#i just realised this is not the book i thought it was when i bookmarked it (fragile remedy) but i think im more interested in this anyway LO

[supersexynerd]

“Can I be alone with you?”

Student!Nanami x Classmate!Reader

Summary; you always felt overwhelmed in the energised fast paced hang outs with the people of your year. Finding solace in a quiet part of the schools library, when someone finds you; someone who understands more than you might realise.

Warnings; fluff and that’s pretty much it, platonic but theres something forming

Currently not proofread

Joining Jujutsu High was probably one of the best things that had happened in your life. Life at home in the Zenin clan only came with imense pressure and never really feeling like you belonged anyways.

Here however; you had made amazing friends who you can be yourself around and focus on becoming a better sorcerer without the callouse critiquing from your elders.

As much as you loved your friends though there was one thing which still made you feel a little detached from them. While a lot of them always seemed filled to the brim with social energy (cough cough Gojo) you never had such a high social battery. Even Shoko who complains about the erratic white haired man still had a spring in her step to the Friday night hangouts that you often tried to avoid; it was by no means an insult to them you loved your friends! Just not necessarily the amount of overwhelming noise and stimulus that comes with hanging around with them- especially after a long week of schoolwork and missions.

So this is how you very happily spent your Friday night. Sat in the peace of the library on one of the sofas, book in hand with headphones in and some snack you ad been craving that day. You found the library a lot more peaceful than your own room, unlucky for you you shared a wall with the communal space in the dormitories that was the source of current events. No the quiet small dormitory Library downstairs suited you just fine.

“What are you doing here?” a monotone voice broke your concentration, causing you to startle looking up to see your tall emo looking friend.

Shuffling in the sofa to sit straight, you eyed him cautiously. Nanami is usually in the communal area talking with Haibara, how did he find you here? Was he even looking?

“It’s nothing on you guys, I just prefer a more… quiet way to unwind after a long week.” You admitted, face turning a little red as you closed your book, using a photo of you and Shoko as a bookmark.

Nanami sat down next to you, huffing “Gojo can be a bit too much on times can’t he?” he said seeing the subcontext of your explanation. In all honesty that was what drew Nanami to come find you. He was simply too tired to deal with Satoru’s immense bundles of energy despite every one of you getting ran through with missions and extra hard lessons this week. He always wondered where you went off, despite his universal expression making it seem like seeing you was simply a coincidence.

Nanami always took a liking to you. The way your snarky quips were the only thing to make Satoru shut up when he went on one of his stupid tangents. How you could outsmart Geto and always knew how to cheer Shoko up when she felt bad about her quirk being more on the utility side.

Not to mention you’re beauty but Nanami would never admit he thought of that.

“You like horror?” Nanami tried striking up conversation prodding at the scary looking cover of the book.

You just chuckled, rubbing your tired eyes from reading so much. “Don’t act like it’s something revolutionary” your usual sarcastic demeanour shining through your kind smile. “It’s actually really good” you looked over to the cover again, “it’s a four part series, I’m only on the first book, started it tonight actually”

Nanami let a small smile listening to you, not wanting you to stop talking, he asked for you to tell him more about what it was about.” Small red heat blanketing his cheeks as your eyes lit up with excitement, telling Nanami every detail of how you don’t entirely like one of the characters, you’re in love with one (who’s description seemed a little too close to himself), and how you were biting your nails all night at how on edge the book was.

It felt nice, you rarely had people to talk about this sort of thing with. Shoko refuses to listen about or watch anything horror as it scared the crap out of her. It was refreshing to have someone want to listen to you rant endlessly about different aspects.

You hadn’t meant to talk for so long, honestly you hadn’t, you were so carried away in your ramblings you saw your phone flash 11:43PM.

“I am so sorry!” You tried apologising profusely but Nanami just waved it off.

“Don’t be. I’ve enjoyed listening to you.” and you realise this whole time he’s been smiling, something you did not see often, especally not tis genuine. “On saying that though we should head back to our rooms.”

He was right and you knew it. You stood up wrapping your blanket over your shoulders as the pair of you walked back, sharing a comfortable silence only broken by soft yawns from both of you.

Another week had gone by, you couldn’t help but think about the evening when Nanami found you. It was a nice thing for someone to do, and you’d be lying if saying talking about your latest obsession didn’t make you feel giddy.

Another Friday night, another sofa that was taken by only you yet for the first time you felt a little sad it was just you. You shook it off, it was a once time thing, but then something catches your gaze as you get comfy under the blanket.

It was Nanami, in comfy clothes and glasses which he usually only wore during lesson.

“I know you like being alone, I was just wondering… Can I be alone with you?” Nanami said walking up to you nervously, hand massaging the back of his neck. Peering at his other arm you could see a book he was carrying in his palm “I brought my own too”

“Yes! Of course you can” you beamed before getting a little embarrassed at how excited you sounded, redness pouring over your face giving it away but Nanami just smiled softly as he took his place on the other side of the two person couch. “What book is that?” You investigated the cover as you offered him the other end of your very large blanket.

“It’s a mystery novel. I like reading them sometimes to see if I can figure it out before the big reveal. I’m about halfway through this one and it’s about this problematic rich family who’s haunted by this big secret of some sort. I have a feeling I know what it is but in a weird way that makes it more exciting for me; now I get to feel really smug if I’ve guessed it or, I’m astonished at how wrong I am” he finished with a chuckle.

This was a new side you were seeing to him, in a cringy cliche it was like you were seeing Kento, not Nanami. Your gaze softened as you listened to his rambles, your stomach fluttering in a way that caught you off guard.

“Come on then” you smirked “what do you think the big secret it?”

Kento smiles “well it’s definitely something surrounding the children I think, my money is on the mother had an affair and the twins aren’t really the fathers” he explained opening his book “I have half of it left, I’ll probably finish most of it tonight.”

“I look forward to finding out.” You smiled before you two both sat in another comfortable silence enjoying your own books. Stealing secret glances at each other every now and again, sometimes accidentally catching each other and hurriedly returning to your books cheeks flushed.

After a good two hours you saw Kento’s expression change to shock as he placed a hand over his mouth, reading a little more frantically. You look up amused, “what’s the matter?”

“They’re… Siblings” Kento says in astonishment.

“Well yeah they’re twins aren’t they?” You looked at him not quite understanding.

“No [Y/N], the parents. The mother and father are siblings”

“Ew!” You contorted your face.

“I know!” He exclaimed before you both burst into laughter.

The rest of the night was spent talking on both of your books, laughing at jokes and it was a refreshing change which both of you didn’t want to admit how much you loved.

Before you knew it it was starting to get late again, a solemnness draped across the pair of you while you walked back, not wanting it to end but knew there was a curfew you had to meet.

“Same time next Friday?” You asked as you two reached the dorms. A wide grin causing a glint in his eyes seeps into his face as he nods enthusiastically in agreement.

And so started your new routine. Every Friday, you and Nanami would sneak away to the library to meet. The first half always spent reading then the second half started out and just talking about what you had just seen but the more you two grew comfortable the more there was additions of trivial things such as gossip you had heard off of Shoko which Kento surprisingly loved hearing to, and adding! The conversation would even turn to deeper levels as the pair of you really started to feel something between you two.

The only problem was that the pair of you were too awkward or nervous to say anything.

One Friday after a particularly gruelling week, by 8PM which was usually the time you two would stop reading and begin talking, Nanami looked over to see you asleep.

He spent a few moments looking at you, not wanting to be a creep but found you so beautiful all relaxed and peaceful. He put the photo of you and Shoko in between the pages that were sandwiching your thumb while you were asleep, picking you up bridal style.

Blanket draping on the floor as he carried you back to your dorm, settling you down in bed. The whole time not startling once, making Nanami feel his heart swell knowing how comfortable and safe you felt in his presence.

Unconsciously, after settling you into bed with the covers over you now, slippers neatly placed on the floor near the edge of your bed, Nanami couldn’t help the small soft kiss he peppered onto your forehead. Earning a happy little hum from you still deep in sleep.

Kento didn’t have the courage to confess, but right now this moment was enough for now.

A/N: ahhhhh this was so cute to write. part of me is wondering if I should continue it??

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread  

Dangerous Remedy

fast-paced queer YA about a group of youths, saving people from the guillotine during the french revolution

when they save a girl with mysterious electrical powers, they have to keep her safe from those on both sides who want to use her

sapphic MCs

[earthtooz]

earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵

nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.

"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"

Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.

"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"

"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.

"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"

"I think you are overcomplicating it."

His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"

"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"

"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."

"That does not diminish your madness."

Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."

"I called you crazy."

"You haven't said anything I want to hear."

Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."

Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.

There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.

No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.

"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.

A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"

You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."

"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."

"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."

Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."

"Aww, you love me that much?"

"Do you still doubt me?"

"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."

"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"

You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"

"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"

"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."

Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.

"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."

"Alright."

Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.

'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[emchante]

storytime seduction | m. verstappen

request: Mmm thinking about a storytelling stream w Max 🤭 he reads poetry or a smutty excerpt from a novel in that insanely hot Dutch accent, making flirty remarks here n there with those obscene low moans on purpose

softcore porn streamer! max

warnings: 18+/suggestive — minors dni.

request was sent by di!! can’t answer it as it isn’t in my inbox anymore, so the original ask is written above. so glad you guys are loving this au, because i love writing it! don’t forget to drop your thoughts in my inbox<3

you join the stream when you’re finally in bed for the night, and met with the usual display. max has a lazy grin on his face, the one that makes you both excited and terrified of what he has planned. the title had teased ‘story time with max’, which honestly left it quite vague.

you’re not entirely sure what to expect, but as soon as he leans back in his chair, holding a book up with an annoyingly suggestive smirk— your stomach twists.

max adjusts his mic slightly, leaning in as his deep, accented voice comes through like a warm caress. “alright, alright,” he says, opening the book up. he flips to the section he had bookmarked, and his other hand casually grips the hem of his tight tank top, lifting it slightly to scratch at his stomach. it’s a subtle move— but the flash of soft skin, the peak of his light happy trail— but it’s enough to send the chat spiralling.

“oh, this?” he asks, catching on and pulling the tank top higher, revealing his soft stomach with his large hand now splayed entirely across it. he watches the messages come in even faster as he exposes himself more, and he chuckles deeply before pulling it back down. “now, let’s set the mood.”

the lighting in his room is dim, soft and golden, casting just enough shadow to make the atmosphere feel.. intimate. he begins to read an excerpt from whatever erotica is in front of him, and it’s obscene how good he sounds. the words roll off his tongue like they were made to be spoken in that voice— low and rich with just enough gravel to send a rush of heat throughout your body.

“‘her breath hitched,” he reads, tone dipping lower as his lips quirk up into a slight smirk. “his touch—barely a graze— sent heat racing down her spine’,” he pauses, looking to the chat before pulling an innocent expression. “oh, too much? or should i keep going?”

that chat of course explodes, begging max to continue, spamming about how he knows what he’s doing— and the smirk on his face only grows as the chat begins to flood with pleas.

he laughs softly, the sound vibrating throughout your headphones and into your very soul. “okay, okay, you all asked for it.”

and then he’s back to reading the filth that he holds in his hands, drawing out the words like he knows exactly what he’s doing to everyone listening. his voice is velvet, dark and teasing, his dutch accent thickening around certain phrases— especially the more explicit dialogue.

you’re hyper-aware of every pause he takes, every low chuckle that escapes him when he sees chat losing its mind. when the writing starts to get more heated, he leans closer into the mic, and your skin prickles as if he’s speaking directly into your way.

“‘you like that?’” he reads, and then he turns his gaze towards his camera. he licks his lips slowly, tilting his head as he continues to stare for a few moments, before he turns to his chat. “hmm, i think i’ve heard that one before,” he teases, his grin downright sinful.

max shifts in his seat, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his waistband like he doesn’t realise what he’s doing. “‘her legs trembled as his hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin where her thighs met—’”

he breaks off again, this time with an obscene, low groan escaping his throat. “this is downright filth, isn’t it?” he asks, his hand moving from his waistband up to the back of his neck to scratch it, muscles flexing with the motion.

“‘her breath came in short gasps as his lips found her ear, whispering promises of what he’d do to her,’” he mimics it, leaning close to the mic and lowering his voice even further, eyes peering into the camera. “i could whisper to you too, you know. tell you exactly what i’d do if you were here.”

your breath hitches, heat flushing through you once more as his words seem to sink directly into your skin.

his hands trails back down his body again, thumb dragging itself across his chest and falling lower before brushing the line of his waistband again. “‘her body arched into him, begging silently for more— hmm, i should make you all beg for more, shouldn’t i? horny fuckers here to listen to me read you an erotic bedtime story,” he interrupts himself to tease the chat, licking his lips at the eager response.

“good girls,” he mutters, a deep heat flourishing from your core as the words do something to you— and evidently everyone else in the chat. “one last line. just for you.”

his voice dips even lower, barely above a growl now. “‘his hands slid under her thighs, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. his mouth hovered over hers, his breath hot and heavy as he finally gave her what she had been waiting for.’”

max shuts the book with a snap, tossing it aside like it’s nothing. “well,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “i think that’s enough for tonight. don’t want to ruin you completely, yeah?”

the chat is still spiralling— as are you— but max only winks, stretching in his chair as a sliver of stomach shows again. “sweet dreams, everyone,” he purrs, “try not to think of me too much.”

and then the stream cuts off.

⋆˙⟡ enjoy this? i hope you did! please come chat to me about it in my ask box! publicly or on anon— i’ll answer everything <3

[claireriddle25]

Summary: Pure fluff, Mattheo and Yn laying in bed cuddling.

____________________________

I placed myself next to Mattheo, leaning my back against the headboard. A few pages into my book I feel how the curly head next to me starts to move. Half asleep he lays his head on my stomach so that my hoodie moves up a bit. His curls slightly tickle on my bare skin. One of my hands finds its way to his hair and slowly brush through it. Mattheo mumbles something in his sleep and wraps his muscular arms around me and under the hoodie, his veiny hands warming my back.

I get back to my book, but the beautiful boy laying between my legs and on top of my stomach, makes it hard to concentrate on the storyline. However, I was more than happy to give my attention to him even though I love books. After I put my bookmark in, I run my hands down his hair to his neck and bare tanned back. As always Mattheo prefers to sleep shirtless because his body temperature is always high. He starts to move again and slowly opens his brown eyes, sleepily my boyfriend turns up to me with a soft look full of love.

 “Good morning, love”, he whispers with an even raspier voice than he normally has. I love it when he wakes up and greets me with his low morning voice. “Good morning, Matty”, I answer while smiling down at him. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I simply cannot put the love I have for this boy in words, and I just hope that he sees it in my eyes. I only realise that I stopped stroking trough his hair and down his neck, when he whines: “Please, keep going, baby”. I laugh quietly, no one would believe me that the Mattheo Riddle was currently complaining about something like that. When I start to touch him again, he strengthens his grips around my waist and minimizes any space between us, even though I thought we couldn’t be any closer to each other. “You smell so good but kind of like me, princess”, Mattheo smiles. “Obviously, I am wearing your hoodie, babe, but thanks.” The brown eyed boy looks up to me and grins. “You better be wearing mine; you are perfect especially in my clothes.”

[luxtrys]

ani just screams corruption kink i feel so dizzy

AHH U FUCKING GOT ME WITH THIS (added a bit of innocence kink because i can't handle myself) also got carried away like i always do, sue me.

also didn't want to write any p in v because i've already written a first time with anakin fic that knowing me would probably turn out super duper similar to this. it's right here if you're interested!! ♡

pretty baby, best friend!anakin skywalker x reader (18+, smut)

you were panicking. you tried to keep your short uncontrolled breaths at bay as you made your way down the halls of the jedi temple. you nearly tripped over your own feet multiple times, your body carrying you straight to anakin's quarters like you were on autopilot.

you had known anakin since he arrived at your home planet of coruscant when he was nine years old. you were only a year younger than him, but you were always a bit naive and innocent, floaty as anakin would call it, so you always felt like he knew best. like he was in charge and in control.

naturally, you felt like anakin knew your body and your feelings even better than you did. so when you felt odd tingles rise in your downstairs area, you didn't know what was going on in your own body. but you knew only one person you could go to, because after all anakin was your best friend.

you tried to ground yourself as you rested your hand on the door handle to anakin's private chambers, closing your eyes for a moment and breathing in and out in a sequence. you slowly opened his door, peeking in to see ani's shirtless figure on his bed, his eyes glued to the book in front of him.

as you stepped in, his head turned in your direction, a handsome smile gracing his face as he quickly bookmarked his page and made his way over to you. "hi angel, how was your day?" he asked, his heavy aura engulfing you when his arms wrapped fully around your body and he bent down to rest his head on your shoulder.

he quickly rose back up when he didn't feel you hug back, you were always hugging anakin, so something was definitely wrong. guilt washed over his face for not noticing your quivering lip and watery eyes.

"baby, what happened?" he asked, rubbing his thumb on the side of your face to try to offer you any bit of comfort he could give. "hurts ani" you whined, taking your palms and placing them on his chest, trying to push his body away from yours as the contact made your brain even more fuzzy than it already was.

"what hurts? did you trip? did someone do something to you?" he glanced over your whole body for any bruises or visible marks, even going so far as to kneel down slightly to gaze over your thighs because you were almost always falling over. your statement nearly gave him the shivers, the mere thought of something happening to you made anakin go crazy, and you knew that.

"no-no didn't fall." you shook your head, still pushed up softly against the wall in, what to him, looked like clear agony. "angel, you gotta tell me what's going on so i can help you, yeah? can't fix a problem if i don't know what it is"

you were embarrassed, because as innocent as you were, you knew that private parts were private, and you didn't know how he was going to react to sharing information about the feelings in your panties. but as conflicted as you were you needed these tingles to stop.

so you took his wrist, guiding his hand up your thigh and past your skirt, resting it to cup your heat through your panties. he looked up at you in realisation, biting his full bottom lip softly as his eyes narrowed in on you like a predator looking at his prey.

"it-it started yesterday when you came back from training and we were cuddling. i don't know what's happening ani, is there something wrong with me?" he let out a small 'fuck' at your statement, cursing himself for not noticing your state sooner, like the way your thighs were clenched and how you clung to him. even though he had known you for more than half of his life, he had no idea that you didn't know anything about the feelings you were having.

"no baby, there's nothing wrong with you. but you need to trust me if you want me to help you, ok?" he tried to be as soft as he could because he knew if he was too quick or aggressive in any way, you would turn into a pile of tears and embarrassment. you nodded with teary eyes, melting back into his touch and wrapping your hands around his neck.

he took this as the chance to slid his hands on the back of your upper thighs, lifting you up effortlessly as your legs wrapped around his waist. he swiped his thumb across your cheeks, softly wiping the tears that were running down your face, cooing to you to stop crying, and that it was all okay.

anakin placed you softly down on his bed, resting your head on your favourite pillow and kissing your bare midriff as he positioned himself above you. goosebumps trailed your skin as he slowly unzipped your skirt, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. you couldn't even describe the feelings you were experiencing as you ended up only in panties, socks and anakin's shirt on his bed. in all fairness, you slept like this with him all the time, but with his hands toying with the waistband of your pink underwear, this felt a whole lot different.

"i'm gonna touch you right here princess, is that ok?" he said as he placed his finger right to your heat through the thin cotton on your underwear. it wasn't as though anakin was an unserious person, at all, but right now, you had never seen anakin look so stern in your life. you nodded quickly, ready for him to cure this unsettling feeling in your core. "words baby." he replied to your nodding.

"yes anakin, its ok." you giggled, using his full name to annoy him. it worked. you watched as he pulled your panties off, the cold air making you shiver. after pulling them all the way off your body, he threw your underwear somewhere in the room, too focused on the site in front of him to care.

"can't believe you're letting me do this baby, been dreaming about this pussy for years" he wasn't lying, he had been thinking about what you would taste like, feel like, moan like for years. he always knew you were innocent, and he did a lot to keep it that way, but the way you came to his room, thighs clenched and clueless at these new feelings made his dick strain in his pants.

but he knew you weren't ready for all of him just yet, because not to be obnoxious, but there was no way even a quarter of his cock would fit inside of you without making you scream in pain.

he leaned forward so his head was now between your legs, licking a thick stripe up your folds as you threw your head back in pleasure. he nearly let out a groan at the taste of you, dipping back down into your heat and moving his tongue all around your pussy.

"oh my- ani!" you had never felt a feeling like this ever before, like you were on a constant wave of euphoria that you were never going to come off of. he flicked his tongue on your clit multiple times, watching attentively as he made you putty in his hands.

he continued eating you out for what felt like hours until you were practically sobbing with pleasure. "stop fucking squirming" he spat, placing an iron grip on your waist as you moved below him, seething like you were holding the most desirable thing in the world away from him.

he took the time while he threw your legs over his shoulders to smile at you, his chin and lips practically glistening from your juices, making you whine. "makers, you taste fucking heavenly baby, can't believe you were keeping this from me" he groaned, his tongue now reaching unimaginable places inside of you as you felt even less grounded with your legs stretched over his shoulders.

"ani s-stop! feel like i'm gonna pee" you whined, desperately trying to push his head away from your core as you squirmed in embarrassment. "you're not gonna pee baby, you're gonna cum. that's a good thing yeah? just let go for me." you nodded unsurely, biting your lip as you let go.

you tried to muffle your moans as you felt the most immense feeling of pleasure you have ever experienced, scared you were going to wake the whole jedi temple. anakin flicked his tongue up and down your folds, exploring every inch of your heat as he worked you through your orgasm, wishing he had his camera to capture the look on your face.

"god baby, you're so pretty like this" he sighed, pushing himself up as he hovered above you. he passionately kissed you, letting you taste yourself as you whined. you let your head lull to the side of your pillow, momentarily shutting your eyes and only opening them as you felt anakin wipe a damp towel down your folds. he was smirking at you as you finally looked at him dazed, running his tongue across his bottom lip teasingly.

"can't believe i finally corrupted you pretty baby."

[jolalibrary]

the meeting

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader* | collection masterlist

summary: stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader (*OFC has name and backstory, but is physically a blank slate) rating: smut. 18+ warnings: smut. nickname is given to the reader by frankie: blue. no y/n. no physical descriptions. one-night stand. p in v. blueberry pie... is actually pie. pre-TF. dual POV. wordcount: 4.6k an: originally posted on AO3. i won't be doing a taglist for this series, so i'd recommend bookmarking on there for email notifications.

You only realise the rain is heavier when the bell chimes.

Lifting your head, dragging it away from blurring pages, you quickly spot the thick droplets pounding, hammering their tiny water-based fists against the glass beside you. The battling temperatures continue to do all it can to fog and smear it, making visibility impossible from the inside to the out.

It forces car lights to blur into scarlet reds and soft whites from your place; makes the bright diner sign out in the parking lot—spelt out in neon tubing—to be hidden, slowly swallowed and consumed by the growing storm.

When you'd first arrived, it had only been a small shower. Sometime between your first coffee and now it had shifted into a downpour—the outside rumbling angrily, accompanied by flashes that ripple across full and fuming clouds.

Stretching, raising arms above your head, you glance out from your booth and land on the figure who'd set the bell off.

They're unzipping, haphazardly throwing down the hood, parting their jacket before you see the side profile of their face. You’re transfixed, unable to blink as they rustle the short hair atop their head—the outside they’ve brought in dripping onto the worn welcome mat of the diner.

It’s Doris who hurries to greet—a favourite of yours.

She’s the kind of person who doesn’t judge when you order more coffee when it’s gone midnight or you’ve barely moved to stretch your legs; she doesn’t ask if you’re sure you should eat another slice of pie or question if studying in a busy diner is as effective as the library.

Doris keeps her nose out. And does so in a way that makes you think, that if you needed advice, she’d give it to you. Just like she quickly begins doing (unsolicitedly) to the mysterious, almost midnight visitor.

Y’from outta town? Doris asks, rich in cheer, all sing-song-like and innocent to the point it would trick even a dubious soul that she doesn’t gossip.

You wait for a response, focusing on taking small sips of your coffee. A break from the books, from note taking and soaking information. Not eavesdropping, not at all.

No. Just got in late. Saw the sign, and thought I’m a man who deserves a warm drink.

Smiling, almost smirking, you take a larger mouthful. Lie, your brain says; a charmer, you think immediately after. Taking in the slope of his nose and the way he looks lost, unsure—as though there had been no thought after escaping the night and the storm and stepping inside.

Of all the places in the empty diner for him to sit, he chooses the booth next to yours. Jacket sliding off, folding it, placing it at the end of the booth bench he’s sitting in as he faces you.

He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t glare when he meets your eyes. Just passes you over, acknowledges but not by too much. It’s you who breaks the stare.

Then Elvis begins playing—as he routinely does. Singing about mail and returning to sender as you tap your pencil against the textbook. Dropping your gaze, and doing your best to ignore him.

You’re not sure your best is going to be good enough.

Six minutes and thirty-nine seconds pass, and in that time you take further glances when you think it’s safe to do so.

For one, taking in how he scratches at the back of his head as he attempts to understand the menu. Next, how broad his chest is, and how it forces the thin fabric of his tee to stretch when he pulls out the menu, lays it down and dips his head lower between his shoulders.

By the following chance you afford yourself a glance, his thumb is pressed to his lips as he studies the plastic, two-sided menu, flipping it over with a crack, before doing so again a few moments later. Undecided, troubled—nostrils flaring as he sighs and you try not to glare through your brows.

You blame the fact it’s been a while for why thoughts are sparking.

Practically unable to stop staring at how thick his fingers are, to stop your body from reacting to the width of his thumb. Your thighs press together under the table, mind running away with itself before it’s snapped back to the present when he flips the menu again.

It’s easier to busy yourself by tapping the toe of your sneaker against the metal pole of the table. Discreet, rubber side up, dotting your paper with the pencil as you urge him to order.

Internally pleading him to.

Counting to thirty and then to sixty, before you drop the pencil and rest your cheek on your palm, staring—more bold and unafraid of confrontation than you might have been minutes ago.

“You having a hard time there or something?”

His head snaps up, eyes a little wide. The stare dripping with surprise before he snorts. Before his index and thumb are lifting the menu, tapping the others against the back.

“What do you recommend?”

“You’d take advice from a stranger?”

Shrugging, he dips his chin, but his eyes remain on you. Dark, yet warm—glancing at you as though he wishes to let them up and down your frame. Before he drags them to the empty plates, the ones stacked, ready to be collected.

“No one else for me to ask.”

You smirk, dropping your hand from your face and straightening your spine. “Touché.”

Then, you make him wait. Take as much of him in as you can. Pencil in hand as you trace the eraser end over, and over a graph in your book. Because he’s handsome, good-looking, in a way that’s understated but you know would make you double-take somewhere else.

It’s the eyes, you try to reason.

A unique mix of doe-eyed and sharp.

Exhaling, you tap your pencil louder before saying, “The coffee is good, and so are any of the pies. The pancakes are good, but not when Ernie is on. And Ernie is currently on—they always taste salty? I try not to think why.”

It’s his turn for his lips to slide into his cheek. “Which pie?”

“Huh?”

He points, right to the plates. “Which pie have you been eating?”

For a second, you take him in. Head tilting, back straight, lips rolling together as you try to place him—nostrils flaring as you take a steadying breath. “Blueberry.”

“Alright then.”

To your surprise, he orders you one too.

It sitting, temptingly in a space between notes, postits and your book. Your stomach grumbles in protest, desperate to taste another slice, knowing the importance of fuel and nutrition to ensure that you don’t fall asleep at the table again.

You wait until he sinks his teeth into it. Tuning in for any groan, any evidence of surprise at how good it tastes. You flick your gaze to him, watching, waiting, eventually stabbing your own fork into it before the filling bursts in your mouth, exploding sweetness that’s balanced by a gentle tang—the crust, as always, both crumbly and smooth, all buttery, a treat. Homely. That’s what it reminds you of, home.

A thing, from the look on his face, he feels too.

“Told you.”

It’s a sight to watch him run his tongue across the front of his teeth, fork sliding across the crumbs on his place. “Not bad for a stranger.”

You release a short laugh, one that you try to bury against the cup you bring to your lips.

“I’m Francisco—Frankie.”

He drops his eyes, embarrassment—most likely. Shyness is another option.

Even with no expectation for a trade, you lick your lips and offer him something else. A nickname as he smiles, eyes narrowing. “—not going to just hand you my name, you could be a murderer.”

“I could be.”

“Your nickname doesn’t suit you.”

“Thank you?”

He laughs, low, but light. It’s then he asks if you’re working, to which you share studying. That you find it easier here, less distractions—

“More pie?”

“There’s that too. What about you? Just fancied a break from the storm?”

Sheepish, that’s the word you’d use. The back of his fingers runs along the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve just landed back. Needed… wanted a minute.”

You nod, letting his words simmer as a bolt of lightning catches you in the corner of your eye.

“Guess we’re one step further away from being strangers.”

He hums, and you dip your head, turning the page of your textbook as it becomes the only noise while one song transitions into another.

Frankie tries not to smile when you jump at a clap of thunder.

He hides it behind his coffee and tries to stare out as another bolt sketches itself across the sky. Then, you ask him if he’ll watch your things so you can use the restroom.

Nodding, throat all of a sudden dry when you stand and he manages to steal a look at your bare legs.

Up until then, he’d only seen the oversized grey sweatshirt from the waist up, and then he finds your shorts sitting somewhere along the middle of your thighs—all skin until socks above sneakers. The latter scuffed, overly worn and likely loved. Things he assesses quickly, training coming into use even when home.

What he doesn't spot is a coat or an umbrella.

A thing which ticks in the back of his head as he wonders how long you’ve been here to have racked up the number of plates and the different glass and cupwear. It ticks over, maths whirring when he hears the bathroom door squeal and the sound of you approaching.

Your thank you comes across softly as you lean back into the seat of your booth chair, rolling your neck—and massaging your temple before reaching for something in your bag.

It’s a test, he thinks when you begin to apply gloss. Sliding it over your lips, not glancing up at, as he tries not to even let his eyes wander. To follow.

He fails.

Watching, seeing it glistening, the exposed lighting above the two of you sparkling on them like glitter.

And, he tries to drink his coffee; tries to think of what the next song could be. Whether it will be Elvis again or something else.

The song begins before he has come up with an answer. Having been too focused, too busy silently working out what flavour your gloss is.

Whether it would be tacky against his mouth—

“If you keep staring, Frankie, I’ll think that you want to take a picture.”

A light laugh escapes him, shaking his head, scratching at the back of his hair as he sighs. “Only if you pose for it.”

Your laugh is loud, sweet—gentle on the ears as you pout and roll your eyes. “You’re distracting me.”

Frankie swallows that you’ve been distracting him since he sat down.

By the time it reaches the third hour he’s been here, Frankie finds himself opposite you.

Having relocated, taken some pity on you to help “test” you on something. It had ended quickly when his hands held your notebook and spotted your illustrations along the edges. That’s when he spots a half-bad sketch of himself. A little heart on his jawline, one of his fingers tracing it on his skin, running over the patch that doesn’t fill in like the rest of his beard, before seeing an arrow with the name Frankie at the end and some dots.

“Morales. My surname.”

Grabbing your notebook back, eraser removing the dots, he watches as you write out his name. Immortalise it against the lines pages of your studying. Committing him there, a memory you can keep or erase, the choice entirely yours.

“Now, give it here.”

For a second, you look like you wish to argue, before you surrender, smirking. Pencil placed down as you lick your lips.

Amongst his name, are notes. Swirly handwriting that becomes more chaotic the longer he thinks you’ve sat here. Some circles, some with bubble clouds drawn around them, doodles on doodles—and then there’s your textbook. Post-its and scraps of receipts sticking out from different parts.

“You studying for an exam?”

Nodding, stretching your back in your seat, a little groan emitting.

“How long have you been here?”

Smiling, more telling than wicked—the opposite, he suspects, of what you intend. Your hand reaches for the pot Doris has left, tilting your cup, his eyes spotting its emptiness before your fingers wrap around the handle the black handle on the glass pot.

“Put the coffee pot down, Blue.”

Laughing, the edges of it cutting into your cheeks, “Blue?”

“Better nickname—because at this point, you’re nothing but blueberries and coffee.”

“Oh. Is that right?”

Wrapping his fingers around the handle, smothering over yours, he stares—ignores it, the pulse from your fingers, the warmth. The way his throat dries and he wants nothing more than to slide a palm up your leg to see if it’s as smooth as he thinks it will be.

“What would you say if I said I think I’d rather be full of something else…”

Your words hang, linger.

Lips sliding up into his cheek, feeling your hands loosen from under his. The silence thick. A second away from it all shifting, ruining, mood dampening and changing. So he leans, elbow resting, then forearm—finding some form of confidence buried under the responsibility he usually has to carry.

“You think you can handle that, Blue?”

“What?”

Swallowing, dropping his voice as he glances over his shoulder before staring at you. “Being full of me.”

There's a definitive pause. A glide of your eyes up and down him. Dragging, practically scraping. “Oh, I think I’d like to give it a go, Morales.”

Placing your notebook down, sliding it across the table—tracing his tongue across his teeth. He nods before muttering get your coat.

That’s when you hand him your name, first only, Liv—but friends call you Livvie. He tries it silently before following you out of the booth into the parking lot.

He follows your car—close, not allowing another vehicle to squeeze in between, but not tailgating.

There are barely any blocks, but he doesn’t chance it. Parking behind you, exiting as you do from yours, throwing his bag over his shoulder, as you wait for him outside an apartment building at the end of a small walkway.

Frankie considers the option to turn back.

To consider his choices, to opt out of something that could become complex, awkward. But, he doesn’t. Not when he holds the door open after you’ve let them both in, or when he rides the elevator to the fourth floor, to the fourth door, four-oh-four you whisper as you stick your key in and the lock sounds in the night.

He doesn’t give it another second when the door shuts behind his back, hand grasping, swallowing your gasp when his mouth slides over yours. Bag thumping to the ground, palms wrapping around the sweatshirt as he forces it to cling to your waist when he presses you to him. Your warm, sweet—all plump lips that have the remainder of your gloss.

Tacky, he thinks. Smirking the thought to your lips as he cradles your jaw, as he licks into your mouth and earns himself his first moan.

“Can still change your mind?”

You shake your head, peeling your sweatshirt off—revealing practicality. A little grey sports bra, nothing impressive, nothing you feel embarrassed for. Your nipples are hard, peeking through the fabric as the light from your kitchen paints you in gooey yellow.

“You can change yours though?”

He smirks, almost snarling out, “Not a fucking chance.”

Throwing your sweatshirt, you slide both thumbs under the band that meets your skin and take that over your head. He almost lunges, crashing his mouth to yours, hand cupping one breast as his thumb rolls over it—circling over it. Walking you back aimlessly, unsure of any route, eyes assessing, watching, until he moves you against a wall.

One hand against it for leverage, his other slips down the band of your shorts—passed cotton, it digging into his wrist as two fingers glide through your slick. Feeling your want, your need, able to spread it, smother it over your clit as you whimper, as your arms knot behind his neck and pull his mouth to mould to yours.

“All for me?”

“Shh,” you whisper, grinning, one of his thick fingers sliding from your swollen clit to dip into your pussy. Your hips grinding into him, against his palm, groaning—almost moaning against your mouth at the feel of you. More so when he catches you whisper, “Please.”

“Answer me then, is this all for me?”

Nodding, lips ghosting over his before he slips another finger in. Sliding them in and out, curling. Feeling you tighten around him, clenching.

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“Not so hard, was it?”

His fingers curl, finding that spongy spot that has you whining a completely different noise—has your fingers digging into him, leaving little marks that’ll take hours to fade. He hopes they bruise.

The more he thrusts his fingers, the more you flutter—the more you rut into his hand. The more the noises you emit become strangled, mewls that are wrapped in a moan.

“That’s it, use me, Blue. Take what you want.”

“Fuck, m’gonna… fuck, I’m so—”

Frankie smothers your babbling with his mouth, licks his tongue into your mouth, vanishes them, erases them. Half-about to confess how hot it is that you’re so riled up, all because of him. That you’ve barely invited him in before you’re humping his hand, desperate, aching all for him.

Your fingers tighten around his forearms, hips shuddering, moaning right into his mouth as he feels your slick coat his fingers, his palm. Working you through it until you’re nudging his hand free, pulling it up to your mouth and meeting his eyes.

Then, you’re a fucking sight, a vision. Tongue sliding between his fingers and up and over them, tasting every part of yourself from his hand before his palms clutch your cheeks. Before his mouth is on yours and you’re guiding him to the bedroom, to your made bed of pale shades and decorative cushions.

“Condoms?”

Your hand reaches, shifts awkwardly for the handle, as he swipes at your hand—leaning over, reaching. He spots them, foil in the centre of papers and—

“Fuck, Blue,” he hisses. Looking down, finding his cock in your hand, mouth hovering closer, teasingly, breath fluttering over the leaking tip as you ask you clean and he nods.

Almost set to choke out words when wet warmth envelopes his cock. Cheeks hollowing, doing all you can to take as much of him from this position as he drops his head back, as his fingers grasp at your sheets, as the condom crinkles in his fingers before it scratches, protesting and reminding of its importance.

He’s throbbing in your mouth. Too in awe of the actual fucking sight of you—a person he met four hours ago—who is now a dream come to life.

“Stop, baby,” he groans, hand on cheek, easing him out of your mouth, “Wanna feel you come around me.”

Your eyes narrow in fury as he shifts back, rests back on his knees, eyes unable to tear away from how you lick the small taste of him from your lips, thumb swiping at the spit that had slid around your parted mouth as he rips the foil open.

“Are you sure you want this?”

Lifting up, taking the condom from the wrapper, sliding it down his cock. “Oh, I want you. Wanted you the moment you walked in.” He laughs, watching your hand wrap around his length. “I mean it—I don’t… don’t do this. But, I had to.”

Taking your hand from around him, leaning you back before lifting your leg, he lines himself up—sliding the head of his cock through your folds. Smearing himself in your wetness, coating him, watching you try to style out your little changes in breath.

“Had to?”

Nodding, “Had to, Morales.”

“Frankie,” he says, urges. Slowly pushing himself in, head tipping as he watches how you stretch around him, how perfect you are, how good.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan as he bottoms out.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your chest arches into him. Your hooked leg tightening, forehead pressing into his neck as he rubs a circle on your back, comforting, aiming for relaxation as your head lifts, as eyes—glassy, lust-blown and filled with want.

“Good girl. S’good for me.”

Then you flutter, loosen a little, grind your hips—

“You like that, Blue?”

“Move, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Please. Please, Frankie—fuck me, fuck me—”

Your words fade, swallowed by a whine as he begins to move. As his hips begin to snap to yours in a rhythm so unrelenting, so desperate. Kissing you between heavy breaths as he lifts you slightly, changes the angle, and swallows a different moan that almost makes him grin as his fingers spread out along your back.

Because fuck you feel good.

A thing he’s sure he groans, says, spills.

Your mouth close to his ear, hands tugging at him, pulling—feeling you everywhere, taking him, all that he’s giving you. As his arm hooks under your leg, spreading you a little more, placing a palm down to the bedsheets as he squeezes the cotton as you tighten around him.

He knows you’re close, can feel it, can see it, a look that he’d seen only in diluted light*,* but now gets a real view of.

And it’s enough to push him over the edge.

“Say my name, baby. Please—”

“Frankie—fuck, m’god, Frankie, right…”

It shifts into a cry, your body tensing as your pussy flutters, tightens—contracting and constricting. Then there’s your nails, the ones clawing at him, scratching. Digging into him in a way he wants you to over, and over, again as he moans.

Because you feel good. Perfect.

His breath fans across your neck and he finds himself so hard, so desperate as he slides in and out, hand grasping at your hip, easing, helping—

“Come for me, Frankie. Need it, need you t—”

“Fuck, m’give it to you.”

It’s dizzying, the way he snaps—gripping your back as liquid pleasure rushes through him, making all sounds mute. Except the ones of his skin slapping against yours—of your whines and breaths as he jolts, as he twitches. Coming hard as a groan rips from his throat. His hips stutter, losing their pace, hearing your whine change as overstimulation layers thickly before he slowly lets himself collapse against you.

A thing, he suspects, you’re eager for. Arms encasing around him, holding him—heartbeat hammering against his in a rhythm that doesn’t match, but could, he supposes.

Then you kiss him.

Drag his mouth to yours, bodies both slick with sweat, glistening, shimmering as your tongue licks a thank you at the back of his teeth and his fingers grasp one of your breasts, sliding a sweat-soaked thumb over your peak as you groan.

He’s not sure of the hour, but he knows it’s morning when he wakes.

The shower’s running. Steam billowing into the bedroom from the ajar door with warm light leaves a line that guides him to you.

A part of him thinks he should leave. Should take the easy option, knowing things—how you feel, how he feels. Hand on your hip between the first and then the second—the time on your clock barely acknowledged as you ask him what he does, where he’s come from.

It rolled from him, the truth. A thing that should frighten him, that he should have held back—

You serve?

Yeah.

Against your sheets, the ones that smell of you and then him and then the two of you, running a hand over his face. Recalling the way you touched his cheek, brushed your palm, staring, before you whispered:

Lemme guess, a pilot?

Eyes widening, hand on your chin as he made you look at him, silently asking, how do’y know, how d’you see me? You kissed him instead of answering.

It's why it would be easy to go—to leave in the mid-morning, disappear, vanish.

But his feet are taking him to the bathroom door, pushing it open with two fingers—the same two that tipped your chin up, made you look him in the eye as you came on his cock—steam greeting him before it clears. Before he sees your back to him, half-covered by droplets and glass until he’s padding across tiles, remembering your words the last time when you’d been shimmering with sweat—

“I can’t do serious, Morales. So if you have a taste of me, don’t fall in love with me.”

He’d snorted, sliding his mouth down your stomach, thighs twitching against his palm as it remembered the other ways he’d already made it shake. “It’ll be you falling when I’ve done with you.”

Your fingers slide the glass open now, that conversation there, hanging like fairy lights that you both ignore as water cascades down your skin—and he steps in, welcomed, lips finding yours as the glass shakes when it slams back into place.

It’s a few more hours until he’s dressing, until he’s drinking a cup of coffee and finding himself having trouble making an excuse to leave.

Because these things aren’t easy, comfortable. Yet this is.

Opening the door, the scent of coffee from the pot you made still filling your place, you let him pass—hovering, lingering.

“Hey?”

Glancing at you, how you’re biting the nail on your thumb, one foot on the other. “Maybe, call me—when you’re next in town? If you want.”

“Thought you didn’t do strings.”

“We can be friends… can’t we? Friends who…”

“Fuck?”

He watches you nod, laughing, before he mumbles friends into the air as he lags. Swallowing. Fingers lightly tapping against his jeans before he rests his arm against the door. “Blue?”

“Hm.”

“What if I said I’m not expected anywhere for two more days.”

Your teeth bite your lower lip, scratching at the back of your head, before that same hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, moving closer, chin tilted up. “I’d say, I think I could handle a bit more of you, Morales. If you want?”

an: a huge thank you to @luxurychristmaspudding for reading this and helping me spot the hilarious typos (you're a real one). to @pedgito for holding my hand so tight since i said "i think i want to do a kink list" and then spinning a wheel which unveils the kinks in the next few pieces. i'd be lost.

[genshinology]

AN INFLUENTIAL MAN’S COMPANION (OR IS IT MORE?!)

(alternatively, how they are dropping hints left and right that you are more than just a friend.)

— PAIRINGS ; alhaitham, ayato & childe x gn!reader (separate)

— CONTENT ; oblivious!reader, may contain a spoiler from sumeru's story quest on alhaitham's, mentions of childe's real name (ajax), reader is addressed as “little bug” in childe's (please, it's just a poorly written joke, i swear).

— NOTES ; don't care what everyone says but a man that has the power and money is definitely a man that i want. wrote this on a whim so 'm sorry for the horrible writing and the lack of details in this.

☆ — ALHAITHAM

"why are you so dense?" alhaitham's question caught you off guard, considering the fact that you were so immersed with yet another history book of teyvat in the akademiya's house of daena.

his sudden question made you unknowingly gazed at him with annoyance (it wasn't your fault though, not when he actually interrupted your reading of the fourth chapter), and you quickly bookmarked the page you had last read before actually paying full attention to the scribe across you.

"dense is not really a word to describe me. i think i catch on things around me quite fast," you huffed out, exaggeratedly bumping your forehead onto the desk. a silent thud was heard afterwards, not necessarily loud enough for other people to hear, but alhaitham definitely caught on the hint you mentally saying that you were bored and the fact that he took away the only form of your entertainment by taking away the thick book from you made you squinted your eyes at him.

your eyes prying at his action. he was an unpredictable man, so you couldn't question what he did. especially when the question of, "do you know what is the context of this book?" suddenly came out from his mouth.

"uhm.. yes?" you stopped thinking too deep when alhaitham's gaze zeroed straight into you, signalling that you should be answering his question more precisely. "a book about teyvat; the seven nations, the archon war, the history, the irminsul, the heavenly principles, the fatui, the abyss—

"ah yes, sounds like classified information, isn't it?" alhaitham cut you off, showing the old cover page with a knowing look that you couldn't really decipher. "you do realise that this book comes from the restricted repository room?" alhaitham was questioning you, slightly smiled when he saw how the gears in your brains were slowly turning and you finally understood what he was trying to point out.

"wait. you are right. it makes sense now, how incomplete certain details are since the book itself covers forbidden knowledge.." you put your right palm underneath your jaw, still in disbelief at the fact that the book in his hold was a restricted material for general use to the scholars and the public.

"not really the brightest mind," he paused. "that's why i said you are, indeed, a slow-witted person," he shook his head, his own work was slowly forgotten amidst the conversation he accidentally forced you into.

"that is just saying 'stupid' in a more formal manner. i am truly offended," you sighed, noting the way alhaitham seemed taken aback at the last sentence you gave to him.

alhaitham could only put down the book in front of you. "..and i am offended as well. you don't even think that i am using my authority to give you access to this one book you have been super interested in these days, haven't you?"

he turned away after seconds of eye contact, especially when your eyes widened and you felt how your cheeks were hurting due to the shock. "you.. did this for me? not exactly the first thing i would think of, especially if it's from the scribe of the akademiya."

you smiled, way too wide and alhaitham thought he was holding his breath for a moment. "thank you, you're so kind."

'kind' wasn't what he really expected you to say, specifically when he, himself, wasn't filled with kindness and tenderness alike. the you that he knew would be instantly flustered if you ever knew the true meaning of his intention when he first directed you with those questions.

he could only laughed heartlessly at your statement, thinking that you must have never received this much attention from someone, or that you really treated him as a true friend.

"i do not do this for some mere scholars, just so you know that you are exceptional."

☆ — AYATO

"my lord," you bowed down, giving ayato the respectable approach that he deserved. "is there something you would like me to help?"

ayato was a diligent and a busy man, that was the first thing you had noticed when he first took you right under his wing. his smile specifically was something you swore would be your death one day, he was too charming for your own good.

"come here," his bright face made you ten times more nervous than ever. "also, please, drop the formalities. we are hidden from the public view."

the last sentence was way too intimate, but you decided that it must have been his figure of speech.

"yes, my lord—i mean, ayato," you slightly cringed at the way his name rolled off your tongue not-so-eloquently. something about calling him by his name, even without his family name, felt super uncivil to you.

he had done so much for you, so to hear his request of doing what you had been accustomed to was hard.

so you could only stumble forward awkwardly, hands clasping together to stop yourself from shaking a little bit too much. why did he always bring out the nervousness within you in private? did he really had these effects?

"here, sit down," ayato's calligraphy pen halted its movement, and it didn't help to calm you down when he patted the sit beside his chair.

"i'm sorry, my lord," the title accidentally slipped away nonetheless, and you decided to ignore the look in his eyes—as if he was hurting by the fact that you didn't address his name, but he possibly couldn't be that childish, it was the commissioner after all—as he quickly regained his composure. "you need my help to assort these paperworks?"

"it is fine, y/n," oh, the fact that he didn't address your first name made you knew he did feel slightly dejected.

you quickly made up your action by swiftly gliding onto the chair he already pulled out underneath his study. for a moment, you were stunned at the act of a gentleman he usually did to you. he was so kind, and you knew that you were super lucky to have him as your employer.

"i don't want you to do anything today. you can rest up until tomorrow," he said, slightly rummaging some precious items he kept in the drawer. you knew those items in there were far more important to him, especially when it also had his late father's will that was neatly preserved in the sakura-scented letter he and ayaka made a long time ago. it was honestly a cute activity for them now that you reminisced the memory.

"is there any occasion? or you will be away?" you asked him, and you could see his eyes lightened up at the way his hand reached out to yours, and you were left baffled.

his hand was warm, that was the first thing you noted. besides when you felt something smooth in your palm, you questioned the foreign thing in your hand.

it was a necklace, with a lighter hue of blue as its pendant. your intrusive thought won you over as you saw how the pendant resembled ayato's hydro vision to an extent. it was ethereal, at least in your eyes.

by the feel of it, you already knew this necklace's worth had already exceeded your wage.

"ayato?"

"it is for you. i was buying one for ayaka when i was reminded of you, y/n," he warmly explained, his sincere eyes were too much for you as you avoided his eye contact.

your beating heart felt dangerous as ever. his hands were still engulfing yours, as if to keep you from shying away.

"take it. it would mean a lot to me."

"thank you, sir-ayato," you corrected yourself, and ayato thought it was adorable of you to stutter around him.

his heart was content when you thanked him over and over again.

if giving the necklace was a metaphor to his love letter, then he would be overjoyed when he saw you roaming around his estate with the necklace on you the next day.

☆ — CHILDE

"today's a really nice day," childe sighed happily, as he picked you up from the ground, and you repeatedly punched his back, flailing in his arms to put you down.

"ajax!" you gasped, who wouldn't be in shock, when you were literally caught off guard by his attack and then your feet weren't touching the snowy path anymore. "put me down."

"ehem, manners, please," he faked a cough.

you could only kick around, although none of your actions would actually affect him physically. "i am almost going to swear at you, you know?"

"put me down, please," you tried to whisper into his ear, so that he would feel ticklish by the air that escaped from you.

"gross," he commented, and before you knew it, he already let you go from his somewhat soothing hold onto your body. "need to disinfect my ear after this."

you slapped his arm after hearing his bad joke, roughly enough to get his focus onto you. "let me do it with the bug spray i have at home. i hope it'll cleanse your whole soul too."

"touché," childe cracked a smile at hearing you almost choked on your breath. "aren't you my little bug?"

"don't you have a cuter nickname for me? seriously, bug? out of all lovelier things on this world?" at this point, you had already clinging onto childe's side, hyper aware at some people who had been watching the playful fight between you two for some time now.

childe noticed the way you practically glued to him, your hand fisting the sweater he wore, and childe could only thought that your ministration would only bring a misunderstanding, especially that one which people always commented on when they saw both of you.

"look at you two."

childe could only smile at the old lady that passed by him. "couple fights are normal, until the old days. i hope you're having a great time," the old lady patted your back, and when you were about to clear the misunderstanding he had always loved, the old lady left.

"w-what?" you turned to childe whom somehow looked at you fondly, and you could only voiced out your opinion on the cold day. "that old lady is not making any sense."

"—and you, ajax," you continued when you caught childe slacking from paying his full focus attentively to you, as he only shrugged his shoulder. "...are you really going to leave again?"

"hm?" he hummed, and thought to himself that you were so adorable in his spare sweater, fighting against the chilly wind and hesitating to actually say that you would miss him if he went to liyue for his work again.

"of course. it is my duty for the tsaritsa, and no, you won't be going to join me this time. have you forgotten when you almost got hit by the fatui because they were belittling you?" childe quickly cut you off when he saw how your lips twitching at his words, knowing too well that you would suggest the idea of venturing to liyue with him. the last time he accepted your idea, he almost blamed himself fully if one of his subordinates hurt you. he could only thank the archons that nothing too severe happened on you.

"b-but—

"and, our date for today went exceptionally well, wasn't it? you won't miss me like you have always did before," he winked, and you almost threw your fist at his face if you could. "i am going there for a week. i'll be back before you know it."

"right. let's stop now before your teasing goes too far ahead of yourself," you rolled your eyes, and only did you notice that you were still holding him dearly.

you quickly pulled your hand, and childe swore he had already missed the way you stayed close by his side. he was definitely smitten, he knew it.

"thank me later for wasting my money on you," childe laughed at the way you tried to run away from his grasp.

if he could, he would voice out loud that he really didn't care about his money, as long as you were happy with him, and it frustrated him a little bit that you really thanked him for that when all he wanted to say was that he loved you too.

all rights reserved © genshinology 2023 strictly on tumblr only. any form of wrongdoings under the copyright law is strictly prohibited.

[misc-oneshots]

Trust me

Logan can't understand your sudden aversion to him and it pisses him off.

Deadpool and wolverine based Logan x Y/N

Curvy!Slightly insecure reader

(Written and posted on my phone waiting for an appointment trying to get back into writing , please be forgiving)

------

If you pushed him away again Logan was going to lose his shit. You weren't injured, he'd have found any injuries with his hands or mouth in the evening in your bed and yet you'd started to push him away.

Anytime his hands found your hips, you stepped away from suddenly insistent you needed to speak to Wade about something. On an evening as soon as you reached the bedroom the lights were turned off, and stayed off, and you rolled away from his grasping hands to your own side of the bed.

At first, Logan was sure it was your period, you hated him grabbing at you at your time of the month but your smell never changed. Nothing with you had changed, except your behaviour, so it must have been something Logan had done. What else could it be?

He finally clicked one evening at Wade's flat. Everyone had come, a monthly dinner where everyone caught up that sometimes acted as an intervention for Al and her cocaine use. Logan wouldn't admit it outloud but it was nice. He'd missed having a family.

Logan's paws found your hips to pull you back into his lap. You squirmed and wiggled in his lap and not in that delightful way that you did when he was overstimulating you but to try and escape his grasp.

"Lo stop! I'll crush you." You hissed, not trying to draw attention to you both. Logan growled in your ear but let you go. He watched you the rest of the evening, slouched in his low chair, and you'd never felt more like prey.

---

"Y/N" He caught your attention as he entered your bedroom that night. He was fresh out the shower, towel hanging low on his hips.

"Yes love?" You answered absentmindedly. You kept your eyes on the book in your hands but your mind had already left the pages, captured by sinful thoughts of your lover who was currently shaking his body hair dry like the animal he was.

"Put your book down and lie down flat." He instructed and stepped towards the end on the bed. You flustered, you didn't want him undressing you right now. Last week you'd split your trousers getting into Dopinder's taxi and the embarrassment had taken over your mind. Every touch, every glance from Logan made you panic that he'd suddenly see your curves, that he praised with his hands and teeth, as newly embarrassing.

Logan's voice pulled you back to the moment, "Just trust me." His voice was steady, he wasn't flirting, he wasn't mad and you did trust him.

Bookmark back in place, you put your book on the nightstand and lay down flat in the middle of the bed. Your towel clad lover crawled onto the bed until he was over you.

"If it's too much tell me and I'll move." He told you and kissed the tip of your nose.

"If what's too much?" You asked but quickly realised what he meant as he started to sink his body down onto you putting his weight on his forearms on either side of you.

Fuck, he was heavy.

He wasn't even putting his full weight on you and it was enough to push the wind from your lungs. Had he always held back his full weight when you'd been together? Always stopped his full power when he'd taken you in bed?

You tapped his shoulder twice and he pushed himself up on his hands. "I have a metal skeleton," He growled as he pushed his face into your neck. He kissed and nipped your neck as he continued, "You are delicious and full bodied and I'm not sure why that's started to bother you."

You wiggled and tried I'm vain to escape his mouth. "I split my trousers the other day, it made me overthink." You admitted and managed to lace your fingers through his hair and pulled his head back so you could talk to his face.

"I've never disliked my body before but I was so embarrassed, I started to worry you'd see something bad in my figure." You admitted. "The only thing that's bad is it's covered." He kissed your deeply as he large hands went your sides to your thighs and pulled your legs up around his waist. His hand yanked the towel away from himself as he pushed himself further the kiss.

In the following blissful moments you realised you never need doubt yourself or your Wolverine, but if you did then he'd always be there to crush you.

[daltonsluvr]

IN THE COMPANY OF THE STARS

pairing: theodore nott x gn!reader

summary: amongst the peaceful covering of the astronomy tower, you find an unlikely comfort in the presence of none other than theodore nott. (1.2k wc)

authors note: first little drabble to bring me back out of my writers slump - and who better than boyfriend no.1 to do so??

"Is this seat taken?" You turned around at the voice, to see none other than Theodore Nott standing behind you, his hands in his pockets, indicating at the space next to you.

Technically, the seat he wanted wasn't a seat at all. It's a part of the Astronomy Tower floor, of which you were sitting on, your feet dangling over the edge. You had a book in your lap, which had been left long forgotten as you looked ahead of you at the stars which danced upon the night sky. It really was the prettiest place in all of Hogwarts.

Slowly, you shook your head, and he nodded in response, taking a seat beside you. It's strange, you thought to yourself, watching him closely as he too dangled his legs out in front of him. The two of you knew each other from classes and such, yet had only interacted a couple of times, usually to ask for a quill or something along those lines.

You realised then just how weird you must have looked, watching him so intensely, and so you forced your attention back to the landscape around you, focusing on the trees ahead.

A few beats. 1, 2-

"You come here often?" he broke the silence first, turning to look at you. You hadn’t noticed until that moment just how startlingly beautiful his eyes were - dead, but with a softness behind them. It was entrancing, to say the least.

"Yeah," you answered, meeting his eyes. "The stars don't ask too many questions, so they're pretty great company when I need some peace." You hadn't meant for the comment to be funny, yet you watched as a chuckle escaped his lips: a beautiful sound, really.

"Didn't think you'd ever be a quiet person," he half-laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Anyone could hear your voice from a mile off."

"Even the loudest of us need some quiet, sometimes," you responded, shrugging your shoulders, and swinging your feet slightly. "This must be a regular spot for you then, huh, given your notorious 'Mr Silent' status?"

The statement was true - this was the most you had ever heard the boy spoke, to anyone. It was his turn to now shrug, before leaning back on his hands. "You could say that."

You assumed the conversation had reached its natural end, and so you took the book you had on your lap and opened it to the page you'd bookmarked, and began reading.

"Romeo and Juliet?" A voice from next to you read, and you turned once more to see Theodore now reading the cover of the book, raising a brow in your direction. "You read muggle literature?"

"Shakespeare is one of the greats, I'd be stupid not to," you answered. Upon seeing the look on his face, you continued, "Don't tell me you've never read Shakespeare."

He shook his head, and you laughed, endearingly. "You are seriously missing out, Nott. Muggle or not, he's amazing. A real genius."

"Well, talk to me, then," Theodore looked down at you, his eyes piercing through your own. "Tell me about this guy and his books."

"They're plays, really," you started, almost unsure as to whether or not to continue. But he looked at you, almost daring you to continue, and so you did.

It was unusual for you to find someone so interested in talking to you, especially about something as niche as the works of William Shakespeare, but then again, Theodore Nott really wasn't like anyone you'd ever met before.

"-this book was one of the first my mother gave to me, and so its always been my favourite," you finished eventually, your voice growing slightly hoarse from talking so much. "Sorry for talking your ear off."

"No worries," he said in return, sending a small smile your way. "The b-play, certainly sounds interesting."

Looking between him and the book, you reached out to him, book still in your grasp. "Here, take it. To borrow."

He looked at you, almost questioning you with his eyes. "Why?"

"Everyone needs to read Shakespeare at least once in their lives, and I'm guessing none of your friends own any of his works, right?" He shook his head once again, and you shook your own in mock exasperation. "Honestly."

You coaxed him once again until he took the book from your hands, and you watched as he felt the cover of it. "It's a bit battered, because it's the one my mother got me when I was younger. And I have written inside it, so you may want to ignore that as well."

You got up, book officially out of your hands, and you dusted off your robes. Finally ready to go, you made to leave, until he called out your name. You turned around to look back at him.

"Thank you." was all he said, a smile lighting up his features with genuity.

"No problem, Theodore-"

"Theo."

"Theo. No worries, Theo," it was your turn to smile as you turned to leave, leaving the Slytherin boy alone.

— —— — — —

"A boy left this for you." A small first year girl approached you no more than a week later, a box in their arms, which they had outstretched towards you. You were sat by the window in your common room, Transfiguration homework in your lap as you worked through the questions McGonagall had set you.

"Did the boy leave a name?" you questioned, looking cynically at the box in front of you, which you had taken from the girl.

"No, he said you'd know who he is." The girl gave you a small fleeting smile, before skipping off, presumably to go and sit with her friends.

The box was noticeably small, and could be carrying nothing more than a couple of things, you thought to yourself, as you carefully opened it.

As soon as you saw the contents of it, though, a smile spread across your face, and you had no doubts of who the box was from. You had never pegged Theodore Nott to be one for dramatics, so you couldn't understand why he had decided to return your book in a box, but nonetheless you appreciated the sentiment.

You picked up the battered copy, the pages just as beautifully crumpled as before, and you found yourself smiling again. A note lay underneath the book, and you picked it up to read what it said.

The play was great - you clearly have good taste. Shakespeare truly is one of the greats. Astronomy tower at 8? — T.N.

Delicately folding the note and putting it in your robe pocket, you took back the copy of Romeo & Juliet in your hands, and began to flip through the pages.

His chicken scratch handwriting tattooed the pages - not overlapping the actual text or your writing, but still written as nearly as he could in numerous corners of the book.

You laughed as you read through a few of them, most of which were his sardonic comments about Romeo's idiocy, and in turn Juliet's naivety.

Eventually closing the book, you set it aside, and smiled to yourself. You weren't exactly sure how you'd found a friend in Theodore Nott, but you were certainly glad that you had.

[theodorenmyth]

hello!! i’d like to please request a theodore nott x m!reader where they’re both crushing on each other but don’t notice, because reader keeps subtly flirting with theo: asking him to go places one-on-one, giving him small heartfelt trinkets and being all like ‘it reminded me of you’, taking every chance they have to hold him or touch him, things like that.

…except the romantic connotations just fly over theodore’s head and he thinks reader is just being really friendly/thinks he’s reading into things by seeing flirting. maybe reader realises he has to ask directly, maybe one of the boys notices and tells theodore what’s happening and he ends up trying to ask them out before reader thinks he doesn’t care.

Realising Love

Pairings : Theodore Nott x M!Reader

Summary : You’ve been subtly flirting with your best friend, Theodore Nott, for months—inviting him to Hogsmeade, giving him heartfelt gifts, and finding any excuse to touch him. Despite your efforts, the romantic connotations fly over Theo's head, leaving you frustrated and wondering if he’ll ever notice. With the Yule Ball approaching, Blaise Zabini steps in, confronting Theo about your feelings. As the truth dawns on Theo, he realizes he’s been blind to what’s been right in front of him all along. Determined to make things right, Theo asks you to the Yule Ball, and together you embark on a new chapter of your relationship, discovering that sometimes the best love stories start with a little nudge from friends.

A/N : I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH, ENJOY!

Warnings) : nothing, just pure fluff.

Word count : 1.3k+

You’re lounging in the Slytherin common room, your eyes darting to Theodore Nott as he reads a book by the fireplace. The golden light bathes his features, making him look ethereal. You sigh, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always does when you’re around him.

“Hey, Theo,” you call out, breaking the comfortable silence.

He looks up, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking we could go to Hogsmeade this weekend, just the two of us. There’s this new shop that opened, and I thought you might like it.”

Theo gives you a small smile, closing his book. “Sure, sounds good.”

You grin, feeling a surge of warmth at his acceptance. It’s always like this—finding excuses to spend time alone with him, hoping he’d catch on to your feelings. But Theo, sweet, oblivious Theo, never seems to get it.

Later that evening, you sneak into the Owlery, clutching a small package. Inside is a delicate bookmark you found in a quaint little shop, intricately designed with his favorite Quidditch team’s emblem. You tie it to a barn owl’s leg and send it off, picturing the smile it would bring to Theo’s face.

The next morning, you watch him from across the Great Hall as he opens the package. His expression brightens, and he looks around, finally spotting you. He mouths a silent “thank you,” and you just nod, pretending to focus on your breakfast.

During Potions class, you sit next to him, making sure your knees touch under the desk. You hand him ingredients without him asking, your fingers brushing against his every chance you get.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, oblivious to the way your heart races with each touch.

You lean closer, your breath tickling his ear. “Anytime, Theo.”

The days pass in a blur of subtle touches and heartfelt gestures. You leave small notes in his books, write his name in the condensation on the windows, and invite him to study sessions that turn into hours of talking and laughing. But no matter what you do, Theo just doesn’t seem to get it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

One afternoon, you find yourself in the common room with Theo, Draco, Blaise, Lorenzo, Mattheo, Pansy, and Astoria. The conversation drifts to the upcoming Yule Ball, and everyone is discussing their plans.

“So, who are you going with?” Pansy asks, looking at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” you say, glancing at Theo. “Maybe I’ll go with a friend.”

Theo looks up from his book, a slight frown on his face. “Yeah, maybe we could all go together as a group,” he suggests, clearly not catching the hint.

Pansy rolls her eyes and leans over to whisper something to Blaise, who chuckles and nods in agreement.

Later that evening, as you’re heading to the common room, you overhear a conversation between Mattheo and Lorenzo. They’re laughing, and you catch your name being mentioned.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, curious.

“Oh, nothing,” Mattheo says with a smirk. “Just wondering when Theo will finally catch on.”

“Catch on to what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Lorenzo chuckles. “To your not-so-subtle advances. The whole house knows you’re into him.”

You blush, glancing around to make sure Theo isn’t nearby. “It’s not that obvious, is it?”

“Pretty much,” Mattheo says, patting your shoulder. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”

Feeling a mix of frustration and hope, you decide to take a more direct approach. The next day, you find Theo sitting alone in the library. You walk over and sit beside him, placing a small, wrapped box on the table.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Just something I found that reminded me of you,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest.

Theo unwraps the box to reveal a sleek, silver quill. He looks up at you, his expression unreadable. “This is… really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, trying to hide your disappointment at his lack of realization.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

As the days go by, your frustration grows. You’ve done everything you can think of to show Theo how you feel, but he remains oblivious. One evening, Blaise pulls Theo aside when you’re not around. They find a quiet corner in the common room, away from prying eyes and ears.

“Theo, can we talk?” Blaise asks, his tone serious.

“Sure, what’s up?” Theo asks, looking puzzled.

“It’s about Y/N,” Blaise says, glancing around to make sure no one is listening.

Theo frowns. “What about him?”

“Are you really that dense?” Blaise asks, exasperated. “He’s been flirting with you for months. He likes you, Theo. More than a friend.”

Theo’s eyes widen, and he looks genuinely shocked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Blaise says firmly. “Everyone can see it except you. He’s practically throwing himself at you, and you’re just sitting there, clueless.”

Theo looks away, processing the information. “I… I didn’t know. I thought he was just being friendly.”

“Well, he’s not,” Blaise says, crossing his arms. “He’s into you. You need to do something about it before he thinks you don’t care.”

Theo nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “Thanks, Blaise. I’ll… I’ll talk to him.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─��── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Later that night, you find yourself sitting on the couch in the common room, staring into the fire. You’re lost in thought, wondering if Theo will ever see you the way you see him.

Theo walks in, looking around before spotting you. He comes over and sits beside you, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Theo fidgets, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I’ve been thinking… about us.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Blaise… he told me that you… that you might like me. More than a friend.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding. “What do you think?”

“I think… I think he’s right,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, processing his words. “You do?”

Theo nods, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ve been so blind, haven’t I? All those times you invited me out, the gifts, the touches… I thought you were just being a really good friend. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Theo. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

He squeezes your hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, now you have. And for the record, I like you too.”

Relief washes over you, and you pull him into a tight hug. “About time you figured it out,” you whisper into his ear.

Theo laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Better late than never, right?”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. “So, what now?”

“How about a proper date?” Theo suggests. “No more misunderstandings, just you and me.”

“I’d like that,” you say, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Theo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and you can feel the promise of something more in it. When you pull away, you’re both smiling like idiots.

“Let’s make this work,” Theo says, his eyes shining with determination.

“We will,” you promise, knowing that this is just the beginning of something amazing.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

As the Yule Ball approaches, the excitement in the castle is palpable. You and Theo have been spending more time together, and your friends have noticed the change.

“You two are adorable,” Pansy teases as she helps Astoria with her hair. “Finally, some action in this place.”

Draco smirks, leaning against the wall. “It was about time, really.”

The night of the Yule Ball arrives, and you’re nervously adjusting your robes in the mirror. Theo appears beside you, looking dashing in his dress robes.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice filled with admiration.

“You too, Theo,” you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up.

The Great Hall is transformed into a winter wonderland, with twinkling lights and falling snowflakes. You and Theo walk in together, earning smiles and nods from your friends.

As the music starts, Theo takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor. You move together, the world around you fading away.

“I’m really glad we’re here together,” Theo says, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Me too,” you reply, feeling like you’re in a dream.

As the night goes on, you share laughs, dances, and whispered conversations. The bond between you grows stronger, and you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A few days past, and one afternoon, you’re sitting by the Black Lake, Theo’s head resting on your shoulder. You’re watching the sun set, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink.

“I’m really glad you’re not just a good friend,” Theo says, his voice filled with warmth.

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Me too, Theo. Me too.”

And as the sun dips below the horizon, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful love story—one that you and Theo will write together, page by page, moment by moment.

[ruewrote]

𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡.

PAIRING: evan buckley x gn!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: would've been you by sombr WORD COUNT: 527

navigation | ask | evan buckley masterlist

you never thought you'd have this.

never thought that you'd be laid in bed, snuggled up under the covers rereading your favourite book in yours and your boyfriends apartment.

slipping the bookmark between the pages, placing it on your bedside table to sit up and take in your surroundings.

everything was so perfectly placed. even the mess from bucks obvious rush to get out of the door this morning, it just made sense.

the sun outside starting to set made your home a pretty shade of orange, knowing in a short while you'd have to get up and shut the blinds, deciding on leaving that for later you to deal with.

the once silent space interrupted by the loud clatter of evan opening the front door a little too agressively, making you jump and tense up realising it was just him made you relax again.

"baby!" he groaned out whilst leaning against the railing to your stairs as he struggled to take off his shoes, shoulders slumped whilst doing so.

not responding just yet, quietly giggling to yourself with a goofy smile watching, waiting for him to eventually find you.

"lover?" he questioned, finally getting the boot off of his foot.

"up here, darling!"

looking up to find you cross legged, opening your arms for him to climb into and that's what he did.

well tried to.

his attempt of running up the stairs to get to you failed him as the material of his socks slipped against the metal steps and tripped him up, making you burst out laughing and he did too.

"only you evan buckley would be able to trip over thin air." you cackled, gasping for air as you fell back and continued to laugh until there was no sound coming out.

"stupid socks!" ripping them off of his feet and throwing them onto the floor before jumping onto the bed.

grunting as he landed smack bang on top of you, pulling away so you were now face to face, "i'm glad that my pain makes you happy," jutting out his bottom lip only for you to kiss it.

"don't act like you wouldn't do the same if it wasn't the other way 'round! it's literally happened before and i have the scar on my shin to prove it."

"touché."

and it was back again, peace.

the two of you just studying each others features, missing and worrying about him was exhausting for when you were at work, but when you did have your days off it felt excruciating and honestly quite boring.

evan always made sure to message you when he could, which you really appreciated. but you still couldn't help but love the end of the day.

lifting your hands from your sides, sliding them up his back, over to his shoulders to massage the tense muscles, making him moan almost too loudly almost instantly melting into you.

"tough day?" you sarcastically questioned, the only response you got was a groan into the crook of your neck, tickling you making you laugh again.

as long as he came home to you, to this everyday he wouldn't have it any other way.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2023.

[to-thelakes]

camera snaps

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; frank didn't like pictures but pictures of you were different.

warnings; fluff, think that's it? mentions of frank's past?

notes; the sunday scaries have reached me so day 4 of fluffbruary is on the shorter side but i still love the cuteness of this one. it's just reader and frank being adorable and frank being IN LOVE, which i adore. frank deserves to be in love and so here he is <3 i don't have a lot to say about this one so i just hope you enjoy <3

ao3

Frank had never really been a fan of taking pictures. You couldn’t really blame him since he had spent most of his life on the run with mugshots plastered across the news. It was rare that you had a picture with him. The few times he had let you were pictures that you savoured. They had a pride of place in your favourites folder on your phone and whenever you were having a particularly bad day, you looked at them.

But Frank’s dislike of photos had made you hesitant when you came home with a camera that you had bought on a whim. You had always loved photography and it took your best friend practically begging you to buy it before you did. You were ecstatic and you had already experimented with it while you were still out with your friend.

The photos were gorgeous and you were grinning down at the screen while you flicked through them. Your friend had insisted that you get photos of the two of you while you eat and the sun was hitting her just right in the photos. You thought she looked impossibly beautiful and you found yourself wondering how gorgeous pictures of Frank would look if he just let you take his pictures.

“That you, sweetheart?” He called as you stepped into the apartment. You closed the door behind you and pocketed the camera before calling a greeting in response. A soft smile spread across your face as you walked into the living area where Frank was sitting. He was sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee and a book in his hand. He looked so peaceful. It would have been the perfect moment to capture but you didn’t.

“Good day?” He asked. You nodded and dropped your shopping bag onto the side before you walked over to him. He was finishing his page, half paying attention when you wrapped your arms around him. You leant forward, resting your chin on the top of his head and your arms wrapped around his neck. He put the bookmark in and let his hands rest on top of yours.

“Just missed you,” You admitted softly. He chuckled and you pressed a kiss to his head before you let him free from your hold, “I also picked some stuff up from the store for dinner.” You had moved away from him and towards the sofa, flopping down onto it. The sun shone across your face and you basked in it; your flowy summer dress settling around you.

“You cookin’ tonight?” He asked. You hummed in response, letting your eyes fall closed. The two of you fell into silence and you heard Frank shuffling around. It seemed that he was emptying out your bag for you and it took a few minutes for you to realise the camera was in there. Your eyes snapped open and when you sat up to look over at Frank, he was flicking through the photos on the camera. There was a grin on his face and the tension in your shoulders disappeared.

“We don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” You said after a beat of silence. Frank looked up from the camera and a mischievous grin seemed to spread across his face.

“Don’t move,” He said before he pressed a few buttons on the camera. He then lifted it up towards his face and snapped a picture of you. The sunlight was lighting up your face as you sat in that pretty summer dress as you stared up at him with that adoring smile. He pulled the camera away and took you in again. He was still grinning.

“I love you.” 

<3

[earthtooz]

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child &lt;3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one. 

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.” 

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief. 

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key. 

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving. 

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated. 

(if only he knew). 

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?” 

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.” 

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz. 

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?” 

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is. 

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration. 

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away. 

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively. 

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you. 

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[stories4you04-x]

Dearest Readers,

When overhearing being the wife of Anthony Bridgerton was like a dream I thought it wasnt true. A dream that one must dream of living. He is according to his wife the most caring and loving husband but when in public he is different. He had a different personality. A sense of regality one dreams of achieving. One that his newlywed wife Y/N could easily match for events and balls during the season. But this article is how he dropped this facade in public...

"Anthony do you feel up to a walk today the weather is ever so lovely" Y/N announced to her husband who was sat in a chair reading the book he was currently reading. "Yes the weather is lovely today I believe a walk would be quite nice" Anthony said whilst placing his bookmark in his book and settling it on the table beside him. It only took a few minutes for the newlywed pair to get ready.

They walked hand in hand in the local park which was surrounded with other people. As they walked people bowed or tipped their hats towards them as there was an aura of regalness that surrounded the pair. "Anthony look Hyacinths we must pick some for your mother she does love this flower" he smiled at the way she practically dragged him over towards the flowers. "Very well I guess we should mother has been feeling a little down recently maybe these can lift her spirits" she nodded and started to pick ones that looked big and full of life without a care in the world. However Anthony looked around and noticed a few bees buzzing around the flowers. "Y/N please be careful" she turned around to him "whatever for?" He looked panicked and said "there are bees" she smiled "they will be fine im not making them angry" she continued to pick them not realising the one she had picked had a bee nestled withing one of the flowers which travelled onto her collar bone.

Anthony had turned around to look at his wife as she had stopped to bask in the sun she smiled at him until she saw his face drop and she looked confused at him "Anthony whats wrong?" He shouted "Stay still please" His wife started walking towards him "why what's the matter my love?" He had tears in his eyes "please just stay still" she looked down as she felt something crawling on her and she realised a bee was on her collar. She wafted the bee for it to fly away. Anthony got scared as he heard her cry "ouch it stung me" he couldn't breathe "no no no no Y/N stay with me please" he pleaded holding onto her face "love what is the matter its just a sting I am fine" It wasnt until he was fully panicking on the floor within his wifes arms that he began to calm "but you got stung you could die" she seemed shocked at how he announced the statement "love you can't die from a sting unless the person is allergic" he calmed slightly "what can I do to get you to calm fully" he thought "can we get a doctor to check please my wife I can't loose you" she looked into his eyes as she held him "of course we will go straight away but let's enjoy the sun for a little longer"

She was getting a full body check by the doctor under Anthony's orders. He waited outside pacing back and forth whilst his two brothers benedict and Colin sat in the nearest chairs "Anthony sit down she is going to be fine" Colin pleaded. "No my wife is in there she got stung" he started panicking again until Benedict stood and grabbed Anthony's shoulder and forced him into the chair "she is going to be fine if something was to happen it would have happened by now so calm down and sit still for a few more minutes the doctor should be done soon" Benedict then sat in the other chair. Violet heard all the commotion upstairs and went to find out whatever was happening "sons what is happening?" Anthony stood and hugged his mother "Y/N got stung picking those Hyacinths for you downstairs and she is with the doctor right now she said she was ok but I'm scared I can loose her too mother" she placed a hand on his cheek as he released from the hug "Anthony your wife is a strong woman if she says she is ok then she is perfectly ok" he nodded and sat back down.

A few minutes later the door opened Anthony jumped out of his chair. The doctor said nothing but nodded towards the four standing at the door "go Anthony" his mother said pushing him towards the door. "Y/N love is everything ok the doctor said nothing" he walked towards the bed where she was laying "perfectly ok" she smiled and he released a breath he did not realise he was holding "However..." his breath hitched again "...there was something he found. He was quiet because I swore him to secrecy until I told you and the family" he was stressed "love what was it?" She smiled at him "I am with child" his jaw dropped and a few seconds later his face contorted into a smile "A... A baby?" She nodded "You are to be a father" she announced and he cheered ran out the room and told everyone outside. She could hear the claps and cheers outside and he ran back in and gave her a kiss full of passion "Anthony calm down I know its exciting but I don't want to have to call the doctor back because you have hurt yourself"

It took a few days for the news to be spread and be written into Lady Whistledowns article. The newlywed couldn't have been more happy for a singular bee sting to be the product of such big news.

A/N I am rubbish at writing I don't know where I just got this inspo but I just had to write I hope you enjoy 😊

[thesparklingwriter]

the stars don't shine as bright as you...

“And what of it? Am I not allowed to praise my wife?”

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, fluff, reader is overworking herself and zhongli says NO MORE A THAT

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

The best part of any of your days is easily when you can curl up in bed and relax for a while before you go to sleep. It wasn’t always like this, however. You used to work until it was time to go to bed and spent hours tossing and turning before sleep called your name, but Zhongli put a stop to that fairly quickly. He’ll quietly sneak up to your desk and tell you when to relinquish your work and head to bed when he notices that you’re too engrossed in it to realise the time.

“You’re still working, love?” He says quietly to you one night, glancing over your shoulder at the papers you’re working on. He knows they’re important to you, but he also knows you’ve been working on them so long that unless you take a break, you’ll be unable to pick up any inconsistencies or mistakes.

“Mmm,” you reply quietly. “I have to make sure it’s good enough.”

“I am certain it is of an impeccable standard.” he says quietly. It’s then that you notice he’s starting his nightly routine of trying to drag you away from work to get you to bed, and you begin to dig your heels in.

“It’s not enough. This needs to be perfect, otherwise my boss won’t be best pleased.”

“I assume your boss would be more displeased if they had to contend with their best employee when she’s sleep-deprived.” He says quietly. “Come to bed.”

“You’re so clearly biased.” you scoff, looking up at him as he rests his hands on your shoulders, gently kneading them.

“And what of it? Am I not allowed to praise my wife?”

“You’re not allowed to try and tempt her to sleep with honeyed words.” You sigh, putting your pen down. Zhongli smiles slightly when he notices your compliance, gently pulling you into a hug as you stand from your desk. He’s right, and you know he is, but it doesn't make it easier for you to drag your eyes away from the pages of paper strewn across your desk. As you let him lead you upstairs to your room, you notice that the sun has long since settled, and the stars are beginning to twinkle in the sky. Usually, Zhongli would have pulled you away from your work earlier than this. You wonder if he was equally busy and simply forgot, or just knew that you would want the extra time to look over your report.

Your husband is quiet as he settles himself in bed, and you change into one of his silken pyjama shirts. You pretend not to notice the shameless way he watches you as you change clothes, or as you scour the bookshelves for something to read. You could have sworn you left the book you were reading last night on the third shelf, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Did you reorganise the shelves?” You ask, as you try to reach the fourth shelf up. “You reorganised the shelves, didn’t you?”

Zhongli’s unruffled gaze persists as he replies. “I did. I thought it might be more favourable to organise the books by last name, rather than first.”

“Did you have to put my book so high up?”

“Despite my attempts to avoid doing so, the method of organisation required it, yes. Does it displease you that much?”

You sigh at him then, having retrieved your book and being met with his faux innocence. He looks strangely regal with his hair untied, and the first few buttons of his golden embroidered shirt undone, his head cocked slightly to the side as he pretends to not understand your mild irritation at his actions. His eyes follow you as you crawl into bed beside him, opening your book to the bookmarked page. You never have any recollection of putting the bookmark in your book nor where it comes from in the first place, but you simply assume you do it without realising before you sleep.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

You lean against Zhongli as you prepare to read your book, and he hums lightly in response. You always assume that he isn’t following along, that he’s simply preoccupied with his thoughts, until he gently holds one side of the book’s pages for you so you can be more comfortable, and reacts to the words on the page with an affronted sniff or a preoccupied hum. When you look at him, as if to ask ‘did you see what that guy just did?’ whenever something unfavourable happens, he enthusiastically  returns your incredulous stare every time. Sometimes you wonder whether he drags you to bed because he wants you to sleep early or because he wants to know what happens next.

When he feels your head slump further against his chest, and the pages of your book flutter as you release your grip on it, he carefully retrieves the bookmark from wherever you’ve stashed it, placing it a few pages back from where you’ve left it.  You never remember the last few pages of what you’ve read the next night and it leaves you reasonably frustrated every time.

He gently pries the book from your fingers, waiting until you’re deeper into sleep to move you so you can sleep comfortably, and places the book by your bedside table.

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

notes: is this self indulgent? yes. it this my blog first and foremost? also yes. will i do it again? most likely.

taglist: @thelonelyarchon @aixaingela @medusuu