#fluuuuuuuff

[elenyafinwe]

The many qualities of Okami 😍

Oh, to be a little Senju boy, taking a peaceful nap surrounded by fluffy wolf fur…

Ōkami belongs to @elenyafinwe

[kazumiku]

HAI KAZU!!! I wanna request a drabble(?) or is it dabble idk these terms,, a scenario!!!! CAN YOU WRITE SOMETHING FOR KAZUHA, like an icecream date with kazuha!!! VERY WHOLESOME !!!!!! OMGG can yn buy a flavour they never tried and then not like it and they end up swapping ice creams 😣😣 AND THEY WATCH THE SUNSET TOGETHER like they walk around after in a park

I hope this makes sense 💗

HAI NI OMG THIS IS SO CUTE YES YES YES!!!!!!!? 💌💌💌 I LOVE THIS THOUGHT SM ILY INIII fluff gives me da brain fart so i hope this was alright!!! 😭

gn!reader, FLUUUUUUUFF, kazuha in love, he gives u a peck once, modern :3 736 words !!!

Kazuha's eyes has never left you since the start of this little date. An award for going through torturous hours and hours of lectures and classes, the professor's voice still stuck at the back of your head as you had exited the lecture hall wearily. You were done for the day, at least. He greets you out with a smile that sheds light your gloomy worries, and, not soon after, you both find yourself strolling out the campus gates.

"Careful now, dear," Kazuha ushered you to the sidewalk had you strayed further to the road. He had you walk beside him on the safe side of the pathway as the soles of your shoes tap on the pavement in matched steps—a little skip as you go.

His hand was warm intertwined in yours, palms rocking back and forth, in tune to the playful bounce in your walk. Kazuha was no less content in listening to your rants, offering a word of mind when you come to quiet down between sentences, smiling at him all pretty it made his chest tight.

"It seems like a childish act on your professor's part. Had your classmate acted more brash than sleeping, I'd understand, but slapping the poor boy with a chalk eraser as a wake up call is too rigorous," he sighed, his thumb brushing up your knuckles lightly.

"That's what I'm saying! And not to mention—oh," your gaze faltered, straying to the side of the grassy park the both of you just entered. A small stall was perched, with a man dressed in white handing out ice cream to a family of four, whom eat the frozen dessert with smiles on his faces. Kazuha's gaze followed yours, too.

Having caught of the sight just as you did, he tugs on your arm. "Ice cream?" not more was needed to be said when you followed along with a bright face.

"Oh, there's a lot more flavours than the shop we frequent. Would you like your usual?" directed Kazuha, whose scarlet eyes skirted over the options the stall had put up. You're one to stick by only what pleased you once, pleasing you a hundred times furthermore. So, he was no less surprised when you shook your head to his common query.

"I want to try something new!" your eyes widen in fascination as you glaze over the endless flavour options. "Blueberry cheesecake! I've never seen that before, can I try it out?" turning to Kazuha, he knew he couldn't resist that look as he nodded with a weary smile.

"Of course. Just a moment, let me get my wallet."

As now, you both stroll, much more careful as you hold the ice cream cone to your lips. Kazuha ordered vanilla, sweet and creamy, as he always does. You, on the other hand, were slapped by flavours on your tongue. The tang by the crushed blueberries and the taste of cream cheese seemed to be too much for you, as you started glancing over to Kazuha's way, earning you a quirk of the brow.

"Kazu…" a whine left low on your throat, the bottom of your lip jutting as you distance the ice cream the slightest away from your mouth.

You needn't say more than his name, the action informing him enough. He reaches to steer you to a spot by the lake, where you sit on a bench right beside him before the act of exchanging cones was held. He was glad he chose the flavour he did, knowing you'd like it, more than you did with the last.

"Don't rush, lest you want a brain freeze," you enjoyed it more than you let on, and Kazuha can tell. A bite too large on the treat, it made your teeth hurt, but he was no more than soft laughter emanating from his chest. You're too lovely for your own good, even under the streaking red and orange hues that broke the skies.

Kazuha muses, "You're as captivating under the sunset as you are at dawn." Earning a rosy hue to the apples of your cheeks.

"Are you telling me I'm pretty?"

"More than that, in truth," he leans, his lips brushing the corner of yours, cleaning the stray drop of vanilla ice cream that strayed far from your tongue. "You make me awfully smitten. I can't watch the sunset if you dazzle brighter than the sun does, my love."

main navi!

[geralt-of-baevia]

Call It What You Want: Chapter Four

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

pairing: nooutbreak!joel x f!ofc (Violet Fletcher)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 1.7k

summary: Seeking solace from a painful breakup, Violet relocates to a tranquil town, purchasing a neglected house to renovate. In her new neighborhood, she befriends Harlow, who introduces her to Joel, a gruff and seasoned contractor with a heart of gold. Despite Joel's initial grumpiness, Violet finds herself drawn to his expertise and hidden kindness.

As Violet immerses herself in home renovations alongside Joel, their dynamic begins to shift, with Joel unexpectedly opening himself up to the possibility of love. Their budding relationship faces challenges as shadows from their pasts emerge, testing their newfound connection.

warnings/tags: fluuuuuuuff. we're getting close! what a nice slow burn it is, huh? bahahaha

a/n: okay so i know that this chapter is a small tiny baby, but I promise we're getting there! this maybe could have been at the end of chapter three, but oh well :P next chapter gets juicy. also, would anyone like to be added to a tag list? let me know!

 

When I woke up the next morning, I panicked a little. I couldn’t remember right away where I was, or whose bed I was in. In the comforting warmth of the bed, I sat and tried to remember where I was. Suddenly it dawned on me, I was at Joel’s. My heart started racing in my chest. I didn’t remember much of the evening before. After they gave me pain meds at the hospital, everything was a blur of images.  

I got up slowly, cradling my arm with my hand until I was able to put my sling back on. The aching pain was starting to creep back and I could tell it was probably time for food and a pain pill. To my right was a black dresser, and without a second thought I went over and started opening the drawers, trying to find a new shirt to wear. The one I was currently wearing reeked of hospital. I’m sure the bedsheets did, too. 

Carefully I slipped back off my sling, changed my shirt and slipped it back on. I tried to be patient with myself as a simple task like this took me longer than normal. I also changed out of my shorts, finding a pair of boxer shorts to wear. If he had an issue with me wearing his clothes, he’d have to deal with it. I also realized I wasn’t wearing a bra or underwear. A fact I was trying to not think about and put to the back of my brain.  

I balled up my clothes that I had been wearing and tucked them under my good arm before venturing down the sairs. About half way down I was struck by the scent of breakfast. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until then. 

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I saw Joel sitting on a couch watching something on TV, only being able to see the back of his head. To my left was the kitchen, food still warm in their pans; two empty plates on the counter. My eyes scanned the room, taking in as much as I could. 

Joel’s place was very nice. Like, surprisingly nice. All of the walls were a robin’s egg green. Both the trim and the A frame ceiling were the same honey toned wood. Decorations were minimal, which is exactly what I expected from someone like him. 

“Good morning,” I said a little too loudly. Joel jumped at my voice, turning around in his seat. His face lit up. 

“Good morning, Violet,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Hungry and sore,” I said. I watched his eyes look me up and down, noticing that I was wearing his clothes. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind. My clothes just smelled like the hospital and I was over it.” 

“It’s fine, I never wear those anyhow,” he replied. I furrowed my brow, wondering if he meant just this pair or underwear in general. He got up and made his way over to me, holding out his hand to me. “I’ll take those and wash them for you. Then let’s eat.”

Joel started a load of laundry and then plated us up breakfast: eggs, sausage and toast. He took our plates to the living room area, setting them down on the coffee table. 

“I hope this is enough. I would have gotten more had I known I was going to have company over,” he told me. “Come sit, make yourself comfortable and I’ll get us some coffee.” 

I sat down on the black leather couch, my skin instantly sticking. I reached out and grabbed the toast off of my plate and put it in my slinged hand. With my good hand I then began to tear off the crust. I may be 30, but that didn’t mean I have to eat the worst part of bread. I tossed the useless crust back to my plate and began munching on my toast. 

I looked up as Joel came with two cups of steaming coffee. He set them down on the table next to our plates. 

“And lets not forget these,” he said, pulling a orange bottle of pills out of the breast pocket of his shirt. He placed them down with a rattle. 

“Thank you Joel, for everything.”

He smiled. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! We’ve known each other for like a week. And now in the last 24 hours you’ve saved my life, become my emergency contact, confirmed that we’re friends and then I slept in your bed,” I said before taking another bite of toast. Through a chew I added, “Which I don’t remember getting into if I’m being completely honest.”

“What do you remember to?” he asked.

“I was conscious until they gave me pain meds. After that it was cloudy. I kinda remember getting in your truck, but that’s it. Everything after that is a blank.”

He took a drink from his cup and set it back down. “Well, you fell asleep in the truck on the way back. Then we got here I carried you upstairs and put you to bed and I came down here and slept on the couch. That’s it.”

“I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I? The last time I had pain meds like that for my appendix I said a lot of things I wish I wouldn’t have,” I said. He chuckled through a bite of food. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll admit: you did tell me I was handsome,” he confessed, blushing a little under the scruff on his cheeks. 

My cheeks followed suit, burning hot with embarrassment. 

“And then after I laid down I had to google what a ‘silver fox’ was,” he said, causing me to almost choke on my coffee. 

“I’m sorry, a what?” I asked. I prayed I hadn’t called him that. 

“You told me I was handsome and that I was a silver fox,” he said, “so you really meant it yesterday when you said you didn’t mind I was as old as I am, huh?”

My whole body was vibrating at this point. 

“Violet? Are you okay?”

I turned to look at Joel, concern on his face. 

“No- no I’m fine. I just need to have a talk with drugged me. She needs to realize I’m trying to play the long game,” I replied, my heart being rapidly in my chest. Joel reached over and put a comforting hand on my knee.

“I can assure you, we will still play the long game,” he said reassuringly. I met his gaze and smirked. 

“It’s just that I- I just got out of a really intense relationship and I-”

“Violet, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything,” he said with a warm smile, giving my knee a squeeze, “We’re going to see a lot of each other this summer so we will have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

“That’s true.”

“And honestly, it’s been a long time since I felt something - anything like this, for someone. So this is like starting over brand new.”

“You mean an old dog can learn new tricks?” I jeered. He narrowed his eyes at me, a reluctant smirk creeping up on his lips. 

“Yes, you could say somethin’ like that.”

We ate the rest of our breakfasts in comfortable silence. Joel put on some spaghetti Western as something to fill the silence. It was nice to have a foundation for whatever it was between us. It was something that was no pressure. I could do that. 

After I was finished eating Joel picked up the pill bottle and got one out for me. I held out my palm and he placed it in the center. Even just his his fingertips brushing my skin sent electricity through me.

I took my pill and chugged the rest of my coffee with it. Joel cleared the coffee table and took our breakfast things to the kitchen. I would have offered to help, but clearly I wasn’t able to. I stared blankly at the TV as the water ran and he cleaned the dishes. Slowly I could feel the pain in my shoulder going away, and sleep starting to creep over me again. 

It dawned on me that I had no idea what time it was, how long I had slept last night or even where my phone was. But honestly, part of me didn’t care. I was just in pain and wanted to sleep. When Joel came back over to the living room area, I look up at him through hooded eyes.

“That pill hittin' you?” he asked, a cheeky smile on his lips. 

I nodded lazily. “Yes, now can I go back to sleep?”

“Do you want to sleep here again, or would you prefer me to take you home?” 

I beamed at his offer. “How chivalrous of you. But no, I’d rather just sleep here and go home later if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s perfectly fine by me, let's get you upstairs.”

“Please, before I say something embarrassing again.”

I giggled to myself before trying to stand up, only for my knees to buckle underneath me. Thankfully Joel was close enough to catch me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Here, let me help,” he mumbled out. I couldn’t help but close my eyes again as he moved me so that he could pick me up, cradling me in his arms. 

“I’m too heavy,” I murmured. I felt his chest rise and fall as he chuckled. 

“No you’re not Violet. This is how I got you up last night. It’s a breeze,” he assured me. 

“It’s just because you’re really strong and muscley.”

He chuckled harder. 

“Okay Vi, I think that’s enough talking for right now.” I nodded, nuzzling my face into his warm, comforting chest.

Soon enough I felt myself being laid on the bed, blankets being put over my frame. I peeked my eyes open and stopped his hand before he was able to pull it away from the comforter. 

“Thank you Joel,” I practically whispered. 

“You’re very welcome,” he said, brushing my hair out of my face. I felt his lips press against my forehead, his mustache and scruff tickling my skin. “Now get some sleep.”

[maddieg0531]

Our Little Secret Pt. 1

Prince! Oikawa x fem! reader

Fluuuuuuuff, some angst but not in this chapter

Warnings: Idk if there are any. Lemme know if I'm wrong.

Synopsis: You're a noble, he's a prince. What will happen when your lives become more intertwined than you ever thought possible?

A/N: I FINALLY FINISHED IT! Y'all this mess took me months to do because I have no motivation 🤪😭 anywaaaay, please enjoy. I haven't been active in a hot sec (again no motivation), but I am going to post a bit more (hopefully). Thank you for all the love and support. It means a lot.

Masterlist pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 epilogue

Prince Oikawa Tooru: you either love him or hate him. Prince Oikawa is flamboyant, a flirt, mischievous, some might even say immature. All of the girls in the kingdom swoon over him. The villagers love him. Nobles who are friends of the royal family tolerate him. However, most nobles hate him. Your father being one of them. Anytime a story circulates about Oikawa you get an earful from your father about how he is “immature” and “not fit for the throne.” And you? How do you feel about him? Honestly, you aren’t sure. From afar it seems like your father is right. That he is immature and childish, but you also know that it is not the whole story. People distort stories to fit their own narrative. You want to humiliate the prince? Tell everyone that you saw him goofing off with some girls. You want to bolster his ego? Tell everyone that he donated his life savings to the poor. Around here, rumors spread like wildfire. So while Oikawa may seem childish, you aren’t quite sure that’s the truth. 

Oikawa is tired. Tired of being stuck in the castle. Tired of not being able to leave without being recognized. Tired of stupid rumors that continue to spread about him. But most of all, Oikawa is tired of his father, the king. Oikawa can’t go one day without hearing something about how he needs to find a wife or he needs to be more serious. He is serious. He wants what is best for his country. He wants to be the kind of king who can relate to his people. Not one who stays shut up in his castle, making decisions about things he knows nothing about. That is why Oikawa travels out to the villages so much: to meet his people. But he has to stop because of all the stupid rumors. It’s not his fault girls cling to him left and right. So now, he is stuck in the castle being forced to follow his father around. Aka. sit around in the throne room most of the day. 

As Oikawa sits in the throne room, like he has been for the past hour, his patience starts to fade. He decides he has had enough. He gets up to leave but his father interrupts him, “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice booms through the large room.

“I’m going back to my chambers.” Oikawa continues to walk away, not giving his father much of a choice.

“You are to stay here and learn the duties of a king.” His father stamps his foot. 

“Wow, sitting in the throne room for hours on end. Yeah, that’s really hard to learn.” 

“Do not use that tone with me!”

“Yeah okay.” Oikawa gives his father a wave from behind as he exits the room. 

“Iwaizumi, follow him and make sure he does not leave the castle!” Oikawa’s personal body guard, Iwaizumi, follows Oikawa back to his chambers. 

Oikawa trudges down the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing behind him. His bodyguard and friend follows close behind, “Can you believe him Iwa-chan. He is so annoying!” Iwaizumi does not respond. One wrong word and he’s done for. When the pair makes it back to Oikawa’s room, Oikawa slams the door like a child throwing a tantrum. He jumps face first onto his bed and groans. “Why did I have to be born a prince?!” Again, no response from Iwaizumi. “Is it so much to ask to want to go to the village? To have some fun?” 

“When you ask, yes.” The first words Iwaizumi speaks in this conversation.

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa rolls over on his back.

“As much as you hate it, you do have duties as a prince. Besides, by going out in the village it only causes rumors to spread.” 

Oikawa springs up from his moping position, “Not if people don’t know who I am.”

“What are you saying?” 

“If I disguise myself, then no one will know who I am.” A mischievous glint sparkles in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Unless you plan on changing your stupid face, it won’t work.” Iwaizumi is the only person who can call the prince stupid. 

“Iwa-chan, you’re so mean! I can cover my face.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that.”

“Well, I don’t know. You could help give ideas, you know.”

“Help you break the rules? No thank you.”

Oikawa gets up and starts rummaging through his clothes. Why do all of them have to be so bright and fancy? As he throws his nice clothes on to the floor, he comes across some old clothes. They are the clothes he used to wear to sleep. They are borrowed from an old servant who used to be in charge of him. Perfect! “Ah ha! I’ll wear these!” He stands tall, very proud of himself.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll wear these and use a cloak to cover my face.” Oikawa immediately starts changing. 

“You do realize I can’t let you do this right?” Iwaizumi stands in front of the door. 

“Come on Iwa. You can just say that I got the better of you. No one will know.”

“Yeah, because people will believe that.” “Please Iwa!”

“What happens if someone does recognize you and no one is there to protect you?”

“Simple, you come with me.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Come on. You can just wear some normal clothes and come with me. Then you can protect me.” 

“No.” “Please” Oikawa brings out the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster. 

“That’s not going to work on me.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms and looks away.

“You are my best friend who has been there with me through thick and thin. I just want to go out for a bit. You wouldn’t abandon me would you?”

Iwaizumi sighs, “You are going whether or not I come, aren’t you?”

Oikawa winks, “Bingo!”

“Fine. But if even the slightest thing happens, we are coming back. AND you don’t leave my sight.”

“Come on Iwa-chan. What are you? My mother?” 

Iwaizumi glares daggers at him, “I can go and tell your father about this little scheme you know?”

Oikawa shrinks back, “No no, I’m sorry. I’ll stay in your sight and behave. I promise.”

With that, Oikawa and Iwaizumi get ready to set off into the village. 

Noble families have servants for a reason. They buy the food, cook the meals, clean the house, tend the garden, and so on. But you always insist on doing it for them. It’s gotten to a point where they don’t even argue anymore. Once a day, you get to chose one thing you want to do around the manor. Today, you choose to go to the market. Going to the market is your favorite thing to do. All the people, smells, and sights. It makes you feel alive. You and your personal maid, Ren, are tasked with buying food for the house. You recently had people over, so you are running a little low on supplies. You and Ren decide to split up in order tackle the long list of supplies. As you walk along the bustling streets, you can smell all of the different vendors: the freshly baked bread from various patisseries, the sweet scent of freshly picked flowers, and the vibrant smell of various spices. The crowd swirls around you with vivid color and lively noise. If you weren’t so familiar with the market, you would surely get lost. Your basket slowly fills up with the required supplies and you feel the weight taking a toll on your arm. You make your way to a vegetable stand to attempt to find ripe tomatoes (which are proving to be a challenge today) when you run head first into someone. “Oh I am so sorry.” You look up to address the hooded figure and end up making eye contact with none other than the prince himself. You gasp, “Your highness!” He immediately covers your mouth and pulls you into a small, unoccupied alleyway. You struggle against his grasp.

“Shhhhh” He attempts to fight back against your thrashing. Once out of sight, he releases his hand off of your mouth.

“What do you think you are doing!” You yell, causing him to slap his hand back over your face. 

“Would you quiet down. I’m not going to hurt you, jeez.” You lessen your struggle against him. “Are you gonna quiet down now?”

You give a small nod and he releases his hand again. “What is the meaning of this?” You whisper.

He sighs, “I’m trying to stay hidden, but you are making that increasingly more difficult.”

“What?” You question, straightening out your dress and picking up your dropped potatoes, “Why would the prince need to stay hidden?”

“Because if people recognize me then I will be forced to go back to the castle.” He bends down to help pick up your lost food. 

You look over at him, “The great prince Oikawa stooping down to help a mere citizen like me? How scandalous.” 

He smirks, “You are pretty bold to talk to a prince like that.” “Something tells me that you don’t mind.” 

He lets out a small laugh at that, “Very perceptive.”

“Why is a prince such as yourself afraid of going back to the palace?” You stand up, having picked up the remnants of your food. 

“So curious.” He stands, stretching his back like an old man, “If you must know, my father doesn’t want me going out into the village.”

“I wonder why.”

He peers at you, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it isn’t a secret that you enjoy messing around. That can be damaging for any princes image.” 

He heaves a sigh, “Those are just rumors. They are actually the main reason I have to hide. Anytime someone see’s me outside of the castle, some new rumor circulates. ‘Prince Oikawa caught flirting with all the girls.’ Or ‘Prince Oikawa gambling away his fortune.’ It’s stupid. I’ve never done any of that.” 

You cock an eyebrow, “You are telling me you have never flirted with a woman?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that people make me out to be some playboy who has been with countless woman, which is not true. I haven’t ever been with a woman!” He says that last part a little too loud.

You giggle at his silliness. Oikawa feels his cheeks blush and warmth fills his body at your laugh, “Well then, we better not let anyone see you. Wouldn’t want them to find out your secret.” 

“We?” He teases in attempt to make you blush as well. 

“Of course, you owe me replacement potatoes for the ones you dropped.” 

“Oh, right.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Sorry about that.” 

He secures his hood and you both sneak back into the crowd. Oikawa offers to carry your basket. You hand it over and look away, attempting to hide the slight blush on your cheeks. You know people say that the prince is charming, but you didn’t expect it to be true. You clear your throat, “So, what is your highness doing all alone, shouldn’t you have guards or something?”

“Quiet down. Call me Tooru. I don’t need anyone recognizing me.” He looks around to make sure no one heard you.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“Come on, don’t be so formal. You already insulted me, remember?”

You feel a twinge of embarrassment from that, “Okay, Tooru, what are you doing alone?”

“Well, I had a guard with me somewhere, but we seem to have gotten separated. He won’t be happy with me so we better keep our distance.” He winks as if he didn’t just imply that a royal guard is hunting you two down, “What is a noble like you doing buying her own food?” 

“How did you know I was a noble?” 

“It’s obvious. The way you carry yourself, your boldness. A servant wouldn’t dare talk to a prince the way you did.”

“You don’t know that.” You cross your arms.

“Trust me, I have plenty of servants. I think I know. Plus your dress is way too nice to be anything but a noble.” 

“Oh.” You look down at your dress. You didn’t think it looked that fancy, “If you must know, I actually enjoy shopping. I go every week with my maid, Ren.”

“And your family lets you?” 

“My father doesn’t like it but I don’t really give him a choice.”

“I get that.” As you both walk through the market, finishing your list, you fall into easy conversation. Making jokes here and there, getting to know each other. Who knew the prince was so easy to talk to. Oikawa stops at every other stand, marveling at all the “cool things.” You laugh at his childish behavior. As you near the end of your shopping trip, you take a break to sit down on a bench off to the side. You had bought some strawberries for you two to share. “Who knew that the market would be so fun?” Oikawa says, mouth half full of strawberry, “And these taste exquisite.”

“She sells the best strawberries.” You giggle and Oikawa feels that warm sensation again

“So you know the vendor?” 

“Of course I do. I come here every week. It would be rude of me not to know the people that I interact with.” 

Oikawa is stunned by your answer. He has servants in his palace that he barely remembers the name of and you know all of these vendors names. You are remarkable. “This is nice.”

“What is?” You question.

“Spending time with you.” 

You almost choke on your strawberry, your cheeks matching its color, “I thought you said you don’t flirt with random girls?” 

“You aren’t random.” He says, turning towards you

“You don’t even know my name.” Oikawa’s eyes widen. He never asked your name! How could he forget. He hits himself on the head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” 

“Agh, I’m so stupid. How rude of me.” There he goes again with his child-like behavior, “Tell me, what is your name?” His voice does a 180, becoming sultry smooth. His beautiful brown eyes stare into yours. A small smirk lines his lips. 

“I’m Y/N Curtis, from the Curtis nobles.” You stammer.

“Y/N,” Your name rolls of his tongue, as if he has been saying it for years, “What a beautiful name.” 

You feel your body filling with heat, your lungs having a harder time breathing. The sound of a cart rolling by is heard and Oikawa breaks his gaze. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Oikawa gets up to check on the noise. 

“Where are you going?” Your voice is filled with much more concern than you meant it to be.

He smirks, “Worried I’ll leave? Don’t worry, I’m just making a small purchase.” He walks off after the cart and you can’t help feeling worried. What if he doesn’t come back? It’s not like he has an obligation to. He is the prince for crying out loud. Your mind is put at ease as you see him walking back, his hands behind his back.

“What do you have?” You tease.

He pulls out a bouquet of flowers, “Something almost as beautiful as you.” 

You take the flowers and use them to hide your red face, “Thank you. They are lovely.” As you pull the flowers down to look back at him, you are met with nothing. The spot he was just in is empty. Where did he go? You turn to look for him but there is nothing. He vanished. You feel your shoulders drop at the lack of his presence. You go to put the flowers in your basket and see a note sitting in the arrangement. You unfold the paper to see a note; meet me at the central bell tower, same time tomorrow ;). You feel a blush creep up your cheeks once more. You can’t help the stupidly large smile that spreads across your face. You put the note in your pocket and go to meet Ren at your rendezvous point. 

As you approach the corner you meet her at every time, she notices your change in demeanor, “My lady, what has you so happy?” 

“Oh nothing,” Your grin clearly betraying you, “Just a good day at the market.”

“Why did you get flowers? We could have made an arrangement from the garden.” She points out, “Unless someone gave them to you?” 

“No, I just liked the look of these.” You aren’t sure why you don’t tell her about what happened. Maybe you are trying to protect Oikawa. Maybe you didn’t find it necessary information to share. 

Or maybe you want to keep it your little secret ;)

[colteyes]

fic: Darling I'd hang the stars for you

Fandom: ACOTAR Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand Word Count: ~3,200 Warnings: Sex n feelings. But mostly the former \o/ Summary: A moment where Rhys reflects and resets with Feyre.  AO3 Link 

AN: Ok you know what this is so gratuitous that I really struggled to think of a title/summary for it and this is the best we’re gonna get ok. Also World Ending Rhys is my favourite Rhys. Desperately on his knees in love Rhys is a close second (they're the same thing really). 

-

Sometimes it was hard, walking around knowing that the future of the known world rested on his shoulders. In the least fatalistic sense of the phrase.

Lost his temper? There goes a mountain range.

Someone being exceptionally irritating, usually from the Court of Nightmares? Misted.

That was what life was like before he learned control. Real control, where the hurt he inflicted with his power was only ever intentional, and never an accident. Accidents were careless, sloppy, unbecoming. People who were worthy of power could not be allowed to wield it carelessly.

Despite all of his power (and who really knew how deep that well went?), Rhys knew better than anyone what people thought of him. He was the one with unfettered access to most of their minds, after all. Even those who desperately, futilely, tried to bar him access, built mental walls of pliable metal and flammable supports. Most never bothered, never realised, never felt his claws sinking into their very psyche until it was no longer possible to separate him from I.

He knew the taste of their hate, their resentment, and their fear.

Of the three, it was the fear that was never ending, everlasting, that permeated and soured almost every relationship he might've sought before it had ever begun. The fear twisted people's intentions, corrupted their trust, when all he had done was just be.

There's a certain resentment that comes with living under that sort of pressure, something that all that power was not able to take away. It did the opposite, mostly. Helped it fester, helped make succumbing to his temper, to retaliation, all the more attractive. Revenge was sweet when he could not seek a sweeter brand of kindness. Not before the days of his inner circle.

It took a few decades for Rhysand to acknowledge that it was lucky, so lucky for himself and for everyone else that he had not been raised to take an eye for an eye; that his mother was the brilliant, kind, and disciplined female that she was to have instilled so early in him that sense of justice and honour that she did. For if Rhys had allowed himself to believe in a world where he should take an eye for an eye, the world would soon be out of eyes, and Rhys would still be needing to learn other ways to defend himself against the venom hurled his way.

So amongst the hate, the resentment, the fear... Rhys never imagined that there would be love. The kind of love that brought him to his knees, that made him want to cry, that made him want to roar until he brought down mountains.

Feyre frequently called him dramatic.

It was Feyre who he watched now, perched at the edge of her artist's stool, a brush balanced in her hand, a palette knife in the other. She was mixing whorls of paint on a palette board that had been clipped to the easel in front of her, and occasionally blotted in more paint from a different colour as she worked on building her current shade. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun that allowed curls to escape down the nape of her neck, and she wore a light, loose shirt with form fitting pants that cut off above her ankles. She was barefoot in her studio, the instruments that she would need for her current piece scattered around her, held by cups or hanging off hooks or tucked away in the small, wheeled, several tiered trolley beside her, nothing more than an arm's length away.

As usual, she had paint everywhere.

Rhys watched her for a while, and the simplicity of having her there before him, smiling and at peace, was enough to make his heart swell.

If it weren't for the bond, you'd probably startle me ten times a day with the way you lurk. It'd send me to an early grave.

Rhys smiled at the touch of her thoughts curling in his mind, relishing their presence there.

I imagine I'd go to an early grave if I weren't bonded to you too, Feyre darling.

She turned to him then, the soft light of the studio backlighting her, illuminating dust motes in the air and the gold in her hair. She frowned at him, a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

So serious, Rhys.

She showed him what she saw, her mind's eye. He stood silent as a shadow in the doorway, his eyes drowning in the dark as they remained fixed on her, the damper on his magic gone, content to be utterly himself. Comfortable with his power rolling off him in waves, curling off him like deep smoke, like so much dark bleeding from his skin into the space around him. Comfortable because he knew that she would be.

He strode to her then. He may have caused her attention to break, but he always hated physically interrupting her focus on a canvas. He took her shifted attention and lowered brush as permission enough for him to approach.

He cupped her face in both hands when he reached her, tipped her head back and leaned in for a gentle kiss. Feyre obliged, the abandoned brush sliding off her lap and to the floor with a clatter. He drew back slightly, just enough so that he could brush kisses onto each of her cheeks, before finding her lips again.

His touches drew a warm thrum of love from his mate through their bond, which pleased him to no end. But chasing it was still that glimmer of concern.

"I'm fine," he reassured her gently, drawing back. He thumbed a smudge of blue by her cheek before leaning in again.

She arched her brow, setting the palette knife down in a safer position before returning the kiss.

He smiled against her lips, the question she left in the air. I just... love you.

Her eyes softened, her smile brightened.

I loved you as I waited for you and I loved you as you fought for everything we hold dear and I will die loving you, Feyre.

"I love you too, Rhys," she said softly, with a quiet sort of assurance, almost determination, the glimmer in her eyes solidifying to shine with conviction. "I love you." Then mind to mind: With everything I am, with all that I have. Always.

His heart swelled, and his kiss deepened. He delved into her mouth slowly, again and again, one hand remaining on the side of her face as the other dropped to cup the back of her head, pushing his fingers up into her hair as he took his time laying her open.

Feyre made a soft noise, low in her throat, and her body shifted towards him.

The air changed between them.

She made to stand the same time he broke the kiss to step closer to her. Her arms came around his neck the same time he straightened, his hand cupping her thigh as he hitched her up, his other arm wrapping around her waist as her legs wrapped around his. Her body had remained toned, as Feyre trained and kept in shape even though Cassian was no longer around to train with her, but against him and his Illyrian body, she was still so soft, her curves so warm and plush against the hard planes of his own frame. Rhys groaned as he tightened his arms around her, burying his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply his mate's scent, each draw of breath causing that roiling dark inside of him to rejoice.

Feyre turned her own head to him, a smile on her lips as she took his earlobe between her teeth, putting slight pressure on it before she let it slide free. Her legs tightened around his waist, her back arched, and she settled her arms more solidly around his neck as though she too was trying to maximise the contact between their bodies, to press herself closer because as they were now, it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

A low noise rumbled from his chest, a possessive sound, one edged in arousal. Feyre curled a hand in his hair, tugging his head back away from her neck to kiss him again. This time it was her turn to delve, to probe and lick, her body writhing against him with each kiss in a way that drove him crazy.

She didn't pull back from his lips as he winnowed them, but she did to utter a breathless laugh when he let them fall out of the winnow and onto their bed.

"I thought you said you wouldn't interrupt me when I paint," she said, perched on top of him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

He rolled them until she was the one below.

"I didn't." He lowered his mouth to bite gently at the flesh of her throat. "I was merely watching you." His mouth tracked down, sucking her breast gently over her thin top, his tongue probing for her nipple. "It's not my fault you find me distracting enough to set down your work."

Feyre laughed again, even more breathless this time, even as she arched her back into his touch, pulling her fingers through his hair. "I can't imagine why anyone would find the High Lord of the Night Court distracting, especially when he's glowering in their doorway and leaking power all over them."

"I was not glowering," he corrected mildly against her navel, "And I never leak." He nosed underneath her top, licked a warm line across her belly, just above the hem of her pants.

"Oh really?" Her breath shallowed, sped up.

"I just am, and when I think of you Feyre, when I think of how you choose me, every single day of our lives, I cannot contain myself."

Feyre moaned then, either at his words or at the way his hands had slipped her pants down as he spoke, baring her sex, his head at just the right position so that his breath brushed over her, just so.

He liked these pants, Rhys decided as he discarded them. They were form fitting, but they were stretchy, and slipped down her legs easily without a fight.

He laid an open kiss to the inside of one thigh, and Feyre made a soft noise again, shifting so her legs could open for him. He shouldered one over his back, and pushed the other further to the side, nestling it in the crook of his elbow.

"You have no idea how hard it is to contain myself, much less around you," he murmured again, almost to himself, before bringing his mouth to her core.

He ran his tongue once up her centre, just the barest of touches against her lower lips, all the way up to curl once over her clit, before starting again and again, down up down up, each time pressing a little harder, delving a little deeper, until his tongue was buried inside her and Feyre was crying his name in earnest, until her fingers were vice tight in his hair and her hips were stuttering against his face. He coaxed her to find her rhythm, one hand squeezing her thigh and the other arm braced against the bed, his power rolling across her skin again and again, as though even it could not stand to be without her, not even for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as she rode his tongue, bliss bliss bliss, the taste and smell and sense of her all around him, inside him, and there was nothing Rhys would rather do, he could do this forever, the sounds of pleasure from his mate the only thing he ever wanted to hear, the fever pitch of her voice rising with her orgasm, the orgasm that he brought to her, that he would offer her again and again, for as long as she could bear it. He felt it gather like a wave before crashing into her, felt her body seize with it, bracketing his face within it as she shook and trembled.

"Rhys," she panted, her fingers tugging on his head that was still searching between her thighs. "Rhys, please."

He withdrew slightly, a devil's grin playing around the edges of his mouth. "Please what?"

Feyre's face was flushed, her lips red from her own teeth setting into them, her eyes bright. "Please fuck me," she breathed.

Night rippled out from him at her words, cradled them both in a star kissed embrace as he reared up to cover her with his body. His clothes were gone in an instant, then his chest was pressed up against hers, and her thin cloth of a top was the last barrier between them.

Feyre's arms and legs went around him again, and this time she rolled them, and he went with her, allowed her whatever she wanted to do with his body. He was hers, he's said as much to her, to the world.

She sat up, her bare ass resting on his belly, his cock brushing the small of her back. For a moment she just watched him, flushed and still breathing hard, her hands stroking from his chest down to his abdomen slowly. He let his eyes take her in, her tousled hair, her breasts tenting her shirt, her thighs on either side of his chest, her sex pressed against his skin, her own skin glowing softly against his night.

He had half a mind to pull her forwards until she was leaning on the headboard, until he was eating her out again.

"No," she said, reading the look on his face, despite desire darkening her own eyes. She leaned down, pressing warm, open mouthed kisses against his chest. "I want you inside me, Rhys." Her mouth reached just below his pectorals, her tongue finding the crease in his abs. Her ass shifted backwards as she bent over him, his cock nestling between both cheeks as she dipped her tongue further down. Gods she was flexible. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as he tracked her every move. "I want to feel every inch of you inside me. Right now."

He made some sort of noise, some small reflection of what she ignited in him as both hands went to her waist, lifted her, then slid her wet, tight body over him. She cried out at the unyielding intrusion, facing the sky, her thighs tightening around him as he entered her to the hilt, her inner muscles fluttering and squeezing at the sensation of him thrusting up side of her. Pleasure, hers and his own, burst like pinpricks of light behind his eyes, between their bond, glittering like starlight.

"Gods," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut as he lifted her. He sat up as he did so, abdominal muscles bunching as both hands stayed to guide her hip, the other squeezing her thigh, her ass, urging her to rise until she held just the tip of him inside her.

Just as Feyre had gathered herself enough to meet his eyes again, Rhys pushed her hips down, slower this time, and she tipped her head back and moaned. The sound made his balls tighten, made a similar noise roll out from deep inside of him at the sensation of her sinking back down over his cock. He raised a hand to fasten in her hair, brought her head forwards and tipped her into his kiss as she became fully seated on him again.

"So tight, Feyre," he groaned against her mouth. "So perfect."

She mumbled something incoherent, her hips rising and falling again without encouragement. He groaned again, pleasure racing up and down him with her movements, and he found that all he could do was watch her, try to keep pace with her as she rode him to another orgasm, this time with him inside her, the bond open between them, and he felt everything she did as she came with a cry, her pleasure shocking through her like so much lightning.

He devoured her with his eyes, drinking in everything she was, the pure satisfaction of making his mate come almost surpassing his own pleasure. He pulled her top off as she was still coming off her high, taking her breast into his mouth, this time unhampered by cloth. He bit and suckled the warm flesh there, until his teeth clamped lightly over her nipple. He bit down, didn't release her until she moaned at the pressure.

"Rhys," she sighed, her arms loose around his neck, sagging slightly against him.

"Yes, darling," he said soothingly, kissing his way up to her neck, his tongue lathing and lingering at certain areas along the way.

"Rhys," was all she said again as he lay her back down on the bed, loose and pliant.

He kept himself sheathed in her body as he slung one of her legs around his waist again, his hand staying to cup the back of her thigh. He leaned down to take her other breast in his mouth. Feyre moaned mindlessly as the press of his body brought him deeper inside of her, her head rolling back in the sheets. She was sensitive now, so much more sensitive, her thighs trembling and hips jerking every time he moved. He could feel her rippling with sensation around his cock, still pressed as deep in her as he could. He rolled his hips once, twice, his mouth still fastened on her breast, and each time drew a small, wild cry from her.

He drew back only after he'd sucked a mark into her skin, and rolled his hips a third time.

"Rhys."

"Feyre," he answered, his voice a croon. "I'm so sorry, you asked me to fuck you but I was terribly selfish and allowed you to do the honours first."

"Don't apologise," she snarled, her hands bunching in the sheets as he thrust again, her heel digging into his back. "Move."

Rhys grinned outright now, her frantic desire delicious on his tongue.

"Anything for you, Feyre darling."

His power exploded around him as Rhys set a furious pace, his grip on her thigh tight and his other hand on the curve of her hip, fingertips digging into her ass as he hauled her body forwards to meet each thrust of his hips. He felt Feyre beneath him, tight as a bowstring, her mouth open in a silent cry as he drove with abandon into her. Stars winked in and out of existence and time drew out and out in the space between them, until his world narrowed to an endless joining of their bodies, exactly what he wanted, exactly what he wished for, he wanted for nothing else but this to go on and on and on, to lose himself inside of her because what better place to be? But somehow the moment still came when he was powerless, powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything but come with a roar that shook the foundations of the house around them as his pleasure somehow reached a peak for him to fall from. His release barrelled down their bond, washed over Feyre, enough to tip her over the edge of another orgasm, and nothing nothing nothing felt better than this, when they came together, when he came inside her body and still she welcomed everything he had and asked for more.

He collapsed wordlessly into the cradle of her arms, eyes closed, didn't move an inch until Feyre laughed and shifted her hips, just enough so that he slipped out of her.

A gentle hand on his face.

"I can't believe I get to do this with you for the rest of my life."

Rhys turned his head, the only movement he could manage for the moment, and pressed a kiss into her collarbone.

"I honestly can't wait."

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Since the World Began (1/?)

Hades!Bucky x Persephone!Reader

Word Count: 2,355

Warnings: fluff, lots o’ fluff

A/N: This AU has got to exist somewhere on this site, but I just felt like writing it, so here you go.  Lot’s of fluff.  Probably the fluffiest shit I’ve ever written, probably ever.  The gifs are not mine.

When you met him, the world was still so new.  As you trod, life sprang up about you.  Delicate, beautiful, new life.  And so you trod, wandering across fields, along rivers, up and down the hills and rocky bluffs, to the edge of the sea and beyond.  You were a god, after all.

In your wandering, you often passed an eerie door.  Etched high into a cliff face on an island at the edge of the world’s existence, it’s existence perplexed you - no mortal man could tread there.  Demeter, your mother, warned you in no uncertain terms never to touch, breathe on, or even get too close to this strange passage.  It was one fate filled day that you passed too close and you met him.

He saw you first, watching in rapt attention as more and more forest sprang from the footprints you left on the earth.  The expression of absolute and impossible joy on your face sought to melt the ice left in his heart, still keeping his distance, until finally, you saw him.

At first, you didn’t recognize him.  He wore a midnight blue chiton under a chlamys pinned to his left shoulder.  There was no denying he was a handsome man, even beautiful, with sea green eyes you could drown in and a dazed smile that fascinated you in its crookedness.  He seemed tired though, as one looks when they carry something heavier than they should.  And what you could see of his left arm appeared to be made entirely of some metal.

“I’m sorry, Lady, I don’t mean to spy,” he said, remembering himself and suddenly abashed.  The sudden change in his posture drew a quick laugh from your lips.

“Not to worry,” you said, “This is, after all, outside, so to speak.”  Your words brought the smile back to his lips.

“It’s not everyday that I meet someone quite so lovely, outside or no.”  You blushed hard, hiding your giggling face in your hand.  When you brought yourself to look at him again, you saw the lines etched into his face.  What troubles could he bear?  Existence had barely begun.

But looking at him, you could not help but smile sweetly.  “I’m Persephone.  But you can call me (Y/N).”

“Ah,” he whispered, nodding, “There has been talk of a spring-bringer on Olympus.”  He bowed low, never taking his eyes off you.  “Hades is my name.”  (Later in your life, you tease him about this moment, saying  “Hades is your name and maintaining the underworld is your game.”)

He continued to watch you, waiting for you to recoil.  Everyone does at some point.  He waited, and waited for a few heartbeats more.  Confused, but a bit hopeful, he rose again to his full height.

Unsure, you asked, “If I can know your station, may I know your name?”

“Oh, yes.  Well,” he sputtered, “Anyone that cares to know calls me Bucky.”

“Have you ever seen a fawn born, Bucky?”

“Not that I can recall.”

You reached for his hand.  “Come with me; it’s almost time.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Bucky recoiled from someone else.  The hurt written on your face broke his heart as you withdrew your hand, afraid you’d offended him.  “I-I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean- It’s just,” he let out a heavy sigh, “I’m god of the dead.  I don’t think I need to explain why my presence at a fawn’s birth would be problematic.”

You nodded, disappointed, “I suppose you’re right.”  Then, you squared your shoulders and said, “But I am goddess of spring.  I need to go.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Oh, I imagine so,” you said, smiling, “I wander here often.”

He met your smile with a dazzling one of his own.  “Until then, (Y/N).”

After that chance meeting, you wandered there often purposefully, never explicitly to see him, naturally.  But you were always happy when you did, and disappointed when you didn’t.

Moons passed, as moons do, and your bond with Bucky grew stronger, as bonds do.  On days the sun was out in all its might, you found hills to roll down, your path greener and Bucky’s drier than before.  On days Zeus brought the rains down, you found mud to play in.  Those were Bucky’s favorite days.  They were yours too; you weren’t ignorant to the subtle changes in his demeanor when he would see even the minor destruction left in his wake.  But the mud was already dead, and the way you laughed when a glob of it hit him brought his own bubbling from his chest.

One day, you lay head to head on the sand by a shore of some rocky island.

He turned his face towards you and said, “(Y/N)?”

Your eyes were closed in comfort, but you hummed in response.

“Do you want to see my home?”

“You mean the underworld.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to show me?”

“Yes.”

You opened your eyes and turned towards him, eye to eye, a shameless grin on your face.  “I would like that very much.”  He grinned and jumped to his feet, offering you a hand up.

As you walked together, your hand, but its own volition of course, reached once more for his.  Only your fingers brushed at first, his own curving out to meet you as a small smile spread across his face.  Eventually, though, you intertwined your fingers and continued your journey close together.

He led you in a comfortable stillness, the both of you speaking infrequently about trivial things.  He led you, and you followed, to the door in the cliff face.

Bucky turned to you, concerned, when he felt you stiffen.  “(Y/N)?  Have you changed your mind?”  His voice was soft and gentle.

Demeter warned you about this.  Though she hadn’t told you why, and you hadn’t seen her in more moons than you could count.  But, when you turned to face him and give an answer, you felt as safe as with the fields.  Smiling, you shook your head, “No.”

One hand on the small of your back, he pushed the door open with the other, whispering, “Do not be afraid.”

The first thing you noticed was the chill in the air.  After all, the dead don’t need the sun.  They don’t need anything, really.  The second was the low growling in the direction of a soft light emanating from afar.

“What’s that?” you asked, apprehensive but curious.

“Ah, yes.  That would be Cerberus.  He’s, well, you’ll see.”  Your hand found his again and you continued towards the light.

As your eyes adjusted, you began to see a creature, huge and pacing.  It sniffed the air and turned its three heads toward you.

“Bucky?”  He gently moved you behind him.

“Rus!” he called out.  “I’m home!”  The creature barked excitedly and broke out into a full run.  You moved out of the way as the creature tackled its master, all three huge heads licking his face.  “Okay, okay, okay.  You crazy hellhound,” he said, muffled from the fawning beast, and pushed him off.  “Rus, I’ve brought a friend.  Be nice.”

The beast turned to you and your eyes went wide.  It appeared to be a dog.  A normal dog, just with three heads and the size of a small temple.  It strode up to  you, tail wagging and you let out a small whimper.

Bucky reappeared by your side, hand on your back, “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

“I find that a little hard to believe,” you admitted, avoiding eye contact with all the heads.

“I mean, okay, but he only eats the ones-”

“He eats people?!”

“Only the ones that try to leave.  Do you know how disastrous it would be to have spirits wandering about the mortal realm as they wished?”

“Alright, fine.  Where am I supposed to pet him?”  He smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“The left one likes ear scratches, middle guy likes it when you tickle his nose.  The right one I haven’t quite figured out yet; he’s a bit of a loose screw.  But they all like belly rubs.”

You addressed the dog-creature-thing, “How about it, Rus?  Belly rub?”

The thing seemed to understand because it flopped onto its back in a hurry, shaking the floor.  You had to climb on top of the thing to even reach its belly.  When you did though, it panted and wagged its tail excitedly, hind leg hitting the floor as you enthusiastically rubbed its stomach.  For a building sized dog, it was pretty cute.

“It’s nice to meet you, you giant, scary, adorable thing.”

Bucky helped you off of the dog, who promptly rolled onto its stomach, panting contentedly.  “Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” you said, brushing your hands off on your hips before taking his hand again, “But would you mind warning me if we’re to encounter any more of your pets?”

You followed him deeper into the underworld, Cerberus following happily behind, and a thrum of rushing water that grew clearer by the moment.  Eventually, the river came into view, as did a multitude of figures wandering along its shore.  Most of them weeping.  One hooded figure stood on a raft, impossibly still, holding a staff lantern.

“Master Hades,” said the figure, “you’re home early.  Ah, you’ve brought a guest.”  He paused.  “You usually don’t like the other gods coming down here.”

“Never mind that, Charon.  This is Persephone, will you take us across?”

“Of course.”  He held his hand out to you, helping you onto the raft.  Cerberus let out a short whine and resumed his pacing along the shore.

It was slow going, crossing the Acheron.  From the raft, you could still hear the mournful sounds of the figures.

Shivering, you asked, “What are they?”  Bucky clenched his jaw, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Charon answered, “Those are the spirits who could not pay the toll to cross.  They will wander that shore for one hundred years, then I shall take them across.  There are a few, there, who’s time is almost up.”

You nestled into Bucky’s side, shivering only partly from the cold.  “That seems rather cruel.”

“We didn’t make the rules, kid.”

You turned your eyes to Bucky.  “Who did?”

He sighed.  “Titans.  They were here first,” he said with some measure of contempt.  You only hummed in response.

The raft reached the opposite shore eventually; Bucky held your hand as you hopped off and thanked the ferryman.  

As you followed him further in, you asked the question you’d been thinking of for some time, “What do mortals see, when they look at the door to this place?”

“Nothing,” he replied, “Well, nothing but the unbroken cliff face.”

“If none can see it, and none know it’s there, why is it so high?”

“Just in case.  If a mortal enters here, they lose their claim on the mortal realm.  They’re trapped here forever, with the dead.  And, Cerberus, well, he can’t really tell the difference here.”

“Ah,” you said.  Really, you weren’t surprised that he took such care, knowing him as you did.  

You came upon a tall tower jutting out from the stony ground and followed Bucky up the stairs spiraling around it.  The top of the stair emptied into a brightly lit room.  Bucky removed his cloak, setting it on a table next to a bowl laden with pomegranates and offering you an unobstructed view of the angry-pink scar connection his metal appendage to the rest of him.

He felt your gaze and said, “I believe you have another question.”

“I-I don’t want to be intrusive.”

“You wouldn’t be.”  He raised his eyebrows, eyes patiently watching you, making you blush.

“What happened to your arm?”

Bucky nodded.  “When Cronus ate my sibling gods and I-”

“He ate you?  Why does everything want to eat everything else?”

He couldn’t help but laugh.  “It was more of a stomach imprisonment than actual eating.  Demeter never told you these stories?”  You shook your head.  “Well, she was there too, perhaps she did not want to relive it.  We were trapped for years before Zeus reached manhood and overthrew him, freed us.”

“And that is why he is king?”  Bucky nodded.  “And your arm?”

“I lost it close to the end of our confinement.  Five fully grown gods in one stomach tends to prove a tight fit, and you can’t imagine what other nonsense that behemoth decided to swallow.  Hephaestus made this one for me, I still owe her a favor.”  He would say no more of his time confined.  “Come, there is one more thing I would show you.”

He led you once more, out of the room and onto a balcony big enough only for the two of you.

The sight took all your breath, but the sounds confused your heart.

“What is this?” you asked quietly, stiffly gripping the railing.

“This is the underworld, in all its terrible glory,” he said, standing beside you.  “There is the Isle of the Blessed, then Elysium, the Asphodel Meadows, and the Mourning Fields.”  His pointing swept across realms in decreasing senses of pleasantness.

Past them all, there appeared to be some abyss swallowing every spec of light. To this you gestured and asked, “And that place?”

Again, he clenched his jaw.  “That is the way to Tartarus - the abyss, where Zeus banished Cronus, and the rest of the Titans.  There have been a few souls added to that happy number since.”  As if to punctuate his point, a faint cry found its way out of the abyss.  It fascinated you - here, this was the ultimate punctuation of the life you nurtured, and in a way it was terrible and in another it was captivating.

After some silence, you turned to him and asked, “Why did you bring me here, Bucky?”

He glanced down at you and replied softly, “Because I’m falling in love with you.  And I want you to know me.”  A tingly warmth spread through your gut because, though you had no way to know for sure, you were certain you were falling too.

Part 2

[is-mise-rachel]

Omg some fluuuuuuuff from this series, love to see it. Wanda deserves to be happy 🥹

celebrating the twins first birthday!!!

make it fluffy or else 🤺 (affectionately)

First Birthday

a/n: not super happy with this but it’s cute so here you go

warnings: slightly suggestive, pregnancy, mention of things that come with toddlers i.e. spit up, diapers etc

word count: 910

-

You had been waiting for today since the twins were born. Well perhaps not the whole three hundred and sixty five days under the circumstances, but pretty damn close.

Wanda and you had gone all out. Balloons, banners, cake, too many presents. Anything and everything that was fit for a toddlers birthday party. You’d even convinced your wife to hire out a traveling petting zoo. ‘It will be good for them. You know, so they can touch the fur and feathers, be tactile’ you’d said, never once looking Wanda in the eyes as you spoke. She didn’t need to think that hard to figure out who the petting zoo was actually for.

And the fun had only just begun when you went to collect them from their cribs. Their toothy smiles and contagiously giggles set the mood for the rest of the day.

Breakfast pancakes in their high chairs turned into a laughter induced food fight that you would normally tut over. But today was different. Today they could do whatever they like and your response would be to pull your phone out the back pocket of your jeans and snap a picture. Their mischief captured forever in pixel form.

“Looks like you two are going to have to have a birthday bath before everyone gets here” you told the twins as you wiped their syrupy fingers with a wet cloth. “Maybe even a short nap after so me and your mommy can freshen up together too”

“Don’t say stuff like that in front of the boys, Y/N” Wanda scolded as she moves around you, sweeping and mopping the floor clean of cooled waffle.

“You can’t understand me can you?” Two sets of wide eyes stared up at you in oblivious amazement. “I thought as much. Now up we get, it may be your birthday but I’ve got some unwrapping to do myself”

Wanda chuckled and shook her head as she watched you peer over your shoulder, winking whilst hoisting the boys expertly onto your hips.

-

“And who thought goats in the backyard would be a good idea?”

“My wife, apparently. It’s going great. Billy got scared of the chickens and Tommy almost ate something off the floor I’m certain wasn’t chocolate chips”

“Well Y/N sure is getting your money's worth”

Natasha and Wanda both looked towards you. Finding you crouched ungracefully down with your fingers expertly working at a spot behind a lambs ear.

“You’ve got all this to look forward to now though”

“What? Having my husband on his hands and knees whilst knuckle deep in animal fur?”

“No! I mean birthday parties, diapers, tantrums, teething. All the fun stuff”

Natasha just groaned at the thought of all of that and more to come.

“You could’ve told me some good things of the good things, Wanda. Help a pregnant girl out”

“I won’t need to tell you” Wanda prompted Natasha to look back over to your direction with a tilt of her head. And the sight they found made both women weak at the knees.

You had Tommy standing on wobbly legs as you held him up enough so he could have a feel of what looked to be a gecko. A loud laugh leaving his lips every time he touched its scaly skin. A wide smile adorning your own features as you looked at your son in awe. Then there was Bucky a few feet away. He had Tommy on his hip as he watched the boy poke at bubbles floating over to them from the bubble machine Morgan so graciously donated for the occasion.

“See, there are a lot of good things that come with being a parent, you just need to look past the poop and the vomit and the crying”

Natahs hummed appreciatively as she watched her husband interact with one half of his godson duo. She couldn’t help but feel butterflies in her stomach whenever she imagined him holding their child in a few months time.

And just like that, the peace of their secret observations were squandered as you came bounding over. Child in arm and being followed by hoards of children and childlike adults, demanding cake.

“It’s not me that asked for it” was your response to Wanda’s lifted brows. “It’s the kids, I bet even baby Barnes wants cake. Right Nat?”

“Your wife is right, I’m afraid. She’s been kicking as soon as I smelt it when we arrived”

“She?” You asked. Excitement laced in your voice. “You guys found out already!”

Bucky chimed in “Mhm, last week”. His free hand splayed across his wife’s stomach, as proud as can be.

“You’re gonna get the runaround Buck. A little girl with Nats looks? Oof you’ll be batting everyone away. Might even have to keep the twins on reigns”

“Nope, she won’t be dating. Never ever”

“You say that now but you’ll never be able to say no to her. Trust me. I’ve tried with these two”

“Babe, they can’t even speak yet. Now is the best time to say no because they can’t answer back”

“Don’t listen to her Billy. Your mother doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about”

As you walked off, Wanda could definitely hear you muttering something under your breath. Nothing bad she was sure, but she would have fun coaxing out of you later. Later, after the twins are asleep and their first birthday down in the history books as being a success.

[piercedfrombehind]

//softly pats hair. yep. definitely fluffy.

“And just what are you trying to do?”

[nathynoir313]

Wonderstruck

It was her first dance ever since her High School days.

She felt uncertain, insecure and dislodged. Why did she say yes to that invitation was beyond her own understanding.

_“Warm comebacks”_ said the creamy and fancy piece of paper.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14967182

[matthewtkachuk]

summertime and the living is easy

Kevin's your best friend and everyone has been rooting for the two of you to get together for years. One moment in the waters of Cape Cod have the potential to change everything.

pairing: kevin hayes x reader

warnings: fluuuuuuuff city over here, best friends to lovers cliches

word count: 1.3k

a/n: it's mr kevin hayes birthday and i wrote this for him but also @danglesnipecelly who told me to think of her man but not more than she does <3 my face still rly hurts so be nice. if you enjoy, pls let me know what you think!!

Kevin’s laughter can brighten any dark day, breech through any darkness, clear any grey sky. It could move mountains and topple empires and probably solve world peace if given the chance. Instead, it just rings in your ears as he wraps his arms around you and jumps in the cool water off the dock. 

“You idiot!” you sputter, smacking at the parts of him you can reach with one hand, the other clearing the saltwater from your eyes. “What if I had my phone in my pocket?”

“You didn’t,” he replies confidently, that same laughter still rumbling through him, disrupting both the water around you and your body for where you’re still pressed against him. 

It’s true, you’d left it back at the cottage but that was entirely besides the point. Kicking away from him, he finally lets you go. “But what if I did?”

“You didn’t,” he reiterates, laughing and reaching for you again but you just smack at his hand. Sighing, he concedes, “I would have replaced it, you know that.”

You roll your eyes fondly, shaking your head before pulling yourself up onto the dock. “Ma sent me to get you for dinner.”

Lazily wading, he looks up at you where you’ve got your hands on your hips, your tank top and denim shorts stuck to your body in a way that he knows can’t be comfortable. “But I didn’t catch anything,” he points to the lawn chair and fishing rod set up to your left. 

“She figured you wouldn’t.” There’s no sense in lying. Kev was too big, too loud, too boisterous to sit in silence and catch enough bass to feed the large crew that was yours and Kevin’s families. A consequence of being neighbors on the Cape, you’d grown up with Kevin—from chunky little babies to awkward, gangly teenagers to professional athlete and copywriter and everything in between. “She made lasagna now come on, you know she hates it when you’re late for dinner.”

“Well help me up, then,” he implores, reaching out to you with his right hand. You give him a look that clearly states you’re not in the mood for a practical joke. “No funny business, I swear.” 

You sigh once, so heavily Kev wonders if it’s possible for someone to carry that much indignation, before grabbing his offered hand. He quickly reveals his other hand, which was hiding behind his back, his middle and pointer fingers crossed before tugging you back into the water with him. 

This time he holds you tight, foiling your efforts to hit his chest before the thought has even occurred to you. Your fury dies on your tongue though, some variation of ‘Kevin Patrick Hayes you’re a dead man!’ flickering to the forefront of your mind before snuffing out entirely. 

Your heart beats loudly in your ears and you can feel Kev’s beating just as strongly where your chests are pressed together. He’s looking at you differently than he ever has before, or at least differently than you’ve ever caught him. The look in his eyes is smoldering, a hot fire on a cool summer’s eve, flickering and dancing with warmth as you shiver nearby. You want to get closer and closer until the warmth sets your bones on fire. 

And then he’s kissing you. Hot and heavy and like everything you never knew you wanted. His full lips capture your upper lip at first and then he’s prodding your mouth open and slipping his tongue past your teeth. The whimper that leaves you is quiet, but it may as well have been a gunshot for how viscerally he reacts, somehow pulling you even closer while giving you the freedom to slide your hands into his hair. 

It’s unexpected and crazy but it’s also the most natural thing in the world—the logical next step in the lifelong friendship you’d built, between the mutual respect and the love and the way you know everything about him and he, you. It’s perfect and it’s wild and though the water is still as cold as it was when he’d jumped in the first time, you’re unbelievably warmed for where your skin touches his and the fire of his eyes that lights you up from the inside out. 

You press closer and closer, desperately taking everything he’s willing to give until you’re broken apart by a wolf whistle. Surprised, you swing your head towards the source of the noise so fast, you’re surprised you don’t have whiplash.

It’s Kevin’s sister and one of his nieces looking far too smug and dry on the dock. “So that’s what’s taking you so long,” his sister smirks with her eyebrows raised, the very picture of ‘I told you so’ because she had. And so had everyone else. From kids on the Cape to the cooties years to awkward teenagers to when you pulled up Friday afternoon after driving an hour straight from the city. It didn’t help that Kevin was always touching you in some manner and calling you his girl—though you’d always insisted both were entirely platonic.

Kevin was one of your best friends and a steady presence in your life—or at least the summer, missing him terribly the months he was away living out his dreams in the big show, seeing him the handful of times the team took on the Bruins—and you never even thought about jeopardizing that, despite the small crush you had of course developed on him when you were younger. He was cute, sweet, funny and nice to you, how could you not fall a little in love? 

Never thought about jeopardizing that until, of course, he was pulling you into the water and then pulling you close. 

It was the greatest tragedy of your families’ lives that nothing had ever come out of the lifelong friendship. All it would take is a glass of wine or three for Shelagh and your mom to start wistfully speaking aloud their dream that you and Kevin would finally ‘work things out’. Your dad was a little less enthusiastic publicly, saying things like ‘my daughter isn’t dating until she’s forty!’ and ‘certainly not some professional athlete!’ but privately insinuating that there was no one he would trust more with your heart. 

On that note, his niece helpfully adds, “Just wait until Nana and Aunty find out!”

Groaning, you hide your face in Kevin’s damp neck as his full laughter shakes both of your bodies. “I’m never showing my face at the cottage again. You gotta smuggle me back to Boston.”

“Come on,” he tells you, pushing your wet hair behind your ear and teasing, “there’s lasagna.”

And though there’s a lot to talk about, especially but not exclusively that kiss, at the very core, he’s still your best friend and still liable for a dunk in the water for being a smartass. “I should drown you!” you shout and then push his head underwater.

That sets his niece off into giggles, leaving her mom to swoop her up into her arms and laugh too. Kevin resurfaces with a chuckle of his own and really, there’s nothing better than being surrounded by the laughter of three members of the Hayes clan. 

Except, maybe, the look on his ma’s face when her granddaughter rats you out at the dinner table. 

Or the way your dad’s hands shake when he hands you off to Kevin at the end of a sandy aisle a few short years later. 

Or your moms holding hands and crying in the front row.

Or maybe, best of all, the loud booming laughter of your husband after dipping you and slipping a little tongue into your first kiss as man and wife. 

[dreamrecorder]

What are their heartbeats like..?

I can’t remember what I was watching, but the girl sat on the guys lap, and just leaned her head on his chest and listened— he asked her what she was doing and she replied with “listening to your heartbeat” and I thought that was really cute dndndjznsxj and then proceeded to think about it w a y too much— so- what do you think the genshin boys’ heartbeats are like? And how would they respond to their s/o doing fhat? Idk if you only do specific characters,, but I would really love it if you did Diluc, Albedo, Xiao, and Venti 🥺 I mean I would be very happy to read the rest~ but idk if you have character limits 😳- umm hc’s or drabbles would be super cool! You can pick (: and thank you for even reading this!! Have a stellar day !!

Listening to the beating of his heart

The moment i read the question i got the gist of the req -but my college head be like //// :0 am i supposed to describe systoles and diastoles :0 -- anYwaY ksksks hope youd enjoy this

Includes: Venti | Diluc | Kaeya | Albedo | Zhongli | Xiao | Childe

Fluuuuuuuff and some angst for kaeya albedo and xiao cause i cant stop myself hahaha

Venti

At first it was hard to discern his heartbeat as the bard was humming

but with concentration, you finally hear the soft thumping of his heart

the rhythm- it was so soft and gentle just like him

As you continued listening to his heart, you can’t help but giggle a bit for his heart was beating along with the tune your bard was humming

Just like Venti- even his heart sings~

The laughter made the bard stop his tune and asked, “What is it that my beloved finds funny?”

You giggled some more, “Your heart, it sings with you~”

Your answer made the bard soft, “Then I shall sing some more for my heart only sings to you.”

Diluc

You always loved the night time. Why?

because it’s the time when Diluc would hold you close to his chest and you get to listen to the deep and calm beating of his heart

His heart was so calming, it made you really appreciate and love him more

“I love you,” you whispered

The man did not speak at first- he simply he took your hand and placed it on his chest, “I love you, too.”

Kaeya

Kaeya’s heartbeats are slow and prominent 

Slow and prominent in a way that it means he feels safe enough for him to relax in your arms and not from the past that plagues him

to anyone else, Kaeya was quick to build his walls around his heart lest his weaknesses will be known. He will hide it until he feels safe in your embrace

Albedo

You were already made aware that your lover is no human and that he firmly believes that he truly will never be human

but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to love him any less

his heartbeat- it was more of a pulsation that you can feel under your fingertips rather than a rhythmical beating

the pulses you felt were strong and powerful- indicating that the alchemist really is far stronger than an ordinary human

but still- despite the strength his artificial heart holds, the way he holds you right now in his embrace just proves that he is, in every essence and aspect, a human that your dearly love

Sensing your fingers caress the area above his artificial heart, he asks what you are doing

“Appreciating your heart”

Albedo sighs, “It’s not a real heart.”

His reply made you pout. So what you did next was to place a gentle kiss above the pulsation. “But it tells me otherwise, Albedo.”

and the way your words held conviction made him love you even more

Zhongli

His heartbeat was steady and firm. The rhythm of his heart brought you a sense of familiarity and stability. It was so him and you loved it. As you listened to the repetitive thump thump thump, soon enough- you started tapping your fingers at your lover’s arm to the beat.

The tapping was subtle, but Zhongli doesn’t miss the sensation of your fingers on his skin, “What are you doing?”

You hummed a bit, “Listening to your heart.” was all you said and just simply cuddled into his embrace more as the man placed a lithe kiss on your hair- you felt the smile gracing his lips

Xiao

his heart spoke volumes about the feelings he refuses to show to anyone but you

his heartbeats are sorrowful and loud

Sorrowful for he only wanted peace from the demons that scream within him

Loud because he desperately needs- wants someone to hear him and save him from the pain he had endured for so long

Xiao was asleep in your arms, but there was enough space for you to maneuver yourself

Once his head has been laid on your chest, you only wished that your heart can be heard for him to follow out of the darkness

Childe

His heartbeat- you concluded with glee- was energetic and lively

You have no idea why but those two words really fit him, too

it was like- it was like resonating with his conviction of his want to become stronger and his want for a battle

the positivity his heart emanates, it was so infectious- you smiled at the thought of his lively heart

Feeling your lips smile against his skin, Childe gave you a questioning hum

“Your heartbeats are really lively.” You said while offering a smile to his way.

“Of course~ With me holding you close, my heart is sure to burst for you any time.”

A/N: my adjectives were challenged wtf hahahahahaha

[plaidbooks]

🌵🌹🎨

🌵 What is your favorite kind of fan fiction to read?

Fluuuuuuuff! I like smut, too, but some good, old fashion fluff is my favorite.

🌹 What is your favorite kind of fan fiction to write?

Hurt/comfort. Fluff is a close second, but I like having the pain before having the comfort.

🎨 How would you describe your writing style?

Very direct and more about characterization. I'm much more inclined to write feelings and dialogue than I am to write descriptions of scenery (I often forget if characters are holding things, for example).

[jellifysh]

🥺🥺🥺 fluff 🤧🤧🤧

Namjoon being a bit jealous 😭 i love this bonus chapter! Thank you so much! Also thank you for uploading early so I don’t have to wait until 4am here. 🤧

I AM ALSO SO EXCITED BC JIMIN FINALLY VERBALIZED THAT HE ACTUALLY WANTS TO GET TO KNOW MC BETTER. LIKE FINALLY??? ALSO AHHHHCK HOSEOK & MC 🥺 AND TAE! HE SHOULDA JUST CUDDLED MC IN BED & KDJFHJSKAL I JUST WANT F L U F F AND IM GETTING IT.

Anyone else call gbist that perfect fanfic balance of fluuuuuuuff with a dash of angst? 😭💜

yes, I 👏 need 👏 you 👏 guys👏 to 👏sleep 👏, no staying up til 4, I wouldn't call it prefect but glad you think so, it makes me feel like I'm doing a good job :) it's really hard to put words to your daydreams but I'm trying

also yes we are getting to the "jimin says sorry" arc it will be a refreshing change if pace. its extra funny because jimin essentially does anything tae does, so if you're friends with tae of course he has to join you, duh 🙄 I had originally written that tae scene with jimin too but I felt it didn't make sense so I took him out

hoseok and you are those two people who always have inside jokes, v v much looking at each other and just bursting into laughter type so get ready for that

And yes jealous namjoon, he's struggling with having you back lmao, you know that weirdness when you have to rebuild a relationship like you're strangers but you already know everything about each other? Yeah

[bitchin-beskar]

December 9th

Rating: T

Warnings: Fluuuuuuuff (cause why not), tinyyyy bit of angst, but it’s only because Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon are mentioned. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 519

A/N: I’ve only ever baked (1) pie in my life, so... I apologize for any baking inaccuracies. I tried to stay away from any specifics, and besides, I’m much better at making cheesecakes. And fudge. Great, now I’m hungry. Also, there may be a part two to this later down the line if there’s a challenge that fits with it. 

Prompt: day 9: baking a pie from @acdeaky’s December writing challenge!!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!!! I love hearing what you guys think!!!

You jumped as a pair of arms slid around your waist, causing you to drop your rolling pin right into a pile of flour, the particles flying up into the air and attaching themselves to your clothes. 

“Sorry.”

You huffed, leaning back against your boyfriend’s solid chest. “You’re lucky I haven’t bothered getting ready yet, otherwise, you’d be in big trouble, mister.”

“You’re not ready?” 

You’d think Marcus was joking if not for the serious tone of his voice. You turned to look at him, somewhat incredulous. “Babe, you don’t seriously think I’m going to wear this to the company party, do you? I’m not exactly dressed up right now.” You gesture to your outfit with a flour covered hand, but Marcus just grasps your wrist, pressing his lips to your palm.

“I think you look gorgeous.”

You feel fluttering in your stomach, the same feeling you get whenever Marcus compliments you. He’s never shied away from letting you know that he thinks you’re the most beautiful creature on the planet, even when you don’t feel like it. 

“You may think that, but I’m hardly going to show up to a Christmas party full of your coworkers in sweats, Marcus.”

He chuckles, before the grin slowly slides off his face. “Um, about that...”

You frown, brushing your hands off before cupping his cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Your mind starts racing, trying to figure out if something’s happened and you just missed it. “Do you not want to go?”

“No, it’s not that.” Marcus shakes his head. “I found out from another agent today... Jane and Lisbon are going to be there.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? What are they doing here? Shouldn’t they still be in, oh, I dunno, California?”

Marcus slowly shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. But...”

You place a finger over his lips. “I know, you’re not exactly thrilled to be spending a lot of time around them. I don’t blame you, and I doubt any of the agents you work with would blame you if you didn’t want to go tonight.”

“I kind of have to go, sweetheart,” Marcus starts, and when you open your mouth to insist that no, he probably wasn’t required to attend a Christmas party, he continues. “But I love that you want to give me that out.” 

You reach up and kiss Marcus, feeling his soft smile against your lips. “I love you. Now, I really need to finish this pie. I’m going to make sure it’ll be the best damn pie in existence, and I only have a couple hours.”

You turn back around to keep working on the pie crust, with Marcus watching over your shoulder.

“Why does it need to be the best pie in existence? I didn’t think you were a huge fan of pie?”

You frown in concentration. “I’m not. But I am petty, and I want Jane and Lisbon crying over how good it tastes.” 

You can feel as Marcus begins to chuckle, his chest vibrating against your back. “You’re amazing,” he whispers into the side of your neck, his arms tight around your stomach.

“Thanks, I try.”

Permanent Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @pedroepascal, @roxypeanut, @rynadjarin-reading, @anerdydragon, @justanotherblonde23

Marcus Tags:  @pedrhoepascal, @rynadjarin-reading

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[klonoadreams]

Lmao, kinda want the caterpillars + aoi t9 get the chance to play with the gangs hair. zenitsu and tanjirou probably come willingly but they gotta trick inosuke into getting his hair braided. Sleepover shenanigans aplenty

gotta give the king of the mountain his tribute if you want to touch the forbidden fluff that is his HAIR. Thankfully, Aoi prepared - she always has snacks set aside for the occasion. Otherwise, she'll risk these fuckers stealing the FOOD she is MAKING. "HERE, STOP STEALING DAMMIT."

Kanao has a good time combing Tanjirou's hair - she trusts him best to keep still.

The trio is just going BONKERS over Zenitsu, who is MELTING under their attention.

Very cute stuff. Fluff fluff fluuuuuuuff!!

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 5 [18+/NSFW]

<- Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 ->

Summary: After your not-boyfriend, Frederick Chilton, turns out to be not-dead, you hope you can elevate your status from fuckbuddies. Maybe be honest about how you feel? But honesty is haaard... especially when he is more closed-off than ever.

(This is probably my favorite chapter. It has actual smut. And ridiculous idiots, and fluuuuuuuff)

5,075 words

After Hannibal fled, leaving a bloodbath in his wake, Dr. Frederick Chilton returned to the land of the living and to administrating his psychiatric hospital as if he had simply been away on vacation.

Likewise, your relationship resumed where it had left off. You thought things would be different now—that you would be more honest with your feelings, and he might open up, too—but nothing changed, except for the things that changed in a direction you didn’t like.

“Oh, Doctor Chilton, I need help,” you purred, leaning seductively against the doorway of his office. He sat up rigidly in his leather chair and stammered a greeting with failed nonchalance.

Since his return, his voice shot up an octave whenever you walked in the room. He was like a shy teenager with his first crush, and you could only assume he was re-learning how to exist in the world after trauma. What else would it be?

Slinking up to his desk, you unfastened the top buttons of your shirt. He swallowed, hungry, but not immediately pouncing upon you with a lewd promise growled in your ear and a firm grasp on your hip like he used to do. New reserves of insecurity crouched beneath his skin like lions hidden in tall grass. It broke your heart to see that timidity in his eyes, but it was all incentive for you to work harder to relax him.

“I’m afraid I don’t have insurance, doctor,” you pouted, pushing aside a stack of papers to sit on his desk. “And mental health care is prohibitively costly because of a broken for-profit system, leaving the most vulnerable populations without access…” you put an emphasis on vulnerable, biting your lip.

He quirked a brow. “Your sexy-talk needs work.” 

“Oh, doctor,” you moaned, sliding off the desk and straddling his lap to pull at his tie. “Until we get universal healthcare”—you brought the end of his orange tie up to your mouth and bit it, gazing coquettishly into his eyes—“surely there’shh some ofther way I can pay you…” you lisped, mouth stuffed full of tie. 

He never knew it was possible to laugh, be annoyed, and aroused at the same time, but you were always teaching him new things. 

“That would be a severe ethics violation,” he said sternly, brows lowered, but clearly teasing. You snorted. 

It was impossible to remain self-conscious around someone flirting so badly. His hesitation melted away as he turned your awkward role-play around on you, so you moved on to phase two. Sinking to your knees at the foot of his chair, half under his desk, you smoothed the fabric of his pants over his lap, rubbing his inner thighs to coax his legs open and position yourself between them.

He drew in a sharp breath, but disguised it as a gasp of offense. “This is highly inappropriate. I am going to have to ask you to leave my office. Future visits will be attended by a nurse to ensure proper conduct, or I can refer you to another psychiatrist,” he said in a dry monotone, fully committed to playing hard-to-get. You growled in annoyance at him in between bursts of laughter. He patted your head patronizingly. “Now, now, I am a magnanimous doctor. I am not angry with you as a patient for this behavioral outburst… just disappointed.”

You licked your lips. Challenge accepted. You ran your hands over the front of his dress pants until you found the outline of his cock, and stroked it through the fabric, arching your back while giving him your best please-fuck-me look. He swallowed.

Unzipping the fly, you reached into the warmth of his pants, searching through a bed of curled hairs until you found his cock and drew it out to admire. The skin was velvety and soft, pulsing with heat as you gave it a few slow strokes, watching it grow larger and more firm. You loved it at its full arousal, when it took its sculptural form and shape with veins running up the underside of the shaft, when the foreskin pulled back and the domed pink head stood out, ready to plunge itself into you. 

God, you loved his cock. 

“On the other hand,” he quickly changed his mind, “perhaps I require a demonstration of this ‘alternative payment.’ For the sake of due diligence.” 

Your brought your tongue to its head and gave a teasing lick, tasting the salt of his precum, then kissed it like you would kiss his lips. You pecked a series of kisses down the length of his shaft until you were buried in his neatly trimmed curls, lips brushing the wrinkled skin of his balls, then flattened your tongue against his cock and traced a torturously slow wet line from the base to the tip. 

“I confess... you are my most attractive patient,” he said in a shaky, staggering breath, one side of his lips quirking upward. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now. He wanted more. “That is very good.” Not content with you stopping to look up at him, his hand cradled the back of your head, pushing you down and urging you to continue. “But I will need more payment than that.”  

Taking his entire thick cock in your mouth, you slid down it until he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering a little as you adjusted to having your throat stuffed full of him, jaw forced open wide. His manicured fingers curled into your hair, gently petting you. “Easy,” he soothed. 

It was nice sucking the dick of someone as fastidiously clean as Frederick Chilton. You always appreciated that as you began, moving slowly up his shaft until your lips were only closed around the swollen head, licking it gently, then faster until you felt his fingers tighten. He always tasted faintly of soap and very little else. His sedentary lifestyle helped as well; he was never running around and building up a nasty sweat. It was a pleasant little bonus to the whole affair. His cock was the most delicious you’d ever had.

Your head bobbed up and down in his lap with renewed vigor, building a rhythm with his hand gently guiding you to his preference (which you followed to please him, and deviated from to get a reaction). You loved watching his face—his breathing as he struggled to control it, the way his mouth twitched, and his eyes watched you work. That desperate little whine in his throat when you broke his rhythm, which grew into a low moan he tried to suppress when you started a new one.

He gave you instructions: slower, faster, use your tongue... just like that. Good. You twisted, and sucked, and pumped his base with your hands, gliding your tongue along the underside of his cock until the exquisite moment when he broke down, and stopped trying to keep his breathing (and noises) under control. By the end, he was a shaking mess mess, barely able to stammer out “k-keep going!” You loved to watch the moment he surrendered to you completely, his fingers digging into your scalp as his hips jerked helplessly, and his mouth falling open as he released into you, moaning and gasping so loudly the staff were sure to hear. 

You kept him buried in your mouth as his hot seed spilled on your tongue, swallowing every drop until his muscles stopped their convulsions, and you licked his cockhead clean. Cleaning up was a pain in the ass otherwise (and Frederick might implode if any got on his dress pants), but also, his largely vegetarian diet made him taste exceptionally sweet. You smiled up at him and ran your tongue over your lips as he panted, a sheen of sweat on his brow. 

As he was coming down, the phone on his desk rang, and naturally, the ambitious jerk answered it without so much as a thank you, or even putting his dick away. Orgasm complete: never mind you, back to work. Based on his half of the conversation, it sounded important—something about a publishing deal for a book he writing on Hannibal the Cannibal. The tone of his voice took on that haughty smarter-than-you air as the topic turned to intellectual property rights, and he was clearly driving for more money. So you started sucking his overstimulated dick. He gasped loudly into the receiver, and stared down at you in horror as he tried to cover for it. “I apologize. A bee got into my office, and I have to swat it.” He pushed you off his lap, eyes sparking like choppy waves on a windy sea.

“That was rude,” he growled when he got off the phone, a somewhat deranged smile slanting up one side of his face. He bent you over the desk and slapped your ass, whispering promises into your ear of how he would pay you back later.

You knew he would keep his promises. Each one. He had a lot more aggression to work out lately, and while you weren’t its target, a good hard fuck always made him feel better. You knew when you went to his house tonight you were guaranteed to have a lot of fun in a lot of positions—but you also knew when you were done, he would usher you out with some excuse for why you could’t stay.

That was the biggest, and worst, change. You thought the incident would bring you closer, but he hadn’t let you spend one night with him since the day he was shot.

It made you feel cheap.

Worse, it meant you were drifting apart. He used to be grateful (though he would never admit it) that you were there for the nightmares. When he woke up shaking he would turn to hold you, crushing you against his chest like a teddy until the shaking stopped, and he drifted back to sleep still holding you tight. You would have thought he would need you there more than ever, now. Something made him stop trusting you.

  *****

“Did I do something wrong?”

You were in the cramped passenger seat of his midlife-crisis Porsche cabriolet as he drove you home yet again, and a silence had fallen over him. It was a warm spring night with beautiful stars in the breeze above you glowing their brightest, albeit faded amid the glow of Baltimore’s city lights.

“Not at all. I am simply setting healthy boundaries, darling. I begin to suspect you only like me for the amenities.”

His house was new—he did not want to move back into the place he had found Abel Gideon dissected, and Hannibal had slaughtered and arranged two FBI agents for display—and even more grandiose than the last. All of the staircases were spiral for some unfathomable reason (because it was fancier), and it contained an entire gym, pool, gourmet kitchen, and a television the size of an actual movie theater screen. The bath had hot-tub jets.

Admittedly, it was nice staying there. It made you feel like someone who’d seen the inside of a country club. But his answer was complete bullshit.

“You know I don’t care about all your fancy crap,” you groaned.

“Do I? You told me you only stayed the night because my house was nice, and you enjoyed my coffee.”

Ouch. OK. Called out. “Obviously I was lying! I only like your stuff because it’s part of who you are—I can’t imagine you not being shamelessly bourgeoisie—not because I want a sugar daddy. If that’s what you’re worried about… why don’t we stay at my apartment?”

The thought never crossed his mind that you might call his bluff. He was horror-stricken.

“At your little… chalet?” he said like he was poking a dead bug with the end of a stick.

“It’s an apartment.”

Trapped by his own logic, instead of dropping you at your front door, Frederick got out and hobbled up the narrow staircase with you.

“My god, what is this? For ants?”

“It’s called a full bed, Frederick, and there’s plenty of room,” you answered with a little annoyance creeping into your voice. You knew he was prissy, but from the moment he set foot in your two-bedroom (which you could barely afford) he had been acting like he was in a decrepit slum. It was hilarious, actually, how living like a normal human being made him squirm.

He flopped down into the middle of the mattress, a sullen expression on his face like a toddler in a time-out. “You cannot expect me to sleep on this prison cot.”

“Move over,” you nudged him, crawling onto the covers beside him. “There’s plenty of room if we cuddle.”

He didn’t look interested in cuddling at the moment, however. He stared up at the ceiling like he was about to explode. You smiled. Even at his bitchiest and sulkiest, there was no one else you would rather spend time with. He tugged at your heartstrings. You admired his profile—his square brow that could express so much emotion (right now: petulance), the new scar on his cheek that was clearly the source of some embarrassment to him (though you thought it looked rugged), the stubble down his jaw with the slightest hint of grey. He was just so handsome.

Seeing his scar this close up was rare, as he always tried to keep you on his right side whenever you were seated or laying next to each other. You rested your chin on your arm and smiled at him, but he didn't smile back, or even glance over. He just stared at the ceiling like you weren’t even there. You waggled your eyebrows suggestively, hoping to get a laugh (or an irate glare that was secretly a laugh).

No response at all. He was moody.

You rolled on your side to cuddle him, intent on kissing that scar, but when your hands touched his chest, he flinched, recoiling with a surprised yelp.

That was the last straw. His nostrils flared and eyes widened as if this was the gravest indignity he had ever suffered. He jumped up from the bed frantically saying, “I have to go.”

And he did. Just like that.

You tried not to cry. He was being a jerk. He was going through post-traumatic stress. He just needed space, and it wasn’t your fault, you said, but you counted up all of the ways it was your fault anyway.

You were always so blunt and rude with him. As much as he deserved it when he was being officious, exploitative, surly, or generally the poster child for “check your privilege,” he probably didn’t want to be around someone who called him out all the time. It was a miracle he tolerated you at all. You’d gone easier on him since he returned from the dead, but maybe he simply didn’t want a rude fuckbuddy anymore.

You decided you wouldn’t bother him. He needed space, and you constantly showing up at his office and calling his house wasn’t helping, and it obviously wasn’t what he wanted.

Not three days went by before he called wondering where you had been. You could hear him trying to hide the worry in his voice, and the relief when you told him you were fine, and not angry. He wanted to see you. Not just the usual tryst, either: he wanted to take you out for dinner.

You had no idea what was going on.

  *****

Chilton was terrified when you stopped calling him. His greatest fear hit him deeper than a scalpel—that you were dead. Hannibal was back from wherever it was he went, and he was killing off everyone close to his enemies. Or any other of hundreds of killers. When it was clear that nothing horrible had happened to you, and you were, in fact, alive, he realized his second greatest fear—he had fucked up and finally driven you away.

A few of his exes used to give him the cold shoulder when he had committed some error, like failing to spoil them with gifts or expensive dinners, or pretending to forget their name. Maybe you, too, were punishing him, and he still had a chance to win you back. It seemed very likely that you wanted more from him than just sex. He had been selfish and unreciprocal with you—though outwardly, you never asked for anything else, except to stay the night. But he could never do that, not anymore.

Instead, pampering you at a Michelin-star restaurant seemed like a good start.

  *****

Dinner with Chilton that night made it clear why you had never gone out on a proper date with him before. His world was not your world.

As you walked in, you were fairly sure the maître d' glared at you for wearing what you considered your nicest outfit—but given that your typical dinner was boxed mac n’ cheese in your underwear, your best may not have been up to standard.

Frederick was at the bar waiting for you, severely out-dressing you in a formal black suit and dazzlingly contrasting tie, but didn’t make any underhanded comments on your attire. He crossed the room to meet you, flashing that used-car-salesman smile he hadn’t used on you since the first time you met, and offered his elbow in a revoltingly genteel fashion. It was like he was a stranger.

The the maître d’hôtel guided you to your reserved table, and Frederick set his cane to the side, sat, and crossed his legs. You felt like you were being interviewed. Was this an interview? From an inner pocket of his suit jacket, he produced and handed you a silver-inlaid pen that cost more than your rent.

“I don’t want this.” You left it sitting on the white tablecloth and stared at it like an alien artifact, trying to figure out what made it better than a two-dollar pen from the drugstore. Maybe he could still return it.

He got flustered, blinking in confusion, then held his chin up haughtily, jaw clenched. “No accounting for taste, then.”

You groaned. For some reason he wasn’t pretending to be wounded this time, he actually felt rejected. Over a stupid overpriced pen. “Fine! I’ll take it if it’ll make you feel better,” you caved in, snatching it off the table. “But if we break up, I’m pawning this.”

His mouth curled, primed to make a retort, but then went slack.

Was he thinking of breaking up?

Was that what dinner was about? That’s right—that trick of breaking up in a public space so you won’t cry and make a scene. It would explain why he’d been acting so nervous and distant lately. Why else would he suddenly want to take you out?

An awkward silence fell over the table. You wished this place had paper napkins you could stress-doodle on with your stupid new pen. Was it a breakup gift? Were breakup gifts a thing?

The waiter blessedly interrupted to take your orders, which Chilton gently assisted you with because everything was in French, the menu did not have pictures, and none of it appeared to be mac n’ cheese. He also ordered an entire bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild for the table, which you divined from the slight puffing out of his chest was meant to impress you.

When it didn’t, things went back to being sulky and awkward. By the time the bread arrived at the table, he had already downed a glass, and reached to pour himself another.

Instead of grabbing the open bottle, he completely misjudged the distance and knocked it on its side with a string of swears. Dark red liquid poured out onto the table. Acting quickly, you reached to pick it up, but collided with Chilton who was also trying to salvage the bottle, and succeeded only in batting it toward him where a puddle of wine began overflowing over the edge onto his suit.

Puddle! Spilling! You needed to mop up the excess quickly! You grabbed slices of baguette and started soaking it up.

“Why are you using bread when there are napkins for this?” Chilton hissed.

“I don’t know! You’re the dumbass who knocked over the Roth IRA Burgundy.”

His eyes bulged from his skull. “Rothschild! Bordeaux! And it wasn’t that bad until you flung it at me!”

“Do you want to help, or do you want to continue berating me?”

“I am more than capable of doing both!” he cried, grabbing a napkin and righting the bottle.

The table was a complete disaster. Wine even got all over your stupid fancy pen, which matched the stupid fancy pen in his office. Oh. That was sort of sweet, actually. As you wiped it dry, you noticed it had your name inscribed around one of the silver rings.

The waiter hurried over to assist, and Chilton looked positively mortified.

“Sorry,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little clumsy.”

After much fussing and cleaning was finished, Chilton sat back in his chair, eyes boring into you. He swallowed.

“Why did you...?”

“They already think I’m a mess, this way they’ll at least let you back in here.”

“Well, that is very…” a dark blush crept up his neck from under his collar. “You didn’t have to do that"

You reached your hand across the fresh tablecloth, and he took it, rubbing soft circles in the flesh between your thumb and forefinger. (It was a testament to your familiarity that the massive, ostentatious gold ring he always wore no longer felt in the way when you held his hand.) His eyes lingered on you, and the blush continued working its way up to his face.

Things felt open enough to quietly ask, “So, what is all this, anyway? You’ve never wanted to take me out before.”

“I assumed you wanted something from me; you have been ignoring me,” he bristled slightly at your density. “If this is not it, then what?”

You blinked. He really thought you’d been holding out on him to… get something? And the way his voice strained when he asked, “then what?” told you he would do whatever it was you requested.

You shook your head at the tablecloth and squeezed his hand. “The way you left the other day, I assumed you didn’t want to be around me.”

“Oh.” The brilliant psychiatrist hadn’t thought of that.

He didn’t apologize, and you knew he never would (about anything—it was one of the reasons so many people wanted to punch him), but his demeanor softened and any resentment you’d been holding onto faded with his dumbfounded expression.

“So.” You cleared your throat. “How’s… uh, psychiatry?”

“Well, most daily therapy sessions I have delegated to focus on writing…” He launched into a mundane description of his work, and you just… talked. Like a normal couple. It was strange in its ordinariness, but it was nice to not have your entire interaction revolve around getting dick. It made going back to his mansion after dinner and getting dick even more meaningful. You were sure this time he would let you stay.

When he tried to send you away again, you had had enough.

  *****

“I don’t understand, what changed?” you asked a little too brusquely and immediately regretted it. “I know you need space,” you breathed out in a more understanding tone, “but I need to know where we stand… Do you want to break up with me?”

He froze in the middle of throwing a shirt on over his bare chest and dropped it back into the dresser, turning to gawk at you with shocked-wide eyes. “What? No! Of course not.”

That was a relief at least. “Then why won’t you let me stay?”

He was far too exposed: his abdominal scar still prominently pointing up to his blaze of brown chest hair, and you, ambushing him in his own bedroom. “You cannot let it go, can you? You want to know?!” he snapped, limping resentfully across the room. He had reached a breaking point. “It’s because I cannot sleep with the prosthetics in.”

“The...” your brain crashed and you frantically clicked enter on the reboot screen, “...prosthetics…?”

He scowled. “Did you believe the bullet passed neatly through the copious empty space in my skull without causing any collateral damage? That this little scar is the sum total of my injury?”

Of course. You hadn’t even considered that there was more to his near-fatal shooting than what you saw on the surface. It was breathtakingly ignorant now that you thought about it. He was shot. In the head. He spent weeks at an expensive medical resort where they could perform all kinds of reconstructive miracles, and he let you believe he was dead until they had finished whatever it was they were fixing.

“Show me.”

His face twitched. “You do not want to know.”

“I do.”

“Then I do not wish you to know.”

“Why?”

Emotion boiled under his face, but he breathed in through his nose and kept his outward composition calm, controlled. “It would change the way you see me. Every time you look at me, I do not want you to see that.”

You crossed the room to him. Gently, you put your hand on his arm, and slowly rubbed up and down. His breathing was shallow, controlled but barely. He didn’t push you away. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck, listening to his pulse whispering a swift beat. “I just want to know you, Frederick. Please.”

  *****

Doctors had seen it. That was by necessity: he had paid for the best cosmetic prosthetics available in the country to look exactly like his old self, with the exception of the scar on his left cheek which could never be fully hidden.

He had shown it to Mason Verger, but that, too, was different—a mutual display of their motivations for revenge. It was almost a contest to see who was the more disgusting, the most wronged.

You would not be the first to see his face, but you were the first whom he cared about disgusting. The first whom he cared about. He did not want to see you recoil from him in shock. He did not want to lose you. He did not want you to see the darkness hanging over him.

He acquiesced, but refused to make a circus display of taking his teeth out in front of you, and vanished into the master bathroom for a long time. As you waited, you rehearsed not reacting—not showing a hint of shock that would make him regret the choice to let you in—yet as each minute ticked by, you grew more and more anxious.

The door opened.

“Jesus fuck.”

His lower eyelid sagged without the support of a massive chunk of facial bone holding it in place, and the eye within was the milky blue-white of a fish preserved in formaldehyde. The skin of his cheek sagged over half a mouth of missing teeth, and the left corner of his lip hung slightly too loose.

“Eloquent as always,” he said, adding some bite to the word. He hoped you knew what a jerk you were.

You rushed in to hold him, and he stiffened, looking away. “Oh, your eye,” you whined. He must have been completely blind in it, but he masked it so well you never noticed. He flinched as you touched his face.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

You pulled your hand back and searched his expression. “Do you want me to stop?”

He thought about it, and huffed, rolling one eye. You were being so cute, and at least not fleeing in terror. He stuck his chin out. “Go ahead. Do what you want.”

With a sour frown, he let you explore his skin with your fingertips, finding scars and hollow cavities where bone was supposed to be. “You’re missing… oh, god, it must have shattered the maxillary bone, and,” you felt farther back, continuing to find hollow gaps. “Oh god, baby…”

“Do not pity me, it is unbecoming.”

“Heh,” you breathed, slyly sliding your hands up over his shoulders and arcing them loosely around the back of his neck. “I thought you didn’t care about my motivations,” you said, languidly drawing out each vowel.

That earned an irritated look, finally meeting your gaze. You grinned back.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip.

You kissed him all along the sagging side of his mouth, pressing your lips to every new contour and texture. A few worried noises escaped his throat, along with half-formed words of caution of what you might not want to kiss, but they were quickly swallowed by groans of pleasure as you worshiped his mouth, reveling in each new discovery. All his imperfections were perfect, and you wanted him to feel that in every touch, filling each glowing breath with all the love and acceptance in your heart.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore, but it itches.”

“I hate itches.”

“As do I,” he breathed.

You kissed him again, this time his tongue danced along your lips to taste you. It darted between your teeth, curling around your tongue as his strong hands snaked around the back of your head, pulling you harder into the kiss. He grunted, teeth clashing with yours as your lips interlocked with feral passion, consuming each other until your lips were bruised and you had to break away, breathless and panting.

“I’m so glad you're alive,” you smiled, trying not to let tears well up in the corners of your eyes. “You came back to me. You’re amazing, you know that? What you can survive.”

His chest puffed out a little. He was amazing, wasn’t he? But when he spoke again, it was sullen.

“I did not want you to see what a monster I’ve become.”

You shook your head. “You’re still beautiful. Absolutely perfect. I’m sorry it happened, but you know I’m going to love you no matter what…” You trailed off as a word snagged in your throat. Did you just say…

“You love me?”

Dry. Your throat suddenly felt drier than sandpaper, and swallowing didn’t fix it. You weren’t supposed to admit that to him. He was going to tease you, to twist it around somehow to use against you—

“I love you, too.”