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steddiehyperfixation · 1 year ago

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don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay.

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway.

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks.

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.”

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees.

Steve asks, “How much time?”

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.”

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough.

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids.

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did.

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.”

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.”

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond.

“And us,” Erica adds as well.

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.”

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him.

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?”

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally.

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.”

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.”

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital.

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them.

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.”

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.”

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.”

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.”

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...”

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase.

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.”

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.”

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.”

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children.

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.”

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him.

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!”

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.”

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!”

“So you guys joined the club, then?”

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed.

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?”

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.”

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says.

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.”

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.”

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.”

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

#still angsty sorry #we're getting there tho! this will have a happy ending eventually! i promise!#i finally get what ppl mean when they talk abt setting out to write a oneshot and ending up with a longfic bc it's happening to me rn #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #1k #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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A KITCHEN-TABLE KINDA LOVE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement.

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though he chalks it up to his mind playing tricks on him.

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred, in its normalcy. everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket haphazardly draped over the couch, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

(why is the kitchen light still on?)

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin underneath them — blinking once, then twice.

yep — it’s still there. that soft fluorescent glow, a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with.

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you.

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile.

do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft sprouts in his chest, almost otherworldly, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something like a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so, so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach. satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring.

but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a breath, laced with exasperation. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften. the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…”

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

for a moment, all you do is lean into his touch. a yawn tumbles from your lips, as you lift yourself up, snuggling closer still. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question.

a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform, arms sneaking around his thin waist to bring him closer. he strokes the back of your head, softly.

satoru’s chest rumbles, as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into him, into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees. lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little, trying to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “… but i fell asleep.”

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder, followed by a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light, and then there’s something else. something far more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you. “of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, pulling you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought that he’s a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel kinda giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t. having someone to worry for you is a luxury, he’s realized. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away, ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him, tilting your head like a sleepy puppy. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he tries not to. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. “oh,” you breathe. “okay. that’s good.”

one second. then two.

satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip, a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table. satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you.

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out.

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but…

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love.

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react.

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting.

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet.

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most.

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek, thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression.

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly.

satoru looks at you for a second.

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection.

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down.

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open.

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier.

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

#i NEED to hold his waist btw idk if i made that clear. i need it like i need air to breathe. like why is it so tiny if not to be held by me #had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader

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benedictscanvas · 9 months ago

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hey love! im sorry your request box hasnt been what you were looking for but maybe this will work! can i request a ball with benedict bridgerton where feelings are only realized when one of them dances with someone else? i dont really mind if its reader or benedict but i just think it would be cute!! hope you’re doing well <3 <3

hello my lovely. you're the sweetest, thank you so much for such a gorgeous request. I've got a pretty similar fic where Benedict realises his feelings, so I was super excited to do the other way around, I hope you enjoy <3 <3 | 1.5k words, fem!reader

There is a woman in Benedict’s arms and it isn’t you and you think you might throw your lemonade at her. Accidentally, of course.

You don’t know her, and if the reasonable side of your brain was in charge, you’d probably think she looks quite lovely. Her hair is adorned in elaborate braids and her smile is demure but still a little goofy - she isn’t shrouded in the fake humility that she finds so many ladies of the ton carry around with them.

But still you find yourself fantasising about a large lemonade stain painting the front of her dress, the poor girl hurrying away in her shock and distress.

Away from Benedict. Who’s now laughing. At something the girl has said, no less. Why, you’d never seen him laugh at any lady of the ton who wasn’t either his sister or, once, Lady Danbury.

And yourself, of course, but you didn’t count.

At least, you didn’t think you counted. You didn’t think you wanted to count, content to while away the balls and the promenades by Benedict’s side, sometimes Eloise’s, whispering about so-and-so’s hat or whats-his-name’s hair. He’d never asked you to dance, although you’d never wanted him to before. Now that he was dancing with someone for the first time you could recall, however, you could feel that changing very swiftly.

”You know, looking vexed in the corner isn’t likely to win you many adoring suitors, Miss Y/L/N.”

Eloise always knows just when to get on your nerves and she’s grinning at you slyly when you turn to face her, finally breaking the spell that Benedict and his new dance partner had placed on you.

”Since when have you believed that was my endeavour, dear Eloise?”

”Since you’ve spent the entire night glaring at pretty young Miss Pennyforth. It’s making you look rather jealous, to the untrained eye.”

You turn away from her, fixing your eyes on her brother yet again. They’re not talking anymore, just staring at each other as he twirls her again and again. Maybe it was better when they spoke after all, because now your stomach is twisting into something that does indeed feel a lot like jealousy.

”Yes, well, you know better than to think I’m jealous. Though I do seem to be in a foul mood.”

Eloise nods exaggeratedly, a pretend-sympathetic pout on her lips.

”Yes, you poor thing. And it obviously has nothing to do with the brother of mine that you can’t take your eyes off.”

You pointedly look at her again but she just dissolves into giggles at the look on your face.

”If you have a point, Eloise, I suggest you make it.”

”Oh, no point at all. Only that the one ball where Benedict decides not to stand with you and ruin his prospects all night, you seem to be very dour indeed. With no correlation, of course.”

You glower at her as best you can. You have the irritable feeling crawling out of your stomach through your throat that you might be about to cry, and you refuse to do so here, or to allow Eloise to think it’s her fault if you do.

”You run along and find Penelope or I shall tell your mother there’s a gentleman asking after you.”

She gaped at you, quite genuinely.

”You wouldn’t,” she murmured, but then promptly hurried away when you fixed her with a look that told her you most certainly would. It was a lie, because you could never bring yourself to do that to your friend, but it was a ruse that allowed to slip away from the ballroom.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Benedict to see him kissing the back of Miss Penny-something’s hand and your eyes began to sting.

- - -

There was a little bench hidden away to the left of the grand entrance, just dark enough to not be spotted by those near the carriages. You managed to shed a few tears in private, silent silly things, and you wiped them away angrily.

It was only Benedict. Quiet, mischievous, generous Benedict. He was creative and caring and could come up with the most brilliant insults you’d ever heard. Obviously, he also had a beautiful face, but you’d never given it much thought. All the Bridgertons were beautiful, it felt like a requirement.

”Did Lord Tennesby try to talk to you again?”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes with your head bowed. Of course he’d find you. If anyone was likely to be looking for a quiet spot for a moment’s reprieve, it was him.

You wiped at your face in vain before looking up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile.

“I’d be halfway back home if that was the case. What are you doing out here?”

Why aren’t you with Pennyfuzzy? was the unspoken second question that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask, knowing how spiteful it would come out. You wished you had realised you might want more from Benedict in the comfort of your own home, where you could take a week to process those feelings and prepare for how to deal with them.

Instead, you’d just have to see what happened in this conversation and go from there. Sounded promising.

”I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you…been crying?”

”I think it’s the flowers,” you point over at the hyacinths in the nearby flowerbed, “They often get the best of me this time of year.”

”Daphne’s ball last year was filled with hyacinths and you didn’t so much as sniffle.”

You frowned at him.

“I probably sniffled.”

“You didn’t. I would have noticed. I would have offered you a handkerchief like the dashing young gentleman I am.”

It was enough to pull up your frown at the corners, which in turn propelled him to take a seat beside you on the bench. You busied yourself with a crease in your dress when you talked to him.

“Maybe you’re not as dashing as you think.”

“I’m incredibly dashing,” he argued, pointing his chin upwards in that silly, mighty way you always giggled at, “I swept Miss Pennyforth off her feet just moments ago.”

Like an ice cold bucket of water poured right over you. You almost shivered.

“Ah, Miss Pennyforth. Has someone finally captured your wayward attention, Mister Bridgerton?”

You looked up at him and tried not to sniffle or snuffle or anything else that might give you away. He was just looking puzzled.

“What? No, I meant I quite literally swept her off her feet. I got the steps wrong, according to Eloise, who helped me up once she had a hold of her laughter.”

You blinked at him.

“You fell?”

“Into quite the heap. Miss Pennyforth was a good sport about it all but she did end up with a rather unfortunate lemonade stain all down the front of her dress. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed himself. There you had been, ready to hurl the contents of your cup at the girl and Benedict had solved your predicament for you. A twinge of guilt tugged at you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said honestly, face overtaken by a wry smirk since Benedict had not sat down singing her praises. Still you had to be sure, “She was looking a very good dancer before I left, I was afraid she might steal away my conversation partner.”

It ended up sounding far more transparent in your intentions than you’d hoped. But you held his eye contact defiantly when he grinned.

“I knew you missed me,” he said, smug, “I took one look at your face and I could see it plain as day. Really, you should have hidden it better.”

“I don’t enjoy these events and you know it, Benedict.”

Back to his first name and by the light in his eyes, he’d noticed the switch. He stood up and held out his arm for you.

“I know. I’m very grateful for it. Now come along, I’ve done my duty to my mother dancing with that girl and now I would like to do my duty to myself.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, not moving a muscle.

“I would like to make fun of the Featheringtons with my most cherished friend. Would you do me the honour?”

Something skipped inside your chest. Light and airy again, no longer weighed down and chained to something churning your stomach. His most cherished friend. Despite the evening’s revelations, that sounded heavenly.

“Is Eloise inside waiting for you then?” you can’t help but tease and he promptly puts his arm back by his side with a huff.

“You are intolerable. I’m going without you.”

“No - wait!” you laughed, following after him gleefully as he turned away from you and started walking. You managed to catch him on the stairs, threading your hand into the crook of his elbow with ease as you did.

The smile he sent you would take at least the next week to contemplate but you had time. You could be a very brilliant 'most cherished friend' for now.

(and you were far more cherished than you knew, of course, but he wasn't quite ready to tell you yet)

---

if you'd like to request something of your own, please see this post for characters I write for and two super brief guidelines. thank you for reading, sunflower <3

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader

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okwonyo · 5 months ago

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﹙ ✉️ ﹚ ──TRACK 15 ；PASSIONATE。in which ⸝ 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝒶𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

엔하이픈 희승 ⠀ ノ⠀ female reader 1200 florist!reader fluff getting together friends to lovers⠀⎯⠀⠀awkwardness skinship lots of talking ⠀， recueil . . . ( click )

ꣀ꣒ this is stan twitter’s chapter 14 .. there is a lot of talking here. i hope it is possible to read as a stand alone and that you’ll enjoy reading it ~

it isn’t as weird as you thought it would be. the weather is nice, like a normal day this month.heeseung arrived five minutes in advance, with a huge smile on his face, you were almost scared that his teeth will fall out.

he also had flowers he bought, that weren’t made with your own two hands this time, you accepted them with an awkward laugh and a blush appearing on your cheeks. you looked less embarrassed during that moment than when he stared at you, from up to down, then down to up, sly grin creeping on his lips. you opted for a white top that paired with your white shorts ─ nothing too much but enough for him to tell you that you were breathtaking. you didn’t really know how to respond, choosing to return the compliment, he became red in the face.

he held to door for you when you entered the garden, as if he was the one who owned the shop. there is a small plate-form, in the middle of the flowers, a square in beige tiles where you dressed the table for your date. you both agreed to do that in a discreet place, and you couldn’t think of anywhere else but the places you spent the last weeks gardening together.

the lunch went smoothly. you were both sitting awkwardly in front of each other for a few minutes, as if you weren’t used to heeseung’s clingy antics already, but it went over the window pretty quickly. legs crossed under the table, your feet tap against his caf gently, he opens his palms so your fingertips can do the same on them.

during a soft and comfortable silence, you speak, “you know, you are so cool,” you start, heeseung eyes on you lingers as you keep tapping on his palm. “whenever is see you─ and i know you don’t want to talk about it but i need to elaborate my point─ whenever i see you on stage, it’s just like you are born to be here.” you take a deep breath, trying to calm the beating of your heart getting faster. stress, you hate it, “and this is why i have always liked you─you are─” too much words stumble over their feet in your brain, none of them can attain your mouth with falling. “so passionate, about your job, your music, life and” you press your lips together, finally looking up. heeseung gaze is full of understanding, yearning, pining and longing for you. “even about me.”

he opens his mouth, you continue to talk, “and for the longest time i thought that i would only see as such. as the man on stage who always gives his all, like─like a star in the sky that you admire but cannot touch” he whispers something about how he is right in front of you, you giggle, “and you are here, and i learned so much things about you─ and i find myself being passionate about you. not only because of who you are on stage but because of who you are, here, in front of me.”

“i’m so scared of what it this, passion,” you can’t say the stronger word, “will have as an impact on who you are─ even if you don’t want me to treat you as such─ that idol on stage, that i still reached somehow, with such an amazing career coming ahead. and i don’t want to ruin that for you.”

there is a long silence, when you finish your, sort of, confession monologue. heeseung watches you with his mouth slightly agape and his eyes a ta widened. his hands are gripping onto yours now, his warmth shallow your skin whole and the weather doesn’t help much.

“you─” he starts, and he smiles. “talk so much.”

you kick his leg under the table and he lets out a pained sound, “i’m being serious here,” you chuckle.

“i wanted to kiss you during that whole monologue.” he says and you roll your eyes, “i’m serious, you where talking about how amazing i was and how scared you where, which i understand. but the only thing only thing on my mind,” your breath catches when he finishes his sentence with the calling of your name. “you are the only one i want, and i will be willing to do anything to keep you safe.

“i didn’t even mention me there,” you sigh, “i was talking about you.”

heeseung huffs, his thumb rubbing your skin and smooth motion, “i know, you don’t think about your safety so i have to do it for you,” he interlock your fingers together, you watch him with a smile growing on your lips. “we’ll take care of each other, yeah?”

you only hum, focusing on his fingers between yours, the tight yet gentle grip makes you feel in a way that you can’t quite describe. heeseung eyes, however, stares are something else. not your eyes nor your hair, something that he feels has been calling him for a while now.

like a siren in the ocean, the peachy hue gently resting on your lips attracts him. soon, your mouth is the only thing occupying his mind. it gets worse when your eyes focuses on him again, wide and charming, he can’t do anything but lean in.

he wouldn’t be able to tell if it’s the sun, reflecting hard on the back of his head or just, you, but he feels dizzy─ and his only medicine is one if your kisses.

“can i?” he whispers, for only you to ear. the gape between the both if you get slowly smaller and smaller, as much as your lips are calling him, his do the same to you.

it only takes a nod of yours to finally make you both meet in between.

his lips presses softly, firmly and eagerly against yours. as if he as been waiting for this for years, which feels like the truth, his nose lets out a sigh, a desperate sigh.

he misses your hand in his, but he forgets about it quickly when it finds his hair. your taste is so addicting, he slips his hands on you cheeks, cupping them, he pulls you closer than the table in between the two of you lets him. he tilts your head to the side, the sweet tast of the soda he just drank feels your mouth when his tongue slips through your lips. he is too addicted to you to even remember to breathe, you are the one who break the kiss.

his lips are swallowed and shiny, just like yours, “i think i’m in love with you,”

you snort, “you don’t know anything about me,” as if it wasn’t a blatant lie. he tends to ask a lot of questions and you like to elaborate on your answers. which is just perfect.

still, he plays along, “i have the rest of my life to find out.”

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open ⎯⎯ previous ｜ next

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diremoone · 1 year ago

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whipped cream apology | r. sukuna

fights are uncommon between you and your fiancé, but there are times they do happen. you know you’ll never hear a verbal apology come from him, but you know he’s sorry; Sukuna’s apologies always come in the form of gifts, food, or acts of service. this time is no different :3

w — modern au, chef! sukuna (he owns and works in his own restaurant but that’s not elaborated on), itsy bitsy sprinkles of angst bc of a mentioned fight, fluff, this is super duper short haha, food and food descriptions bc I am a woman who loves her food so sue me :3 this is just a random lil fic I wrote in like a day so i won’t be surprised if this flops lmao

[ divider credit to @/inklore ]

You don’t know how you go to sleep angry, but you do.

Last night had been awful. Maybe you’d blown everything a little out of proportion, maybe not. Your energy hadn’t been so great coming through the front door of your home. You’d just been stalked by a couple of guys that wouldn’t stop leering at you, and to top that off you had an old woman at the register of the store get ugly with you. All you wanted was the nice dinner you know would be awaiting you and to not be bothered for awhile after that.

Problem was, was that Sukuna was also in a bad mood. Someone at the kitchen of his restaurant had put him in a super bad mood by not following orders, and a food critic was to be coming by in a few days. And when you mixed his bad mood with yours, it led to you two going to bed on bad terms.

But now, you’re not even sure that Sukuna had come to bed.

Did that idiot sleep on the couch?

Just as you’re about to get out of bed, you see a note on the nightstand with your name on it. You grab it, unfold it and read: ‘Stay in bed and text me when you’re awake.’

Your sleepy brain goes blank for a moment, but you oblige your fiancé’s request anyway, texting him that you’re awake with a pink heart afterward, hoping he still wasn’t upset with you.

Sukuna’s answer is almost immediate.

Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be upstairs.

But you do need to pee really really bad. You make your bathroom trip as quick as possible and hop back in the bed, miraculously just as Sukuna comes through the door with a large tray of what you smell to be food.

“Morning, baby,” he greets you.

You can see the solemn look on his face, one of upset. He’s still bothered about last night.

“Morning, ‘kuna,” you reply, smiling at him. It seems to partially work, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

You flatten out the blanket as he sets the tray over your legs. Your eyes can’t help but blown open so wide in shock and excitement that you accidentally make them hurt. To your expression and blinking eyes, Sukuna chuckles.

“An apology, for my shitty behavior last night.”

There are several plates of food on the large tray. Perfectly cooked eggs, bacon, sausage; all of your favorite comfort foods all sit before you.

But right in the center is a heaping pile of one inch-thick, fluffy pancakes the size of your head, four stacked atop of another. Butter runs down underneath the sweet maple syrup. Neatly placed around the edges of the plate are bananas and strawberries. And on the very top is a generous pile of whipped cream in a fancy swirl.

You grin at his meticulousness of making such a wonderful plate that’s only just going to get messy.

“Sukuna—”

He scowls. “Don’t even bother me with apologizing back. I don’t wanna hear it. I’m the asshole. You did nothing wrong.”

Love swells in your heart and soul for the man you’re soon to marry. God, you love him.

“You’re sure?”

He tsks. “Positive.”

You smile brightly. “I love you.”

His cheeks and ears go pink. “Just eat.”

“Cheeseball,” you call him, cutting into the pancakes. “But don’t mind if I do.”

“If you can’t eat all of that, I’ll eat the rest.”

“Fuck off, it’s mine.”

taglist: (no longer adding)

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna fic #chef! sukuna #jjk fluff #jjk sukuna

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wonnieluvr · 6 months ago

Text

drunk on your love

pairing -> jameson hawthorne x fem!reader

summary -> jameson finds he doesn't need anything but you... and your hands in his hair.

warnings -> none, just fluffy

a/n -> he and grayson are plaguing my mind rn. i have so many stories planned :,)

jameson’s breath tickled your neck as he relaxed into your body. you had been sitting in one of the many libraries the house had to offer, curled in the corner of a couch and hidden behind shelves of books to finally have some space to yourself.

it had been difficult lately, all the changes to life here. but jameson was still your jameson.

you had peacefully been reading the day away when he found you.

you breathed out a laugh as he had manhandled you down to lay across the couch. he hadn’t said a word since he found you, merely laying himself on top of you burying his face in your neck. he pressed a light kiss to your collarbone before settling down properly.

you hummed quietly, book forgotten as you reached one hand up to drag your nails through his hair, down to the back of his neck.

you could feel him shiver, arms tightening around you. he left out a small, content sigh of appreciation as you continued playing with his hair, twirling strands between your fingers.

“missed you” you felt the words more than you had heard them, tugging your bottom lip between you teeth in an effort not to smile. it didn’t work very well.

“you saw me this morning” you pointed out, hand barely stopping its movements.

he didn’t reply for a moment, and you almost laughed at the way he could barely think. you couldn’t deny you loved having that effect on him.

he was always thinking too much, his mind moved too fast and in too many directions.

“i know” he finally breathed out, focusing on the way you gently tugged apart a small knot before lightly scratching your nails through his hair again. he didn’t elaborate any further and you couldn’t hold back the laugh this time.

“what?” he pushed himself up now, your hand falling. he was trying hard to hold the angry facade up, but you could see the mischief in his eyes.

your jameson. you smiled at him cheekily.

“speechless, jamie?” he narrowed his eyes slightly in response before he dropped the act, eyes drooping slightly in tiredness and he lowered himself back down to lay over you again.

“with you?” he whispered, his hand tracing light circles on your waist. “always”

now it was his turn to make you speechless.

he always had a way to steal your breath. you pouted as he turned the tables on you once again.

“you’re a liar” you murmured, a frown on your face. it was nothing but playful and light, though. how could you feel anything but. “you’re always making me lose my words. its not fair, just once i want to get you back”

he raised his head, the awkward angle making it hard to properly look at each other but he hummed, thinking again.

“you don’t even realise how quickly you silence my brain” he offered you an adoring grin, slightly lopsided and nothing but love filling his gaze. “i can’t think properly around you. you make my brain all fuzzy”

he knew immediately just how pleased that made you. the grin was hard to hide even as you pushed his face away to hide the burning in your cheeks.

“besides” he begun speaking again, and you expected another playful remark. “i don’t need to think with you.. jus’ need you”

as usual you felt your heart jump. he wasn’t good for your health.

but it didn’t matter how difficult life would be, this was all you could ever need. you and your jameson.

“…keep playing with my hair please”

#jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #jameson x reader #the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne imagine #jameson hawthorne oneshot #the inheritance games x reader #the inheritance games imagine

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months ago

Text

You don’t get to tell me about sad

Previous chapter

a/n part three! I’m brain dead so sorry for the wait. I hope you will all enjoy this. 🫧🫶🏻

summary: Azriel gets an assignment he can’t seem to decline. Now he has a princess full of attitude under his protection. The only question is whose cold heart will break first.

warning: past trauma, scars, injuries, blood.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were sure that your lip was going to burst from the way you kept biting on it, trying to suppress the laugh as the carriage rolled through the misty autumn forest. Convinced that nothing was ever going to top the sight of Azriel, squished the opposite of you. He was scowling so hard that he was most definitely the reason why the sky had ripped open. Pouring rain drowned the lush forest since the early morning. It looked like you were driving to a funeral at best, gruesome execution at best.

“Don’t start with me today," Azriel grunts, his eyes burning into yours. Yet now that he acknowledged you, the smile only seemed to spread wider. He lets out a grunt, and a quiet giggle slips past your lips. "Princess, life suits you," you mumble, making Azriel roll his eyes. “Come on now; it’s not so bad. Don’t huff”, you nudge his leg with your heel, earning yet another glare.

“Could have winnowed us there”, “You did almost all the way”, you point out. And you would have happily obliged, but the murmurs about something being wrong with the high lord’s family had started. So Lucien and Eris had made their outing. If not for the rain, you would have done just the same. Take a walk through the main streets. But now seeing the family carriage and your face through the glass would have to be enough.

“Why do you hate autumn so much?”, It’s a bold statement to make. You’re not sure if he even hates it. Well, considering the amount of frowning he does, he has to. “I have my reasons," Azriel answers as bluntly as he can. “Care to elaborate?", you turn to him, ready to dig an answer out of him if you had to. He owned you, considering his creeping around your room. But your eyes fall on the way he’s trying to subtly rub his palms together. The scarred skin—humidity must be making the bones ache too. He’s impossible to read, but you’re convinced that the discomfort hunts some of his features. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care, yet you still inch closer. There’s not much space inside the carriage considering that man’s size, but it’s enough for you to brush your legs against him. As expected, Azriel’s hands instantly reached to put distance between you both. But that’s when you yank the side of your cloak up, draping the fur-lined material over his scared palms.

“What are you?", "Shhhh," you say quickly. He tries to pull them out, but you catch his gaze—a daring look there. “Know your”, but you cut him off once more, “Next words out of your mouth better be, thank you, princess," you muse. Azriel clenches his jaw. But he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t fight the warmth slowly seeping through the stiff skin. “I thought you hated that nickname, princess," he says. One thing this man hadn’t learned in life was dealing with women. Clearly. You shrug, “Not so bad when it’s you who calls me that," you muse, watching as a glimpse of surprise washes over his features, and then the scowling coldness returns.

Azriel doesn’t like it here. The thought alone had unsettled him ever since Lucien had announced the need to go back. “The High Lord needs to make a statement," Lucien had stated. Azriel itched to say that Eris wasn’t his high lord. But he knew that regardless of Eris’s wishes, he would have gone. Because you were going there. So here he was, standing outside the forest house. Not daring to go forward alone. You had waved him off. Told him to go inside while you checked on the horses. But he refused to step inside. So he stood there, trying to memorize every window.

“Who’s snooping now?", your voice fills Azriel’s ear as he slowly turns to you. Arms crossed as you grin at him. He wonders why you hadn’t mentioned that night in your room. Why you brushed it off so easily. “I just needed to stretch my wings." It’s not so much of a lie. It had been a disaster of a trip here. You barely manage to open your lips when an unfamiliar voice comes from behind, “Yn, Yn.“

Azriel pushes you behind him, his hand reaching for his dagger. But you slip out of his grasp, glancing over his shoulder. And then you’re stepping forward. “Makoa?”, it’s a whisper, and Azriel doubts that a disheveled-looking boy would hear it. But he does. And that name alone makes Azriel uneasy. The same boy you had sneaked out with. And just like that Azriel decides that he hates Makoa.

"Wait," you push again Azriel's arm, but his grip doesn’t falter. “Anyone can be a threat," the spymaster points out. “I know him," and it’s the desperation that makes Azriel back up. The same one that he had when he called out to Mor. To Elain. The lost kind. One that had you hanging up on things that weren’t there.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Makoa mutters once he is in arms reach of you. Azriel has to bite his tongue because nothing about that statement seems genuine. “You can imagine it’s been busy over here," and your voice is different too. Hazy almost. You bite at Azriel. Spewing venom. And here, this boy makes you behave like a youngling with your first-ever crush. “You could have written to me; I’ve missed you." Makoa raises his hand, and Azriel instantly inches to step forward, but then the boy is leaning in, his lips brushing over yours. Making Azriel lower his head. A strange sort of feeling brews within him. One that’s not welcome here. So he turns back onto his heel, heading deeper into the woods. To clear his consciousness. His logical thinking. His heart.

“Everyone missed you," Makoa points out, your hands clasped in his. The feeling is strange. It’s all so wrong because, yes, he has been vocal about courting you, but this… To be kissed in front of someone he doesn’t even know. You glance back. Eyes scanning the front gardens. He’s not there. Azriel isn’t there, and a dreadful sort of uneasiness pools in your stomach.

“It’s just been a couple of days," you brush his statement off. You were trying to find joy in something you had dreamed of ever since you slipped that book beneath the floorboards. “You’re behaving strangely," Makoa mutters, his hand reaching out for your forehead, but you bat it away. “I’m just tired," but you’re more than tired. You need answers, and quite frankly, you’re willing to do about anything to get them.

You can trust the man in front of you. His mother used to do laundry for your family. Until Beron changed his mind or whatever happened. As if reading your mind, Makoa reaches up, cupping your cheek, “What is it you can tell me?" A part of you is screaming to just drop it. Talk to Azriel first. But then he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t know.

“Do you remember the night on the harvest moon, well after it?”, you say quietly, looking over your shoulder for servants. “I walked you home," Makoa shrugs. Well, he did more than that, but sure, that will do for now. “Someone was waiting for me," you admit. “I didn’t go inside; I went to the barn to feed the horses." It was misty and cold outside. You didn’t catch their face. Just a hooded figure.

“I... someone tried to slice my throat open." Brushing your hair to the side, you let the white line shine in the midday sun. Makoa watches. But he doesn’t frown. There’s almost no reaction. Azriel looked more concerned when you caught him brushing his fingers over it that night. Genuine concern. Or maybe you were just imagining it.

Makoa brings you into his chest. “What a shame," he breathes out, and your hands are instantly pushing against his chest. "Pardon," you huff, brows knit together. “I mean, it’s horrible, yes," he says, lifting his arms in defiance. You shake your head. Too tired. Too tired for this. After all, you didn’t expect him to take you seriously. He was too wild. Too carefree for that.

"Look, just be careful, okay?", you mutter, your eyes searching him, but he only shoots you a wicked smile. “You don’t have to worry about me," he muses. You burn to tell him that you both are no longer kids. There are serious matters, but you don’t have it in you to fight another battle today. “I’ll see you in the party," you say as you step back, letting your fingers slip out of his grasp. But then he’s pulling you back. Hand on the side of your face. An eager kiss smothered against your lips, “I wouldn’t miss the spectacle.”

Azriel’s task this weekend was easy. If he was being honest, he didn’t quite grasp why exactly he was asked to come. But then Eris might have just done it to spite him. All he was responsible for was keeping an eye on you when Eris and Lucien couldn’t. So essentially, babysit a grown woman. Now he was standing with his back against your door. Throwing his knife up and down in his hands. Trying to beat his record of spins before it lands back into his palm.

“Okay, am...", your voice breaks the second-floor silence, making Azriel pause. “Can you get Maria?”, Azriel shakes his head even if you can’t see him, “She just went outside for the flower arrangements." The elderly woman had pinched his cheek way too many times, but as much as he hated it, she reminded Azriel of his own mom.

"Fuck," the sound of things falling inside the room, makes Azriel press his ear to the door.“What’s going on?”, he demands. Silence falls. “I...", you start, but it ends with a frustrated sigh. “Well, let’s hear it," he muses, hoping for yet another privileged little dig he could throw back at you.

“I can’t reach the back of the dress to do the..." It’s a whisper. A frustrated one at that. “We have twenty minutes," Azriel points out. “I know, tree man, I know," you growl in frustration, cursing to yourself as you continue to struggle.

“I'm coming in," Azriel states, instantly frowning at his own words. "No, you are not," you snarl, and he is sure that you are frowning. “On three," the spymaster warns. But he doesn’t even get a chance to start the countdown. “Fucking, Azriel,” you say, yanking the door open. Rosy cheeks. Slightly disheveled hair. And that deep red satin dress. So far different from the one he had seen you in the first time you both met. That was a girl. This… You were meant to be in red. In…

“Eyes up here, moron," you say, reaching up to flick his nose. One arm holding the material upfront. You turn away from him. The smooth back exposed to his scared hands. Azriel shakes those thoughts away. “I’ve seen females before," he states, reaching for the golden buttons. “Really? I would have taken you for a virgin," you snort, shaking your head ever so slightly. Azriel fake gasps, earning a glimmer in your eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”, he says in the most dramatic way possible. You bite your lip, trying to hide that smile. He knows it. Feels it.

“Just do the dress up," you urge him, motioning to your back. Azriel halts, letting his hands drop to his side. “Start with a please," he says proudly. You glance up at him, “Are you being serious?” Surely a man who just completed about the amount of time you had wasn’t going to start playing games. “I decided that etiquette lessons are in order," he shrugs, making you roll your eyes. “I will spit in your drink tonight. How is that for your etiquette lessons?” You flash him one of your fake smiles. “Delightful, just how I like it," and it’s so unexpected that you are left slack-jawed for a split second, and then he grabs your shoulder and turns you around, nudging you forward. “You’re disgusting," you say, pushing your heel against his leg, making a little rumble of laughter fill the space. “Says you," he breathes practically against your skin, sending shivers down your back.

You fidget with your sleeve as you and Azriel make your way towards the main part of the event. Public outings still felt strange. The big crowd overwhelmed you. But you had missed out on so many great things and parties, especially when you were growing up. That now….

“Only a weirdo disappears like that," you halt suddenly, leaving Azriel to walk along until he too stops. Turning to face you. You quickly put a finger against your lips, stepping closer to the second-floor railing. “That’s what I told Makoa”. You know those voices. You don’t even need to look down the staircase to know who they belong to.

“Daddy beat her, I heard," and it’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you. Tingles spread through your body like fire.“ She lived beneath the floorboards; I doubt she knows how to interact with living things." You let the words slash at you. After so many years, they don’t make a difference. It’s the fact that every time you feel as if you found someone willing to look past it, they still end up stabbing you in the back.

That’s when your eyes fall on Azriel, practically charging towards the stairs. "Don't," you hiss, reaching to grab at his wrist, pulling him back. “It’s disrespectful, and I’m being very polite with my words here," he grunts. Venom. Purest of venom painting his features, and yet you cut him off. “I said don't," you step in front of him, pressing your palms against his chest. “It’s just another joke for them. You throwing a fit and acting all gruff won’t change a thing.”

Azriel watches you for a moment before a bitter laugh crawls up his throat. “And those are your friends? People that you think are not a threat to you? ”, he points downstairs in frustration. A wave of guilt. Shame. Fills you in seconds. You feel that familiar sting in your eyes. But you brush it beneath all the other pain. “Daddy got them for me; I didn’t have a chance to choose; my apologies," you purr through gritted teeth.

And it’s as if you threw a comeback punch. The arrow shooting once again. Azriel’s shoulders sag. “Yn...", he breathes out, but you don’t want it. Don’t want pity. The sad eyes. The smothering. To hell with it. “We should go find my brothers." You pick at the skirt of your dress, turning to the stairs. “It was insensitive of me," Azriel’s words slam into the wall you had built, making you close your eyes for a moment. “Don’t get tangled in this; this has nothing to do with you," you mutter, not turning back to face him. Forcing your legs forward. Azriel stands at the top of the staircase for a heartbeat, watching you. Then he glances over his shoulder. One heartbeat. Two. And he unleashes his shadows to the first floor.

The terrace is buzzing with people. If it were up to Azriel, he would be right by the platform, but there are Eris’s guards here. So he’s just standing by. That prick had it in him to suggest wine. Azriel, of course, took it. Before dumping it right next to Eris’s shoes. Rhys told him to behave, yes. And so he was, because the second option was to punch the fireling in his face. Pick and choose.

Azriel catches a glimpse of you. Well, more like all he had been doing was catching glimpses of you. Like a moth to a flame. Even if he tells himself not to, his eyes always seem to find you. That distant look in your eyes. Like you’re not here, even if your body is. He also doesn’t doubt that it’s partly because of the things the people said. Why not fight back? You seem to be fine doing that when it comes to him. But crumple the moment the people who are meant to be closest to you are involved.

As if by coincidence, your eyes glance up, meeting Azriel’s. He should be scowling, yet he finds himself smiling. Just a little. He puts a finger beneath his chin, pushing it higher. Encouragement of sorts. You’re supposed to radiate power, not look like a damsel in distress. You return it with an eye roll, making the corners of Azriel’s lips curve even more. Deny it or not. You do lift your head up. That tingle of fire blazing just a bit brighter. That will do. It would have to be enough to get you through it.

The music dies, and Eris walks close to the platform edge, that fox-line smile on his face. “It’s an honor to have you all here, so I thank you for finding time to join us," the high lord begins. “I know that the court is facing some challenging times, but you should not be afraid." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest as he listens. “I will do everything that is in my power to protect our people and be a true and fair high lord." Then the Autumn High Lord turns back breathy. “And... I’ll have my family to aid me in these matters," motioning for his two siblings to come to stand closer. “Lucien and Y/n Vanserra will be taking their rightful place on the throne." The crowd explodes with chairs and joyful applause. As the three siblings smile in unison.

“And…”, But there’s no and. Nothing comes after it. As if someone had stolen all of the other promises. Azriel feels it too. It hits his senses. Making them restless. There’s something wrong. Something that doesn’t feel right. A banner behind the platform bursts into flames. The hot tongues, lapping at the family insignia. Some people back up. Eris waves for his guards, ordering them into action. People are bringing buckets full of water while Eris and Lucien try to wield the wildfire.

It’s the lightest of the sounds that follow next. It flickers, and... "Y/n," Azriel calls, making you snap your head sideways. “Y/n," he breathes out, and then he’s winnowing. His hands already stretched out. He has to make it. He will make it. There is no other option. So Azriel doesn’t let the what-ifs set in. Shrieks echo. Chaos breaks out. And then he’s up there. On the platform. One arm behind your body, the other on the arrow.

The time stops. Your wide eyes are looking at him. Green so deep that Azriel knows he has never seen anything like it. The freckles seem even darker now that your skin has paled almost to snow white. His fingers are trembling. He can’t see it. Can’t fucking see it; the bunched-up fabric is making it hard to judge. Had the arrow met its target? Your heart seems to beat beneath his palm. But are those the last beats? Then the red fabric turns an even deeper shade of red.

Every muscle tenses in Azriel’s body. "No," he mutters under his breath. He’s not letting you die just like that. Not on his watch. Not in some pointless death just because someone has a bone to pick with your brother. Your eyelashes flutter, and just for a heartbeat, Azriel is too slow to catch you. Your body sags, but the arrow stays there in Azriel’s head. It didn’t meet its target. Not fully, at least. Just nicked the skin. It feels as if someone rolled a mountain off of his chest.

"Azriel," it’s so light he almost misses it. The plea. The fear. Your fingers reach up for his leg. His darkness swirls around you both. And quite frankly, the spymaster is not too sure as to what’s going on outside. The world might as well be going to shit for all he cares. Kneeling, Azriel takes hold of your trembling hands, “I’ve got you, darling; I won’t let anything happen to you." He’s not sure if you even hear him. Eyes fixed on something as if you’re looking right past him.“I'm here; I'm with you," Azrie promises, moving to drape your arms over his shoulders. “Are you with me, love?” You’ve gone into shock, that he can tell. Yet you blink. Fingers gripped onto his flying leathers as you nod. "Good," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “Hold onto me, fireheart”.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @emryb @glitterypirateduck @xxtakeachancexx @justyouraveragekleemain @5onedirection5 @paleidiot

#azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x oc #acotar x you #eris vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x reader

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unfortunate17 · 2 months ago

Note

(wilmon.) "Did you miss me?"

hey so I fully realize this is batshit insane so proceed with caution I guess. also you probably wanted something cute but here we are with a Wilmon never broke up in S3 so Wille never has his epiphany au. anyway, enjoy the inside of my brain 🥰

“Did you miss me?”

Simon stills at the threshold, taking in Wille’s darkened silhouette as he slumps on the bed. He’s still dressed in his elaborate suit, but his entire body is rigid, like a mannequin with its strings pulled too tight.

“What?”

Wille laughs, the sound cutting and unhappy. “I’m just asking if you missed me,” he says, “you know, on the dance floor where you spent half the fucking night avoiding me - ”

Simon feels his mouth open around a shocked noise. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“He was all over you,” Wille rips at his tie, his knuckles white around the dark fabric. “Do you have any idea what people are going to say? You’re my fucking husband, Simon.”

“You ignored me all night,” Simon snaps, crossing the room in two wide paces to stop just below the ornate chandelier that hangs in front of Wille’s king bed. “That guy was the only person who talked to me. And you were busy with every person in that room but me.”

“Because I’m the king.”

“Yeah,” Simon scoffs, rolling his eyes, “thanks for the reminder. It’s not like it’s impossible to forget or anything.”

In front of him, Wille inhales sharply, his shoulders straightening. His cheeks look gaunt in the low lighting, his pale skin stretched over nothing but bone. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that maybe I didn’t want to go to the prime minister’s birthday party the same night that you finally got home from a tour,” Simon swallows back a sudden rush of hot tears. “It means that I don’t like being stuck here when you go on state visits. It means that I don’t like that you’re never around - and even when you are, it’s like you’re not.”

Wille stands. His jaw is clenched tight. “And instead of just saying that, you decided to go out and - “

“I didn’t do anything,” Simon cries, fisting his hands at his side. “You can’t react like this every time I talk to another man, Wille. It’s fucking insane.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you two had a lovely conversation.”

Simon narrows his eyes, “What happened in Belgium that you’re this pissed off?”

“Nothing,” Wilhelm snarls, unbuttoning his suit jacket and dropping it to the floor along with his tie. Simon watches as his fingers shake, slipping clumsily along the belt buckle.

The sight makes something pang deep inside his chest. “Here,” he whispers, stepping forward to gently push Wille’s hands aside, “let me get it.”

Up close, Wille smells sharp and sweet, a mixture of expensive whiskey and the gum he’s been chewing all night. Simon tucks his nose into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed skin of clavicle. Under his mouth, Wille shivers.

“Are you okay, my love?”

“Yeah,” comes the curt reply. Then, a long moment of silence that is only broken by a small, “No.”

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” Simon murmurs gently, nuzzling closer. At his feet, the belt clinks as it slips out of his grip and hits the plush carpet.

Wille’s throat bobbles. “Do you still - ” he trails off, falling silent.

Simon waits.

“Do you miss me - when I’m not around?”

“I wish you were always around.”

It’s seemingly the wrong thing to say because Wille steps away, shaking his head. Simon tries to grip his hands, but Wille snatches his away, tucking them into his pockets.

His eyes are dark and bottomless as he stares at Simon through his fringe. “But I can’t be,” he says darkly, “I’m the king, remember?”

There’s something being said here that Simon isn’t fully able to grasp. “I know,” he replies slowly, almost bewildered.

Then, Wille tosses his head back, exhaling deeply. He opens his mouth, still staring up at the ceiling, then closes it abruptly. It’s a long time before he speaks again. “Did you - did you want him?”

Simon blinks.

“That guy,” Wille continues, tipping his head back down to look Simon straight in the eye, “Raphael or whatever the fuck his name was. Did you want him?”

Simon’s mouth drops open. “Wille, what’re you - no. Of course not.”

“He’s not a king.”

“Wille,” Simon begs quietly. He cups his cheeks, steeping their foreheads together, “where is this coming from?”

Wille’s mouth trembles. “I just think that - he’s your type. And he’s normal. So if you wanted to - if it would make you happy - I could - learn to look the other way.”

Simon feels like he’s been dunked head first in ice water. “What the fuck are you talking about? What kind of person do you think I - why the hell would I want something like that?” He pauses, something hysterical striking him all at once. “Wait - do you want something like that.”

Immediately Wille curls an arm around his back, hauling him close. His entire body is shaking. “Fuck off. I love you. You know you’re it for me.”

“Then why - ”

“I just know I’m losing you,” Wille admits at last, the words wretched, “and I can’t lose you, Simon. I won’t survive it. And if - maybe if you can have something normal then - ”

“Stop it, Wille,” Simon slides his fingers over the pocked skin of Wille’s cheeks, down the sides of his jaw, then moves to tangle them into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “this isn’t - you can’t think like this. It’s not good for you.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re not losing me,” Simon whispers, deeply melancholic. He leans in close, presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Wilhelm’s mouth. His skin tastes like salt. “But you are losing yourself.”

#ask #my writing #Will they ever be happy with me NO

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vermilionsun · 7 months ago

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hiiii! could you possibly do a nsfw ais headcannons or kuras! thank yu for reading!

You've read the title, and that's literally it.

Sorry this took so long! :)

Ais

aka my favourite bastard

✩ slams fist on the table CHOKING KINK Slowy snaking his hand around his lover's neck and watching the realisation dawn on them? Their eyes rolling back as they arch themselves more into his touch? Sign him the fuck up.

✩ Breeding (fr fr) Not as in “getting his partner pregnant” but more he enjoys watching his partner’s bloated tummy and knowing he is the one at fault.

✩ Bondage Blindfolds, restrains etc. As much as he loves his partner scratching his back until he bleeds, watching them beg to do so is much more entertaining.

✩ Dressing up Digging my grave deeper and elaborating; have you heard that one Britney Spears song “Lace and Leather”? That’s it, that’s Ais. Watch’s this man’s jaw go slack and his brain stop working happen he sees his beloved in stockings or lingerie. Just for a few sacred moments though, they will be ripped off and ruined the moment he’s done teasing his partner.

✩ Dirty talk Speaking of teasing; Ais doesn’t hold back. Degradation and praise leave his lips like water. You’re doing well? He’ll let you know. Especially when you’re trying to take his massive cock. He’ll hold your hand and kiss you softly, repeating how good you are for him and how proud he is of you. You’re being bad? Nuh uh rethink that. Does he think you’re hurt somewhere? He asks. He’s not the most talkative person during it but dear Lord, will he speak his mind.

✩ Pet names, I said, PET NAMES His princess/prince/royal (demo reference), his beloved, his darling, his baby, his and only his <3

✩ Positions Missionary, doggy style, AGAINST THE WALL

✩ RIDE HIM RIDE HIM RIDE HIM

✩ Oral Huge fan, prefers giving. This man eats his partner out like they’re his last meal on death row. Pussy, ass, dick? He doesn’t give a single half of a fuck. He eats out for both his and his partner’s pleasure, and on how rewarding that is. Push his face in your sex, beg him not to stop and he will keep going until you pass out.

✩ FACE SITTING Elaborating on the above, SIT ON HIS FACE. And don’t you dare try to get out of the situation with a half-assed shitty excuse, he ain’t having none of that.

✩ Very, VERY light spanking On the ass, and maybe front as well. Nothing too extreme. He doesn’t want to hurt his beloved—

✩ Bloodplay —despite them looking breathtaking covered in crimson red blood. If the blood is his beloved's? Someone is dying.

✩ t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶o̶c̶e̶d̶i̶u̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶n̶t̶a̶c̶l̶e̶s̶

✩ Aftercare The BEST aftercare. Lays with his partner, makes sure they are okay, cleans them up, provides them with a snack and water if they need it. He will need a smoke, but he’ll be quick as a flash—unless his partner wants to join.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

Kuras

aka “that fucking doctor” (Vere’s words, not mine)

✞ tease tease TEASE Adores teasing his beloved until they can’t take it anymore. He uses his body and words to bring his partner to their LIMIT, turning them to a crying, whiny mess for his entertainment.

✞ SIZE KINK Have you SEEN that man? He’s HUMUNGUS. And he makes.it.fit. no matter what. That rare cheshire smile on his lips as his lover struggles, and he leans down to whisper sweet nothings in their ear as he presses down on the bulge that has formed…

✞ Praise Soft whispers and faux promises, how beautiful, how fascinating, all his to devour.

✞ Fingering Long fingers that like to touch you everywhere. He will carefully open you up because he doesn’t want to hurt his partner at all. Ass, pussy, mouth, E V E R Y W H E R E.

✞ Oral On that note, this man’s tongue got people lining round the block for an experience. Rivals Vere’s skill fr.

✞ Plugs.

✞ Heels/boot Just look at how his jaw tightens up when his partner walks into the room with those on.

✞ Edging Loves how his darling struggles and begs him to let them finish, but he just… won't. Not yet.

✞ Silk Oh, to see his partner in angelic—or what mortals consider as—wear, the soft fabric running down their body…yeah, he’s done for.

✞ Temperature Watching his partner shiver in anticipation and then pleasure.

✞ B O D Y W O R S H I P

✞ Cock warming Look, he knows it’s supposed to be a sexual act, but he finds it… almost comforting. His partner is just so warm around him and it feels so nice, it confuses the fallen angel so incredibly much.

✞ Doggystyle and missionary.

✞ Hand holding. It’s a much more intimate act to him than sex itself. It’s a way for him to show you that he’s there for you and to receive confirmation that you're there for him as well. A way to make sure you're alright.

✞ Aftercare Kinda awkward. He’ll clean you up, give you something to drink and either lay and cuddle with you or leave—depends on what kind of relationship you have with him.

#verewrites #ais touchstarved #kuras touchstarved #kuras #ais #touchstarved game #touchstarved #red spring studios #headcannons #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved ais

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aiedraws · 3 months ago

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psychopomp!au catra character sheet

#fanart #art #digital art #painting #she ra #catra #spop #spop catra #spop fanart #catra fanart #psychopomp fic #butch catra save me #can’t elaborate but just know my brain is nothing but them

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biibini · 11 months ago

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modern!mizu headcannons

a/n: my brain has been nothing but her so it’s ab time i write ab her. i’ve read a bunch of modern!mizu headcannons ab her but i need more !! it becomes a drabble at the end but my girl deserves peace and happiness pls

i’ve read a lot of hc w her in uni so i’ll prob stick to the similar things ive read + more

modern!mizu would def be in university studying mechanical engineering

ik this is specific but pls hear me out it fits bc shes a smartie & her adopted dad (master eiji) was a very technical person when she was growing up

she’s also in uni due to an engineering scholarship

modern!mizu is usually at the gym if it wasn’t for classes and fixing her bike

yes she has a motorcycle. i stand by this hc and many others who share similar ideas.

prob a kawasaki ninja but decked out w her own alternations

modern!mizu is a gym rat but is too stubborn to admit it, esp after taigen pointed it out once

likes to go in the early morning for the peace and quiet

she typically goes in for cardio and weights to keep her healthy and in shape but has dabbled in calisthenics before

taigen used to fence w her before he got into other sports such as basketball

(random thought but he just looks like he would play basketball player)

modern!mizu is very smart… but has a slight huge problem with procrastination

akemi has tried many studying techniques with mizu but it ends up her procrastinating and finishing alone

she prefers studying alone in the library or at her desk, until you came along

(ill elaborate on mizu & reader another time)

modern!mizu cannot cook for shit i’m sorry

she can kinda chef it up but it’s taken her a while she nearly burnt the kitchen and has repeatedly turned on the fire alarm and now ringo has ptsd

usually ringo will cook something or help her cook

speaking of ringo

her and ringo are roommates in off-campus housing 2 bed 2 bath

at first, dad eiji was a bit hesitant since he was helping mizu move in but warmed up to ringo once he cooked them dinner (his mom’s soba recipe)

mizu swears she saw a tear roll down her dad’s cheek that day

modern!mizu usually dresses more casually and comfy but still likes her dark blues

not to self indulge but she would like the baggy acubi look that she can move in

(i know this is so inaccurate of others’ headcannons but pls the baggy button up + slingbag combo would go crazy)

ik she got a uniqlo drawstring sling bag

or just any sporty crossbody sling bag

hear me out pls

it’s easier to get on and balance on her motorcycle with comfy clothes and a secure bag

on mizu’s and ringo’s move-in “anniversary” (as ringo like to call it), he got her a lil keychain for her bag with a jingle on it as a joke to her initial move-in gift to him: a bell for being so silent

modern!mizu usually keeps to herself and her friends

after her ex bf m*k*o (yes im censoring his name he doesnt deserve to be typed out) , she’s very cautious of who to trust

thankfully, ringo, akemi, and taigan (as much of an ass as he is) has taught her to open up and be okay with who she is

but there are days when she prefers to be alone and sticking to her own business in peace and quiet

headphones on locked in 🎧

modern!mizu likes to wind down before bed with some chamomile or lavender tea

her temper used to control her feelings, especially when she was much younger

having a small routine at night keeps her calm & well rested

eiji initially started this routine after their long days of welding in the backyard

she can’t cook but give her a teapot and tea leaves, she will make it right

(ok im done imagining her life lets get to the good stuff)

modern!mizu loves little touches

whether it’s holding u by ur hand or shoulder or waist, her hand will always be there

her main love language is physical touch

the more comfortable she gets with u, the longer she’ll leave her hand on u

whenever u and her are out at a party or gathering, u implemented the secret squeeze if either one of u wants to get out

u haven’t used it before but mizu did a few times

it was when she just wanted to be closer to u in the comfort of her own bed

modern!mizu enjoys shopping w u

she kind of knows her style: comfy and light

but she never explored how to pair clothes together until u showed her some basic pairing

when she first met akemi, she was uncomfortable with more feminine styles and shopping for going-out tops with her

it mainly stems from just not knowing a lot of trends and seeing a wide range of items

she got accustomed the items but seeing u have fun trying new tops

totally not sneaking into the changing room and stealing a few kisses many kisses

modern!mizu also enjoys holding ur things for u

she won’t say it explicitly but she is silently expressive ab it

u need someone to hold ur drink while u fix ur shoes? she got it. need someone to hold ur bag while u go to the bathroom? she got it.

need someone to get a glass of water even though ur all comfy in bed? she will get it (for a price aka some extra cuddles & kisses)

she’s also the type of put ur hand behind ur back when ur in a crowd

ok thats all for now but hope u enjoyed ♡

#mizu x reader #mizu bes #bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #modern au #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #mizu headcanons #mizu #headcanon #modern au fic #modern au mizu #blue eye samurai modern au #modern au blue eye samurai #modern mizu x reader

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todorokies · 1 year ago

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midnight love affair - suguru geto

contents: nsfw, established relationship, fem!reader, reader is lowkey a smart mouthed bimbo, would this classify as crack ???, modern au where suguru isn’t depressed as shit

a/n: idk what this is i just need geto tbhh … inspired by the song midnight love affair by October London

“do you think touchscreen tvs will be a thing in the future?”

head woozy and heavy filled with nothing but the intoxicating sensation of your wet folds gracefully gliding up and down his painfully hard cock with your pussy occasionally clenching around him leaving a white ring imprint of your creamy residue. your raven haired boyfriend tried to make sense of the current predicament at hand as you stilled yourself on top of his lap, fully seated, letting his cockhead rest snug up against that spongy spot that always makes you dizzy.

his eyes held a look of pure dumbfounded confusion with sweat cumulating at the beginning of his hairline, lips extremely chapped and mouth agape he truly couldn’t believe what he’s hearing right now. (mostly due to the faint ringing of his ears as the pleasure was too much that he began to hear colours.)

you already fucked him dumb and he hasn’t even cummed yet.

with his leftover strength he was finally able to piece something together to counterpart your bizarre question. “huh?” was all he was able to conjure. you wrap your arms around his neck, “what do you mean “huh” did i already fuck your brains out? did you not hear what i said?”

oh now you’re getting sassy. he quickly licks his lips then elaborates. “i did hear you, i’m just confused where this is coming from all of the sudden.”

you simply shrug “it’s just a simple thought that came to me… consider it a shower thought if you will.” suguru gives you a look of uncertainty but doesn’t question any farther, instead, he indulges you.

“well the concept of a touchscreen tv is inconvenient, nobody wants to get up from the couch every time to change the channel.”

“i had a feeling you would say that!” you dramatically flail your arms in the air, “inconvenient or not you can’t deny the speed of the way technology is enhancing everyday; sooner or later somebody is gonna invent it.”

you had a point. “you’re right but would anyone willingly buy it? it just seems impractical to have in a home doesn’t it?”

“you’re not looking at bigger picture here; every year people complain about the amount of camera lenses apple adds to the latest iphone but yet they still go out of their way to buy it for a ridiculous price and you wanna know why this happens..?”

he quirks an eyebrow up signalling for you to continue suddenly intrigued to hear your conclusion.

“because consumers, especially tech nerds, love getting their hands on the newest inventions. it doesn’t matter how impractical it is, just knowing they possess something so expensive and high tech gives them this sort of euphoric high.”

“huh, i guess that reasoning never crossed my mind…you should definitely donate your brain to science.” a low dry chuckle passes from his lips and a frown tugs upon yours as you lift your hips to glide all the way up to the tip of his cock then slam yourself down earning a desperate throaty groan from the man below you.

“keep laughing and you won’t be cumming tonight.”

and at that all suguru could do is fondly smile to himself. you keep him on his toes everyday; always unpredictable with your actions and words. never in a million years could suguru see himself stopping sex midway to have an out-of-the-blue conversation about touchscreen television. this was one of your many quirks that made him gravitate towards you and crave for your spontaneous persona to find it’s way into his life.

“whatever you say goes my love, now can we please go back to fucking?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

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ghuleh-recs · 3 months ago

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*inhales deeply* Haaappyyy Birthdaaayyyy @miasmaghoul!!!!!!!! Ohhhh MAN we are all in for a treat today. As per usual, I have compiled a list of some of my favorite Miasma fics in honor of their special day—a greatest hits if you will. Not only are they an absurdly good writer, they are an incredibly thoughtful, kind, supportive and generous friend. All mushiness aside, if Miasma's writing isn't making my brain melt out of my ears (because smut), it's making me actually cry real tears. (No one who has read Suspended Reality will ever really emotionally recover.)

It was extremely difficult to narrow these down to a reasonable list so please feel free to add your own Miasma must-reads if I missed a good one. Please consider leaving a comment when you read any of these. You know. As a little treat. A little birthday treat. I just think Miasma deserves a treat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Endless thanks to @askingforthesun @forlorn-crows @belle--ofthebrawl and @iamthecomet for their input (Miasma can you guess who rec'd what? hehehe).

recs under the cut.

By Your Righteous Hand - Swiss x Rain - 3.1k, E

He’s across the room in a handful of strides, palming himself through his pants as he watches Rain’s fingers tease those strings. Swiss can see the strength in them, the deftness, the skill, and his body heats with memories of how they look around his cock. How they feel when Rain curls them inside him, how his thighs quiver with it every time. How they feel between his lips. Swiss should be embarrassed by the fact that he’s already panting, but shame is overrated. “I forget how weak this makes you,” Rain says, low and teasing. And it’s true – Swiss is not a weak ghoul, but for this? Well. “Kneel for me.”

Electric Light, Vibrant Sound - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 2.9k, E

All of Sunshine’s senses seem sharper, somehow. The lights are brighter, the colors more distinct. The rainbow-colored confetti littering the stage seems to glow beneath her feet. Her nose tickles, filled with sweat, sulfur from the pyro and the confusing combined scent of her fellow ghouls. She sways as she walks, blowing kisses and waving with both hands. It’s a sudden distinct whiff of lavender and orange blossom that drags her back down to Earth, the ghoulette stumbling and catching herself on Rain’s sleeve. The new scents flood her sinuses and swirl into her lungs, spirals of springtime slicing through the haze in her mind. Sunshine shakes her head, one hand resting on her stomach as her eyes dart around the stage. She knows these smells, but in the fog of adrenaline and whatever else is filling her skull she can’t place it. Not until she sees them.

A Touch Too Much - Copia x Dewdrop - 9k, E

“Do you know what is wrong with him?” He doesn’t even try to keep the tilt of concern from his voice. Aether knows him better than most of the ghouls, it would be pointless to try and hide it from him. “Nothing’s wrong,” Aether replies. They stare at each other for a few beats and he does not elaborate, which Copia finds supremely unhelpful. He frowns, crossing his arms and stepping back while Aether rubs at the back of his neck. The ghoul huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Strictly speaking, at least.” “If nothing is wrong, then what-” “He’s in heat, Papa.” Aether cuts him off in a rushed exhale. Copia freezes mid toe-tap. Oh. -- or -- Dew goes into heat on stage and Copia has to deal with the fallout. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Believing is Seeing - Aeon & Aether & Dewdrop - 1.2k, G

"Bullshit," Dew scoffs, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. "You don't really expect me to believe this crap, do you?" Beside him, Aether rolls his eyes. "Ye of little faith," he chuckles, nudging Dew's knee with his own. "I'm telling you, Dew, he's never wrong." "Whatever," he says with a dismissive wave. "He's probably about as accurate as that fortune cookie I got last week." Across the table, their supposed psychic chuckles. He scoots closer and leans on his elbows, cupping his own face in both hands, and something about the look in his eye makes Dew straighten up in his chair. "What're you so scared of?" He nods at the table, a slew of tarot cards laid out before the three of them. "That I might be right?"

Permafrost - Mountain x Rain - 11k, E

“Will you-” he whispers, feeling his skin prickle in the wake of Mountain’s barely-there touch, “will you help me now?” It’s pathetic and he knows it, but he’s beyond caring. Something dark flashes over Mountain’s face then, and Rain feels an anxious flutter in his chest. “I believe I said I was having fun watching,” he rumbles, and Rain’s stomach plummets through the floor when he remembers what game they’re playing. “Oh no,” he whines, biting hard at his bottom lip. “Oh yes,” Mountain growls, moving himself closer to Rain as the smaller ghoul digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But if you listen closely, maybe I’ll reconsider.” The words are liquid in Rain’s ear, flowing into the folds of his brain in a silvery spiral, and he feels himself melting into the mattress all over again. Powerless to resist.

A Little Less Conversation - Aether x Dewdrop - 2.8k, E

After a long day, Dewdrop finds himself at the mercy of a very loud motel. Thankfully Aether is a good distraction.

Brushfire - Cumulus x Dewdrop - 4.6k, E

She should probably retreat to a stall. Sink two fingers into her cunt and make it quick. What if someone walked in an found her humping the sinks? That surely wouldn't look very good. Cumulus bites into her red-stained lower lip and groans at the thought, knuckles blanching as her grip strengthens. She ruts against the counter, drags the hard bud of her clit over the edge of it, feeling her panties start to soak through. There will probably be a damp spot on her dress when she pulls back at the rate she's going. Her knees really start to shake, her breath coming in strained gasps, the heat in her belly already threatening to spread. One trembling hand flies to her chest, squeezes a prominent nipple and - "Well, isn't this a sight."

WET DREAM RAIN - Rain x Swiss - 1.4k, E

His fingers drift in aimless swirls over Rain's thigh, the water ghoul still snoring softly into his pillow. It's midday judging by the way the spring sunlight pours from between the heavy navy drapes. The air is thick with lavender and rose, sweet scents carried from the nearby gardens mingling with the heady aroma stuck in Swiss's nose. Rain is pressed against his bare chest, their sleep shirt caught up around their ribs. Swiss's other arm is around his waist, fingertips teasing the trail of soft hair poking out of Rain's boxers. His soaking wet boxers.

Bonds of Trust - Omega x Secondo - 3.4k, M

He crosses the room in a handful of strides, hands extended, and Omega visibly sags with a ragged sigh. He offers up what Secondo knew he was holding behind his back - a simple leather strap with a buckle on one end and a shiny silver ring in the center. "I need your help, Papa," Omega murmurs, and that's all Secondo needs to hear. "Then I will give it to you."

All Water Holy - Dewdrop x Rain - 6.5k, E

“Rain, I’m not- I’m not kidding,” he manages, but the laughter removes the seriousness and urgency from his voice and Rain can’t stop himself. “Not kidding about what?” he asks, mock innocent. He would have thought it would be taking more out of him to keep Dew pinned beneath him, but he seems increasingly weak the longer it goes on, wearing himself out. “Fuck you,” Dew spits, pained and forced to smile through it anyway, “seriously, I’m gonna piss myself.” Or, As always, Rain gets what he wants, and Dewdrop suffers (affectionate).

Once More, With Feeling - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 4.3k, E

Every now and then, Cirrus wakes with a very specific ache. It’s a distinctly empty feeling. Like something had been taken from her in the night, stolen away while she slept a restless sleep rife with images of shimmering skin and ruby lips. She’ll wake panting and wide-eyed, delicate claws digging into the mattress with her thighs clamped so tightly together they threatened to seize up. Every inch of her covered in goosebumps, every brush of the sheets against her skin sending electricity skittering through her tense muscles. On days like these, everything is too much. On days like these, too much is exactly what she needs. And she knows just where to get it.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Like I mentioned earlier, you've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

#hbd miasma!!#mwah mwah mwah #birthday mixtape #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost ficlets #miasma's work #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #aether ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #mountain ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #aeon ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #omega ghoul #papa emeritus ii #nameless ghouls fic #my fic recs

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