort enveloped you. Chan's soothing words seeped into your heart, reminding you that you were allowed to feel whatever you felt. You leaned into his chest, tears wetting his shirt, and he held you tight.

"You're strong, you know," he murmured into your hair. "Being sensitive doesn't make you weak. It means you care deeply, and that's a beautiful thing."

You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears. "Leave it to you to make me feel better, even when I'm being silly."

Chan's fingers brushed gently against your back as he rubbed soothing circles. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N.”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Lee Know:

As the credits rolled on the screen, Lee Know let out a content sigh. "That was a good movie, huh?" he said, his voice a soothing rumble against your ear.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I enjoyed it. Thanks for picking it."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Anything for you, babe."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words. It was moments like these that made you appreciate how considerate and caring Lee Know was. He had always been attentive to your needs, and you cherished the way he understood you.

But just as the credits faded to black, your blissful moment was interrupted by a sudden noise from outside the window. It was a car alarm going off, and the loud blaring sound pierced through the tranquility of the room.

You winced at the sudden noise, and Lee Know tightened his grip around you, his protective instinct kicking in. "Ugh, that's so annoying," he muttered, annoyance evident in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, but something about the noise seemed to have unsettled you more than you anticipated. Your heart raced, and your eyes began to sting with unshed tears. You tried to shake off the feeling, reminding yourself that it was just a trivial noise and there was no reason to get upset.

Lee Know sensed the shift in your mood and looked down at you, concerned furrowing his brow. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked gently.

You sniffled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... the noise startled me, I guess."

He frowned, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. "You sure that's all it is?" he asked softly.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze. You knew your reaction was disproportionate to the situation, but you didn't want to burden him with your irrational emotions. You had always been sensitive, and sometimes it felt like a weakness.

Lee Know's eyes softened as he cupped your cheek, turning your face to meet his gaze. "You don't have to hide anything from me, you know," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "If something's bothering you, I want to know."

Your lips trembled, and you felt another tear slide down your cheek. "I know I shouldn't be this upset over a stupid noise," you admitted, your voice cracking.

Lee Know's expression turned gentle, his thumb brushing away your tears. "Hey, it's okay to feel things deeply," he said softly. "That's just who you are, and there's nothing wrong with that. You're not weak for being sensitive, you're strong for embracing your emotions."

You sniffled, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief wash over you. "But I feel like I'm burdening you with my emotions," you confessed, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head, his eyes unwaveringly locked onto yours. "You could never be a burden to me, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "I love every part of you, even the parts you might consider flaws. And I'm here to support you through everything, even the moments when you feel overwhelmed."

As he spoke, you felt a warmth envelop you, like a protective shield against your own insecurities. His words were a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the self-doubt that had been festering within you.

"I don't want you to ever feel like you have to hide your emotions from me," he continued his voice tenderly. "We're a team, and that means sharing both the good and the tough moments. So, if something's bothering you, let me in. I promise I'll always be here to listen and support you."

You nodded, tears still trickling down your cheeks but now with a sense of acceptance. Lee Know pulled you into a warm hug, his arms cocooning you in a sense of safety and understanding. He held you tightly, letting you know that he was there for you, no matter what.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Changbin:

Amid the bustling gym, the clanking of weights and the steady rhythm of treadmills formed a backdrop to the scene. You were there with Changbin, trying your best to push through a particularly challenging exercise. The weights felt heavier than usual, and frustration began to bubble up within you as you struggled to complete the set.

Changbin, ever attentive to your emotions, noticed the change in your demeanor. He had a knack for picking up on your subtle cues, the way your brows furrowed just a bit more, and the determined set of your jaw turned into a slightly defeated slump. As you lowered the weights and sighed, he could sense that something was bothering you beyond just the physical challenge.

"Hey, you're doing great," he said gently, his voice a soothing presence amid your turmoil. "Remember, progress takes time. We all have our off days, and that's completely okay."

You managed a weak smile, appreciating his support even if it didn't entirely erase your frustration. "I know, but it's just frustrating. I used to be able to do this without any issues, and now..."

Changbin's hand found its way to yours, offering a reassuring squeeze. "It's natural for things to change over time. Our bodies adapt, and sometimes that means facing new challenges. But you're not alone in this. I'm here with you every step of the way."

As you attempted the exercise again, a combination of fatigue and your emotional sensitivity made your eyes prickle with tears. You couldn't help but feel frustrated with yourself for getting so worked up over something that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things. But that was the thing about emotions—they didn't always follow a rational path.

Changbin noticed the glistening in your eyes and immediately put down the weight he was holding. He gently cupped your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears that escaped. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be so hard on yourself. Your feelings are valid, whether they're about something big or small."

You sniffled, embarrassed by your vulnerability. "I know it's silly, but I can't help feeling like this."

Changbin's warm gaze never wavered, his fingers tenderly brushing against your skin. "You're not silly for feeling things. We all have moments when certain things hit us harder than they should. It's part of being human, and it's what makes you, well, you."

You appreciated his words, his understanding, and the fact that he didn't dismiss your emotions. It was something you loved about him—the way he allowed you to feel without judgment, even when you were grappling with feelings you didn't quite understand yourself.

Leaving the weights behind, Changbin led you to a quieter corner of the gym. He sat down with you, his arm draped over your shoulders as you leaned against him. "You know, sensitivity can be a strength too."

You sighed, feeling the tension slowly melt away as his comforting presence enveloped you. "I guess so. I just wish I could control it better."

Changbin pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're doing just fine, trust me. And if there's ever a time when something bothers you, all you need to do is tell me. I'm here to listen."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Hyunjin:

You and Hyunjin find yourselves in the midst of a painting session. The room is drenched in soft, natural light, casting a warm ambiance that should have fostered creativity and joy. Hyunjin is passionately absorbed in his work, brushstrokes gliding across the canvas with determination. You, however, struggle to bring your vision to life. Frustration simmers beneath your surface as you attempt to replicate the vibrant image in your mind.

You swipe the brush across the canvas, the result falling short of your expectations once again. A sigh escapes your lips, caught between the desire to excel and the feeling of inadequacy. Hyunjin glances over, noticing the shift in your demeanor. Concern creases on his features as he puts his brush down for a moment.

"Hey, everything okay?" he asks, his voice a mix of genuine curiosity and worry.

You look up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm just having a bit of trouble getting it right."

Hyunjin steps closer, his gaze softened by understanding. "You know, it's not about getting it perfect on the first try. Sometimes you have to let go of expectations and let your instincts guide you."

As he speaks, you feel a mix of gratitude and frustration. You appreciate his attempt at encouragement, yet the weight of your self-criticism is hard to shake off. You nod, trying to absorb his advice.

But as time passes, your painting continues to deviate from your vision. With each misstep, your frustration mounts. Hyunjin, noticing your growing agitation, offers more guidance – albeit in a way that inadvertently fosters further frustration. His words come out more as critiques than suggestions, and before you know it, your patience snaps.

"Why can't you just let me figure this out on my own?" you burst out, the words carrying a tinge of hurt that takes Hyunjin by surprise.

He freezes the brush still in his hand. "What? I'm just trying to help."

"I know, but it feels like you're just criticizing everything I do!" Your voice wavers, anger and hurt tangling in your chest.

Hyunjin's frustration is palpable, too. "I'm not criticizing. I'm just trying to guide you towards improvement."

"Well, maybe I don't need your constant guidance!" Your voice quivers, the sting of your sensitivity gnawing at you. You hadn't meant for your emotions to escalate so quickly, but here you were – caught in a one-sided argument, tears pooling in your eyes.

Hyunjin's features shift from frustration to confusion as he registers your tears. "Hey, why are you getting so upset?"

Your gaze drops to the floor, shame mingling with your tears. "I don't know, okay? I shouldn't be reacting like this, but I am."

Hyunjin's expression softens as he takes in your vulnerable state. He realizes that this isn't just about the painting; it's about something deeper – a sensitivity that you both know you possess. He lowers his brush, stepping closer to you.

"I didn't mean to make you feel this way," he says, his voice gentler now. "I forget sometimes that not everyone responds well to the way I communicate."

You sniffle, wiping away a tear. "It's not just you. It's me too. I know I shouldn't let things like this affect me so much, but I can't help it."

Hyunjin sighs, his gaze sincere. "You know, sensitivity isn't a weakness. It's just a part of who you are. And I should've been more considerate."

Your eyes meet, a mixture of emotions passing between you. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," you mumble.

Hyunjin places a hand on your shoulder, a warm smile forming. "It's alright. We both have our moments. Let's just take a breather and come back to this later, okay?"

You settle on the couch, the unfinished canvas a silent reminder of your earlier frustrations. Hyunjin wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "You know, I admire your sensitivity. It means you care deeply about things, and that's a beautiful trait."

You lean into his embrace, finding comfort in his words. "Even when it leads to moments like this?"

He chuckles softly. "Especially then. We're both a work in progress, learning how to navigate each other's emotions."

You smile through the lingering tears, feeling a weight lifting off your shoulders. "I'm lucky to have you."

Hyunjin presses a kiss on your temple. "And I'm lucky to have you. We'll figure this out together, one painting stroke at a time."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Jisung:

You and Jisung are having a fun-filled game night at your apartment. The coffee table is covered with an array of board games and card decks, and laughter fills the air as you and Jisung engage in friendly competition. It's supposed to be a lighthearted evening, a chance to unwind and enjoy each other's company.

As the game progresses, Jisung's playfully competitive side shines through. He throws out witty comments and playful jabs as he wins rounds and makes strategic moves. His remarks have you laughing alongside him, but one comment catches you off guard and hits a nerve.

"Wow, you're not having a good luck streak tonight," he teases, a grin on his face.

You force a chuckle, but the comment stings more than you'd like to admit. You've been feeling emotionally sensitive lately, and the comment, while meant in jest, resonates with your current state of mind. You glance down at the game board, your enthusiasm waning slightly.

Jisung notices the shift in your demeanor, his expression softening with concern. "Hey, are you alright? I was just joking."

You offer a small smile, "Yeah, I know. Just got lost in thought for a second."

He nods, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment before returning to the game. Despite his attempt to move on, you find yourself feeling more affected by his comment than you expected.

You try to push aside the sensitive emotions that have been triggered. You focus on the games, engaging in the banter and laughter just as you always do. But in the back of your mind, that comment lingers, creating a subtle discomfort.

As you play another round, you notice that your thoughts are a bit scattered. You make a strategic move, but it doesn't quite go as planned. Jisung's playful teasing takes on a different tone in your ears, reminding you of the earlier comment.

"Ouch, looks like you're having an off night," he remarks, a grin on his face.

You glance at him, forcing a smile, but inside, you feel a pang of sensitivity. You didn't want his comments to affect you so much, but here you are, struggling to shake off the emotions they've stirred.

As the game night continues, you feel the weight of your sensitivity growing. You try to brush off the discomfort, but it's becoming increasingly challenging. You want to enjoy the evening and the company, but the comment has struck a chord you can't ignore.

Eventually, you decide that a break is in order. You put on a smile, hoping to hide your feelings and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You get up from the table and make your way to the restroom, closing the door behind you with a sigh.

Inside the bathroom, you lean against the sink, trying to gather your thoughts. The emotions you've been suppressing finally spill over, and you find yourself sniffling softly. You hadn't anticipated that a lighthearted comment during game night would trigger such a strong reaction.

Outside the bathroom, Jisung's concern hasn't faded. He knows you well enough to sense when something's wrong, even if you try to hide it. After a few minutes, he decides to check up on you. He approaches the bathroom door, his hand gently resting against the wood.

"Hey, is everything okay in there?" he asks softly.

You take a moment to compose yourself, wiping away your tears. "Yeah, I just needed a moment."

He doesn't sound convinced, and you hear a soft sigh from the other side of the door. "You know you can talk to me, right? If something's bothering you?"

His words resonate, and you realize that he genuinely cares. The vulnerability you'd been trying to suppress feels overwhelming at this moment. With a shaky breath, you open the bathroom door, revealing your slightly teary-eyed state.

Jisung's concern deepens as he takes in your appearance. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a comforting hug. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to pretend with me."

Tears escape despite your efforts to hold them back, and you bury your face in his shoulder. Jisung holds you close, his touch a soothing balm for your frayed emotions.

"I'm sorry," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky.

Jisung pulls back slightly, his fingers gently wiping away your tears. "Don't be sorry. It's okay to feel how you feel."

You take a deep breath, the weight of your sensitivity slowly easing as he offers his understanding and comfort. "It's just that... your comment earlier, hit me harder than I thought."

Jisung's expression shifts from concern to realization. "Wait, the thing I said during the game?"

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability in sharing your feelings with him.

He lets out a sigh, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to"

You offer a small smile, touched by his genuine concern. "I know you didn't mean it that way"

Jisung's gaze softens as he holds you close. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know? I'm here for you, always."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Felix:

You and Felix are spending an afternoon together, exploring a bustling shopping district. The sun shines overhead, casting a warm glow on the streets as you stroll hand in hand, occasionally stopping to peek into storefronts that catch your interest. It's meant to be a carefree outing, a chance to enjoy each other's company and the city's charm.

As you walk, a group of girls pass by, casting a quick glance in your direction before bursting into laughter. Your heart sinks as you catch the tail end of their mocking glances. You feel exposed as if their laughter is directed at you, even though you can't be entirely sure. You clasp Felix's hand a bit tighter, a mix of discomfort and embarrassment pooling within you.

Felix continues chatting about something he spotted at a nearby store, seemingly oblivious to the brief encounter. He's always been the kind of person who radiates positivity and doesn't let minor things affect his mood. You don't want to ruin the day with your sensitivity, so you offer a small smile and nod as he speaks.

As you browse through a store, Felix's genuine concern hasn't waned. He can sense that something is off, even though you're trying your best to hide it. He decides to address the issue and approaches you, his voice gentle.

"Is everything alright?" he asks softly.

You hesitate for a moment before admitting, "Honestly, something kind of bothered me earlier."

Felix's expression shifts from curiosity to attentive concern. "What happened?"

You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to share. "When we were walking, I noticed a group of girls looking at me and laughing. I don't know why, but it made me feel self-conscious."

Felix reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're a wonderful person, and those girls' opinions don't matter. If anything, their behavior says more about them than it does about you."

"Felix," you begin, your voice soft but resolute. "There's something I want to tell you."

He shifts slightly, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering attention. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, you find the courage to speak your truth. "I love you."

Felix's eyes widen ever so slightly, his expression a mix of surprise and tenderness. The moment hangs suspended between you, a pause filled with emotion.

Then, a heartwarming smile spreads across Felix's face, his gaze never leaving yours. "I love you too, more than words could express."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Seungmin:

You and Seungmin have always had a strong bond, but like any couple, disagreements are a natural part of your relationship. One evening, a difference in opinions leads to a heated argument that tests both your emotions and your sensitivity.

The topic at hand is trivial, something that wouldn't usually escalate into a conflict. But somehow, the conversation has spiraled into a full-blown disagreement, each of you holding your ground with growing frustration. As words are exchanged, your sensitivity to certain tones and remarks heightens the intensity of the argument.

"Can't you just see it from my perspective for once?" Seungmin exclaims, his voice tinged with exasperation.

You feel your heart clench, the sharpness of his tone cutting deeper than he intended. Your sensitivity to emotional nuances has always been a double-edged sword, allowing you to connect deeply with others but also making you more susceptible to feeling hurt.

"I am trying to see your perspective," you reply, your voice strained. "But that doesn't mean my feelings don't matter."

Seungmin's expression shifts, a mixture of frustration and regret flickering in his eyes. "I didn't mean to dismiss your feelings."

As the argument reaches a temporary impasse, you struggle to rein in your emotions. The sensitivity that runs through your veins makes it difficult to shake off the lingering hurt caused by the heated exchange.

Seungmin's brow furrows as he takes in your expression, his frustration fading into concern. He realizes that the argument has taken an emotional toll on you, and the realization dawns that his words have impacted you in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You struggle to hold back tears, your emotions bubbling over. "It's just... sometimes the way we argue... it gets to me."

Seungmin's gaze softens as he comprehends the depth of your sensitivity. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

Seungmin takes a step closer, his eyes unwavering. "We'll work through this together, okay? I'll be more mindful of your sensitivity, and you'll let me know when things get tough."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, touched by his willingness to bridge the gap. "Deal."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Jeongin:

You and Jeongin find yourselves on a quiet rooftop, the city lights below casting a soft glow against the night sky. The stars twinkle above, and a sense of tranquility settles over the two of you. Stargazing has always been a cherished activity for you – a time to reflect, share thoughts, and simply enjoy each other's company.

Tonight, however, there's an underlying weight tugging at your heart. Lately, you've been feeling emotionally sensitive, and specific comments and situations are affecting you more than they should. You had hoped that tonight's stargazing would provide a moment of solace, a chance to open up to Jeongin about your feelings.

As the two of you lie on a blanket, gazing up at the constellations, you feel a mixture of contentment and apprehension. You decide to seize the moment and express what's been on your mind.

"Jeongin," you begin softly, "sometimes, I get a little more affected by things than I let on."

He turns to you, his eyes curious. "What do you mean?"

You take a deep breath, trying to put your feelings into words. "Well, like when certain things are said a certain way, or when I'm feeling overwhelmed, it gets to me even if I try not to show it."

Jeongin nods, but his expression doesn't change much. "I get it. We all have our moments, right?"

You feel a pang of disappointment – it's as if he didn't quite grasp the depth of what you were trying to convey. Nonetheless, you press on, hoping he'll understand better with a bit more explanation.

"Yeah, but sometimes it feels like the sensitivity is a bit too much. Like, I wish I could just brush things off, but I end up overthinking."

He offers a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, you know? You're allowed to feel how you feel."

His words are reassuring, yet you had hoped for a deeper connection, a moment of shared vulnerability. You let out a soft sigh, the stars above seemingly reflecting the emotions swirling within you.

As the night progresses, you both continue to share stories, laughter, and quiet moments of contemplation. It's a beautiful night, but there's a part of you that longs for a more profound understanding from Jeongin.

The conversation turns to dreams, aspirations, and fears. You listen intently as he speaks about his hopes for the future, his determination to succeed, and his worries about letting people down. He talks animatedly, completely immersed in the conversation.

You seize the opportunity to dive a bit deeper. "You know, Jeongin, I've been feeling a bit lost lately too. Like, I'm not sure where I'm headed."

He grins, nudging your shoulder playfully. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out. You're amazing at whatever you do."

You smile back, but a part of you aches. It's as if your words were merely skimmed over, not fully comprehended. You had hoped that sharing your uncertainties would spark a more profound exchange.

He yawns and stretches, a contented smile on his face. "Tonight was nice, huh?"

You nod, feeling a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, it was."

As he gathers the blanket and begins to pack up, he glances at you, his gaze lingering for a moment. "You okay?"

You hesitate, then decide to voice what's been on your mind. "Honestly, I wish sometimes you could pick up on the things I don't say. Like, understand when I'm struggling even if I'm smiling."

Jeongin's expression shifts from confusion to realization. "Wait, are you saying… you've been feeling more sensitive lately?"

You nod, relieved that he's finally connecting the dots.

He lets out a sigh, his features softened by understanding. "I'm sorry if I missed that. I guess I assumed you were always strong, that you didn't need anyone to worry about you."

You let out a chuckle, a mix of amusement and fondness. "Well, even strong people have their moments."

Jeongin's hand finds yours, his grip gentle and reassuring. "I promise, from now on, I'll pay more attention. I want you to know that you can always talk to me."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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formulapookie · 6 months ago

Text

💛💛

Under the cut to read on Tumblr, here to read on Ao3 ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4

Les fleurs du mal ch.5 rosquez, 2.1k words

It’s nine in the morning of a beautiful Sunday, he finally got all the truth Uccio for God knows what reason had chosen to change, corrupt, modify for him to see a distorted version of reality.

The telemetry, that shit was just made up, by a jealous? angry? Uccio, who chose to ruin the one good relationship in forever like that, like it had just been a flash, instead of the sun in his life.

He wanted to call Marc, hell no drive until Cervera and say he was sorry, that he had been an asshole, a terrible person, but to please forgive him because he had been shielded from the reality and couldn’t see.

That now tho he sees the love Marc always reserved for him, he sees how much Marc is willing to sacrifice for them, for the love they share.

There’s a voice note in his notifications, along with two missed calls, from Marc.

And a text from Lorenzo.

“Vale?”

“Mh?”

They’re laying in bed, at Vale’s house, softly surrounded by pearly colored sheets, the sound of the town filling the outside world.

“Do you ever think about like, the future?”

“In general or us?”

“Both”

“Well of course amore, I think of my racing career and more titles and of the time when I’ll inevitably have to retire.

And I think about us, free from the media attention, in a beautiful house near the see.

No neighbours, just us, and you are sunbathing naked next our pool and then I-“

Marc blushes, hiding his face more in the crook of Vale’s neck

“What amore? It wouldn’t be the first time I see you naked eh. I think I saw you pretty clearly last night”

“Vale! This was supposed to be romantic!”

“Is it not romantic? Making love to you in a house we share?”

“I - yeah it is”

“See? And you? You think about the future?”

“Yeah. I see us in a house in the middle of the countryside tho, with animals.

Dogs, a lot of dogs, and your strange red cat too”

“Rossano is not strange!”

“He looks at me funny whenever I’m here.

But anyway, a cute house in the countryside, just the two of us, it’s peaceful”

“But? I feel like there’s a but”

“But I also think about the sport and the danger and - Vale are you scared of death? I am terrified by it. It’s just - one day you just cease to be and I cannot think the universe is so cruel to do this”

“Amore, of course i’m scared of it, and it. In our sport it can happen. It took me years to get over the fact Marco was gone. But life ends in death no matter what we do, we have to live it at our fullest still”

“Im scared thought, I don’t like the idea of it. It’s cold you think? When you”

“I don’t know. It could be. Or it could be warm like drifting asleep with a blanket on and just - sleep”

For Marc it’s cold when he dies.

Freezing even, and so so lonely.

When Roser finds him, curled beside his bed, clutching in his arms the helmet signed by that man, it’s like being shot in the heart.

She tries to wake him, tries to call him, but he’s cold.

Unmoving.

Still like the moment she finds herself in.

Marc is holding onto that one piece of his heart like he’s still alive, the strong grip seemingly coming from a strong person.

But when she looks at him all she can see is her little boy, her son.

Pale and tired and sad.

He looks like he’s having a bad dream, the unsettling kind of dreams where you don’t precisely know where you are and can’t get out.

There’s petals on the ground.

Yellow.

So much yellow and she just wants to burn it all away.

She cries more, calling for Marc again, trying to get him back.

But Marc can’t hear her, the only sounds in the room are Roser’s sobs and the repetitive buzz of Marc’s phone.

When Marc wakes up in the middle

of the night he’s cold, shivering.

The fever is taking over, he’s hallucinating again.

He reaches out for Vale, why is he not in bed?

Oh right, he’s still not back yet.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because they have time.

The scratch in the back of his throat seems to be less excruciating too, like it’s being kept at bay.

Well this just means Vale is close right?

He’s coming, finally he’s coming home to tell him he still loves him, and - and the roots will go away the same way they arrived.

“Oh I need to set the room up, Vale has to see my collection has improved, yes, he needs to see it”

Marc unpacks the two boxes Roser had stuffed full, carefully taking out the items in them.

The cap and the picture first, he places them on the shelf next to his bed, close, so close the cap covers half the picture, the half where Marc is.

Then it’s the bikes turn.

Slowly, methodically, precisely, Marc takes them out the box one by one, placing them in the same exact order he had bought them.

He sees Alex in his room, he’s not happy.

“Marc come on stop you look ridiculous”

“Ah Alex stop it, you’ve just never been in love, when you’ll be you’ll get it”

He’s standing on his bed, mattress dipping under his rapidly decreasing weight.

“You see, Vale is coming and the room has to be nice for him, I want it to be more beautiful than ever, he deserves the best”

Marc is smiling, like a kid on his birthday, waiting to blow the candles.

“Oh he’ll want the 2004 Yamaha to be the most visible for sure, he loves that bike God how he loves it”

He keeps talking to a non existing Alex, while he feels colder and colder.

“I better put on a hoodie, don’t want to catch a cold before Vale arrives for sure”

He goes pick up the one hoodie Vale left there, in his home.

It still smells like him.

He sits on the bed, legs crossed with his phone beside him, facing the door.

He stays there for minutes, maybe an hour even.

There’s no sudden buzzing of the phone, no sound of a car parking outside, no knocking on the door signaling Vale is there.

Well not yet, maybe he just doesn’t like to travel with the dark.

Yeah it - it must be that.

Because it’s either that or.

Or Vale isn’t coming.

Not now, not in a million years he’s gonna spend tidying up his room to welcome Vale back in it.

When the fever lets go of him and he sees clearly again it hurts.

Physically, mentally, emotionally it all hurts like it’s been crushed by tons and tons of rocks thrown on top of him.

Hot big tears fall from his eyes, follow the now slim outline of his cheekbones, and collect under Marc’s chin.

“He is coming. He is coming. I know he’s coming”

He tries to convince himself of this, even with the hallucination gone, he gets up and sets up the room.

It has to look exactly like it did when Vale came here last time, little bikes in their precise fragile order.

The last thing he takes out the boxes is the helmet.

Signed, a little note left for him by Vale, unmistakable messy handwriting on the clean visor.

He takes his phone, it’s stupid, childish but he can’t do otherwise.

He calls him.

Twenty, twenty five seconds of his phone ringing. No answer.

He tries again. And once again there’s no answer on the other side.

He opens their chat, it’s still on hold since the last text Vale sent.

“Good luck for the race babychamp”

He presses the button to send the voice note, the first few seconds just of silence.

“Vale. It’s me. I - please Vale it hurts so much, I can’t breathe I need you to come here quick I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry for what I did, all of it, I’m sorry I didn’t want you to lose, I didn’t want to do anything against you. I never - I never went to him, I would never cheat on you, I only ever had you please believe me Vale. Vale I love you. I’m home and, and it hurts so much. Please I need to see you. Please. I need to feel your hugs again. I’m cold Vale so cold”

The voice note sends, but there’s no blue ticks to signal it’s been read.

Marc climbs off the bed, his phone beside him, holding the helmet between his arms like it’s the most prized possession of his, he fears it may scratch, or get ruined if he accidentally bumps into the shelf he usually laid it on.

All his words now barely a whisper, he’s trying to stay anchored to reality by clutching at that damn helmet, it’s almost sunrise, almost sunrise and there’s no sign of Vale.

He abandoned him.

Vale abandoned him.

He truly hates him, he truly wants Marc to not represent a menace at all.

That’s fine. Vale will be fine without him too, he was fine before meeting him, there’s no need for Marc to exist in Vale’s life.

Maybe he’s gonna be a weight less, he will just go away, like he came in.

A breeze.

Marc can feel himself getting colder, and the petals in his throat now make it impossible to breathe.

He vomits them rather than coughing, a sea of yellow hollowness making its way out of his body, the everlasting presence of Valentino beside him even right now.

“you promised it was going to be warm like falling asleep with a blanket, but it’s cold, it’s so cold”

He’s still waiting there, looking at the door like a dog waiting for his owner does.

Argo had waited for Ulysses for years before he came back, and had died right in his arms.

But Marc knows his Ulysses won’t arrive, not even to hold him as he leaves behind the ugly and hurt of the mortal world.

He’s an abandoned dog. Even if he was loyal. He’s been abandoned.

He cries on the helmet, the last tears he can still produce, before his life abandons him too, the last breath used to hope, to call Vale’s name.

When Roser finally looks at the ID of the caller on her son’s phone she is angry.

She wants to smash that phone against a wall, make it shut up once and for all.

“Vale💛💙” identifies the person calling, the rage she feels is unexplainable through words.

She doesn’t answer. He doesn’t deserve to know from her what happened to her sweet boy, he will forever live with the guilt of having killed him.

She only manages to call Alex and their father two hours later.

She tells them to come there, that Marc has gone to sleep the night but hasn’t woken up now.

When Alex barges in he’s red in the face, crying and cursing.

He runs to the room they used to share, and sees how Marc has set it up once again, memories of Vale on all the shelves.

He also sees the many yellow petals littering the ground of the bedroom, a dark feeling taking residence in his chest.

“Marc? Marc it’s me, it’s Alex, I know you can hear me, you’re just sleeping, but you have to wake up, mom is getting worried. You need to wake up Marc please, I don’t know what to do without you”

“Alex he’s not-“

“HE’S ALIVE HE’S JUST - he’s just making a joke mom he - he can’t be dead mom he can’t be”

“Alex come here”

“No. No he - it’s not right. It’s not right he shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t end like this, he promised me we would’ve been together on the podium one day, he promised”

Roser has to drag Alex away from Marc, he doesn’t want to let go, he wants to save him.

“Alex. Look at me. You have to think of what Marc wanted ok?”

“Marc wanted to live! He wanted to race and win and - he wanted so many things! He’s scared of death, terrified of being alone! AND HE WAS ALONE!”

“But he wanted you to live too, he wanted you to be there on track, to be here with us. Please don’t - don’t make me lose you too Alex”

“No no i’m not going anywhere mom I promise. I’m not going away, sorry sorry sorry mom I’m staying here”

“Can you? I can’t call anyone to tell”

“Yeah yeah i I’ll uh ill call people”

“Be kind with yourself, as kind as your brother was with you ok?”

“Ok”

They think about removing everything from the room.

Putting it back in boxes.

But Marc’s last wish was probably for the room to be like this, and they couldn’t go against his wish.

#alice writes #my fic <3 #rosquez #angst no comfort #hanahaki #i'll just leave yall to judge this #tw mcd

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argisthebulwark · 5 months ago

Note

*runs in knocking everything over on my way* Regency Miraak??? (If you would like to share anything about im sat)

yeah, it's been a bit of a slow burn project for me lol. i love writing the version of miraak i made up for it, i kept the mask and made him a reclusive mr darcy type of man. predictably, i've written a lot of fluffy or smutty scenes but not a lot of connective in between stuff, hopefully someday i can form it into something coherent!! i'll put a lil snippet below a cut here - i really like this scene but don't want to eat up anyone's dash :)

“May I remove your mask?” The very question that had burned within her for ages. Her fingers danced carefully over the jeweled shoulders of his coat while anxiously awaiting his answer. Gloved hands tightened at his sides and for one moment she worried that she’d overstepped, that this moment of vulnerability would come to an end.

“You may.” He breathed the words, supple leather cool on her skin as he guided her hands to his mask. “Only you may.”

Cold metal poked at her palms as she clutched its edges, his hold leaving hers to reach for its clasp. Excitement left her heart racing as she recalled all the terrible rumors that had circulated about him - that he’d been horrifically scarred in the war, birthmarks he shamefully hid away, false eyes or a broken smile. She prepared for anything. Grasping the mask she carefully lifted it away from Miraak’s face.

Deep green eyes framed with gloriously thick lashes met hers, gauging every flicker of emotion on her face. She knew he weighed every minute reaction, fearing rejection so deeply it almost seemed that he sought it out. She schooled her features knowing that one wrong move would slam shut the cracks into his life she'd so painstakingly opened.

One dark brow was split, an old gash cutting through it. The scar ran over the crooked bridge of his nose and spiderwebbed across his cheek, one corner of his mouth twisted upward with scar tissue. Her heart rammed in her chest as she took him in, utterly amazed by the face he’d hidden from the world. With quivering hands she carefully cupped his face, shocked when he did not rebuke her. Miraak’s eyes fluttered closed as she cradled his cool skin, voicing the only words she could fathom at the sight of him.

“You are beautiful.” She whispered, eyes misty. Miraak’s mouth quirked up in a sarcastic grin and she felt the blood rushing into his cheeks, face warming in her grasp.

“You are the only one mad enough to say such a thing.” It was the voice she knew so well but there was something magical about witnessing his mouth form the words. “The gods know I am anything but beautiful.”

“You are to me.” He glanced up at her and she saw the desperation in his eyes, how deeply he wanted to believe her. She wished to make him see it all - his stunning eyes, the breathtaking smile, the sheer sense of him.

“You are beautiful to me.”

“Are you lying to spare my feelings?” The humor in his tone was false, a faulty cover for the vulnerability of his position. She could not bring herself to participate in his banter - this moment was far too important.

“You know I could never lie to you.”

“Lying is among your many talents.”

“Never to you, Miraak.” He allowed her to inch closer, eyes flicking down to her lips. Her body was aflame at the ever decreasing space between them, yearning to fall into his touch.

“We could be caught like this.” Miraak murmured and she marveled once more at the sight of his lips moving. “We would be compromised, we could lose all standing in proper society.”

“Best keep quiet then, my lord.”

#asks #beloved mutuals #miraak

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dangraccoon · 5 months ago

Text

Warm

Week 3 ~ polar plunge ~ holiday cookies ~ *Domino Squad* ~

Word Count: 465 Content: flirting, kissing, neck kissing, making out, suggestive so 18+

@clone-wars-winter-challenge

Mando'a Guide: bas'ika - baby animal cyar'ad - lover sarad - flower cyar'ika - sweetheart di'kut - idiot

The oven dinged as it hit temperature, and you wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your arm. You smiled down at the dough that lay across your countertop, little shapes with crisp, clean lines, all ready for the oven.

You pushed the tray in and set the timer just in time to hear a loud clamoring at your door.

Your smile grew as the door slid open, revealing the five brothers you were hosting. They were bickering–you’d be more surprised if they weren’t–and covered in snow from their skiing expedition.

“Come on, Cutup,” Fives groaned, his arms wrapping around his brother’s neck, weight pulling them sideways. “Droidbait’s too bas’ika to do it–”

“I am not!” Droidbait protested.

“And if it’s just me and Fives,” Hevy continued. “It’ll just be two guys in a cold pond. You gotta, Cut!”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Cutup rolled his eyes. “When are we going?”

“Hello, cyar’ad,” Echo said, being the first to notice your presence and amused grin. He stepped forward, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Maker,” you laughed as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his face into your neck, ignoring your half-hearted attempts at batting him away. “You’re freezing!”

“That’s what happens when ya faceplant in the snow,” Cutup crowed, ruffling the thicket of curls atop Echo’s head, receiving a blind whack from Echo’s arm.

“So warm,” he murmured against that overly sensitive spot near your ear. “You gonna warm me up, cyar’ad?”

Even as his brothers piled into the living room, bickering over seats, Echo kept you in the entryway, pressed up against the wall as he kissed at your neck, reveling in the quickly heating skin.

“Somethin’ smells good, sarad,” Hevy called “Whatcha got for us this time?”

“Hmm?” you answered, your mind in a dizzy haze while Echo worked his icy hands beneath your sweater. You caught a glimpse of Fives from the corner of your eye.

“Stars,” Fives groaned as he ducked back around the corner. “Out here in front of the maker and everyone.”

“Ha!” Cutup cried. “‘I’m gonna get ‘im a cyar’ika’ didn’t you say?”

“Stow it, Cutup!” Fives mumbled.

“Yeah,” Droidbait smirked. “‘Gonna teach ‘im everything I know’–this is all your fault, Fives!”

Echo huffed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I’m gonna kill them,” he sighed. “I hate them.”

“No, you don’t,” you giggled. “Besides, they entertain me too much.”

As your boyfriend groaned again, you heard the other room fall too quiet.

You grinned wickedly at Echo, whose eyebrow quirked up.

“Fives! Hevy!” you called. “Touch those cookies and I’ll cut your hands off!”

You heard one smack the other. “Di’kut, you’re too loud!”

“How is it my fault if Echo’s cyar’ika’s got sonic hearing?”

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Thanks for reading! - River

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localicecreambiter · 1 year ago

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Writing Warm-up: 7th times the Charm

I haven't written anything substantial in a long while so I decided to crank out a little thing for some practice. I didn't proof read so forgive the mistakes and terrible writing flow

my first actual loz piece

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"What can I do to help?"

It was always the same question. The same tone. The longer he knew the other, the more sure he grew that Link wasn't even aware it was something he did. The Hylian was just helpful by nature; a heart pure and true is what Ravio always said. Too nice for his own good.

So when a group of self proclaimed heros knocked on his dear friend's door, asking for Link to help on another quest, Ravio couldn't say he was surprised.

Lorule was a land buzzing with magic, despite the (previously) lack of triforce. It was a kingdom filled with strange monsters, items, and people. So to say the Lolian was magically inclined would be an understatement. Identifying Hyrule's magic had been challenging initially. Despite the similarities, there was a distinct difference in magical presence that threw the merchant off at points. Just as their lands mirrored not exactly the same, the magic reflected in kind. While he tended to get confused, there was no denying the glaringly obvious: these heros held the exact same magic Link harbored.

It was something unexplainable, not through words, at the very least. Call it a gut feeling, but he just knew.

Wisdom had always been drawn to courage anyhow.

The small cottage atop a hill in central Hyrule had never felt so empty as Link saddled his adventuring bag. His excitement betrayed the cool persona he attempted to keep, fidgety digits readjusting his bag strap every few seconds. They would make eye contact every so often as the party trotted along the pebbled road, greenery edging his vision. That was the toughest part about being friends with a hero: the guy had responsibilities set upon him by the goddess. No matter how much Link grumbled and complained, cursed and forsaken, he always did his duty at the end of the day.

It was one of the numerous things that set them so far apart.

He shook his head, vowing he had let go of that insecurity years ago. He wasn't 14 anymore, he wasn't the failed hero of Lorule. He was a merchant, and a friend of the hero of Hyrule. He wanted nothing more, nothing less. So when Link swung around to offer one last goodbye, pride swelled inside the cowardly rabbit.

"Try and make it back in one piece, pal." He tried for a smile, lip quivering with emotion. "Sheerow and I will always be rooting for you back home, so don't let us down buddy."

Link only shook his head, smirk doing nothing to hide the fondness on his face. "Yeah yeah, no promises. Make sure my house doesn't burn down… And don't pawn off my stuff." The pointed look was playful, they both knew he would never dream of it.

They could stand there and banter all day, but Ravio knew Link had more important places to be.

"I'll see you later." Not a question, nor an offer, but a fact. The merchant could do nothing but nod for fear he'd lose his composure. There was always some uncertainty when leaving for an adventure, but if Link was anything, it was reliable.

He always made it home without fail.

And as the portal closed, he was reminded of how fast things can change in a single moment.

There was always a constant, and as he turned to make the trek back to the empty feeling cottage on a hill in central Hyrule, he hoped silently Link would be that constant.

The odds were six to nothing. A reassuring ratio.

The Lolian smiled, he could live with those odds.

Link would be home before he knew it.

@kaite--s i figured you'd wanna see this since we've been discussing (but seeing as you lurk in the ravio tags as much as I do im sure you would have found it eventually)

#loz #ravio #albw ravio #could be read as linked universe #albw #is this gonna be canon to what i plan on writing?#who knows? not me #needless to say i think im readily warmed up #ready to get crackin!!

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xplrvibes · 1 year ago

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ok colby feeling like he might actually be sick. “It might be good content if i do” you know what else would be good content? tapping into your psychic side more.

Im just going to keep this ask open and continue my thoughts and then send as one message. if this is stupidly long i will not he offended if you don’t respond 😂

colby tryna get some ghost p*ssy lmao i jk i jk also him genuinely feeling sick like he might be coming down with something ever since he got into the hotel… 👀

maybe the mizpah would be a good place for him to go back to and tap into his empathic side bc he says he feels super calm there and obviously the ghosts like him sooo win win

sam being on a caffeine high and being extra jumpy bc of it is sending me 😂😂 and colby laughing every time the torches go off is also sending me

also something about the way sam groups colby with mackie and amanda feels so soft to me. like warm and cozy. like he’s talking about how the girls feel sick and he says “and now colby…. like you know when you’re an empath and you feel like you’re throwing up” torch goes off. idk how to explain it but it makes my heart warm.

omg was not expecting colby to look so drained when they pulled him out of the room. maybe bc it was so dark, he was lying down, doesn’t feel well, it’s late. his body was ready to call it a night ok the girls just asked if he was crying. he looks like he just rolled our of bed and doesnt know what day it is lol

oh frick yeah colby estes. jfc this is so intense, and its so so so on point. everything is being answered and when someone else came thru it was an immediate syntax change as well. a clear distinction between two people. even the way colby says the words is different depending on who’s talking. this is so wild.

ok done. also sidebar i love their outro, i feel like did they stop doing it? the peace sign to blowing a kiss? or am i stupid? i love it, its so cute.

- aussie anon

I knew you would like that episode! Just the whole thing of Colby just happily macking with a ghost the whole time while everyone else is having a terrible, terrible time...high comedy lol. Not to mention, this is Colby's charisma and "rizz" as the kids call it on full display.

To me, it's almost like he got a contact high from the ghost; like he came out of that room looking like he just had the Pink Floyd cranked and was feeling no pain lol. But it was interesting how it started out with him not feeling well, but once he got in a room alone with this ghost and he felt comfortable and safe, the vibes changed.

Also, I don't remember if this was in the video or not, but I know he had mentioned somewhere that he wound up spending the night in that room afterwards and slept very well, so there's also that.

Sam exercising his numerology-given right to be Colby's guide and looking out for him, worrying about him, etc is always a feel good moment even when it happens in the weirdest environments. I like how he was willing to cut the camera for Colby and Colby was just like "Nah, I'm willing to puke on-screen." Like, my dudes, I enjoy your content...but I won't enjoy that lol.

Also, I am not a person who takes any umbrage to sexual humor (obviously) but Sam with the miner/minor jokes...I'm like my friend, please stop before you get yourself in trouble lmao.

But yea, that estes was one of the more intense ones, and one of those ones where it almost felt like he was channeling something at times. I did laugh at the "15 minutes can save you..." like obviously that was a Geico commercial coming through, but its funny how those things work sometimes.

#asks #aussie anon #snc video review

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aldisobey · 23 days ago

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Alright. Present. Here. I couldn’t stop the buzz in brain to make things more coherent, I suspect they barely are. This is one I go to pull a quote I love and I read the paragraph, and on, and on, the spiral down and in. I’m reading the whole story again. I love it. And every piece I pull wants to grow, because yeah that sentence too, and this bit here I like that sound.

Fuck. What balance, what bounce. Fully unsettling and discomforting creep but also, funny. I’m chuckling. But maybe that’s how I respond. I’m. Capable. I did it I pulled quotes. words and some favorite bits below.

Tears in my eyes, waving goodbye, Stuart is that you? You’re so much more than I ever could’ve dreamed or raised. Bless your mother. Bless all the sister-wives. Look what you beget. It’s magnificent. Her mouth is dry but oh im moist. I know I’m not the only one I see you.

There’s pity or sympathy here too. fuck your actions skullrich but. but Damn. Ouch. (TW: sad dog death stuff) It’s like seeing a really old dog, and you’re mad at the family, just say goodbye, for his own good. Please I’ll pay for it. I’ll see him out. Crush that skull between my thiiiiiiighs. It’s a loving embrace.

I want the dreadful thing pls. I want the book in the book. Fic in the fic let’s go deeper. Call in the Rooks. Holy shit look at those Hades like escape attempts what. That’s for me later but I want to see what’s in your dreadful thing. And I can’t help but quote all of that. I love that. Distinctly terrible given when kindness and reassurance intended. Hit me again.

Holy. Holy shit. My god. I’ve got the crawly skin. He’s going full Dennis implication. You’re on a boat Rook aaaah that pause after couple. I’m hooked. Emmrich how could you. How dare you. But also yeah I get it. I do get it a little bit. But shame on you. And how terrifying. Lich prisoner in the heart of Nevarra. There’s no help for ya. Is there? Gotta dig yourself out. But uuuuuh.

Alright. Friends. As we all know this shouldn’t be new information. First step. Never a second location. This poor Rook. Has already done that. Second step. At least for SERE hostage training. Humanize yourself. Use your name a lot. Share similarities ah fuck he’s a skeleton. And he knows way too much. But look gain trust yeah. Learn their name talk their interests schmoooooze. Use their name. Have them use your name and learn about…none of this works on skullrich he knows it. Because last step is fucking fight when you get the chance. Negotiate with the terrorist survive fight. But this is a lich. Also, again. IM NOT AN EXPERT consider this creative writing trying to think Rook a way out and I can’t.

Yes. This is exactly what you’re looking for Rook. Ignore the fear for a moment. Get him giddy. Get him stupid. Get OUT. maker the cards are stacked though aren’t they. And fuck. the fixing the latter thing earlier? THAT has an ominous feel. Twists the gut in a warming way, an embrace within caressing between intestine. Measuring their length through hands or something.

And this. This right here just feels so absurdly blood curdling. The rest is snuggling into the tubes of gut. Some sleepy feel thinks how delightful a vacation. Wait. Wait wait wait wait. Nope. Sleep here long and you’ll die in a way.

Sleep Inside the Cold of You

Rook returns. Again and again. He never minds the waiting—he is patient, inexhaustibly so—but she no longer stays. Not like before. Not like she used to.

Inspired by my sister-wife @aldisobey's unfinished WIP. This is all thanks to you, babe, and entirely for you. Lich Emmrich x Rook, reincarnation trope, but make it unsettling.

Originally meant to be a one-shot, but, as usual, I have thoughts, so now it’s a three-parter. Tee-freaking-hee.

Read below or on AO3

It is one thing to glimpse oneself in a mirror. Quite another to find one's image cast in stone, immutable, reduced to the palm of a hand. She turns the miniature effigy between her fingers, its cold surface absorbing none of her warmth. The craftsmanship is grotesquely precise, almost leering in its accuracy: her nose, her mouth, the exact tilt of her head. But the hair is wrong. Longer, heavier. As if it belongs to someone else.

The altar is unremarkable, small, its presence more insidious for the lack of ceremony. It does not gleam, does not command reverence. And yet, it is untouched. Pristine in a way that feels unnatural, as though the dust that settles upon all things has simply chosen to ignore it. As though it has existed under glass until this very moment, preserved in some invisible stasis, waiting for her eyes to find it.

There are other things. She moves through them quickly, with the detached efficiency of someone rifling through a stranger’s pockets. A gold coin, soft with age, warmed by her skin as it glides between her knuckles, a magician’s trick, cheap in its ease. A dagger, slight, dainty almost, its sickly blue blade neither metal nor anything she can name, its edge humming with something that makes her fingers hesitate before they close around the hilt. At the altar’s periphery, a cloth pouch. She lifts it, inhales. Peppermint. Lemon verbena. Oregano. Licorice root. Rivaini. A blend for settling the stomach. Or dulling the mind.

"I know you do not like her, and she does not like you in turn, and, frankly, I am beginning to sympathize with the sentiment. Her sentiment, mind you. Nevertheless, we must proceed this way. If you would be so kind?" the creature mutters. He says it all—to the Necropolis? Yes, it appears so. He speaks to it as one does to a stubborn dog, half-scolding, half-affectionate.

She supposes he is a man, judging by the voice, at least. It is difficult to be certain when all that remains of him is bone. No flesh, no pretense of life, only the stark architecture of a skeleton, ribs gilded, skull crowned. His gestures, though economical, have a certain fluidity to them, an old-world elegance that makes his impatience seem almost indulgent.

He lifts his staff—an ornate thing, absurdly baroque—and taps it against the stone. The Necropolis rumbles in response, shifting, sighing, its bricks slithering apart like something that has only just woken.

"Ah," he breathes, pleased, though the sound is weightless, without lungs to carry it. "Much better."

For a moment, he stands still, head inclined, as if listening to some distant music, some hidden frequency woven into the stone. Then, with a quiet sort of amusement, he says, "It is quite hopeless, my darling. Time and time and time again, I attempt to reconcile the two of you, to soften this little enmity, to foster, if not warmth, at least civility." A flick of his fingers, graceful, dismissive. "And yet..."

He beckons, and she obeys, not quite knowing why. As she steps forward, his wrapped hand—those long, tapered fingers swathed in fabric, hiding whatever remains beneath—settles at the small of her back. A light touch, barely there, but with a certainty that suggests he has done this before. Many times.

Through the threshold he guides her, chattering all the while. "And time and time again, you bicker," he muses, half to himself. "I fear you will never learn to get along."

The walls shift behind them, a deep, seismic sigh, stone sliding over stone. The passage is gone. His hand lingers a moment longer, trembling a little, before it withdraws.

The new room is more inviting. The sort of comfort that feels prepared, orchestrated, like a stage set designed to put the subject at ease. A small table, set up for a luncheon. A silver pot of coffee, steaming faintly. A plate of delicate pastries, dusted with powdered sugar.

He insists she sit. She does. She lifts one of the cakes between her fingers but does not eat it, only holds it. Across from her, the lich—yes, the lich, that is what he told her he is—folds himself into his chair. He crosses one leg over the other, arranges his fingers upon his knee, and watches her, his skull tilting at an angle just thoughtful enough to unsettle.

"All of this," he begins, a vague sweep of his bandaged hand encompassing the room, the table, the carefully constructed charm of the setting, "ought to be to your liking. But if anything displeases you, why, you have only to ask."

She does not look at his skull, nor at the crown resting upon it. She does not want to think about the empty sockets where his eyes should be, about what it means for a thing like him to watch her. Instead, she fixes her gaze on his fingers.

They appear normal, if one does not look too closely. But it is the rings that hold her, that give her something solid to grasp. Emeralds, rubies, clear stones cold as ice, all set in heavy gold, the metal worn smooth by time.

"All of this," she echoes at last, "is displeasing."

A sigh. Long, weary, expelled between bared teeth, though the source of breath remains a mystery. The fingers she cannot stop watching continue their absent rhythm, tips teasing the fabric of the tablecloth, drawing it ever so slightly out of place.

"Oh, please," he implores, the syllables drawn, elongated, touched with a tired fondness. "I beg you." A pause, a shift, his fingers now smoothing the cloth they had only just disturbed. "Must we always begin this way? It is always the same, always. You scowl, you refuse, you insist upon your discontent, but then, inevitably—" His eyes—if they could be called that—flick toward her hands, toward the delicate, untouched pastry. "You eat. You smile." The drumming resumes, faster now. "And then, my love, you die."

A flutter of nausea stirs in her stomach.

His fingers still. “We cannot keep doing this,” he says, and for all his refinement, all his elegance, there is something sore in his voice now, something weary and worn and just barely bruised. “The repeating and the dying alike. The latter, I believe, I may soon correct. But the former…” His thumb cracks as he folds it. “The former, I fear, is entirely up to you.”

She swallows. Her mouth is dry.

"What do you…" She falters, tries again. "We've done this before?"

A slow nod, gentle, patient. “In a manner of speaking.”

She grips the edge of the table. “How many times?”

A deliberation. He lifts his fingers, lowering them one by one, counting, but before he reaches any conclusion, he stops. Sighs. Laughs, a small, intimate thing, something just for her, something that feels oddly familiar. “I cannot say,” he admits, as if confessing to some harmless forgetfulness. “Though this time is rather curious.”

He studies her for a moment longer than necessary, then shifts, leaning slightly to one side, as if examining her from a different angle might yield something new. When it does not, he settles back.

“You have never before struck your head just as I found you. A tragic little accident." His hand sneaks forth, walking over the table like a many-limbed spider. The touch, when it comes, is the barest brush, his fingers resting just barely over hers. "And now, my darling, you remember nothing at all. I must admit, I am not quite sure what to make of it... Ah, but perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. Fewer explanations. Fewer protests."

She pulls her hand away, pressing it to the back of her head, and—yes, there it is. Wet at first, then merely sticky, her hair clumped together over the spot. Her fingers return red. Blood. Dark, drying, familiar in the way that all wounds are familiar. She stares at it for a moment before wiping her hand against the tablecloth. A beat later, she realizes the impropriety of it, but the lich does not seem to mind.

He retrieves the pastry she has dropped, brushes it off with a peculiar sort of care, then picks up a butter knife, dipping it into the small silver dish beside him. A simple stroke, the press of pale gold against soft layers of cake. The movement is entirely unremarkable, save for the fact that his hands glide with the kind of patience that belongs only to the dead or the deeply in love.

He hands it back to her. She takes it.

"Thank you," she says, though the words feel misplaced, as if they belong to a different scene, a different woman, one with clearer thoughts and cleaner hands.

The room presses in around her, unthreatening, but too warm, too heavy with something she cannot name. A feeling like recognition without memory, like an actor stepping onto a stage and finding that the lines will not come.

She looks down at the pastry, at the soft smear of butter, glossy under the light.

"I…" Her voice is thin, unpleasant. A raw little thing, scraped from the inside of her throat. "I don’t know what to do. Or where I’m supposed to go." She grips the pastry too tightly. The edges break apart in her fingers. "Where was I going?"

Across from her, he clasps his hands together with an air of thoughtful consideration before, unexpectedly, laughing again.

It is a bright, delighted sound, so at odds with everything that it makes her wince, as if she has stepped barefoot onto something sharp.

"You are always some kind of thief or other," he muses, sounding utterly charmed by the notion. "An artifact, a document, a secret slipped from the wrong tongue into the wrong ear... You take it all without asking." He trails off, his voice dwindling into silence, his shoulders lifting and falling, like a thought has caught him mid-step.

He does not move.

For a moment, he is so still that she has the terrible urge to knock on his skull, to see if anything remains inside, or if the light has simply gone out, snuffed by whatever process governs the interior of the dead. Or undead. Whatever he is.

At last, with the methodical precision of an automaton recalling the motions programmed into it long ago, he shifts in his seat. A pause. Just long enough to suggest that the mechanisms within him have clicked into place. When he resumes speaking, the words are almost drowsy, their edges softened by something that might, in another man, be a chuckle. "I have grown accustomed to it. That is why I no longer keep valuables on my person, you know. You have taken so many keys from me over the years…"

Tsk-tsk-tsk.

No tongue, no breath, and still, the sound emerges, as if his voice itself had been shaped by the habit long before the body it once belonged to had crumbled away.

"Opening all those doors…" His voice fades, his gaze drifting past her, unfixed, as if watching something stir not in the room but in some distant, long-dormant corridor of memory. "Doors I locked, doors I never meant to lock, doors that led to other doors—well." He cuts himself off, fingers now idly smoothing a wrinkle on his robes. "At the very least, doors not meant for you."

"All right?" she says, though she does not know what she means by it. She takes a bite of the pastry just to have something to do.

He watches her, his head resting against his knuckles, waiting. "What were you saying?"

"Where was I going?" she says again. "You said you found me. Where was I going?"

"Oh." He waves the question away before it confuses him further. "I do not know. I do not particularly care, dear."

There is no cruelty in his voice, only mild disinterest, the kind one might reserve for a misplaced hat or an unfamiliar name. "Rivain, perhaps? You have always had a particular fondness for the peninsula, but really, who can say? You find your way here, in the end, every single time." He moves as if to feed her another pastry but notices she hasn't even finished the first. "I cannot leave the Necropolis for extended periods of time," he continues, conversational. "So you will forgive me, I hope, for being largely indifferent to what occurs beyond its walls."

The way he speaks makes her want to press her palms against her eyes until the darkness behind them thickens, until the room and the table and him all dissolve into nothing. Not because he evades her; no, evasion would suggest intent, a certain craft. He does not dodge her questions so much as wander away from them, like someone absentmindedly setting down a book mid-sentence, meaning to return, only to drift instead toward some other thought, some other detail that has, for reasons known only to him, taken precedence. He begins to answer—always, he begins—but then, somewhere along the way, he is distracted by something adjacent, something close but not quite the thing she asked.

She opens her eyes to the soft clink of porcelain as he pours her coffee.

"I am so very glad to have you back," he says, pushing the cup towards her. "But alas, duty calls. I must be off."

He gestures lightly, and her gaze follows his hand before she can stop herself. The nightstand. The book. The bed.

She had not noticed them before, and now, suddenly, terribly, they are all she can see.

All of it screams permanence. The quiet arrangement of a life expected to continue here, as though she had been placed back into a long-abandoned routine, the dust carefully wiped away before she could notice its absence.

Her stomach turns.

"I have kept your book," he says, and she has the distinct and terrible sensation that he is offering it as a kindness, as a reassurance. "Though I did replace the bookmark. I seem to have misplaced the last one you were using."

She hardly hears him. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closer, the bed waiting.

"Yes, yes, I read the dreadful thing," he admits, raising his hands slightly, as if to preempt some imagined protest. "As far as serials go, this one is worse than usual, but you have your tastes, and I have mine. And they do say that for a couple to share interests—" a small lull, the kind designed to let her sit with the thought before it is completed, "—well, even when they do not align perfectly, it is a kind of communion, is it not?"

Her fingers tighten around the armrest of her chair, but she does not stand. She does not move at all.

Because there is nowhere to go.

Even if she refused—if she pushed back her chair, let the barely-touched pastry fall from her fingers, turned away from the lovely arrangement of the room—there would be nowhere to go. No doors to throw open, no cold night air waiting to swallow her, no streets stretching endlessly beneath her feet, burning and blistering and carrying her somewhere.

She does not know. She simply does not know where she was going before this, before him. What had she been after? What was it she had risked her life to steal? Something valuable, surely, but to whom? For whom? Or was it for herself, for some cause she now cannot recall, for some pay, some favor, some promise that must have seemed worth it at the time?

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing.

Her own home, if she has one, does it look like this? Is it as well-kept, as polished, as quiet? Does it have a bed as soft as the one behind her, the sheets as crisp, folded down as though someone had been expecting her all along?

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing.

She searches the empty corridors of her mind and finds only locked doors, hallways that lead back to where she started, shadows that refuse to take shape. The past does not belong to her.

She watches him rather than listens, his hands moving through the air with a conversational fluency of their own. He is standing now, his staff balanced against his shoulder. He is telling her something, that much is clear. Something about the cold? A bath? Hot water?

It floats past her.

"Rook," he says, with a brightness that suggests he has already called her name once before. "Rook, darling, are you listening?"

"Rook?" she repeats, as if he has handed her an unfamiliar object and she must first turn it over in her hands to understand its shape.

Another sigh. Why must he keep sighing? It is not impatient, not precisely, but weary in a way that suggests repetition, the dull ache of a conversation looped one too many times. "Yes, yes, Rook," he says, gentle but distracted, as if checking an old ledger, confirming figures he already knows by heart. "Your name, dear. We have been over this before."

Have they?

She blurts out, "And yours?"

He flinches, as if she has done him some grievous injury, before answering, "Why, Emmrich, of course."

His voice is soft, wounded, but not with the raw edge of true pain. It is something quieter, something closer to the heart. The wound of a ritual unfulfilled, of an expectation set so carefully only to be, once again, disappointed.

"Why do you ask?" he asks without really asking, already resigned to the absence of an answer. "Why must you always ask?"

"I'm sorry," she says automatically. Not because she understands, not because she means it, but because it is the expected response, the natural reflex when someone’s voice bends and trembles, when something tender is revealed, however briefly. An instinct, an offering. A formality.

The effort exhausts her. Her head hums dully, a persistent ache blooming at the base of her skull, spreading outward in pulses. A pressure, not sharp but thick, like something pressing against the inside of her bones. She should stand. She should move. But the mere thought of it makes her dizzy, and so she stays.

Emmrich reaches out. His fingers brush lightly over the crown of her head.

"Get some rest," he murmurs. "We have time now—so much of it. Take as much as you require."

"Wait," she says, suddenly feeling very desperate. "Wait, Emmrich."

The name jumps from her tongue way too easily, as if it has passed her lips before, though she is quite certain—or at least she thinks she is—that it has not. The familiarity does not soothe her. If anything, it frightens, curling around her like an old coat she does not remember owning but finds, inexplicably, fits her perfectly.

It seems to have the opposite effect on him. He straightens, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his staff, a minute adjustment, but she sees it. There is something almost eager in the way his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet.

"Yes, dear?"

The term of endearment is bright, buoyant—giddy.

Oh, gods. He sounds giddy.

This, more than anything else, terrifies her. That particular shade of delight, effervescent and innocent, does not belong to something like him, something built of silence and stillness, of lacquered bone and linen-wrapped fingers. Excitement is a thing of skin, of blood that rushes, of breath that catches on its way out.

"I don’t want to stay here," she says. Quickly. Bluntly. The words stripped bare, nothing left to cushion them. No ambiguity. No invitation for interpretation.

For a moment, nothing. No reaction, no change in expression—though, of course, he has no expression. The fire flickering in the hollows of his sockets does not waver, does not dim. A flame without air, without fuel, burning purely because it has always burned and always will.

Finally, a response. Not admonishing, not scathing, just faintly, almost delicately, perplexed.

"Well," he says, as if pondering a fascinating thought, not quite confounded, but wondering. "Where else would you go?"

"Not here," she says defensively. Not in a tomb. This, at least, she knows.

"Nonsense," he says mildly, as if she has simply made an impractical request, as if she has asked for dinner at an impossible hour. "You are thinking about it all wrong."

Without warning, his head turns sharply to the side. His entire posture shifts, the fluidity in him suddenly interrupted, redirected.

"Do you hear this?" he asks, though not her, his voice thinning into something remote.

Suddenly, a shift. Not from him, but from the room itself.

And just like that, she ceases to exist for him.

"I really must be off," he mutters, already half-turned. "I will return soon enough, love. Make yourself at ease. Perhaps a bath, as I have said. Yes, that would do. Steam curling, water just shy of scalding… You must warm yourself, I always say, though you never seem to listen."

The wall rearranges at his approach, unbidden. No groaning stone, no violent fracture; just a smooth reordering. The bricks unlace themselves, the mortar loosening. He steps through, unhurried, without a glance back. She thinks she hears him hum, a pleasant little tune, lifting, dipping, wandering without urgency. The Necropolis, ever dutiful, rethreads itself in his wake, bricks knitting back together, smoothing over, restoring the illusion of permanence.

She is left staring at the pastry she abandoned, at the tacky stain of blood drying in the creases of her fingers, at the coffee cooling in its cup, the surface undisturbed, blank as a mirror that refuses to show a reflection.

#fic reccomendations #fic recs #fic rec #emmrich volkarin #dragon age the veilguard #emmrook #dragon age #datv #emmrich x rook #emmlich #I’ve been having the time of my life with this one #that I had any part in sparking it that there could be more but oh I am sated this alone is more than ever expected #this is the shit that gets me mad because it’s so good I wish I could that I need to practice do my best version of this GODDAMN FEEL #ilu love getting to read this story #I want to buy a giant estate for all the sister wives get your own house and we have lovely square with a library exchanging stories #im mad that the current state of the world doesn’t have better patrons wtf public funds for this food

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eddiemunsonswhxre · 3 years ago

Text

feelin sick / eddie munson

masterlist

one shot

cw: fluff, so cute, mentions of sex

eddie thinks you ditched him, when really you just feel to sick to move. so, of course, he decides to take care of you.

eddie waltzes into your bedroom as if he owns the place, already beginning to scold you before he closes the door. “y/n, i understand that my idea of going to the woods for a date is a little creepy. but, i actually had a very intricate and romantic evening planned but whatever. you canceling on me completely though is simply not allowed and it kind of wounds me. your mom let me in, henceforth i am dragging you out to do someth- oh. baby, you look terrible,” he cuts himself off when you roll over in bed.

you glare at him and flip him off. “wow, thanks,” you mutter, throat hurting with your words and voice sounding funny. he wasn’t wrong though and you knew it. your hair was quite frankly a mess. your face was extremely washed out with red eyes and a stuffed up nose to compliment it. and he could just see it in your face you felt miserable.

“you didn’t tell me you were sick,” eddie frowns, coming to sit on the edge of your bed. he leans up to place the back of his hand on your forehead, feeling just how warm you are. “you take your temperature recently?” he asks, worried at the heat emanating from your skin.

you close your eyes at his touch, his cool rings soothing the pain in your head momentarily. “i didn’t want you to worry,” you mumble quietly. your mind then catches up, processing his other question. “no, can you go ask mom for the thermometer actually?” you ask, opening your eyes again.

eddie removes his hand, you feeling icky again at the loss. “yeah, baby. i’ll be right back,” he says, setting his jacket on your desk chair as he leaves your room, a sign that he didn’t plan on leaving soon.

as he said he would be, he came back holding the thermometer. your mom told him how stubborn you were being about the thing, saying you just needed to sleep it off and he didn’t find it hard to believe. he sits back on the edge of your bed and removes the protective cover from the thermometer. “okay pretty girl, open up,” he says, pressing the button to turn it on.

you oblige, going cross eyed as you watch him place the thermometer under your tongue. the two of you wait a few seconds until it beeps and eddie pulls it back to look at. “102, baby that’s not good,” eddie frowns, capping it and putting it on your bedside table.

you pout, snuggling further into your blankets. “i hate this,” you grumble and eddie gives you a look of sympathy.

his hand rests on you hip over your comforter and he soothingly rubs his thumb across. “i know, sweetheart. we should get these blankets off though, it’ll help your fever come down,” he says, reaching up to grab the edge that was under your chin.

you shake your head, whimpering slightly. “but im freezing,” you whine, holding it tighter.

eddie shakes his head, pulling the comforter away regardless and sighing in displeasure when he sees you were in a pair of fuzzy christmas pants and one of his sweaters. “absolutely not,” he mutters, throwing the blanket off and grabbing your hands to pull you up. “aren’t you sweating?” he asks, holding your body to him as he cupped his hand behind your head to feel your sweaty skin underneath the hair on your neck. “don’t lie,” he says sternly, pulling his hand from under your hair to instead intertwine it with his other one behind your back.

you look up at him with watery eyes and he feels his heart break a little. “yeah, but i keep getting cold. i feel terrible,” you whine, feeling like you could cry from frustration.

a sigh leaves eddie’s lips as he thinks. “alright, you’re gonna hate me for this but you need to go take a cold shower to cool your temp and wash all this sweat off,” he says, pulling back from you to give you a knowing look. you go to protest but he doesn’t let you. “nope, no arguing. go shower while i find you clothes and medicine,” he says, pecking your forehead before standing.

you groan in annoyance but walk out of your room and to the bathroom anyways. eddie smiles and then leaves to find your mom again. he finds her cleaning the counters in the kitchen. “sorry to bother you again, mrs. y/l/n. but, you guys got any fever reducer or something? her temps over 102,” eddie asks, his thumb pointing back towards the hall where you were.

your mom turns to him and throws her rag down on the counter before dusting her hands off. “you’re actually getting her to take something?” she asks, walking over to the cabinet where all the medicine was kept.

eddie chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. “it’s more i’m just not giving her a choice,” he says sheepishly and your mom smiles, shuffling between bottles. “she’s actually taking a cold shower right now too, so,” he trails, playing with the many bracelets on his wrists that you had made him.

your mom closes the cabinet and walks over to him with a bottle. “you’re a saint, eddie. couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend for my daughter,” she complimented, kissing his cheek and handing him the bottle of fever reducer.

eddie cheeks heated up in embarrassment as he took it. “thanks, mrs. y/l/n,” he says sheepishly as she turns to walk back to the counter.

she shook her head, “you can start calling me by my first name, you know? you’re practically family at this point. speaking of which, did y/n ask you about vacation yet?” your mom asks, running water over the rag.

eddie’s face is pink, he’s sure of it as his heart swells. “uh, yeah, she-she did. still trying to figure it out,” he says, thinking about he was going to get money to accompany them to the grand canyon.

“okay, well just let us know, sweetie,” your mom smiles, then begins fllling the sink to do dishes.

eddie begins walking backwards out of the kitchen, heart beating a bit faster. “will do,” he says, turning on his heel and walking back to your room. he sets the bottle next to the water on your bedside table and then heads to your drawers. he finds a fresh pair of underwear for you, deciding against a bra since you’d be laying around, and then grabbing you some sleep shorts and a tank top.

he walks back out into the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom door and knocking. “i have some clothes for you, sweetheart,” he calls, trying to be heard over the shower.

“come in,” you call back, and eddie does just that, slipping in and closing the door behind him. he found out about six months ago that your mom didn’t care too much about how close you and eddie were. she didn’t mind if he slept over or if you two showered together, because she trusted you. you and eddie will never forget the awkward talk you had while establishing this, but it made the three of you have a lot more trust. basically, the agreement was you could do whatever, just no sex when there were other people in the house, it was her one boundary. she also gave both of you a lecture on being safe but still, it wasn’t a bad conversation.

the water turned off as eddie set down your clothes and your arm stuck out for a towel. eddie rolled his eyes at your childishness, but handed you your towel anyways. “feel any better, baby?” he asks as you open the shower curtain.

your teeth were chattering and as you stepped out, eddie realized the drops on your cheeks were not just water. “oh, sweetheart,” he pulled your wet frame against him.

“i feel so sick,” you sniffle, wiping your nose:

eddie frowns and pushes some wet hair from your face. “mhm. c’mon, we’ll get your clothes on and then we can go take some medicine so you can get a good nap in,” he says, kissing your cold cheek. you nod, drying yourself off as eddie searches for your hair brush. you slip on your clothes, shivering as the two of you walk back to your bedroom. “sit,” he instructs you, pointing to your bed. you do just that, grabbing the pill bottle and reading the dosages.

eddie hums quietly as he sits behind you, pulling all your damp hair to rest on your back. he began carefully brushing through it as you took the pills, trying not to pull. you closed your eyes, enjoying the comforting touch of your boyfriend. “okay, good to go. let’s take a nap, pretty girl,” he says, tossing your brush to your side table and scooting towards the top of your bed.

you pout and turn to look back at him. “eddie, you should go home i don’t want you to get sick,” you say, a sniffle interrupting your words.

“nonsense, we’re cuddling. come here,” he persists, patting the bed next to him. you roll your eyes but curl up next to him with your head on his chest anyway.

eddie throws your sheet over the two of you, wrapping his arms around you. “will you sing to me?” you ask quietly, looking up at eddie with big eyes.

eddie smiles, kissing your nose. “how could i say no to that face?”

#stranger things eddie #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff

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