#death by fluff

[ladyfly]

Maintenance Day fluff

I really wanted to share this one. It’s based off of a dream I had. The song in this fic is 'I Want to Be Your Boyfriend' by Hot Freaks.

Maintenance day was always a nice day for you. No customers to deal with. Just you, your boys, and the hundreds of tiny Music men. You called them the Spiderlings. Today you found yourself giving the spiderlings a checkup. Sun was upstairs trying to beat Moon's score in one of the games. You could hear his frustrated growls as he failed. You were laying on your stomach. A tool kit with parts nest to you. Moon sat on you holding up his weight.

Currently he was brushing out your hair "What style do you want starling?"

You hummed "Something to keep my hair out of my face."

The spiderling you were looking at gave a happy dance at the new foot you gave it. DJ was happily playing playing whatever music he wanted. Some of it down right filthy, others saintly. He gave his best rendition of a chuckle as one of his spiderlings excitedly presented you with a large dead rat.

Once the higher ups figured out how many Tiny Music Men there actually were it was decided they would be repurposed into pest control. Often the little scrimblos would bring you the things they killed. Kind of like a cat going "Mommy! Look what I did for you!" It was almost like a game for them to bring you stuff. You had even been brought a live pigeon once.

Sun gave a cry of victory "Finally! Well Moonie. I doubt you can do better than that! I told you I was better at this game."

Moon shifted as he played with your hair adding some kind of sweet smelling product to it "We'll see about that. Just don't be a sore looser when I prove you wrong."

The heavy footfalls of someone entering the arcade made moon pause briefly. The sound of chatter echoing off the walls.

A gruff male voice firmly spoke "This is the west arcade."

The head of daytime security came into view. Beside him someone you didn't want to see. Your ex stood next to him taking the room in with a dull look on their face.

As their eyes landed on you they grinned "Well! Didn't think I'd see you again. What a pleasant surprise."

Your ex was someone who made your soul go 'Oh god not you!' with a little Sideshow Bob shudder added in. You had told Sun and Moon about them. Moon regarded them with disdain. The head of daytime security began to walk them around the arcade explaining things.

Moon abruptly stood up taking you with him "Break time Love."

Sun giggled from above "Yeah! Break time! If you work all the time you might burn out sunshine."

You watched as Sun jumped from the second floor of the arcade and land in a perfect handstand. The music playing shifted and got louder. 'I Want to Be Your Boyfriend' by Hot Freaks blared from the speakers around the arcade. Moon pulled you into a faux waltz twirling you to the first verse of the song. Now Sun and Moon are 9ft tall. Your feet could not reach the ground.

By the second verse Sun took you from him and began to dance as well. Verse by verse you were passed between the men. They left you a giggly mess. As the song came to an end Ex and the guard came back down. The guard gestured to each person in the room introducing you all.

When he got to you Ex grinned "I know them already. We were an item. I hope to be an item again. More long term though."

Moon maneuvered you into a piggy back ride "This was a thing but we have to go."

Sun nodded frantically "Yes yes! Much to do! We still need our checkup."

Your ex frowned "Should you really be letting them carry you like that? It's dangerous. It could drop you or crush you! You should stay with me. Much safer."

Sun stood up as tall as he could "We ARE safe. Very safe."

Moon nodded "We would never hurt them. Unless they asked."

You let out a gasp "Moonpie!"

Sun inched his way closer to Moon.

The guard let out a loud sigh "I don't have time for this weird ass shit. Your shift starts tomorrow Ex. Take today and get used to the building. I'm leaving."

Moon giggled followed by an indignant shriek. Sun pulled you from the back of Moon and bolted off with you in a princess carry.

Moon growled playfully "Sun! Give them back you rapscallion!"

He took off after you and sun. Ex watched annoyed as Moon took you from sun proclaiming victory. This continued all the way back to the daycare. Both men darting around the plex trying to keep you away from the other. Dodging staff, planters, and even Glamrocks on their way to the daycare. The three of you lost in raucous laughter.

[killuintense]

i always liked the older versions of Leon, but this is another level omgf if i had him in front of me i would suck him until my knees bleed 🙏

cr: anglehands on x ‹𝟹

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[demapatto-art]

fellas is it gay to wake up and find your still sleeping best friend hugging you (well... maybe the hug wasn't too bad...)

[ferumeruderu]

my contribution to ineffable 🔁 vinylatte AU by @ato-dato

[osaemu]

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH: L LAWLIET

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: he has a high fever, but he won't let you take care of him.

contents: gn!reader. fluff. mentions of mild sickness. first time writing for L (my new hyperfixation!)

“ryu, you can’t seriously work like this,” you insist, tugging at the sleeve of L’s shirt. he doesn’t respond until you snatch the half-eaten pastry out of his hand. “i’m serious!”

L turns and looks at you disbelievingly. “i’m fine,” he responds indifferently, not seeming to notice the red blush spreading throughout his face. “it’s not bad enough to keep me from the investigation,” he adds, making an attempt to retrieve his snack from your outstretched hand.

“you have a fever,” you say pointedly, taking a bite of the sugary sweet. L makes an unimpressed face and sighs, posture worsening even more—is that even possible?—before he turns back to his computer. 

“i can’t even feel it,” L insists, sticking out his bottom lip. you reach out and brush some of his hair out of his eyes, resting the back of your hand on his forehead. either your boyfriend has an otherworldly resistance to sickness or he’s lying, because he’s burning up.

you sigh and let your hand fall from L’s forehead to his cheek, fingers tracing his jawline as you watch him scroll through some sort of legal document. obviously, he’s not going to stop working without a reason, so you try a different approach. “L, if you’re sick, does that affect your deductive skills?”

L’s fingers still around the computer mouse, ceasing his scrolling as he looks back up at you. “i guess.”

“so you shouldn’t be working on a really important case while you have a high fever, right? or you could miss something.” 

he scrunches up his nose in response and thinks for a long second. “why are you trying so hard to get me to stop working?” L asks, narrowing his eyes. he tilts his head in genuine curiosity—which is funny, because you think it should be obvious.

you shrug in response, a small smile growing on your lips. “shouldn’t you know already?” you tease, poking his cheek playfully. L looks at you blankly, giving no discernable reaction—like always. “you’re impossible,” you huff, crossing your arms childishly.

“answer the question.”

“because i care about my boyfriend. sue me.”

L blinks, a flicker of surprise shining in his dark eyes. he doesn’t respond, but he does stand up and take your hand, cold fingers tangling with yours as he lets you lead him away. “thank you,” he murmurs, and his voice is almost quiet enough for you to miss his words entirely. you squeeze his hand in response—no need for words.

he rests his head on your shoulder as you exit the dark, shaded investigation room. "can i have the last bite?" he asks tentatively, pointing at the remainder of his pastry that's left in your other hand. you laugh a little and nod, pausing in front of a flight of stairs to feed L the last sugar-filled bite.

L's lips close around the flaky pastry and brush against your fingers, and even with the added blush from his fever, his face noticeably goes a shade pinker.

"you're so cute, ryu," you mumble, brushing away the crumbs that linger around his lips with your thumb. he hums in reply, shadowed eyes closing as he rests his cheek in your palm.

"i'm tired."

"then let me take care of you for a little," you insist, watching as he reopens his eyes and looks back at the ajar door of the investigation room. "please?"

"fine. a couple hours, then i have to get back to the case."

"m'kay, m'kay."

(he ends up falling asleep in your arms and doesn't wake up for seventeen hours straight—but when he does, his fever's gone!)

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N and Rio collapse against the couch, happy and full of bliss…

Y/N: that was…wow

Rio giggles…

Y/N: I’m surprised I didn’t die

Rio: you did. Several times.

Y/N: what?!

Rio: I brought you back to life. You animal!

Rio gives a wink and playful growl…

[vidals-harkness]

you’re so special, to me (rio vidal)

summary: nobody loves death. rio gets told a thousand times a day how much she's hated. but in the end, when it gets hard, there's always the one 'i love you' she can rely on. life's.

pairings: rio vidal x fem!reader

fic type: fluff with a smidge of angst

warnings: talks of death

word count: 1.08k

“I hate you!” Exclaimed the grieving daughter as Rio stood near the hospital bed.

“I hate you!” Yelled the mother as Rio cradled her baby in her arms.

“I hate you!” Screamed the husband, his wife’s body delicately walking beside her.

“I hate you!” Said the father, watching her take his hurting son away.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Day in, day out, till the clocks stopped working. Year after year, since the world began spinning. All that hate, all that resentment.

Every time she would feel those rattling breaths, the halting hearts, the tears shed by their loved ones, the blood on the floor. She would feel their pulse against her fingertips, their timers ticking slower and slower. The sand running out from the hourglass.

She would take their hand, bring them peace, and the first thing to be said was “I hate you,”

Nobody loved death. This was a fact. There were exceptions: those who ran into her embrace, those who were cast away, those who were unloved, those who had nobody.

But in the end, it was always ‘I hate you’.

She would never admit it, but despite every single century, she had sat in the darkness and wept.

She’d watch you, envious.

You’d enter a room, and joy would follow. You’d make the hearts beat again, the pulse quicken. You’d form life in the wombs, you’d make little limbs move.

“You’re beautiful,” they all said.

You were wanted, you were what they wished for. Not her.

But she loved you. She loved your radiance, the light you carried. She loved the way your blessings were gentle, divine.

You made the cycle start again, made the flowers grow, the birds sing, and the grass sway, made the breath flow steady in the air.

You were Life.

She was the one that turned it all to ash. The one who snatched the breath away. She was the one who wilted the flowers, browned the grass, silenced the birds.

She was Death.

Yet when the time for tranquility came…there you were.

I hate you, I hate you, I—

“I love you,” you whispered. One whisper silenced the shouts.

“Why don’t they want me?” She asked, her hair falling softly onto her face as she lay with you—moments of rare peace.

“They are flawed creatures, my love,” you responded, ever tranquil and reasonable. “They don’t know the aid you provide, the peace, the release,”

“Nobody wants me,” she said, her tears staining her soft cheeks. Before they could fall on her robes your soft hand caught them, tender as a feather.

“I want you,” you said plainly.

“Why? All I bring is gloom and grief,”

“What you bring is peace and tranquility, cloaked behind the mortal blindness of grief,”

She listened to your heartbeat, she felt your warmth. She’d spent lifetime after lifetime taking, but could never give anything in return. You spend lifetime after lifetime only ever giving, only to never take anything to compensate.

“Selfless creature,” she scoffed. “You give and give and give, you never take,”

You pondered for a moment. “That is the consequence, my dear,”

“How?”

“I never have anything for myself,”

“You never get told you are hated, ever,” she countered plainly.

“The boy on the roof, the girl in the ward, the criminal in the prison,” you listed out. “Many hate life, but the sacred balance unfortunately rests the highest burden upon you, my love,”

“Life cannot love death,” she said.

“Yet I love you,” you replied, sealing your words with a kiss to her forehead. “You are my balance, you are my shadow, you are my everything,”

She smiled, a rare smile that brightened her eyes and warmed her heart. Unknowingly it did the same for you. It made her cold cheeks tint pink, made your own heart flutter.

“I am destruction,” she said.

“You are the destruction from which life begins again,” you whispered, fingertips trailing along her neck. “You are the rugged beauty of the mountains, the beauty of the fall, the beauty of a dandelion, of a thunderstorm,”

She felt your words calm her racing heart, she felt it drown out the sea of insults, she felt beautiful.

“I love you,” you said, with a conviction that only an angel could muster. “I love you as the sun loves the moon, as the sky loves the earth. I will keep loving you till the timer runs out, till the last grain of sand falls in the hourglass.

“You can pillage, you can murder, you can plunder. But even then I will see your wild, wild beauty, even then I will wonder like I do each and every day, how such a beautiful soul could love me as I am,”

She leaned up, her hands her support, giving Life a kiss, giving her beloved a kiss. Your lips moved in sync, a dance of gentle and harsh, light and darkness.

As you broke away, still so close that you were breathing each other’s air. She inhaled your scent—so clearly alive. Of moss and petrichor and spring and summer. She understood why your role was what it was.

You were the embodiment of comfort, of joy, of peace. You were the reason why she could keep going without withering away and remaining a mechanical shell of herself.

“You silence the voices within my mind,” she admitted quietly, her eyes locking in on yours. “Your eyes hold the universe, and out of the tens of millions of people who say they hate me, wish ill-will upon me, you are the only one who says you love me,”

Your eyes crinkled at the sides as you smiled, the universe within those heavenly irises shifting as it twinkled. “I will spend every single moment of my eternal existence reminding you that you are loved, Rio Vidal,”

She traced the lining of your lips, your face, your eyes with her fingertips. “Are you even real?”

“I exist only for you, my love,” you smiled. “And you’re so special, to me,”

That’s all she needed.

One voice amidst the thousands. One ‘I love you’ to break through the hate.

Just one you, to help her through it all.

And so Death settled in the embrace of Life, allowing the sand in the hourglass to fall, allowing the timer to tick. Each breath, first and last, thrummed through your synchronised heartbeats, and there she just stayed, listening to the one sentence which fell from your lips.

“I love you,”

hello my bao buns! i’m sorry for the delay in my works but tumblr keeps deleting them :<. i’m working on ‘baby witch from death’ and your requests. thank you all for your patience, bao buns! i love you all!

love, jaya

[megwritesriddles]

Tied to You ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Young! Severus Snape x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 14 - Praise & Bondage. Severus has a girlfriend and he's about as shocked as anyone about it. She brings something out in him, something loving, something experimental, but also something slightly more sinister.

Tags: Praise kink, Light bondage, Fingering, Dom!Severus, Lots of praise, Good girl, Reader is referred to as a girl a LOT, Established relationship (kinda?), Getting together, Fluff, Red flags, Possessive behaviour, Unhealthy/Toxic relationship dynamic forming, Ambiguous ending (kinda).

Word count: 3.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: I can't write Severus as anything other than at least a bit of a creepy little freak, even though this is mostly normal and fluffy!! Again this includes a lot of unnecessary backstory to set the scene!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Being in a relationship was a very novel concept to Severus. It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought would happen to him until recently. Sure, he’d daydreamed about it throughout his life to various degrees, but he’d always resigned himself to the fact that daydreams would be the closest he would get. However, you were very real. He’d known of you since the first year, being in his same year group he was bound to have heard your name a few times, whether on registers or from overheard gossip at the Slytherin table. 

He’d never thought of you very much at all until the sixth year when you were in the same advanced potions class as him. The class was much smaller than in previous years, full of only the highest achievers in the subject in the O.W.L.s and this is where he noticed you. You were on the quieter side in class, but whenever you were called on, you gave the correct answers. You were obviously intelligent, especially at this subject, which intrigued him as a bit of a ‘swot’ as his few friends called him. He liked that you cared about studying, much more than most of your peers seemed to. It was also quite obvious even by a glance that you were a pretty girl. Once he’d started paying a little more attention to you, he’d overheard many unsavoury comments about you by his peers, about what they might like to do to you. But, you kept yourself to yourself, frequently kindly (but firmly) turning down boys who tried to flirt with you. He admired that you weren’t above a little threat against the boys who couldn’t hear the word ‘no’. Despite your withdrawn nature, you were well known as a member of the duelling club, a high achieving one at that, and so often were able to threaten the boys into backing off.

All sixth year he’d silently admired you. When the seventh year began, he told himself he’d let go of it and focus solely on his studies, but he’d never been less focused in his life. All the feelings he’d harboured for Lily for so long latched themselves onto you, becoming much larger and more consuming. They felt like a frightening entity on their own, following him around everywhere he went, trying to pounce on you whenever you’d make small talk with him before class in the corridor, or seek him out for advice on your potions homework, even though you always seemed to actually know what you were talking about. He should have realised something was odd about this, but he was too blinded by self-hatred to see the woods from the trees. So when you confessed to having feelings for him, he’d initially just sat and stared silently at you.

You’d caught him in the library, as you had taken to doing often lately and asked to sit. He’d agreed, expecting another odd question about the homework but instead, you’d sat there chewing your lip. His eyes had strayed down to the sight a few too many times, no matter how he tried to control himself. He watched as the corners of your lips tugged up a little. 

“I have a crush on you, Severus,” you’d admitted with a shaky breath. He’d just blinked at you. “Well… crush sounds so juvenile… I fancy you? I have… feelings for you?” you continued on. “I just figured I ought to say something before it’s too late, you know?”

And that’s how he’d ended up in a relationship with you. He was so shocked at the time that he can't even remember what he’d said to you in response, and it was too late to ask. Whatever it was, it had clearly worked, as you had pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek and the next weekend, he was waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. By the end of that evening, you’d been sitting in his lap and kissing him with a passion he had never even seen, let alone felt for himself, his arms around your waist, touching you gingerly. 

The entire school was baffled by your relationship. His friends and even several strangers asked him how the hell he had managed to ensnare you and he had no answer for any of them even if he wanted to, he couldn’t understand it either. One day he believes he will never be in a relationship in his life, and the next, the most beautiful girl in all of Hogwarts is hanging off of his arm for all to see. He’s surprised how unashamed you are, not only to be dating him but with public displays of affection. You always hook your arm around his as you walk, kiss his cheek as a goodbye, sit in his lap in the library and sneak his hand up your thigh. Sex. That’s the part of all this that seems the craziest to him because all of a sudden he has an active sex life. You’re all over him, and as much as it makes his head spin, he’s always willing to indulge you. 

The first time you’d brought him into your dorm, he hadn’t known what was going on until you were stripping him down. Of course, you’d asked him several times if you could proceed, but he had just blindly agreed because he would let you do anything. He hadn’t told you he was a virgin until after you were done, even though he knew you knew, if from nothing else, from his very speedy performance. You’d been very sweet about it, as you were about everything, and snuggled up to him, falling asleep in his arms. No one had ever felt so safe around him before. He wanted desperately to keep you in his arms forever, and when you got up in the morning, he almost held you hostage but ended up playing it off as a joke. You’d just giggled at him and told him he’d be the cutest captor in the world, which he laughed off, but the thought crossed his mind.

He was having the most sex out of everyone in his dorm, which would have been completely unfathomable only a few months ago. It surprised him how voracious you were, you’d always seemed rather meek, yet you were dragging him away at least once a day if not more. It was a surprise that he loved. You’d created a monster, a monster that constantly loomed over his time with you. He wasn’t sure how he would ever cope if this relationship ended, not only emotionally, but also having gotten used to such frequent sexual activity. There was hardly anyone else who would ever be willing to indulge him, and you loved to, which made it a thousand times better. He felt desirable to you, a feeling he’d been inadvertently chasing his entire life. He was never going to let you go. Ever. 

You didn’t seem to realise how serious he was when he told you as such. You’d giggle and peck his cheeks and tell him in a sweet little voice that you’d never let him go either, but he knew you didn’t mean it quite like he did. You enjoyed his possessive streak, loving the way his arm would slip around you when a boy would stare, marking you all over as his. As baffling as it was to everyone, there was no confusion about the fact you were taken, constantly covered in little lovebites, his hands on you whenever they could be. He’d adjust your skirts and button up your tops, softly whispering how this skin was for his eyes only now. As he gained more confidence in public displays of affection with you, he’d grip your thigh in a possessive gesture under the table, and kiss at your neck in front of others, a reminder of who left those marks there. 

Severus was always up for anything that you recommended in the bedroom, surprisingly experimental despite his rigid routines during the day. You played around often, trying new things, different dynamics, different positions, and introducing various aids. As time went on, you could tell he was coming into himself as a more dominant presence, his initial nerves and shyness wearing off as he got used to you and the idea that you truly did like him and desired him. You were happy to submit to him and let yourself go with whatever he wanted from you. Every part of him was long and lithe and elegant, exploring parts of you that had never been touched before, deep within you. He loved to watch you come undone, taking immense satisfaction in the knowledge of his effects on you, effects he thought he’d never have on anyone. He worships you in the most sinful ways, and you worship him in return. Your roommates all hate the both of you, no matter how many silencing charms you cast. 

You’re a little anxious when Severus heads to Hogsmeade alone one weekend, no matter how much he insists he’s only buying you a present. You’ve barely been apart for more than classes since your relationship began, and while you doubt he’s off cheating on you, the distance still makes you unreasonably anxious. You pounce on him when he returns, telling him how much you missed him, not spotting his smug smile against your shoulder. He rubs your back and assures you he felt similarly while he was away, which he did, he’d been desperate to get back to you, for many reasons. He gives you a little box, housing a little silver necklace that he’d gone to fetch from Hogsmeade for you. It has a little ‘S’ as the pendant, his initial, another means with which to stake claim over you. He clasps it behind your neck and you’re all smiles as you declare how much you love it. Then you notice another little bag.

“Is that for your other girlfriend?” you joke, pouting a little. He laughs, kissing your cheek. 

“No, it’s for you my love, but we have to be alone for me to show you,” he guides you up to his dorm which is currently empty, most of his dormmates now avoid the space whenever they can because of the two of you. He brings you to his bed to sit in his lap and closes the curtains around you. You giggle, fascinated to see what he’s got, already making a few mental guesses. 

Although it hadn’t popped into your head as a guess, the small spool of rope makes sense as he pulls it from the bag. He explains that it’s a soft cotton material that is both sturdy and comfortable. He doesn’t have to tell you what it’s for, you already know, and you’re willing to give it a go, the idea already exciting you a little. He can tell from the way you begin to rub your thighs together slightly. He’s become fluent in your body language over the course of your relationship, by now he’s sure he could write the dictionary. He grins at you.

“So sweet already getting all excited,” he whispers, his voice deep and silky. You love the authoritative tone he uses to speak to you when he wants to be in charge like this, it makes your thighs clench even more. “Now come on, my love, how would you like your hands tied?” he enquires softly, rubbing a hand over your thigh. After a short period of deliberation between the two of you, he lies you down against the bed and starts slowly popping open the buttons of your shirt one by one, making his way down to untuck it from your skirt. He pushes the shirt open and down, palms smoothing over your bare shoulders. You sit up for a moment to let the shirt fall away completely and so that he can reach around you to unhook your bra more easily. Once he’s pulled the bra away from you, you lie back down. “Good girl, my beautiful girl,” he praises, gently folding your shirt up and placing it onto the ground, then setting your bra on top of it. He taps your hips, urging you to lift them, gently sliding down your skirt, followed by your underwear. His need for you is mounting, folding these items a little more haphazardly before he places them on the ground by the others. He gently holds your legs apart, rubbing a hand up and down your thighs. “You like the idea of being tied up for me?” he chuckles, seeing you already glistening with want. You nod and he hums. “Aren’t you just perfect? My perfect girl,” he coos, leaning down to pepper kisses on your stomach for a moment before sitting back up. You watch him eagerly, yearning for him to give you what you want. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists and lifts them over your head, reaching for the length of rope. “Is this alright? Your arms aren’t stretching too much?”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure, watching as he starts carefully threading the rope around your wrists in figure-eights. 

“I read up on how to do this, let’s hope I get it on the first try,” he smiles down at you. You giggle in return. He fusses for a little while, adjusting and readjusting so it’s not too tight, but that you can’t slip out of the restraints either. You’re sure he’s being a perfectionist about it like he is about most things, so you wait patiently. Once he’s happy, he sits back and looks at you, in all your naked glory, lying there tied up and waiting for him. He shivers and groans. “Merlin… You look like an angel, my beautiful perfect girl,” he leans down and leaves open-mouthed kisses along your neck, reinforcing several fading hickies he’s left on you before. You moan softly and squirm beneath him, pulling at your restraints without meaning to, feeling the need to touch him. You’re surprised how quickly you feel the need to use your hands and he just smirks at you. “Be good for me and don’t fight your restraints, won’t you?” he murmurs. You nod weakly, ceasing your movements and taking a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax as his lips and hands explore your body at a torturous pace. His lips kiss patterns around and between your breasts slowly, leaving a litany of little marks behind to mark his territory, his hands slowly sliding up and down your hips and waist. “Your body is absolutely exquisite, I don’t tell you that enough, my love, sculpted by the gods, all for me,” he mutters against your skin, sucking another lovebite into the side of your breast. The praise flusters you, part of you wants to argue, but you adore the idea of him truly seeing you that way, and you believe he does. He continues to press deliberate kisses across your chest, his eyes shut in prayer. His hands brush your stomach, teasing you by skimming low and withdrawing. You sigh needily and feel him nip your skin in response. “Tell me what you want,” he orders softly.

“I want your fingers inside me,” you answer breathily, writhing a little but making sure to keep your hands still. You feel him smile and nip the skin of your sternum, by your fluttering heart. 

“That’s my girl, always so direct,” he chuckles, sitting up and spreading your legs once more. He gasps softly. “Oh… you must really be liking being at my mercy, hm? Dripping wet for me,” he smiles, rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh. His genuine smile is a rarity, he’s usually so stoic and serious, that the sight of it makes you whimper for him. Oh, how crazy he drives you. “Shhh, wait like a good girl, I know you can wait, you’re more than capable,” you pout up at him and he smiles again.“Those perfect pouty lips,” he leans down and gives you a soft sensual kiss, his fingertips tracing patterns up your thigh as he kisses you. You want to wrap your arms around him, to slide your hand in his trousers, but instead, you pull pathetically at your ropes for a moment before giving up and focusing on kissing him. His fingers nudge gently at your folds, making you spread your legs further eagerly. The tip of his index finger slides up and down between your folds, gathering wetness and using it to help circle your sensitive nub. You whine softly against his lips. “Good girl, you sound so beautiful when I make you feel good,” he praises. He leisurely slides a finger into you, which you accommodate easily due to your high state of arousal. His lithe fingers reach places you’d never even realised you’d had before your relationship with him, gently stimulating the tender spongy spot within you that makes your hips buck. He adds another finger, making you gasp and moan softly. He strokes your walls for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch, which doesn’t take too long in the state you’re in. You stare up into his eyes, silently begging him to move his fingers, he grins back at you, his nose bumping yours affectionately. “What is it, my love?” you whine at his playful innocence, he gets like this sometimes, all smug and teasing, a monster that you had created.

“M-move them, please,” you pant, tugging uselessly at your restraints. He gives you a pointed look and you stop. 

“Okay, but you have to keep being good for me, I know you can,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, slowly withdrawing his fingers and pressing them back in. You mewl softly, digging your heels into the plush mattress. His fingers move slowly and expertly from months of memorising your body, pushing up against that tender spot with each thrust. The room fills with vulgar wet sounds and Severus finally thinks to cast a silencing spell with his free hand. You blush, both at the realisation you hadn’t been silenced, but also at the nonchalant way he does magic while moving his fingers inside you. It’s oddly hot and he feels you fluttering around his fingers. “What is it, sweet girl? What made you throb?” he enquires, kissing your jaw. You giggle breathlessly, his fingers still working you.

“Just you,”

“I’m flattered, my love,” he purrs. “You’re so perfect for me, aren’t you? My dream girl, my perfect girl,” he mumbles between kisses against your skin, his fingers speeding up, making you whimper and squirm. He sits up, his movements never ceasing, to look over you. Your hands tied sends a possessive thrill through him, the more innocent thought that you trust him like this, and the more dangerous idea to keep you like this. “Look at you,” he hums. “You look divine, all flushed and needy for me,” he punctuates his sentence by beginning to circle his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke out a moan, your eyes closing for a moment. “You’re doing so well, my love, good girl, you must be getting close,”

“Y-yeah,” you moan, your back arching slightly.

“You always look so beautiful when you come,” he muses, intensifying his movements. Your moans pick up, louder and more frequent, your hands tensing and untensing in the restraints, wishing to grab onto something but unable to do anything but dig your nails into your palms. “That’s it, let yourself go, be a good girl for me like I know you are,” he coaxes. “Let me feel you come on my fingers, let me feel your pussy clench,” you gasp at his lewd words, your head growing fuzzier. It only takes a few more moments and you fall apart, your whole body shivering and going warm. You cry out his name in desperation, nails digging into your palms, back arching up off of the bed. He keeps going relentlessly, feeling you clenching around his fingers, driving you to the point of near insanity, wailing in pleasure before he finally slows down his ministrations. “You were so good, my love, so beautiful, I’m so proud of you,” he leans down, kissing across your chest once more, slowly withdrawing his fingers. You whine softly, your chest heaving under his lips as you struggle to regain your breath, your heart pounding under your skin. “That’s it, calm down for me,” he soothes, kissing up to your mouth and pressing a lingering kiss to your parted lips. “How was that?”

“Yeah, good, very good,” you laugh breathlessly. He caresses your cheek, nuzzling your nose with his own.

“Did being tied up make it better?”

“In some ways, it felt more intense, more submissive than I usually am, but I did miss touching you,” you explain quietly. He nods along in understanding. “But I’ll happily do it again, I just need some recovery time,” you smile sheepishly, and he kisses your cheek. 

“I understand, my love, you’ve been a very good girl, no more tonight, my perfect girl must be tired,” he hums. He leans up and loosens your restraints, placing placating kisses on your wrists where the rope had been rubbing slightly, but he doesn’t entirely remove the rope, just gently massaging your wrists with his thumbs for a moment.

“Are you going to untie me?” you ask playfully. He pauses for a moment, thinking, before fiddling with the rope again. He secures your wrists to the headboard of his bed, making you furrow your brows in confusion. “You said no more tonight,”

“I know, my love, and I stick to it, but I think I’ll keep you here anyway,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[kisstoru]

⋆ ⭒˚. ⋆ THE SWEET LIFE - KENTO NANAMI

word count: 1.5k

warnings: established relationship, pet names, angst, spoilers

note: thank you @thebimbopalace for beta reading, ily 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

the golden rays of the sun welcome you and kento nanami in the outskirts of kuantan, seeping through the windows of your hotel room and painting your bodies with a tender warmth. remnants of last night’s love permeate the air, mingling with the cosy undertones of vanilla and sandalwood.

your lips curve into an ever-growing smile as you feel feather-like kisses peppered along the sensitive flesh of your neck and down to your shoulders. your eyes remain shut, allowing yourself to bask in the softness of the cotton bedsheets. the moulding of your boyfriend’s broad frame into yours envelops you in a cloud of serenity.

with a contented hum, you stretch your limbs, turning your body to face kento. your eyes flutter open to greet his hazel ones before tracing over the faint freckles splattered across the canvas of his nose and cheeks — tiny kisses from the sun as a silent ‘thank you’ for embracing her light with open arms.

this is heaven, you think.

“good morning,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sleep.

kento’s eyes soften as you speak, the crow’s feet around them peeking through as he smiles at you. he leans forward, his lips meeting yours in a brief yet heartfelt kiss. “good morning, love.”

his lips move up to graze your nose, stretching into a grin as he watches you scrunch it reflexively. his arm is draped around your waist, pulling you closer into his honey trap.

you’re smushed against his chest, face-to-face with his heart. kento’s chest hair tickles your skin, feeling the delicate flower of his heart blossom at the dulcet tone of your giggle, seeping through the barrier of his sternum. his breath hitches when you tilt your head back to look at him, his body freezing over momentarily as his gaze lingers on your angelic features.

time is nothing but a construct, kento thinks. you never fail to make him feel the way he did when he saw you for the first time. you were as sweet as the freshly baked cinnamon rolls you bought, your saccharine voice ringing in his ears as you gave the cashier a smile that outshines the sun.

he remembers the sheen of sweat coating his hands and the slight quiver of his bottom lip as he tried to get a word out — at least one — but with such a dreamy sight easing his eyes, how could he?

and that feeling never left.

“we should get up,” you mumble, bringing him out of his trance.

kento’s eyebrows knit together into a frown. he wants to hold onto this moment a little longer as he hopes this morning will be the last time he wakes up as your boyfriend.

he’s never been so sure about anything before, constantly plagued with doubts and lingering fears in a world full of the unknown, but making you his wife? there isn’t a hint of hesitation in his mind.

“in a bit,” he mutters, his fingers idly playing with the ends of your hair. “let’s stay like this for a while.”

“kento,” you start before your words are flattened into a squeal. his fingertips nip at your sides, his lips planting kisses all over your face, not daring to miss an inch.

“ken— mmph, stop!” you manage to choke out between fits of giggles, your body squirming in his hold. kento smirks against your jaw, his strong arms on either side of your frame caging you.

“not happening,” he chuckles, lifting his body to straddle you and resuming his attack of kisses on your flushed face. “why don’t we start this morning right, hm?”

the morning slips by, the sound of steel meeting wood ricochets off the kitchen walls as you split the dragonfruit. kento leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, giving you a once-over. you’re adorned in his shirt, which hangs loosely over your frame, and he has never thought you looked more beautiful. his gaze trails down to your hand holding the knife, lingering on your bare ring finger.

in his mind’s eye, he can make out the outline of the ring he bought you, the diamond glinting proudly under the sun’s blinding light.

placing his mug on the counter, he stands up straight, his heavy feet padding along the tile floor as he walks towards you. you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips when he wraps his muscular arms around your waist.

placing a gentle kiss on your temple, kento rests his chin on your shoulder, glancing at the unknown fruit on the chopping board. “what’s that?”

“dragon fruit,” you reply, reaching for a spoon to scoop the magenta flesh out. “it’s associated with good luck in some cultures.”

kento furrows his eyebrows slightly, releasing you from his hold. “yeah?” he leans back on the counter once more, observing you slice the fruit into cubes with precision. “i should try it then.”

you giggle, picking up a perfectly cut cube and bringing it to his lips. “open.”

kento complies, his eyes boring into yours as he takes the cube into his mouth. the subtle sugariness washes over his taste buds, a splash of acid trickling through. the taste is unique yet familiar, a contradiction that hazes his senses.

a taste of a life with you.

“is it good?” you ask, your eyes trained on his reactions.

kento’s eyes soften in response, nodding. “yeah,” his calloused hands rest on your hips. “really good.”

leaning in, he pauses when he hears you stifle a laugh. “what’s so funny?”

“you got some lipstick on you,” you tease, holding your hand out to wipe away the fuchsia stain smudged on kento’s lips. you bring your hand back, revealing your pigmented fingers, which match the tint of the blush spreading on his cheeks. “you gotta tell me the shade.”

kento clicks his tongue, feigning annoyance as he lets go of you, attempting to mask his flustered state. “you’re not funny.”

“come on, ken,” you whine, pouting playfully. “you know you love me.”

his irritated façade melts away when you tug at his wrist, turning him around to meet your teasing expression. “i suppose i do,” he relents, his shoulders slackening.

more than you’ll ever know.

after lunch, kento decides to take you to the beach outside your hotel. he has his proposal carefully planned out as if he has rehearsed what to say countless times. the blue field in the sky stretches above the two of you, the faint squawking of seagulls in the distance blending with the serene waves crashing onto the shore.

the sun hangs high among the cerulean ceiling, washing a radiant glow over you. you look otherworldly, and kento can’t help but be entranced by your beauty.

his fingers weave into yours, smoothly filling in the gaps that threatened to separate you. his heart beats wildly against his ribcage, his breathing growing more laboured.

“you know,” kento starts, fighting to keep his tone steady. “i’ve always dreamt of leaving my days of being a jujutsu sorcerer behind. now that i’ve done it, it feels surreal.”

he stops in his steps, turning his head to look at you. “but it feels right,” he continues. “i’m ready to settle down, to spend the rest of my life with you if you’ll have me.”

when the jigsaw pieces of his words fit together in your brain, your eyes widen. “kento.”

letting go of your hand, his trembling hand reaches for his trouser pocket, taking out a tiny box. he lowers himself down on one knee, his eyes never leaving your surprised ones.

exhaling a shaky breath, he opens the box. “will you marry me?”

you slap your hand over your mouth, the question sinking in. before you could get a word out, the harsh sunlight reaches his eyes, briefly blinding his vision.

when he opens his eyes, you’re nowhere to be seen, and the beach has morphed into a train station.

his eye flickers at his surroundings. a grotesque image is painted out for his sight — corpses of curses are splayed out on the floor, blood splattered on the walls.

this is his reality.

it’s as if the universe is scoffing in his face, playing a trailer of what could’ve been in his mind. the thought of leaving you burned at his heart more than his charred skin.

‘be safe’ were your last words to him before he left your shared apartment this morning. kento could almost laugh at the irony.

despite knowing the dangers that came with being a jujutsu sorcerer, you remained supportive through it all, being his anchor in the chaos that is his life. he wonders if he told you he loved you today.

he knows this is his reality no matter which universe he is in — he’ll always prioritise the lives of others at the cost of his own. he knows you won’t resent him as you’ve always understood where you stood in his life. the realisation leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

what would you have said if he could live out his dream just a minute longer?

he’ll never know.

oopsie daisy 😇

[kqtnap]

im sooo sick of seeing smut of minors normalized on this app..

There is an unbelievable amount of smut and weird posts about minor characters on here. ( e.g: the students at kyoto/jujustu high, the majority of haikyuu characters, project sekai, my here academia students and SO many more.)

I feel like this shouldnt be a conversation that anyone should have to have because it should be obvious to everyone that it is NOT okay to write smut about CHILDREN.

And ive seen people try to excuse their actions by saying “oh well im younger than them so its okay!!” “theyre just fictional characters it isnt that deep!!”, neither of those things make it okay because they are still MINORS whether you think it’s okay or not.

It isnt that hard to not be a weirdo and some of you guys need to get that through your heads!!! and I dont care if you think im being ‘dramatic’ im just saying what i think is true.

and i’ve noticed its usually a bunch of big creators and they ALWAYS get away with it and everyone eats it up like its normal. As someone with a small following its weird no matter your following.

( P.S my tags are random just to get you’re attention please don’t pay them any mind >_< )

bye bye :P

[killuintense]

put me in a room with him and I won't be the one who gets pregnant.

[bazpango]

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

“…is there cake?—”

“For God’s, gh, c’mere.”

[sketch]

[clare-875]

Wait, I'm Sorry (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Female Reader Summary: You get hurt after an argument. Warnings: Angst/Fluff, Descriptions of injury, some swearing, Gojo being kind of unreasonable in the beginning, Canonical violence [JJK Masterlist] _____

The atmosphere was tense within your home. You hated it, you hated feeling the trepidation churn in your chest as you watched silently Gojo's unusually rigid form. You are standing as you look at him sitting on the living room sofa and his sharp eyes glowing with his anger. They are trained purposefully on the ground before him, like he hadn't just spat cruel words at you. Suddenly, the lovely evening that was supposed to be spent felt heavy with the built-up tension. Suddenly, the beautiful dress you picked up and the makeup you perfected on your face was ruined with tears and the angst of the evening. What had happened? What had happened to the compliments on your form earlier that evening, the words "stunning," "beautiful," and "love" whispered in your ear. What had happened to his arm wrapped around your waist as he took you on your weekly date? What happened to the flowers that still lay within a vase, your favourites, ones he had given you mere hours ago. Why was he being so cruel now, because of something you couldn't control.

"Satoru, I'm telling you, you're overreacting." Your voice is sullen now as your tears make exhaustion creep up on you after the half-hour spent now arguing. "He was just-" Satoru's eyes are narrowed as they turn to you quickly, and your heart drops at the sight of his irritation. It was a sight of anger you never had seen pointed at you, and you felt sadness creep up at the fact that now you knew what it was like; what it was like to have the 'strongest's' eyes look at you in a way that didn't reflect love and devotion. "You didn't see him [y/n]! He was basically undressing you with his eyes in front of me!" You groan now sharp irritation ringing in the back of your head at the same scenario brought back and forth. "And what did you do?! You fucking smiled at him!" Your body is now consumed with rage as you turn to your boyfriend and his incessant words, his blunt and stubborn reasoning. "Yes Satoru, I smiled because he was our fucking WAITER, and he was being polite!"

Satoru rolls his eyes.

"You know what, I'm done." You turn, lips tugging downward at his childishness that returns when he can't see reason past his daftness. "Come get me when you actually want to have an adult conversation about this." You gather your purse and make a beeline for the door, but Satoru's eyes are still trained on you angrily. "[y/n], I'm not done with-" You turn to him sharply then, your own anger and disappointment seeping into your gaze, seeping into his eyes. "I'm done." With that, you slam the door closed and you leave Satoru looking wide-eyed at the spot you just were. He feels an unfamiliar grip on his chest as he looks at the lack of you now in his home following the lack of a beautiful evening. But Satoru can't help it. Even if it had all been in his mind and even if he had taken it too far, all he imagines are his eyes looking at you with a spark of desire he knew too well. All he saw was his smirk, one that rose subtly enough so that only Satoru could see. All he saw was your angelic smile pointed at him like his thoughts were shrouded with the mere innocence of pouring you another drink. So, Satoru stays put despite his body telling him to get you before you leave.

But he remembers your eyes, angry and disappointed.

You, on the other hand, make your way to Shoko's place and she is surprised when she sees your tear-stained face at her doorway but ushers you in. "What did Gojo do this time?" Her eyes are narrowed as she thinks of the white-haired man, so undeserving of you, or at least in her mind he was. You wipe your eyes quickly and shake your head letting out a long sigh. "It was so stupid." You mutter disbelievingly at the ceiling as Shoko nods her head in grim understanding. "Well, you're welcome to stay the night, you know that." You smile gratefully at your best friend as you nod slowly. "Thanks, Shoko." She grins half-heartedly as you watch her go back into the depths of her home and see the swipe of her hand as she pulls out a cigarette, leaving you be. However, when you got yourself ready to go to bed that night, you slept terribly and he did too. You hated it; the lack of his warm arms and the cheesy lines he'd say before bed. He hated it; the lack of your sweet words and your loving gaze lulling him to sleep. He would apologise in the morning, he thought to himself.

But he never got the chance.

You were awoken to a call early in the morning and your eyes were weary as they shot to your bright phone in the depths of the dark dawn. You half expected it to be Satoru, but when you look, you see that it is a number retained for your work. Sure enough, when you pick up, it is for a job to exorcise a grade-two curse causing a reign of terror in a nearby abandoned hospital. You were a semi-grade one sorcerer and the only one with an apt grade who was free for the day. You sigh heavily and despite thinking you would have the day free, you decide that maybe you could use a win. So, you leave a note for Shoko thanking her and asking her to inform Satoru if she has the chance. Then, you quickly make your way to the Jujutsu High School for your uniform and further details. However, when you finally do make it to the abandoned hospital in the early shine of the rising sun, you notice instantly that something is wrong. You feel it brimming within the atmosphere, an untold power, an untold curse that felt too strong to be a second-grade curse. But before you can contemplate the situation further. A curse appears from the depths of the floor.

You quickly ready your weapon and soon, there is a multitude of smaller curses building upon smaller ones, gurgling incoherently and its disfigured form towering over you. You grit your teeth but ready your cursed technique. This wasn't the one you were worried about. You dodge an incoming attack and strike your weapon, but you defeat the curse after only a small number of attacks. Soon, all that is left is a muddle of its remains slowly disappearing into the floor, but this was all too easy. You know the fight's not over, and you are right. "Help me." You turn quickly at the sound of a child's voice in the barren hallway, your eyes sparking wildly at the trembling of it. The reports said nothing about hostages. "Help me, please." You start to run swiftly through the cool corridors left with built-up mould and cracks. You follow the voice as it calls out to you louder now, more rapidly.

Thinking back, you really should have been a bit more weary.

As you rip open a door, the sound of the child reaches your ears and your eyes spot a small young girl with teary eyes and soft blond hair looking at you desperately. "Please, please help me." Your eyebrows furrow at her form slightly dirty and eyes that reflect despair. "It's okay," your voice now reaches the air as you slowly approach her from the door cautiously. "Everything's going to be ok-" You are slammed into the wall from your side so rapidly that you can't even react. For a moment you're confused, and then you feel the pounding of your head and the gut-wrenching scream you stifle in your throat at the pain. The pain that now seeps through your body. Your mind whirls and your vision sways as you desperately try to get a grip on your reality, but your form is betraying you. "Help me." Your eyes go to the girl that had been in front of you but you watch wide-eyed as she disappears from sight. More like, she had never been there in the first place. It was all a trick of your mind, a hallucination put in place by the curse that looms in the corner of the room before you.

A special grade curse.

Your breath comes in rapidly as you watch it smile wickedly at you, and you groan as it slowly approaches you as you wrestle yourself from the floor and try to move. But you are too slow. The curse lets out an intolerable blow and you feel yourself break through walls and you feel your blood start to mingle atop your skin. Your vision blurs from nothing to the blurry scene of the special grade curse slowly approaching you. I'm dead. Your mind buzzes and you feel your eyes slowly start to lose their will to be kept open. I'm so dead. I couldn't even do a single thing... Your mind then flashes to a pair of bright blue eyes, to the smile you adore. Satoru... what would he say? You groan as your breath shakes at the weight of your injuries. You then feel your hands reach for your phone and you are surprised to see it unshattered after the multiple hits you undertook. You press the speed dial and bring it shakily to your ear as you watch your death approach you. It rings once, it rings twice, and then you hear it, his voice, so comforting it almost makes you cry.

"[y/n]?"

There is silence as your heart thrums faster at the impending defeat that looms and you say two words that you never thought you would say so bluntly to your boyfriend, even when every day he swore to keep you safe. "Satoru." Satoru's eyes are wide when he hears your stuttered gasps and the strain in your voice as though you were in pain; you are in pain. His heart pounds erratically and he knows instantly there's something horribly wrong. "[y/n]! What's wrong?! What's happening?!" Your mind slowly starts to turn dull as you can't even keep your eyes focused on the curse that comes before you. "Save me." With that, your phone falls limp to the floor and you don't hear the screaming that takes place from within it, or see how Gojo almost loses his mind. But as your mind whirrs and you see the building power of another cursed technique before you, your thoughts are only of him. So as consciousness fades and you finally let yourself delve into peace, you think it is a final blessing, a rare kindness of the curse when you see a flash of white hair and movements you could recognise from anywhere.

Because it has to be another hallucination.

You feel it then, arms wrapping around you and words shrouded with grief. "Baby, please, wait, I'm sorry." He blabbers and his crystal eyes are broken in his tears. "[Y/N]!"

The Gojo Satoru sobbing over the top of you, what a beautiful sight to die to.

.....

You hear it first before you see it. Pain. But it wasn't yours. There is a steady beep in the background and though your eyes are closed you wonder if life had actually gifted you more of it. You hear the steady rise and fall of your chest and you feel the steady squeeze of your hand.

You hear unsteady words, murmuring with loss.

It had been years since Shoko had seen his crystal eyes so broken as he turned to you, endless streams of tears tearing away his usual composure. His gaze is wide and full of fear so unnatural it makes even her, unbearably uncomfortable. "Gojo I know you're worried but you need to leave you can't be-" She is cut off when he looks sharply at her, form taut with dread and trauma. "Shoko, I-I can't what if she, what if she doesn't-" Shoko sighs as she looks at him and finds her own heart constricting when she looks at your seemingly unconscious form resting from injuries she had worked tirelessly to heal. Shocked was an understatement to how she felt when Gojo brought you in battered, bleeding, bruised; almost dead.

"When she wakes up, come get me."

With that, Shoko leaves with a pack of cigarettes in her hand, already blowing on one before she even reaches the door. Unbeknownst to them, you are trying desperately to move. Amid the quiet of the room, all you hear are the murmured words of your boyfriend; the 'strongest' begging you to come back to him. You finally succeed when you lightly squeeze against his hand and your eyes flutter open to unbearable light. "[y/n]..." Satoru's tired eyes are on you instantly and you meet his gaze with a half-smiling, half-grimacing regard. "Hey, S-Satoru." He moves up from his seat abruptly and wraps you around him tightly. His infinity is off as he desperately tries to feel you alive and well beneath him. "Satoru... l-life-threatening injury..." You wheeze out as his gaze widens before quickly releasing you of his form, still drowning in relief. However, as he breathes in the reality of you, a flash of realisation seems to hit him. "[y/n], I'm sorry, I let you go after a stupid argument, and if I didn't maybe then-" He starts to ramble; Gojo Satoru is lost for words. You stare at him; eyebrows furrowed, gaze adverting.

You look at the trembling of his hands.

"Satoru," you call out to him and see the rare seriousness that encompasses his gaze and the questioning look in his eyes as he turns to you. You know of his past; you lived it with him. So, you know how much this all may have impacted him. "It's okay," you say breathlessly before you feel a slight pounding in your head making you lean back down. "It was just all so stupid," you then reach for his hand once more and Gojo returns your grip quickly, his crystal gaze on you. They were filled with worry and apprehension, but they were filled with love and devotion once more; all for you. "Thank you, for saving me." You whisper and you finally see the slight upturn of his lips as he looks to you upon your bed. But you also see the severity of the worry and dread he held onto. "Don't do that again," was his only reply. You smile at him teasingly as you reach out to wipe away any remaining tears. He then leans forward slightly and cups your face in his hands, pushing away at the hair that lingers upon it. He allows himself to calm down as he gazes at you in front of him, safe and sure. He had almost lost you, he would never allow such a thing to happen to you again. His lips capture yours and you return his fervour to the best of your ability. His hands are gentle as they cradle your form and you feel your own hands carve their way gently through his hair. The both of you are lost in each other for several long moments. Or, until Shoko returns to the horrendous sight of him on top of you.

"How many times have I said, Gojo, not in here!"

Satoru barely misses the edge of her rage, but you laugh at the sight of them, safe and loved. Gojo turns to you then, his own smile quirking upwards at the relief of your joy, of your blatant forgiveness. He swore never to see the look of disappointment in your gaze again. He swore he would die before he saw your form withered in his grasp. When Shoko finally calms down enough to continue her examination, relief brimming in her own gaze as she looks to you, his gaze does not falter. His promise lingers silently in the air.

[chahnniesroom]

for richer, for poorer

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: gift giving has always been something you've agonised over. for chan, just having you in his life is enough.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: insecurities (especially related to finances), feeling anxious, hurt/comfort

a/n: i know it’s still a long time until october, but i didn't write it in time to fit as like a holiday related fic.

bonus: minho's reaction to his gift (included as a reblog of this post)

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Gift giving has always been something that you agonised over. You wanted so desperately to get something meaningful and special that nothing you ended up getting seemed special enough.

So when Felix had proposed throwing both Chan and Minho a party for their birthdays, you were more than happy to help plan. You could see that Chan had hesitated when Felix had told them about it, but he had ultimately agreed when he saw the way Minho had seemed to perk up at the idea.

It wouldn’t be anything too big, Felix promised, just inviting some close friends to have dinner and hang out. It slowly balloons into more than a simple dinner, but the opportunities for the members to have their friends gather are so rare that you swallow your concerns.

The night of, you can’t help feeling a bit nervous. You recognise almost everyone, but that's the part that scares you - you've only seen most of these people through your phone screen before. You know Chan and Minho have a lot of idol friends, but you didn't realise there would be so many at the party. You had discussed the guest list with Felix briefly, but your concern had been about the number of guests and not who they actually were. Now you’re starting to regret it, you aren’t mentally prepared to be face to face with so many celebrities.

The time passes surprisingly quickly with people trickling in as the night goes on. Dinner is casual, you’ve helped to cook a number of dishes and takeout was ordered to fill the rest of the counter. There isn’t enough proper seating so everyone is spread throughout the kitchen and living room.

You spend most of the time just wandering through and making sure that there’s no shortage of drinks, appetizers, and that the empty dishes or cups are cleared away. Of course, you greet everybody as they arrive and thank them for coming, but it’s hard not to be intimidated by all the famous faces.

Eventually Changbin drags the birthday boys to the living room, standing them in front of the TV to open gifts. Everyone else either crams themselves onto the couches, sits on the floor, or loiters closer to the doors.

Chan insists that he open presents at the same time as Minho instead of one at a time like Jisung suggests. Someone pushes a couple of matching boxes into their hands and steps away.

It's almost comical how different they open them. Chan takes his time, carefully pulling apart the ribbon that's wrapped around the box, sliding the lid off and putting it to the side, then slowly peeling aside the tissue paper. Minho on the other hand, manages to pull the ribbon off the box without untying it and flips the box to shake off the lid and reveal the contents.

They're complementary hoodies in the casual and oversized fit that the boys usually go for. You recognize the brand, have seen the members wear it on more than one occasion, and know that they most likely cost the same as your monthly salary.

The next gifts seem fairly innocuous, a beanie for Chan and a baseball cap for Minho, but you know their pieces often go for over a million won, more than you’ve ever spent on a single clothing item.

It continues on like this, the boys receiving items like music equipment, alcohol, and sunglasses. It makes you swallow hard when you think of your own, mostly handmade gift.

Maybe the worst part is that nobody else at the party even blinks an eye at it. You can’t blame them, it’s the nature of their occupation that has gotten them desensitised to being surrounded by luxury and it’s not like they can’t afford to indulge in getting more expensive things.

When you look down, wanting to stop staring at the pile of opened gifts, you see that you've partially crushed the packaging of your own gift. It already looked shabby enough, it was obvious you had wrapped it yourself and the paper you used was from the supermarket, but now it was even worse.

When you try to smooth out the crinkles, your shaky fingers somehow make it ruin it more. You bite your lip, hard, then stop, self conscious about your appearance around all these idols.

It suddenly feels cramped and too warm, sweat starting to gather on your forehead and back. The room starts to spin slightly and you become overly aware of your heart beating in your chest.

A burst of laughter from the crowd spooks you, pulling you out of your head. You use the opportunity to get to your feet and excuse yourself. You slip away as quietly as you can and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it into Chan's room without anyone following you.

You don’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting anyone to check up on you, and sit on the ground with your back against Chan’s bed. With the door closed, the noise from the party is muffled and it’s significantly colder in this area of the dorm. You press your hands to your face and take a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you because you know you shouldn’t feel like his. You had been looking forward to watching Chan and Minho open their gifts, you had spent a lot of time preparing them and you had felt confident that they would enjoy them.

Well, until you saw everything else that they received.

Now your ideas just seemed silly. You feel humiliated at the thought of everybody seeing the obviously cheap gifts and even worse when you consider how ashamed Chan might be for others to know that you were his partner.

Although you were working full-time at the moment, you had only graduated from university last year and your student debt was an ever present weight on your shoulders that you tried your best to hide. Everything you had went to paying it back and checking in bi-weekly to see the number get smaller and smaller was the only thing that made you feel better.

Chan knew that you often worried about money. You had been mortified the first time that he had walked in on you trying to organise your finances for the next few months. He had glanced over your shoulder before you had even realised he was in the room and all the red cells showing where you were in a deficit were hard to miss.

It had been early on in your relationship and the dates that the two of you had been on as well as a couple unforeseen events had meant that you had been spending way more than what you had anticipated. Of course, Chan had treated you on a number of occasions, but you refused sometimes because you felt guilty every time he offered to pay, especially since it had been only a couple years after his debut.

He had been more than understanding, but you had been so embarrassed and caught off guard that you couldn't stop the tears from streaking down your face. Since then, Chan and the members had never done anything to make you feel like they pitied you or thought any less of you for your financial situation, in fact they did the opposite.

When you had first started visiting the dorms, opening the food delivery apps was like a reflex for all of the boys once it was dinnertime. You were always hesitant to choose anything and felt even worse by the nonchalant way that they covered the costs each time. Even though you knew they didn’t think anything of it, you couldn’t help but feel like you were taking advantage of their hospitality.

Somehow they caught on to your reluctance to buy food and now it's tradition that you cook for them when you come over, enough so that they keep the kitchen stocked with more than ramen, chicken breasts, and protein powder.

In particular, Minho absolutely loved your cooking and had needled you many times on sharing how you made it. You had always denied him though, saying that you didn't use exact measurements and came up with things on the fly. That’s why for his gift, you had taken the time to create a recipe book, complete with pictures for each step and modifications that he could make based on the ingredients he had.

You had spent a few months thinking about what to give Chan. He was harder to shop for since you knew he wasn't overly fond of celebrating his birthday and didn’t want you to spend money on him, but was always touched when you got him something. Usually, you tried to do something he was more likely to accept.

Last year, you had organised with the company to give Chan a day off and had taken him out to a movie. It was a pretty standard date, but the two of you rarely had the opportunity to go out together and you knew Chan had resigned himself to watching the movie when it was released online instead of going to the theatres like he had hoped to. Having to spend a few days trying to sort out all the logistics of secretly rearranging Chan’s schedule had been more than worth it with the way that his face had lit up when you had told him about what you had planned.

You don't know how long you sit alone, but every time that you tell yourself to get up and rejoin the party, it feels impossible to move.

“Hey,” Chan's voice is cautious, but you startle anyway, scrambling to stand up. Stuck in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just needed some air, it was getting kind of stuffy in there,” you explain. “I didn't think you'd notice.”

“Of course I noticed. You were there one second and gone the next, I didn't know what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” You avoid Chan’s gaze, not wanting to see the concern that shines in his eyes.

Chan steps closer, then reaches out and tangles your fingers together, using your connection to pull the two of you to sit on the bed.

“Y/n, baby,” he says softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in here.” He leans forward until the side of his head bumps into yours.

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s not important,” he warns. “It’s important to you and that makes it important to me, okay?”

“Uhm,” you pause for a moment, unsure of how you want to word your thoughts. You trust Chan, but it still feels scary being vulnerable. “I guess, I was just feeling… Insecure.”

“Insecure?” Chan tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

“Everyone-” you laugh slightly, embarrassed. “Everyone gave you guys such nice gifts, I feel like mine don’t even compare.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t care about that kind of thing. If I had the choice, nobody would be giving me gifts at all. Just having you in my life is enough.” Chan’s voice is painfully sincere.

“I know you don't mind. It just- It feels bad that I can't give you something nice like they can. It's dumb, I know, but I can't help it.”

“I can open it here, away from everyone else if you want,” Chan offers. “Or you don't even have to give it to me today, you can save it until you feel better. Or don't give it to me at all, it's all okay.”

“No no, I want you to have it,” you say immediately. Before you can think better of it, you reach down and retrieve the gift from where you left it on the floor.

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Chan reassures you.

“This is fine,” you decide. “Just the two of us."

“Okay.”

“It’s not designer,” you say suddenly, fiddling with the ribbon that keeps the two packages together. Both of you ignore the fact that you’re just stalling at this point.

“I don’t need any more clothes, I barely wear everything I own now,” Chan jokes.

“Really, you might not like it,” you warn.

“Baby, when have I ever disliked anything that you’ve gotten for me?” Chan drops the teasing tone. You think for a moment.

“When you asked me to order noodles for you and I accidentally got you the spicy version and it made you cry?”

“Did I say that I didn’t like them?”

“No, you ate it all even though I warned you that it would make your stomach hurt for the next couple of days,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory.

You had gotten yourself the same dish and had found it to be bearable, while Chan’s face had turned bright red after the first bite. You had offered a few times to get him a non-spicy version so that he could enjoy himself, but he had been determined to finish, soaking his shirt and beanie with how much he had sweated. He hadn’t even been able to continue carrying a conversation with you, too busy trying to suck in air to cool his mouth.

It had been even funnier for you the next day, receiving multiple texts from Chan about his stomach hurting and having to continually pause dance practice to go to the bathroom.

“The pain was worth it,” Chan insists. “I'm actually convinced that I'll like anything you give me. Now come on, let me open my gifts!”

You hand over the gift and watch as he pulls away the ribbon to separate the boxes and peels away the tape on the first package. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries not to rip the wrapping paper.

This gift was more neutral, a set that contained a wallet and cardholder, both in black. Although Chan hadn’t complained at all, the wallet he had been using was from years ago and the synthetic material was starting to crack and flake away at the edges.

He looks delighted, examining it briefly before pulling out his old wallet and transferring all his cards and cash into this new one. Although it’s not a name brand, you had purchased it at a small shop specialising in handcrafted genuine leather goods at a surprisingly affordable price. It was good quality and suited the simplicity that Chan preferred.

“It's just what I needed,” he says, sounding pleased. “You pay so much attention.”

“I'm glad you like it,” you say, feeling relieved even though you had been pretty sure that he would be happy with it.

The unease comes back when he turns his attention to the second gift. Once again, he puts in effort to gently unwrap it, revealing an old chocolate box that you had repurposed from one of your dates.

You’ve always been on the more sentimental side and had saved it, wanting to remember the evening that Chan had taken you out and the two of you had spent 20 minutes in the shop, meticulously picking out the flavours that you wanted to try. The box is made of a surprisingly durable material and is the perfect size for this gift. You’ve painted over it too, concealing the original design.

Chan turns it around in his hands curiously, before sliding the lid up. You turn away to stare at your hands, overwhelmed by nervousness.

You already know what’s inside. It’s a deck of cards that you’ve transformed, with 52 things I love about you inscribed on one of the jokers. On the flip side, you’ve painted a picture of you and Chan smiling widely with your cheeks pressed together. It’s his favourite, one he always tells you would be permanently on his lock screen if he wasn’t an idol.

The rest of the cards are decorated similarly, a small drawing or painting on one side with the things, people, and places that Chan loves on one side, and something that you love about Chan on the other. The last joker is the only one that's different, you've treated it as a card and have a small message written on.

You had been so excited when you had thought of the idea, even though it was almost embarrassingly cheesy. Chan was often hard on himself, overly critical, and sometimes insecure. You tried your best to reassure him that he was doing well, both in his career and personal life, but you weren’t always able to be with him to do it in person.

As time goes by, your dread just continues to build, but you don't dare look up, not wanting to see Chan's reaction. Based on the silence, he’s clearly not thrilled with the silly idea that you had gone with. You can almost imagine his expression, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as he tries to think of what he can say to let you down easy.

Finally, you can't take it any longer and you lean forward, reaching out to grab at the cards that he's still reading though.

“I'm sorry, it's stupid, I know,” you say quickly. “You can tell me that you hate it, it's okay. I don't know what I was thinking, but just- give me more time, I'll get you something else, something nicer-”

It catches Chan off guard, and instead of successfully taking the cards away, you grapple with them for a second before they slip between both of your hands, scattering across the floor like confetti.

You instantly drop to your knees, scrabbling to scoop them up like the most awful game of 52 pick up that you've ever played in your life. To your horror, the task gets even more difficult as tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Y/n-” Chan says gently, reaching out and taking your wrists in his hands to stop your frantic movements. “Come here.”

You resist for a moment, but he pulls you into his arms, cradling your head so your face is resting on his shoulder. The tears leaking from your eyes soak into the fabric and you sniffle softly.

“I'm sorry,” you say, voice partially muffled. “I'm a mess.”

In response, Chan pulls back slightly and when you don't turn towards him, he taps a finger against your cheek until you face him. Your eyes widen when you notice that he also has tear tracks streaking down his face.

“What-”

“It's okay, I'm a mess too. I should have said it sooner,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Still in his embrace, you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “I love it. I was overwhelmed, I wanted to say something but you left me speechless.”

“Don't just say it-”

“I've never had a gift so thoughtful, Y/n,” Chan says earnestly. “How could you think this was stupid? You must have spent hours and hours on it and I really appreciate it. It’s just- is this really what you think of me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Do you really love that-” Chan picks up the closest card to him and flips it so that he can read the message. “That I snore? Y/n, why do you even have this in the list?”

“Yes, snoring was one thing and it's because with everything, there’s always a reason to love it. It's not that I love that you snore, but with your insomnia, hearing you snore is a relief because it means you're sleeping, that you're resting. Even with your insomnia, I know you're busy thinking of every little way you can make things just right for you and the members. It's because you care so much, how could I not love these parts of you?”

“You- you really love all these little things?”

“Of course I do,” you say in a hushed voice. “Of course. When I was making these, I couldn't fit it all. I love everything about you, Chan.”

This time, it's Chan that breaks eye contact, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

“It's not about deserving. You didn't have to do anything, that's the whole point. I love you just as you are.”

“You know that's how I feel about you, right?”

“Chan-”

“Even if you never got me anything ever again, I wouldn't love you any less. You being in my life, by my side, that's the greatest gift you could ever give.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[c-hrona]

Fear

Super self-indulgent little comic about fears and reassurances.

Lil bonus :3