#i wish I could have my hair like that 😭🙏 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toomiieimagiines · 7 months ago

Note

hihihi

uhm so am i allowed to request again (i don’t wanna spam) 😭😭🙏

and if i am can u pls do a rui x hopeless romantic best friend reader (i’m totally normal about best friends to lovers lmfao)

so like the reader is always yapping about hot guys and it’s a little angsty at first because rui is thinking to himself ‘why did i have to fall inlove with someone that won’t ever choose me’ and then one day a hot guy comes up to reader and asks her out, reader is about to say yes but then she realises that she barely knew him and there was someone (rui) who had been by her side since day one and she figures out who she really loves (RUIII) so she rejects him and when rui asks why she just hugs him and says ‘because your the one i really want’ mwah mwah i feel like such a genius (i really hope this made sense lmao be prepared for a million bestie-> lovers and angst-> fluff rui requests 😼)

thank youyoyoyoyoyuuu!!

hi guys! i’m so so incredibly sorry for how inactive i have been! unfortunately, the fanfic writer curse caught up to me, and i’ve had considerably bad things happen to me! ToT

i had developed a really bad addiction after a recent episode - which may be why i’ve loved to write my characters so miserable, but they get a happy ending in the end - and have recently relapsed after a couple months. i’ve also been struggling with a lot of things, like being bullied again, pressure from theater, classes, autism, parental issues, memory of past trauma, having no friends, things like that. i’ve just been having a really hard time, so writing has been super difficult for me. i’m currently having some of the worst mental health in my life, and am un-recovering from other things i’ve had in the past too, after seeing the results of my recovery. sorry if this triggered anybody, i just needed to get this off my chest, and felt also that i should explain where i have been. you all supporting me has kept me going, and i hope you enjoy this one too! LETS END THE PITY PARTY!!!

in other - not so depressing news - here you guys go!! sorry for OOCness, obviously this is a more dramatic approach to a story! happy ending, j tried to write the inner narration differently for how you two were feeling at the time.. and ty once again for such a great idea, mama ^3^

“I don’t think I could stand to be where you don’t see me.”

If he has to sit here and listen to this one more time, he thinks he’ll go insane.

Rui Kamishiro loves you. He truly does. You’re his best friend, his partner in crime, his-

Never mind.

Rui loves you, but he absolutely HATES your taste in guys, and it’s driving him nuts. Nodding and agreeing can only get him so far before he wants to rip his own hair out, and tonight is no exception.

“I give up! All boys are dumb, I don’t need them!” You lament, resting your chin in your hands. It’s the same song and dance over and over. You swear off boys, you get attention, you get sucked in, and he has to pick up the pieces when it inevitably fails. How many times has he thought about how much better he would treat you now? He doesn’t know. He’d be a classical lover, he’d never speak to you the way those stupid unprincipled high school boys do.

Gross. That’s his best friend, why’d he think that? And when did he start being so self confident? He really outta look at himself in the mirror. What an egomaniac he’s turning out to be.

He shakes his head.

“You do know I’m still a boy, right?” He prods, trying to cheer you up. He knows this situation well, and he knows exactly how to make you feel better. Again he’d pull you out of this, and again he’d watch you fall in love.

He wishes you could be happy. He wishes you weren’t in love with being in love. You’re too pure for true love, love is disgusting, depraved, and unkind. You’re not anything like that.

“I know, I know, but you’re the only good one!” You point, words self-assured. “I don’t need a boyfriend, you do everything boyfriendy for me anyway!”

Ouch. Thanks a lot, that’s exactly what he needed to hear right now. He’s not gonna dwell on that last bit for now, he’ll wait until he’s home. Then he can- he doesn’t know. Cry, or something juvenile like that.

“So I’m back-up-boyfriend?” He masks himself in jest, smiling teasingly at you.

“Eh, maybe,” you snicker, “you’d definitely be cute if you weren’t my friend.”

He turns to his school work sharply, trying to mask his complete and utter despair. Ugh, why does he have to be so dramatic? His own personality makes his skin crawl with disgust and hatred, and that only makes him cringe more. He could think about how obnoxious he is all day. Maybe he should use that go home and cry pass early. He pretends to check the time, as if that isn’t all he’s been doing.

“It’s getting late, after this problem I should get going.” He mutters, scribbling some random numbers into his notebook. You yawn in response, being broken out of absentmindedly scrolling through your phone.

“Ugh, I wish you didn’t have to go!” You drape an arm over his torso, trying to hold him in. He smiles fondly, wrestling to get you off of him.

“I’d have to walk home in the dark then, do you want that?” He knows you’d never let him, and he sees it immediately.

Your face looks knowing, and you let him go right away. It amuses him at first, but quickly fills him with overwhelming pity. You’re so kindhearted it makes him sick. You shouldn’t worry about someone like him, it’s bad for your health.

“Would you like me to walk home with you?!” You shoot up, the idea of him not being safe running through your head. Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. How emasculating! He’s not a helpless young girl! He’s just as manly as those boys who you long for, he’s not a puppy to be walked!

God, is jealously turning him into a bigot? He shakes his head once again, this time not just to clear his thoughts. He’s absolutely not letting you walk him home, it’d be mortifying. He takes your attention belly up, you should have a break. Maybe some time to yourself for a change? God, Rui, get a grip.

“I’m fine, I don’t want you out late by yourself either,” he assures, looking at you in haste.

“Ah. You have a point.”

“I always do.” He means more to that, and he wishes he could tell you. He wants you to see that even he knows what he’s talking about. He needs you to see him, just for once. Not as a best friend, or backup boyfriend, just as a regular one. As a lover who dances in the rain, or ties your shoes

He needs to stop. He shouldn’t think about you like that. It’s lecherous.

You two exchange goodbyes, giving him a long hug (much to his horror). He hates how feverish it is it hold you like this, it makes him feel guilty. His body gets hot, his cheeks flare up, his throat feels tight- it makes him feel like a pervert, even if his thoughts are the farthest thing from lewd.

He feels that everything he thinks about you is repulsive, though.

“Be safe”’s and “See you later”’s are passed between you two, and he walks down your front steps, now completely alone. His eyes scan the damp pavement, seeing the golden hues from the sky light the boring rock. That’s how he feels about you, he decides. You’re the sun, and he’s the pavement. He humors himself by thinking that your suitors are the clouds, stopping you from shining your light for him so he can grow weeds in the cracks of his soul. That’s what these feelings are. Weeds.

He wants to live life beautifully with you, he decides. He wants to tie your shoes, he wants to twirl you as you dance.

He wishes he could be the moon. Something of consequence- of importance, but he’s just the pavement. Not the earth, not the stars, not the clouds, or rain, he’s just a man made monster who destroys nature - you - and is walked over by people who do matter.

He should quit being this way, he grumbles, it doesn’t do anybody any good to be so flowery. He’s too girly- too weak. Maybe that’s why you don’t like him. If you’re willing to date anything that moves other than him, that must mean he’s on a completely new level, huh?

That’s what dreaming gets you, Rui. Crushed dreams and embarrassment.

He lets out a pitiful sigh, kicking a pebble with his shoe. He sees a worm in a lawn which reminds him of himself, he sees a couple shopping for a new game which reminds him of you, he sees a convenience store which reminds him that he’s hungry-

His life can be so mundane sometimes, what a drag.

He’s about to reach his front door, when he steps into a puddle. It feels like an appropriate representation of his life right now. A sense of disgraceful hilarity washes over him, and he begins to laugh. He laughs a while, he laughs as he takes his shoes off, he laughs as he peels his button up down, and he laughs as he lays in his bed. How dramatic he could be some times!

He falls asleep quickly. He has a dream about being on stage and forgetting his lines.

He wakes up with a thud, he fell out of bed. How embarrassing. He decides to check his phone.

Weirdo: RUII

Weirdo: wanna hang w me 2day?? u don’t have dance time right??

Weirdo: gonna kill you. WAKE UP

Me: I’m awake, sorry!

Weirdo: finally sleeping beauty

Weirdo: wanna get a snack? i’m simply starved…

Me: When?

Weirdo: an hr maybe…

Me: Okay :) I’ll tell you when I leave.

Weirdo: kay!!

He really doesn’t feel like being social today, but he’d never pass up an opportunity to see you. He’s an obscene degenerate when it comes to you, pouncing on your attention like a sick dog. It’s mortifyingly pathetic.

He gets dressed, throwing on a boring striped sweater. It’s getting colder outside recently, and he’s always ran cold anyway. His hands are shaky and nervous as he brushes his teeth, the anxiousness to see you making his body jittery. He considers breakfast, but quickly shuts the idea down. He doesn’t want to be stressed out - at least more than he already is - when he sees you. Twitchy hands lock his door, and he gets a few feet away before he double checks that he did, in fact, lock it. Pull yourself together, Rui! He screams at himself.

The walk is just as unexciting as he expected, albeit a bit chilly. He’s feeling thankful for the sweater. The breeze runs its hands through his hair, and he’s reminded that winter is coming. He always liked Autumn flowers the best, hibiscus flowers are pretty too, he supposes. It’s nice to have the warmth of the sun soothing his cold hands during summer, for sure.

He trips over a rock on the way, and his pants get wet on the knees. Khaki blends into an ugly brown, and he sighs. How unlucky, would anything go right for him today?

Turns out it will, you look really good today.

You great him at the door, practically buzzing with eagerness. It makes him smile, knowing that you do, in fact, want to see him. Or at least are acting like it. You’re a good friend to him, he’s lucky to have you.

“Rui!” You hug him as a greeting, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His heart soothes, eyes closing in relaxation. Problems feel obscure and distant when you two are like this, despite his reluctance last night. He can forget about corrupt feelings - or misguided love- and he can just be your best friend. Despite his apprehension to be cared for, he is flattered that you, at least, seem to like him.

“Hey.” He breaths you in, his voice soft. He hopes you don’t notice, it’s embarrassing.

“Hey!” You reply, pulling away. “Big things planned, Rui!”

“What big things?” He asks, amused. “Big things” for you were junk food and shopping.

“Big things! It’s a surprise!” You put your shoes on, and he can’t help but feel jealous as he watches your hands tie them dutifully. He sighs, stretching. He decides to make it a challenge to act normal the whole day. No weird thoughts are going to beguile his mind, he promises himself.

You lock your front door, twisting the knob to make sure that it did, in fact, lock. This fills him with a child-like sense of delight, maybe you two really were similar.

Nah, not possible. You’re too pure - too perfect. Ugh, Rui, no more stupid thoughts.

He watches you check the time, make a face at a nearby bird, and cover your cheeks with your hands. You suddenly perk up, wrapping your arms around him.

“Warm me up, will ya?” You scowl at the cool air, grip tightening. He gulps. It’s weird he reacts like this, considering you two have done things like this all the time. It’s normal, so why does he have to be such a creep? His arms wrap around yours, running his hands up and down to create heat.

“Should’ve worn a jacket,” he chides, “wouldn’t be cold, y’know?” His voice is so casual, like everything is totally fine. It is fine. Fine, fine, fine.

“Gotta look good. I’m on the hunt, obviously,” you joke. It isn’t funny to him, but he lets out a laugh.

“You’re hopeless.”

You two stop at a convenience store first, and you all but sprint to the drinks. He had this ritual down to a science. You grab two different color slushies, and he grabs whatever odd snack catches your collective stomachs eye today. Today the two of you decide to split a cookie, and walk to the counter. The cashier gives you a smirk, and he averts his eyes.

“This it?” The boy cocks his head, and you get the memo. You immediately jump on the opportunity.

“Mhm!” You wink, resting your chin in your hands while leaning against the counter. In all honestly, he wasn’t even that cute. At least, that’s what Rui kept telling himself.

“Don’t worry about it, than. I got you guys,” he waves you off. Score! You think, but he adds. “If I can get your number.” Rui feels like falling into the floor, how awkward! You just scribble it onto a stray receipt, winking.

“Thank you! You’re the sweetest!!” You singsong, skipping along with Rui following suite. You immediately burst into laughter, throwing a fake punch at Rui. “What a weirdo! Like I’d call him over what, 1000 yen?! I don’t even know him, yuck!”

So you did have some sense, he feels like letting out a sigh of relief. You hold your hands out.

“Which one do you want? I got your favorite!!” You look so proud, and he wants to laugh. His “favorite” isn’t actually his favorite, but he’d never tell you that.

The lie started one day in middle school, when the two of you suddenly had a weird craving for slushies. When you picked them out, you had gotten a red one and a blue one, and asked him what he wanted. While he really didn’t like red, he knew you liked blue, so he said red. Now for the past four years, you’ve always ended up getting him a red one, thinking it was his favorite. He’ll deal with it for you. Seeing your blue tongue stick out with brain freeze is better than any sugary drink anyway.

“Red, duh.” He scoffs playfully, taking a sip of it. The taste doesn’t really bother him all that much anymore. It reminds him of you.

You always let him divide the snacks, thinking he gives himself the bigger half. He never does, but he eats slower so you think he did. You skip along, enjoying it.

“Y’know, this isn’t bad. Wish they had the brownie, though. That never does us wrong.” God, don’t make him think of the ‘crack brownies’ - as you two call them. Those are great, and he likes them, so you never miss an opportunity to shove them down his throat.

“Don’t complain. Remember the egg roll incident?” He points, laughing at the memory. You two steer clear of that section now, having gotten sick.

“Ugh, I haven’t thought about that in a while! I’m never eating an egg roll again after that day! Ugh,” you gag.

Moments of silly memories like this make him feel like he’s known you forever. He can’t even remember a moment where he hasn’t loved you.

“Where’re we going now, commander?” He salutes, following the trail of sunshine you left behind.

“Where ever the wind blows us, kind sir!” You salute back, pushing him along. Your constant checks of your phone don’t go unnoticed by him, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Who’re you texting? Don’t tell me it’s that guy.” He tries to sound casual, knocking his shoulder against yours playfully.

“‘M not a total idiot, I’ll have you know!” You huff, holding your phone to your chest. “It’s just somebody we went to school with a while back, ‘m seeing if I can pull the moves.”

“Do I know him?”

“Dunno, never saw you two talking, so maybe not. He was in my english class, remember, the only class we didn’t have together?”

“Ah.”

You two walk in silence, except for when he yanks you back from the collar so you don’t walk into oncoming traffic, which amuses you greatly. You two soon arrive at the small mall, and he tails you as you run with excitement. You two browse everything, constantly pointing out cute plushies, or interesting keychains.

“Rui, look! Look!” You shake him, pointing to the back of somebody’s head inconspicuously. “Wait don’t yet- Okay, now! He’s turning around! That’s the guy! What a coincidence we see him here, right? Do you recognize him?”

Ha. Yeah, he knows this guy. He definitely knows him. He’s the one who would trip him during passing periods, he’s the one who left flowers on his desk. They make eye contact, and it’s like all of his growth left his body. He’s just the same freak from middle school, he’s still thirteen.

He shudders at the guys smirk, sensing that he definitely knows that Rui knows him. He jogs over to the two of you, and Rui already knows what’s about to happen, due to the lopsided smile on your face.

Damnit, this is the first time he doesn’t think he can act like it’s okay.

“Oh wow, what a coincidence! Must be fate we run into each other like this, ehe…” You giggle awkwardly, a dumb expression gracing your face. It’s painful seeing you that way for anybody other than him, and he looks away awkwardly.

“Must be.” He answers, swaggering closer towards you. Rui thanks whatever God above because - despite his current situation - at least this asshole didn’t go to highschool with you guys.

He looks down at his shoes, and tries to shuffle away, knowing this jackass is about to say something. He’s quickly stopped.

“Who’s this, huh? Feel like a recognize him from somewhere…” He trails off, smirking through his nose as he turns his attention to him. “Have we met before?”

“This is Kamishiro Rui, he’s my friend! He went to middle school with us, remember?” You happily answer for him.

Ha, friend? What happened to back-up boyfriend? He’s a little hurt, to be honest.

He feels bitter, it’s unbecoming- God, he doesn’t care. He should feel bad for getting so angry over it, it’s not like you belong to him. He’s such a freak, getting attached to you like this.

He starts to pick at his fingers, then he plays with a loose string on his sweater. You two continue to chat like nothings wrong, and he keeps thinking. It’s something he’s gotten good at recently.

He stops feeling bad about himself for a second- a split second where he resents you, and wishes his pain upon you. Wants you to know what it’s like to be so disgustingly, guiltily, revoltingly obsessed with someone. In this split second, he can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty about it, which is unlike him. He wishes you felt love like this, that you were as psychotic about it.

But this doesn’t last long, because he remembers that he loves you more than anything. He’s lucky to be your friend. You’re a great friend, you’re an amazing person, you’re the sun, the sun, the sun.

He’s the pavement, he has to remember.

“I’m- I’ll leave you to it, y’know? Fabric store.” He stutters, choking on his voice. You don’t even notice, waving him off.

You do, however, remember to press his shoulder, uttering an absentminded “Okay, Rui, bye,” and he remembers again how perfect you are for doing it subconsciously. He lets himself feel the touch, long after he’s walked away. He deserves it after the trouble he’s reliving.

When he makes it to the fabric store - which he really didn’t need anything from, Nene had gotten some the other day - he can’t help himself from wishing he could just go home. Malls were always overwhelming already, and now his saving grace has the attention of another man. He walks through aisles, but realizes that he now has to buy something.

‘Least he knows that social cue, he laughs bitterly, running his hands across his face in frustration. He’s so ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you were chatting up a storm. It was your first time talking in person since middle school, after all! You feel giddy for a while, but it cuts abruptly. You feel a strange sense of urgency, something’s missing.

Oh, your best friend.

But where had he gone? You’re sure he was just here. You smile apologetically at the cute boy, putting on your best performance.

“Oh, I better go get my friend now. I don’t like walking home when it’s late. Was nice seein’ you, let’s hang out soon, ‘kay?” You singsong, stepping closer. You want to give yourself a pat on the back, you’re so cute.

He rolls his eyes, and you’re hit with a wave of uneasiness. That noise he made sounds strangely dismissive, he’s not the kind of guy to be a jerk though, you must be hearing things-

“Leave ‘im. Between you and me, he was a total freak in middle school. Probably is now, too. Probably likes you or somethin’, total nutcase.” His voice sounds so casual, like it’s not the douchiest thing you’ve heard all day.

You let other men walk all over you, sure. You let them cheat on you, lie, whatever. But you’re not about to stand here and insult Rui. He’s the only untouched thing in your life - the only person who isn’t cruel. He’s so gangly and awkward, but in the best way. You could live a million times and not be able to deserve him, at least you think so. He’s so unusual, and that’s what you love most about him. Little things like not liking loud lights, or liking the red slushies the best, make your heart buzzy with familiarity. He’s the one constant in your life.

You’ve been awfully worried about him recently, though. His particularly (as you like to call it) has gone to the an extreme, and it’s been a battle getting him to eat real food. You’re not blind, you see the way he’s been spacing out, or tapping a little too much. You just thought he’d been overwhelmed. He worries you to death sometimes, but despite all of his own struggles, he always seems to not care about it, deciding to always be there for you instead. Ah, he’s just such an amazing guy - no, not guy, he’s not anything like those other boys you talk to. He’d never insult someone like that. He’s not just a guy, he’s like your person.

Yeah, he’s definitely your person.

Your heart sputters at the thought, and you feel something you’ve never really felt before - save for hugs between the two of you that lasted just a second too long, or words a little too romantic. The feeling makes your mind fuzzy, and your heart hurt terribly with something you could only place as homesickness.

Oh.

“I,” you begin, backing away. “Yeah, I’m sorry but I’ll really be going now-“

“What? C’mon I was just messing with you, even though having guy friend’s kinda weird.” He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah whatever, I’ll call you back,” you say dismissively.

You’re totally lying, you laugh, you’re not calling him back.

He didn’t seem to like that.

“Damn, can’t even joke around with you people. Whatever, weirdo, sorry I insulted your little boyfriend.” The change in tone amuses you.

Yeah, good riddance, pal.

You turn away, walking through the mall with pace. It takes a while, but you spot him watching a pet stores aquarium.

He’s a funny one.

You wave your hands, trying to get his attention. He swallows, knowing that it’s probably to ask him if it’s cool to walk home by himself. Emotions are stupid, and ironically, you both think that at the same time.

“Rui! Rui! Hey c’mon, let’s go home, yeah?” You smile, face feeling warm. It’s a different feeling from when you usually talk to him. He looks at you, a little shocked. He had assumed you were smiling wide because you set up a date, so he turns his head.

“Where is he, huh?” He looks away, back to the fish tank. You shift in place, was he mad at you? You’re a little irritated at the mention of the guy, though, and huff.

“Don’t worry about that. Seems like I only attract douchebags, so I decided to go.” You explain, poking his shoulder. “Hey,” you start, “let’s just walk home, I wanna talk to you about something.” The idea makes you feel dizzy, but you’ll have to illustrate your feelings one day.

You can leave out the “I think I’m in love with you” part, you think.

The two of you walk in an excruciating silence, staring down at the reflection of the setting sun in the puddles. His heart tightens, remembering his earlier comparison. Even now, you’re so perfect. Even if he’s frustrated with you - despite you turning down the guy in the end (he doesn’t know why, he wanted to ask) - even if he’s ready to scream, and cry, and ask you what it is he did for you to be so turned off by him, he still thinks you’re the most heavenly, divine person to ever grace his view. He wants to be where you see him, he wants to be in your orbit.

“You’re like the sun-“ He blurts out, immediately regretting it. He didn’t mean to say that, God, he’s so fucking stupid. He sees you stop walking, smiling that same stupid, dopey, lopsided smile that he’s always so jealous of-

Oh. It’s for him.

He chokes, stopping to meet you eye-to-eye. You look up at him too, laughing giddily.

“What does that mean?”

He sputters, stepping away. “N-no it’s nothing- It was stupid anyway so-“

“No, tell me!” You urge, laughing a little harder. “What if it was something bad, ‘nd you were making fun of me? That’s not nice, Rui!”

“I- Hey-“ His voice goes a touch higher, a defensive tone rising. “That’s not-“

“Then tell me.”

“It’s just,” he breaths, trying to word it in the least creepy way possible. How does convey the fact that he sees you as a divine presence, that he sees himself as a worthless creature compared to you, without sounding like he’s hopelessly possessed by love for you? “I just- you’re so amazing,” he starts, “I thought of this stupid thing the other day when I was walking home - you know how I am - and well, I just thought of you when the sun reflected off the pavement - since it rained, y’know? - and well, it just- Sorry, it was dumb-“ He rambles, covering his face in anguish.

Nobody’s ever put that much thought into you. Sure, you’ve received a few ‘You’re so gorgeous’’s, where you’ve had to wonder where they learnt such a “big word”, but never something as poetic as that. The usual Rui-ratic explanation endeared you to him even more. You look at him, the smile never leaving. He’s just… so Rui. His stupid striped sweater, his half up hair - that you’d begged him to grow out - his eyes, whatever. Everything about him you treasure, and little do you know he cherished you even that more intensely.

“I think you’re the moon, Rui. Or maybe the earth, since I take care of you, hah!” You snicker, stepping closer to him. He takes a step back in return, and you grab his hands to make him stay put. His heart throbs, and he almost goes crashing down.

“I.. I don’t-“

You yank his hands, making him look back up at you. “Hey, Rui, I,” you look at him assuringly, “I wanna say something, and you can’t laugh okay?”

He holds his breath, so do you.

Fuck it, just tell him.

“I think I’m in love with you, Rui.” You gaze at him, the words shooting out faster than you can second guess them.

“I don’t-“ He breaks away, his fists balling up. You messed up, you think, you really, really messed up. “I’m not- I’m not going to- You can’t just say that because you got rejected. I- It wouldn’t be nice to- You don’t love me-“

“Rui,” you beg, grabbing his arm again, “holding hands on the way to school, cuddling while doing homework, knowing everything about eachother, these aren’t-“ You breath, “I’ve wanted somebody to love me for so long, Rui, and I was so blind to the fact that I was loved. But the love that I felt for you, - that I feel for you - Rui, isn’t the kind where I can be- where I can just be so- so normal about those things!” You monologue, saying whatever’s on your mind. You’re the rambling one now.

“I found myself comparing you to these piece-of-garbage dude’s I’m always with, wishing I could just date somebody like you instead! But now I realize that it is you-“

His heart falls into his gut, and he breaks free from you again. His hands move to his face, covering his eyes. His voice is broken and cracky as he begins to cry. “That was- you-“ He pulls you into a desperate embrace, arms holding you like you’ll disappear. “You shouldn’t, you’re wrong.” He sobs, “I’m- the way I love you is- You don’t understand, the way I feel isn’t normal I- My love is disgusting, and horrible, and depraved-“ He shakes, you rub his back. “You are so perfect compared to me, I’d never be able to- I love you so much, more than friends are supposed to, more than anyone’s supposed to at our age-“

“Rui, hey Rui please don’t cry.” You beg, smoothing out the ridges in his sweater. “I don’t- I don’t agree with that, and I can scream that at you, but I’m sure you won’t believe me. You’re not disgusting for feeling emotions different, Rui that’s what I love about you.”

“Stop- stop saying my name like that. It’s too hard to-“

“Rui, I love you. You don’t need to accept it, but I love you. More than being in love, more than being loved-“

“I love you, too,” his voice cracks, “that’s why I’m so scared. I don’t want to ruin a friendship that’s all I have, if this is just- I’m scared I’d lose you in any way, and I can’t live in a world where you don’t see me. I won’t. It’s sounds horrible but-“ He stops as you pull away from the hug, and wipes his face hastily. You put your pinky out, and his stomach drops again.

“C’mon, just like when we were kids. Pinky promise that no matter what, we’ll always see each other. That way you don’t need to worry anymore, y’know? I never break my kissy pinky promises, ever.”

Just like when you two were little.

He locks his with yours, just like you taught him all those years ago. He remembers your shared handshake for theater, he remembers your shared handshake for testing, and he remembers the song you two had to duet for choir - when you have forced him into it for a year. He holds everything of you so dear to his heart, you endear everything about him to you as well.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I see you.”

“I see you, too.”

You two kiss your hands, then bring them down, still interlinked. You stare at him, and he stares back at you. In a moment of profound sincerity, you lean forward, and kiss him. It’s slow and gentle, and you unlock your hands half way through to hold his face, which he mirrors. His heart settles for the first time. You see him. He’s your moon, your earth, you’re his sun, his stars.

He’s suddenly alarmed by a quick pushing off of him, gasping out a “Rui!”

“I-“ he pants, wiping his mouth. “Hm?”

“we’re in the middle of a park!”

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suddencolds · 2 months ago

Text

duffel bag, packed light (yves/vincent AU fic)

Hello! Happy (definitely-not-late) Valentines day. <3 I hesitated on posting this because it's a little disjointed, but I think I need to kick it out of my drafts (go! leave!) before it gets stuck in there forever.

My kind anonymous prompter dropped some of the most fire prompts known to mankind in their submission 😭🙏 These are the two which I went with:

Write an AU oneshot that is completely different from the current Yvescent setting using a combination of 3 or more of the following emojis: 🏝️🎒🛳️🗓️📓🌧️🍱🌠🎬 + hear me out what if we got um spicy kink!Yves or kink!Vincent au 👀 and flowers or an irritant of your choosing

This whole fic is AU!Yves + AU!Vincent w/ the kink, in which they are not coworkers, but instead meet as strangers on a cruise, and Yves turns out to be allergic to something unexpected 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. I should apologize for the long exposition; the first half of this reads more like a character study. If you don't care about how they meet, you can scroll down to the section labeled "Firsts"!

—

The stranger breaks the silence first.

“It’s a nice view,” he says.

They’re on one of the rooftop floors. It’s surprisingly crowded out here—apparently Vincent’s idea to take an evening walk was far from original. Vincent looks out at the unending expanse of water before them, the sky dark, the cruise deck high enough that the waves below them are almost too small to make out.

“It is,” Vincent agrees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the ocean plenty,” the stranger says, leaning out onto the railing. The wind picks up on the strands of his light brown hair. “Assuming you’re a cruise person.”

Vincent contemplates going with the assumption. He is not obligated to tell the truth, of course—that he is terribly out of place here; that, if he’s being honest, it is a little strange and embarrassing to be here alone.

“I am not a cruise person,” Vincent says. “I won the tickets through a work raffle.”

“A work raffle?” The stranger turns to him, perking up.

Vincent nods.

“You’re kidding me,” the stranger says, suddenly animated. “You should’ve bought a lottery ticket right after, with that kind of luck.”

“I think I’ve used up all my luck reserves,” Vincent says. “Out of everyone who could have won, I may be the least suited to be doing this.”

“What does that mean? That you don’t like cruises?” When Vincent shakes his head, the stranger stills, contemplative. “Do you get seasick or something?”

“I am not the kind of person who would pay for a cruise.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have to pay for this one.”

Vincent supposes that is true. His coworkers had been happy for him when the announcement had come out—are you serious? I’m so jealous! And you’re going to love it! And Take lots of pictures! We’ll definitely be grilling you for them when you get back!—he thinks he probably ought to be happy, too, considering how expensive this kind of thing would be normally, considering how statistically unlikely it had been for him to win.

Instead, he’d felt a sort of blankness, bewilderment veering on apathy—but it would be ungrateful to turn this kind of thing down, or to sell it off to someone else, wouldn’t it? In the end, he’d nodded a little stiffly at them, and smiled, and promised them their pictures.

“And what about you?” Briefly, Vincent entertains the possibility that this stranger is someone who takes ten cruises a year—the exact opposite kind of person that Vincent is, the kind of person who likes being hundred of miles out from the nearest coast, who likes the extravagance of the room service and the on-deck waterslides and the quaint high class diners, who likes talking to strangers. “Is this your hundredth cruise?”

The stranger laughs. “It’s actually my second. I was planning to go with someone. We bought two tickets way back—not company-sponsored, by the way, though I wish they were.”

“Did they decide to call it a night early?” Vincent asks.

The stranger laughs—a short, curt laugh. Vincent cannot tell if it’s genuine. “She’s actually not here. She couldn’t make it.”

It seems strange, to Vincent, that someone might miss something as expensive as a cruise. “Something else came up?”

“To be frank, I was in a relationship with her up until two weeks ago,” the stranger says. Then he laughs again, a little self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, that’s probably too much information.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I’m sorry about the breakup.”

The stranger waves a hand. “It’s fine. She left me the tickets, which wasn’t cool, but I found someone to resell hers to, even though it was sort of last minute. Facebook marketplace is the maker of miracles. The guy who bought it is somewhere on this ship, though I don’t think I could point him out to you.”

“Are you alright?”

The stranger blinks at him. He looks a little caught off guard. “Sorry?”

“With the breakup,” Vincent clarifies. “Two weeks ago is still recent. Are you alright?”

The stranger is quiet for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you to ask,” he says, at last.

Vincent looks away from him. “That’s not an answer.”

The stars are starting to come out. The ocean stretches out, wide and dark, beyond them. The stranger says, after a moment: “With a view like this, who wouldn’t be?”

He reaches up a hand to swipe at his eyes. His sleeve doesn’t linger for very long. If Vincent weren’t looking, he might mistake the motion for something casual, something unassuming.

The stranger squeezes his eyes shut, and takes in a breath. The exhale that follows is carefully, meticulously even.

Vincent doesn’t know what it is that prompts him to open his mouth. It’s a stupid, impulsive decision, directed towards someone to which he has no allegiance. It’s entirely unlike him.

And yet.

“My cabin number’s 3-75-F.” he says, before he can think better of himself. “If you need company, or if you want to talk about how your ex was the worst person on earth, we can get dinner, or just take a walk. If you don’t, I won’t take it personally.”

He turns, starts off in the direction of the deck entrance—this is preferable, he thinks, to sticking around to hear the stranger’s response. Judging by the size of the cruise ship, there are probably two thousand people on board. Vincent tells himself that it’s statistically unlikely he will run into this particular stranger again, which means his offer doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

“Wait,” the stranger says, falling into step with him.

Vincent turns.

“That actually sounds really nice. I’m glad you offered. Dinner, tomorrow at 6?” The stranger extends a hand. When Vincent looks up, he is surprised to find that he’s smiling. “I’m Yves.”

Vincent takes it. “Vincent.” he tries to keep his surprise out of his voice. “I’ll be free.”

Yves says: “Great! I hear there’s a restaurant on the third floor which people really like. Do you like seafood?”

“Seafood’s great.”

Yves grins. “I’ll make the reservation tonight. Goodnight, Vincent.”

“Goodnight,” Vincent says, before he can second guess himself into taking it back. He has the distinct sense that he’s just gotten himself into something he’s fundamentally ill-equipped to handle.

—

In truth, the first time Yves meets Vincent is not the first time they meet. Vincent meets Yves for the first time when he’s in line to board. This, like their second meeting, is a coincidence.

—

Before.

The stranger is smiling.

The girl he’s talking is interested in him. That’s the first thing Vincent notices. It’s not a secret—it’s evident in the way she cranes her entire body towards the stranger as he speaks. Evident in the way she laughs, her shoulders shaking, after he tells her something Vincent can’t quite decipher; evident in the way her eyes snap to his hands as he gesticulates.

Briefly, Vincent wonders how they know each other. A couple? But the more Vincent watches, the more he realizes that that doesn’t make sense. His body language is so deceptively open, as if to dismantle any line upheld between the two of them, but he is careful not to touch her. Likewise, she doesn’t reach for him, even though—from the way her gaze lingers on his arm, too long, loaded—Vincent thinks she probably wants to.

Long-time friends, then? Whatever the stranger is saying is too novel, and the girl is nodding vigorously at him, now, and Vincent can see that she’s trying to make a good impression. Have they just met tonight, then? The girl rummages through her purse for her phone, pauses briefly to type something out. Holds the screen up so he can see it.

The stranger leans in, his face intimately close to her, to peer down at it, too. There is something so confoundingly thoughtless about the gesture. It is almost as though there is a gap in how long they have known each other—as if she is, to him, already a longtime friend. There is no nervousness to the way he regards her, no pointed self-consciousness.

It’s a little interesting, Vincent thinks. He wonders, briefly, if the stranger knows that she likes him.

What strikes him about the arrangement is how open he is. It’s peculiar. It is as if they are not strangers at all. He holds the conversation seamlessly, with such warmth that Vincent marvels at it, as easily as if he has known her for years.

—

Dinner.

It’s around 5:41 when Vincent hears the knock on his cabin door.

The cruise room is more comfortable than he’d expected it to be. The ship is large enough that it feels oddly stationary, and the room—despite its relatively low ceilings and narrow walkways—has an excellent view of the ocean when he pulls back the curtain—the unmoving blue line of it, the inky sky above it, the clouds low on the horizon.

Vincent, who had been half expecting Yves to not show up at all, puts his book down on the nightstand and heads towards the door.

When he opens it, Yves is dressed in a button-down collared shirt and slacks. He looks boyishly handsome, Vincent thinks—kind of like he could be a movie star, probably someone who would play a childhood-friend-turned-lover.

“You’re early,” Vincent says.

Yves checks his watch. “I guess I am. Did I catch you unprepared?”

“No, I’m ready,” Vincent says, nodding towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The living quarters on the cruise are ordered in neat rows. They head down a long hallway toward the central elevators. Yves talks about his morning—about how he’d spent his time perusing the second floor shops, how he’d played one game at a casino, won twenty dollars, and now he’s determined to never go back. (“I need to keep the net positive,” he says, “statistically unlikely as it is.” “You’re already doing better than everyone else in the casino,” Vincent says.)

The elevator ride is short. The cruise technically has fifteen floors—more if you count the partial floors at the top: the rooftop bar, the rooftop garden and grill.

“I can’t wait till we get to shore,” Yves says. “Not that the cruise isn’t nice, and all, but whenever I take a walk on deck, it never really feels like I’m stretching my legs.”

It’s Thursday evening. They’ll dock early tomorrow morning at the Amber Cove cruise island, spend a few hours there out on the beach, and then head back onto the cruise for their next stop. Vincent has packed swim trunks, sunglasses, a couple bottles of sunscreen, but the idea of going to the beach on his own feels distinctly out of character. He’s never been the kind of person to seek out experiences like this—sunny and indulgent—on his own, without someone else to pull him into them.

He supposes this isn’t really an exception. The company tickets which landed him on this ship in the first place were the catalyst to everything.

“You haven’t eaten here before,” Yves asks, as they round the corner to the door of the restaurant, “have you?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I’ve only been to the diner on the second floor.”

Yves smiles back at him. “That’s good. I don’t have to cancel my reservation, then.” “I wouldn’t have made you cancel it anyway.”

“You seem too polite to do that sort of thing,” Yves says, with a laugh. “There are too many things to do on deck for me to be dragging you to the same few places.”

Yves relays his reservation name and time to the waiter, who shows them to a table by the window. The restaurant is dimly lit—the majority of the light is coming from a single candle that sits in front of them, next to a vase of tastefully arranged flowers.

“This place is very romantic,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “I guess it is. Does that bother you?”

Vincent thinks that he can easily imagine another version of this evening—a dinner in which the seat across from Yves is occupied by his ex. An evening where they talk and laugh over a shared bottle of wine and eat the best seafood on the ship.

“I can see why you would have wanted to come here with her,” Vincent says. “I’m sure you had a lot to look forward to. I’m sorry.”

Yves glances back at him, his expression unreadable. Then he looks down. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “You didn’t have any part in it.”

“In your decision?” “In hers.” He shakes his head with a laugh that doesn’t quite show in his eyes. “It wasn’t mine to decide. She rekindled an old relationship at a bar. It was with this guy who went to the same college as the both of us, though I didn’t know him that well.”

He unfolds his cloth napkin and positions it gingerly on his lap. “I didn’t even know that they were friends, or that she would be meeting up with him. We were still together when it all happened, and then suddenly we weren’t.”

“That must have been painful for you,” Vincent says.

“I probably should’ve known better,” Yves says, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He smiles, a little self-deprecating.“I think there were probably signs that I missed. It’s the sort of thing you dwell on, you know. If everything really came out of left field, or if she’s already been falling out of love for a long time. This is depressing, but I keep thinking about—well, if maybe I could’ve done something to fix things if I’d realized it sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

Vincent looks down—at the flowers between them, arranged artfully in a shallow glass vase. “You shouldn’t have had to do anything. You shouldn’t have had to speculate at all.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It is none of his business, he knows, and besides, it’s not as though Yves has asked for his opinion. He finds himself thinking, abruptly, to Yves’s conversation with the girl in line, a couple spots ahead of him—the girl smiling, leaning close; Yves somehow reflecting back her interest with warmth.

It is part of the reason why Vincent is here, right now, if he’s honest with himself. Vincent understands exactly why people would be drawn to that particular sort of warmth. It’s the sort of warmth he doesn’t know how to cultivate, probably wouldn’t be able to cultivate, even if he tried. It is evident even now, in the way Yves seems to so readily offer his ex the benefit of the doubt, in the way his warmth extends towards her still.

“If she was having second thoughts, then she should’ve said something. You shouldn’t have been expected to read her mind,” Vincent says. Perhaps being so honest is overkill, but even if no one else in Yves’s life will say it, Vincent finds he has no such reservations. “At the very least, she should’ve ended things with you before looking for other options. Frankly, your ex sounds like a terrible person.”

Yves blinks at him, a little taken aback. “I’m sure I’m giving you a very biased impression of her. She’s a pretty reasonable person.”

“Reasonable people can do bad things,” Vincent says, crossing his arms. On some level, he understands—of course Yves, with his proximity to the problem, would not see it this way. “Your ex hooked up with someone behind your back. I find it hard to believe that someone who had your best interests in mind would do that.”

Yves seems to consider this.

“I don’t think I’ll be in the business of forgiveness anytime soon,” he says, as if he is choosing his words carefully. “You’re right to say that what she did was pretty terrible.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “But?”

Yves is quiet, for a moment.

“I think it would be easier,” he says, at last, with a small smile. “If I thought about her that way.”

It’s a confession that Vincent has already figured out. “You still think highly of her. It makes sense.”

“She was my best friend for three years.” he shakes his head, smiling. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. When I thought about a future with her, everything seemed so intuitive. Like all the problems that could come up would be things we’d already know how to work through.”

The waiter stops by their table to ask them for their choice in refreshments. Yves greets him with a polite smile—one that Vincent finds no holes in—and asks for one of the drinks on the cocktail menu. Vincent picks something at random, to match.

“Sorry,” Yves says, after the waiter leaves. “I didn’t mean to get into such a depressing tangent. We don’t have to talk about my ex. I’ll give you time to actually look over the menu.”

Vincent says, “You don’t have to apologize. I won’t take long.” He opens the menu—it is nice, he thinks, that all the food and drink is included in the cruise fare which he didn’t have to pay for—makes a mental list of all the items which look interesting, and stack ranks them in his head. Then he shuts the menu and sets it off to the edge of the table, so the waiter won’t have to lean over to pick it up.

He feels, without looking, that Yves is watching him.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re very efficient.”

Vincent meets his eyes from across the table. Yves has his own menu open, too, but he’s pretty sure Yves has been waiting for him. “You decided more quickly than I did.”

“I cheated and looked up the menu beforehand,” Yves says. “I didn’t want to subject you to my indecisiveness.”

This makes sense to Vincent—as does the early knock on his door. “You were looking forward to eating here.”

“With a hot stranger,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Yes.”

The compliment is unexpected. It settles something inside of him, something nervous and wanting, though Yves says it offhandedly enough that Vincent thinks he probably shouldn’t take it to heart. He raises an eyebrow. “Am I still a stranger? We’ve exchanged names.”

Yves laughs. “I guess we can be acquaintances, then.”

The waiter arrives with their cocktails—Yves’s has a sprig of lavender near the rim, and Vincent’s has a dried orange slice and a stem of mint—and sets them down in the middle of the table. They place their orders.

After the waiter leaves, Vincent shifts his cocktail a little closer to him. He’s not much of a drinker, but his drink of choice is usually on the sweeter side.

“Does it live up to your expectations?” Yves asks.

“The drink?”

“The cruise.”

“I don’t know if I had many expectations to begin with,” Vincent says. “The ship is bigger than I thought it would be. I’m still finding my way around.”

“Have you explored everything already?”

“Not everything.” Vincent thinks through his morning. “I walked around the shopping center, and then the fourth floor plaza.” he says. “I stopped by the theater, too, though I didn’t sit down for a show.”

He thinks, distantly, that perhaps the ship’s amenities are getting wasted on him—during his walk through the shopping center, he’d briefly thought about bringing gifts back for his coworkers and ultimately decided that if he’s going to do any shopping, it should probably be on his last day here, not his second. “I went up to the deck to see the pools. There were more distinct pools than I imagined—I had assumed they’d all be connected.”

“Did you go swimming?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you just walked around all twelve of the pools,” Yves says, incredulous, “without ever getting in?”

Vincent can see how this fact could potentially be off-putting. “The pools were all pretty crowded. I decided it’d be more symbolic if the first time I change into a swimsuit is tomorrow, after we dock.”

It isn’t entirely the truth. Truthfully—and he thinks this might be worse—he’d been more preoccupied with taking pictures of everything—nicely framed shots of the different pools, the different entrances of the shopping center, the crowds gathered around the theater for the midday show—half so he can have something to show his coworkers when he gets back to work (and thus, dispel any accusations of his own ungratefulness around winning) and half so he can have something to send back to his family (particularly Ji-Sung, who he thinks will get a kick out of seeing all of the amenities).

“You’re really serious about this,” Yves says, looking strangely amused. “Are the vacations you go on always so structured?”

Vincent says, “something like that. The cruise is not the main attraction, anyway.”

“For some people, it is.”

“For the same people who make it a mission to take a swim in all twelve of the pools, maybe,” Vincent says, and Yves smiles.

Yves, as it turns out, is an easy person to talk to. Vincent finds out that he doesn’t get seasick—or carsick, for that matter—but that he feels a little claustrophobic if he doesn’t go up to the deck (“to remind me that we’re actually still making progress towards some destination,” he says. “That way, I don’t feel as though I’m trapped in some giant feat of human engineering.”) He finds out that Yves has two siblings, both of them younger; that most of his extended family lives in france; that he likes vacationing in warm places; that the next time he steps foot onto a cruise, it will probably be with his younger sister and his younger brother. That he’d been working late for three weeks in a row to make this trip happen; that it feels a little wrong, now, to have nothing pressing to do.

It turns out to be a nice night, after all.

—

Firsts.

The cologne is an offhanded purchase.

It’s not something Vincent thinks much about when he picks it up. It’s on the third day that he purchases it, after he holds too long of a conversation with the sales assistant—who seems to have an uncanny ability for translating whatever it is he says into one recommendation, and another, and another—to feel like he can walk away unguiltily. In the end, he settles with a tall, sleek bottle with a wooden cap. The cap is lined in gold—to suggest that this is a classy choice, presumably—to match the serif lettering on the front, which says Wood & Flame.

It’s not something he intends on using, either—that is, until Yves messages him, dinner? And then, a moment later: feeling kind of lazy tonight. Mb we can order in

Vincent texts back, Sure. Let’s order in. 6:30?

Yves’s response is immediate. You haven’t been to my room yet, right? I can host :)

It doesn’t mean anything, Vincent thinks, that the dress shirt he picks out is the newest one he owns, that he spends time ironing the creases out of it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, when he lingers longer than usual in front of the bathroom mirror, suddenly apprehensive. Yves is asking him out of friendly camaraderie, and nothing more. He runs another hand through his hair, catches himself, lowers it. Fixes his tie, straightens his collar, finds himself having to fix it again.

With a hot stranger, Yves had said, as if it was nothing. So offhandedly it seemed almost like it didn’t even matter—a throwaway comment, maybe.

The cologne is an afterthought—he spritzes some on his wrists, and then, upon further thought, sprays some in behind his ears. It’s probably not going to be noticeable anyways, unless Yves gets close enough, which is unlikely. The scent of it is somewhat mild, understated—that had been one of the factors which had led him to pick it up in the first place—even when he lifts his wrist to his face, it’s not nearly as obvious as he expects it to be.

The bottle is large enough that it seems as though it will never run out—the liquid in it seems to be at the same level as before, even though he feels like he’s been generous enough in his application of it. He’s starting to think he won’t have enough occasions to wear it to.

Perhaps he will get some mileage out of this purchase tonight. Or perhaps, optimistically, this bottle will last him the rest of his life, he’ll never have to shop for cologne again in his lifetime. If he thinks about it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a financially bad investment.

—

Through his walk down the long, narrow hallway, and up two flights of stairs, Vincent prepares himself for the moment when Yves opens the door.

He’s still caught off guard, though, when the door swings open. Yves is dressed in a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—the shirt is loose-fitting, but the way the fabric tightens around his arms does not do a good job of obscuring the muscle definition underneath—and well-fitted khaki chinos. His light brown hair is tied up in its usual low ponytail, but the strands which were too short to secure are tucked behind his ear.

“You made it!” He grins—it’s the kind of charming smile that completely overtakes his features—and steps aside to let Vincent in. “Now you can compare how different the rooms are three floors up.”

Vincent looks past him, at the arrangement of the room. “It looks like the same elements have undergone a few different transformations,” he says. “The wall art in this room looks more like it’s trying to remind you what you’re here for.”

Yves follows his gaze to the large landscape painting which hangs in the living room, to the right of the TV. It’s a watercolor drawing of waves crashing onto a white sand beach, except it’s drawn in a way that the waves closer to shore are saturated and dazzling, and the waves further from the shore fade out in color into the horizon. There’s faint detailing of buildings in the distance, too. Vincent is pretty sure it’s supposed to be the shoreline of Nassau, which they’re set to dock at two days from now.

“Huh,” Yves says. “It’s sort of like it’s taunting me. What’s in yours?”

“Mostly abstract art,” Vincent says. “Aside from that, a photograph of a conch shell, up close. There’s also a photograph of a ship out at sea, with no land in sight.”

Yves laughs. “That’s pretty ironic. I heard that lower floors are better for seasickness. It would probably suck to be seasick, and then when you look up you’re forced to look at some sailboat in the middle of nowhere. Super on-the-nose.”

Vincent smiles. “It’s probably a good reality check.” he presses closer in to leave his jacket—which he is realizing now that he doesn’t need, but which he brought with him just in case, on the occasion that their evening culminates in a night-time walk on the deck—folded on Yves’s couch. “Were you thinking of ordering room service?”

“Yep,” Yves says. “I think everything on there is complimentary except for the wine. Do you need the room service menu?”

“I took a look at it already,” Vincent says. “I recalled that a certain someone does his research early.”

Yves looks briefly taken aback. Then he laughs. “You caught me. I totally did look at it beforehand. Though I was ready to act indecisive if you needed more time.”

“Very gentlemanly,” Vincent says. “Should we call in?”

Yves ends up calling for room service, on both of their behalf. (“That sounds really good,” he says, when Vincent recites his order to him. “It was probably my second choice.” “You can try some when it comes,” Vincent says.) He orders wine, too, to share, and waves off Vincent’s offer to split the cost.

After that, they settle on the living room couch. Yves says: “I’m thinking we can put something on while we wait for dinner to arrive? But probably not something you care about too much, because I might talk over it.” he passes the remote over to Vincent.

Vincent flips through the channels. There’s some sitcom which is playing which seems somewhat suitable, up until one of the couples gets into a sincere-seeming argument onscreen and Vincent thinks that, considering Yves’s semi-recent breakup, maybe everything with romance should be quietly vetoed. He eventually settles on one of those reality TV shows where people have to partake in increasingly difficult obstacle courses in order to not get eliminated.

“These are always fun,” Yves says. “You know about hysterical strength? I’ve always wondered if being nervous on these kinds of shows helps you or hurts you.”

He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his eyes. Vincent looks over at him with a frown.

“Are you tired?”

“No,” Yves says. He blinks, and then sniffles—if Vincent isn’t mistaken, his eyes are a little watery.

“Bored of the competition already?”

“Not at all. I think these kinds of shows are manufactured so that you can’t get bored.”

“There’s probably an optimal amount of nervousness,” Vincent says, “to answer your question. I’ve found that to be true with public speaking.”

“Huh,” Yves says. “Does your work require a lot of public speaking?”

“Not particularly. Mostly internal presentations, occasionally a conference.” He looks over at Yves. “If you weren’t tired before, talking about my work is going to make you tired for sure.”

Yves laughs. “No way. I love hearing about other people’s work.”

“It’s not very life or death. There are no obstacle courses. Just a lot of regression analysis.”

Yves blinks at him. “Do you work in business, by any chance?”

Vincent nods. “I’m a quantitative analyst.”

“Huh,” Yves says, contemplative. “I heard it’s very competitive.” He sniffles again, quietly enough that it almost goes unheard. “You must be good at math.”

“A small subset of math,” Vincent says. “What do you work in?”

“Wealth management. It’s a little more client-centric, so I had to plan pretty far ahead to take time off for thihh-!” The inhale is sharp, unexpected. They’re sitting close enough to each other that Vincent can feel Yves stiffen beside him, can feel the sharp upwards stutter of his shoulders as his breath hitches again. “hHeh-!” He pivots away from Vincent, burying his face into his elbow—polite, Vincent thinks—and then, after a long, torturous moment, loses the fight to a loud, vocal, “HhHEh-IIDZschH-iEEw!”

Vincent wills himself not to look. “Bless you,” he says, staring straight ahead. Onscreen, a contestant loses her balance on a high mounted totem and drops straight down into the water, much to the dismay of her teammates. It is a wholly ineffective means of distraction.

Yves’s sneeze—like Yves—is painfully Vincent’s type.

“Ugh,” Yves says, sniffling again. He lowers his elbow slowly. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You said you had to plan far ahead to take time off,” Vincent says. It’s no small miracle that he remembers this.

“Right, yeah,” Yves says, and launches into a story about the hoops he’d had to jump through to make sure all the clients he was assigned to would have their needs accounted for.

“That’s a lot of work for a week’s absence,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “Yeah. Sometimes the pickier clients really hate the idea of not getting round-the-clock attention. I’m— hh-! hHEH-!” He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his nose, though the look of ticklish irritation doesn’t quite leave his expression—Vincent really shouldn’t have looked. After a moment, he lowers his hand, takes in another uncertain breath, as if he’s still testing the waters. “Ugh, I lost it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. This must be distracting for you.”

Distracting is an understatement. “Don’t worry about it,” Vincent says. “Is it worse during tax season?”

“Oh, yeah. No one in their right mind really takes off during tax season, snf-! It’s not like, officially against any rules, but it’s pretty openly acknowledged as one of those suggestions that’s not actually very optional. That doesn’t affect you guys as much, does it?”

“No,” Vincent says. “My free time is mostly dependent on project deadlines.”

“The ticket you won happened to not conflict with any of those?”

“I brought my work laptop with me,” Vincent says, a little sheepishly.

Yves’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“It’s not like I’m working long hours,” Vincent says. “Just some catch-up work, here and there. I don’t want there to be any surprises when I get back.”

“Always putting out fires,” Yves says, shaking his head. “It’s probably good that you won the—” He reaches over to lay a hand on Vincent’s arm—presumably as a comforting gesture—only he wrenches away at the last second. “The— Hheh-! Hh… hHEH-!” There’s another brief pause, as though whatever is affecting him has left him stranded again on the precipice of a sneeze. For a moment, Vincent prepares himself mentally for another false start.

But then Yves takes in another sharp, ticklish breath, and it turns out to be enough to set him over the edge. “hh’hEHh’iITSSSCHh-EEw!”

The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist to meet the crook of a hastily-raised arm. It’s just as attractive as the first, if not more—Vincent can hear his voice in the ending syllable, can hear the ticklish desperation in the release. Yves keeps his face buried in his elbow for a moment longer, sniffling wetly.

It takes everything in Vincent to not visibly shiver. What are the chances, really, that the attractive stranger-slash-acquaintance he’s having dinner with—someone who, when this cruise is over, he probably will never see again—just happens to have a sneeze which happens to be perfectly aligned with his tastes?

“Bless you again,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine,” Yves says, with another sniffle, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t think I’m getting sick. I was fine earlier.”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Yves says. “No seasonal allergies. Nothing pet-wise, either.”

Vincent tries, and fails, to think of what else might be causing this. The cabins seem too clean, too well-ventilated, to be dusty. There are no flowers anywhere in sight. Is Yves coming down with something, then? But he’d said I don’t think I’m getting sick, with the certainty of someone who probably isn’t.

“Let me know if you start feeling worse,” Vincent says.

Yves smiles at him. “I will. I’m really fine, I promise. It’s just—” he reaches up with a hand to rub his nose. A distant look crosses his expression for a moment—as though he’s warring against the need to do something about it—before his breathing levels off. “—tickish, snf! Not unpleasant.”

The sneezing doesn’t stop. Yves, for the most part, proceeds as though he’s completely unaffected by it—he’s no quieter than usual. It’s as though every time he feels the need to sneeze, he is intent on ignoring it until the need is too pressing to ignore. When that happens, he turns away just in time, except for a couple close calls when he misjudges and instead doubles forward with a sneeze directed into his lap, sniffling afterwards.

Vincent blesses him intermittently, but otherwise offers up no comment. Yves apologizes sheepishly, after the fourth or fifth sneeze, for interrupting the show. Vincent doesn’t tell him that he probably couldn’t care less about the show. Truthfully, he has no clue what’s going on onscreen anymore—obstacle course shows are interesting, but not that interesting.

Dinner arrives not too long after. Vincent can barely focus on the seafood pasta he’s ordered, though he offers Yves a bite, as promised. Yves unfolds one of the napkins room service leaves for them and blows his nose quietly into it. He sniffles afterwards—as though his nose is properly running, now—and resumes talking as usual.

Vincent crosses his legs, does his best to ignore the heat radiating below his stomach. This is really bad timing. The entire inexplicable setup—the fact that they’re sitting so close to each other; the fact that he can physically feel Yves tense beside him, rigid with anticipation, his shoulders jolting upwards with every inhale—is honestly nothing short of torturous.

It’s worse, too, that Vincent can see the ticklish irritation in Yves’s features—the crease of his eyebrows, the fluttering eyelashes, the sharp, uncontrolled gasp—before he wrenches forward with another desperate sneeze. It’s always a full-body endeavor—something that snaps him forward at the waist, leaves him bent over, a little breathless, sniffling wetly.

It absolutely doesn’t help that the underside of Yves’s nose is slightly flushed red, now, from the unusual attention—perhaps this is to be expected, seeing as Yves keeps rubbing it. More than once, Vincent contemplates asking to use Yves’s bathroom, and subsequently, well, getting rid of the problem at hand. Yves has no idea what this is all doing to him. After all, how would he know?

It’s only when they’re almost done with dinner that it clicks.

“Hold on,” Vincent says. Yves had said he wasn’t allergic to anything, but there’s a first time for everything, right? Particularly, there’s always a first time exposure to allergens. That first time might come later in life for those that are less commonplace.

It seems glaringly obvious, in hindsight. Yves hadn’t been sniffling when he’d opened the door for Vincent, had he? From the way he’d reacted to the first sneeze, it didn’t seem like this has been going on for long.

But of course. He’d been so focused on the environment that he hadn’t considered it. There’s only one thing Vincent did tonight which was pointedly out of the ordinary.

The realization leaves him feeling suddenly cold.

“Yves.” Vincent flinches away. “I think I know what’s causing this.”

Yves pauses. “What is it?”

“I’m wearing new cologne,” he says. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I didn’t think much of it when I was applying it.” He feels a little like an asshole, now that they’re discussing it. It wasn’t his intention to leave Yves suffering. He hadn’t known. But still, the fact that they’ve been sitting in such close proximity this whole time definitely hasn’t helped.

The last thing he wants to do right now is look at Yves, but he forces himself to, anyway—wrenches his gaze upwards until he meets Yves’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve made the connection earlier.”

Yves blinks at him. He doesn’t seem as upset about this as Vincent thinks he should be—strangely, he doesn’t seem upset at all. “Are you saying you think I’m allergic?”

“Allergic, or sensitive, yes,” Vincent says, frowning. “In any case, I take full responsibility. I should probably just—”

“Wait,” Yves says, reaching out with a hand to latch onto Vincent’s wrist. “I haven’t been allergic to anything before.”

“It’s probably not something common,” Vincent says, wondering if he should pull away.

“You applied it to your wrists?” Yves asks.

Vincent nods, a little stiffly. He doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. It feels like Yves’s fingertips are burning holes into his arm.

Everything that happens after happens in a flash. Yves tightens his grip around Vincent’s wrist, pulls it gently towards him, and leans down to take a long, indulgent inhale.

Vincent feels all of the blood drain from his face. He rounds on Yves, wide-eyed. “What are you—?”

The reaction is almost immediate. Yves drops Vincent’s arm as if he’s been scalded. He shuts his eyes, barely turns to the side in time for a harsh, “hhEHH’iiDZZSHH-iEW!”

The sneeze is so forceful he coughs a little afterwards, his eyes watering. His shoulders jerk upwards again, his nose twitching. “hHEH… HEHH… hehH’IITSSCHh-EEW! Ugh… coughcough, you’re right, it’s defidetely… hHEH—!!”

Vincent can only watch, frozen in place, as Yves jerks forward again, burying his nose into his sleeve. “IHHHh’DZschH-IIEW! Snf-!” He lowers his arm slightly—Vincent can see him scrunching his nose up, trying to rid himself of what must be the worst tickle he’s been faced with all night. That thought sends a wave of electricity down Vincent’s spine. “Hh-hHeh-! Definitely the cologne that’s… hh-! that’s… hEHH… setting me… hh… HhEH’IDDzShHH-IIEW!! —off, snf, f-fuck… hh-Hehh-hhEHH’IITTSHhh-IIEEW!” The sneeze explodes from him, barely contained, snapping his entire body forward with the sheer intensity. Yves barely manages a breath in between before he’s doubling over with another: “IIIiDDDzSCHHh-YyiEW!”

Vincent swallows hard. He’s, well, so turned on that he can barely speak. It feels a little like the heat he feels—more of a full-body-flush, at this point—might actually melt the clothes off of his arms. “Bless you.” It’s remarkable that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

He stands, heads over to the coffee table to retrieve a small box of tissues. Takes in a deep breath.

When he gets back to the couch, Yves has cupped both his hands over his nose and mouth. Vincent tilts the opening of the tissue box towards him without comment.

“Thadks,” Yves says, with a laugh. He takes a handful and blows his nose. “I needed those. That was probably ndot the best idea, in hindsight.”

Understatement of the fucking century. Vincent stares at him, disbelieving. “Your first idea after learning you’re allergic to something is to test it out?”

“Scientific rigor, and whatnot,” Yves says. “I had to be sure. Like I said, I’ve never actually been allergic to something before. This was quite the… hHeh-!” He raises the handful of tissues back up to his face, his gaze going unfocused. “Just a sec—hh… hH… hHEH’IIDZSCHh-IIEW! snf!”

“Bless you,” Vincent says. “I guess this answered your question, then.” Yves laughs. “It definitely did.”

“I think you—” Vincent places the tissue box—which is at risk of falling off the edge of the couch—directly into Yves’s lap. “—should take this.” He takes a cautious step backwards. “And I should go take a long shower back in my room.”

Yves looks up at him, still a little teary-eyed. “It doesn’t bother me that much,” he says earnestly. “It’s just sneezing. I don’t mind it.” Just sneezing. Vincent shakes his head.

Yves stills, his expression probing. “Unless…” His voice comes out a little softer, now. Uncertain. “...Unless it bothers you?”

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Not in the sense that Yves means it, at least.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Vincent says. “But I’ve been in your situation before, so I know what it feels like. I… know it isn’t pleasant.”

This information seems to surprise Yves. “You’ve experienced this before too?”

Vincent nods. “Every spring, more or less. I’m allergic to tree pollen.” His face feels hot from the admission—it feels strangely inappropriate to be admitting this, but then again, it’s not as though he’s bringing it up out of nowhere. “You can imagine that’s harder to avoid than a singular kind of cologne.”

Yves’s eyes widen. “That sounds terribly - hhEH-! hH… HEHh’iITSHH-iIEWW! snf-! terribly incodvenient. I can’t imagine having to deal with this feeling for an edtire season.”

“It is. That’s why I don’t want to subject you to this for longer than I have to.” He steps past Yves to grab his jacket from the couch, which he ties around his waist. It will be better for both of them if he leaves now. “I really should shower and get changed. Your symptoms are not going to get better if I stick around.”

Yves seems to be coming around to this. “Sorry to have to end things off early,” he says, frowning. “You came all the way here.”

“It was barely a walk,” Vincent says. “And this wouldn’t have happened if not for me. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yves says, with a laugh. “It was an illuminating experience. I’ll see you, then?”

The possibility is so fleeting that Vincent almost dismisses it. Could Yves really be disappointed?

“I have some Claritin back in my room,” Vincent says, trying his luck, though a part of him recognizes that this kind of confidence is categorically unlike him. “We can resume our night when you can get through two sentences without having to sneeze.” And after Vincent takes care of something else, and preferably spends enough time in his room flipping through boring travel pamphlets and sensational catalogues to get his mind out of the gutter, so he can face Yves again with some semblance of normalcy. “...If you still want to.”

Yves brightens.

“Of course,” he says, with sincerity. “I’ll look forward to it.”

#sneeze kink #snz kink #sneeze fic #snz fic #ocpromptexchange #😭 to be honest it was sort of relief to write an au fic... i felt a little less like i was betraying whatever i wrote in canon :')#i feel a slight need to apologize for the fact that there's a time skip in the middle of this (+ a few missing scenes in between);#i'm not sure how much vanilla interaction people would want to read? (this fic is probably already pushing the limits 😭)#anyways. i have wanted to write kink vincent for awhile 🙏#not sure if this does him justice (or if this is even spicy at all 😭)#a part of me feels compelled to scrap this and write something spicier. but i really need to banish this from my drafts #so i hope someone enjoys 🥲#yvverse #au yvverse #kink vincent #my fic #p.s. thank you dearly to the prompter (whoever you are) 😭 i feel so honored to have received such thoughtful prompts and good ideas 🙇‍♀️#the real au is the suddencolds who wrote an allergy fic hahah haha because she never... okay sorry i am hitting post

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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

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Wanted to start this off by saying girl I love your writing so much like it’s so good!!!!

I have an idea that I think you’ll like, so since it’s Valentine’s Day soon I was wondering if you could write something where in past visits to different planets, Sunday meets reader and they start dating, but he can’t stay on the planet so he has to leave with the astral express, but the good news is that Sunday got readers number so they talk with each other on the phone, sooo it’s Valentine’s Day and both reader and Sunday are both sad they can’t spend it together so for the whole day they send it on call with each other :)

Sorry for the bad grammar English isn’t my first language I’m sorry if it’s a stupid idea😭

“Your Voice is My Favorite Constellation”

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, Sunday spends the evening on a phone call with you, who lives on a distant planet he can no longer stay on. Despite his growing feelings for you, the distance between you both is a constant ache. As you talk about everything and nothing, both of you struggle with the sadness of being apart, finding solace in your shared moments. The night becomes an intimate exchange of words, offering comfort in your connection despite the galaxies separating you.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Slow Burn, Long-Distance Relationship, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Soft Angst, Phone Conversations, Healing and Comfort, Heartfelt Moments.

Warnings: Mild angst, Distance-related sadness, Emotional vulnerability, Slight introspection on loneliness.

A/N: AHHHHH TYYY SO MUCH!! I'M SO GLADD TO HEAR THAT YOU LIKE MY WRITING! 🥹💖 Also, don't worry about your English, it was honestly perfect and better than mine tbh 🤭🙏. @sundaysconsort, inspired by our chats hehe 🫣🤭💙✨

The Astral Express was quiet tonight, save for the soft hum of the stars beyond the windows. Sunday sat near the observation deck, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of space. His hair shimmered under the dim glow of the cabin lights, and his wings behind his ears fluttered slightly—subtle evidence of his restlessness.

He exhaled, glancing down at his phone. The time difference between the Express and your planet was a minor inconvenience, but it didn’t matter. He knew you were waiting.

A small smile ghosted his lips as he pressed the call button.

It barely rang once before your voice came through.

"Sunday!"

A warmth bloomed in his chest at the sound of your voice, bright and familiar despite the miles—no, the galaxies—between you.

"Good evening," he murmured, his voice carrying its usual airy cadence. "Or morning, depending on where you are."

"It's evening," you replied, a soft chuckle lacing your words. "And a lonely one at that."

Sunday leaned back against the seat, his halo tilting ever so slightly behind his head. "Ah," he mused. "So, we are both victims of distance tonight."

You sighed. "Yeah… I really wish you were here."

Sunday closed his eyes, letting the weight of your words settle over him. He wished the same, more than he cared to admit. His life had always been one of movement—never still, never lingering. And yet, every time the Express left your planet, he found himself looking back.

"I would have taken you somewhere quiet," he murmured. "Somewhere the city lights don’t reach. You like the stars, don’t you?"

"I do," you said softly. "Though, they’re not as pretty without you here."

His breath hitched. A quiet laugh escaped him, tinged with something bittersweet. "You say things that could ruin me, you know."

"Good," you teased. "Maybe then you'd find a way to stay."

Silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken longing. Sunday’s fingers toyed with the golden ornaments on his coat, his mind tangled in what-ifs.

"I despise this day," he admitted after a moment. "Valentine’s. It highlights absence in ways other days do not."

"Mm. But at least we have this, right?"

Sunday hummed in agreement. "That we do."

And so, the two of you spent the evening—no, the entire night—on the phone. You talked about everything and nothing, about the places he'd seen, the people he'd met, the silly little things that made up your day.

"Did you eat today?" you asked at one point, your voice laced with playful suspicion.

Sunday smirked. "Are you concerned for my well-being, dear one?"

"Always."

Something inside him softened. "Then I shall be sure to take better care of myself. For your sake."

Hours passed like minutes. At some point, you yawned, and Sunday knew you were fighting to stay awake.

"You should sleep," he whispered.

"Not yet," you mumbled. "Just… stay a little longer."

He closed his eyes, letting your breathing lull him into something dangerously close to peace.

"As long as you need," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."

For now, the stars could wait.

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 months ago

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JUST FULL ON HEAVY SMUT WITH DOM NIKKI PLEASEEE😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

Warnings: Smut, soft dom Nikki, cockwarming, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You'd been craving Nikki all day, it started when you woke up and you were both still naked from the night before and he was playing with your hair.

More often than not when you fucked he wouldn't pull out, when you first started dating he would wear a condom and either leave it on or take it off and get comfortable behind you after cleaning you both up.

Now he'd just lay you both down, whether it meant spooning you and laying you on top of him. You kept wet wipes on the nightstand so he could at least wipe you down.

Like always, Nikki was behind you, pressed right up against you and buried deep inside you. He had one arm around you and the other was under your head, letting you use his bicep as a pillow. You looked over you shoulder at him, it took him a second to realize you were awake but he smiled at you when he did.

"Hey, sweetheart, how'd you sleep?" He asked, voice rough from a lack of use. You almost wished he hadn't realized you were awake. The look on his face when he was just mindlessly playing with your hair, that far out look in his eyes as he blinked slowly, his soft breaths you felt against your back, his chest rising and falling.

You mumbled something about not wanting to wake up and he chuckled, continuing to play with your hair. You didn't want to get up, it was so warm and comfortable in bed, but you had work.

Nikki smiled and teased you while you got ready for work, laying in bed spread out, the blanket barely covering him.

It didn't get any better when you got to work, he called you at lunch and was breathing heavy, it took you a second to realize he was jerking off and using your voice to do it. You were barely allowed to have private calls, if anyone heard you were fucked.

You really needed to be fucked.

Nikki knew how you'd be feeling when you got home so he waited, just as naked as when you left that morning. You dropped your bag by the door and went straight to him, not wasting any time in getting naked and straddling his lap.

Your lips were on his in a second, arms wrapping around his neck. Nikki's arms went around your waist and held you tight to him, hands rubbing up and down your sides. His tongue slipped into your mouth, drawing a moan from you.

Nikki chuckled against your lips and pulled away slightly, trailing his kisses up your jaw. "Still so desperate?" He teased, lips caressing the shell of your ear. "Whore, let me help you." He was an ass at the best of times, he knew how needy you were and would abuse that advantage, but he would give you what you wanted with no qualms.

A low groan left him as he pushed into you, eyes on your stomach and watching that familiar bulge form. He smiled wickedly and rolled you both over, laying you down and holding himself up on his elbows. He pulled his hips back and snapped them back into you, setting a harsh pace.

His low grunts and groans filled your ear, mixed with backhanded praise. "You're such a good slut for me, taking me so good, you were fucking made for my cock." He'd purr, sucking and nipping at your neck.

You clawed at his shoulders, finally getting what you'd been needing all day. Your moans filled the room along with the sound of skin slapping skin.

Nikki sat up, taking your hands in his and continuing to ram his cock into you, angling it perfectly. He knew your body inside and out, literally, he knew what made you cum, how to get that extra high whine from you.

You stared right back up at him, his broad shoulders and tatted arms, messy hair, a few strands clinging to his soft face. He had such sharp features, the jaw and nose, but his skin was smooth and his eyes were piercing.

His thighs were thick, muscular. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer as you felt yourself nearing your high. You didn't have to tell him if you were close, he knew, your gummy walls clenching around him, sucking him and making it harder to pull out.

Your body bounced up and down the mattress, tits bouncing with you. Nikki's eyes flickered from them to the bulge in your gut, then to your face, your eyes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

At times Nikki made you want to wring someone's neck, usually his, but times like this reminded you why you loved him. He could be sweet, usually he was an ass, but when he took control and just had you lay there while he did all the work in making you cum. He wasn't big on giving oral, but he had no problem focusing on you so long as he got to fuck you.

He let go of your hand and pushed down on your stomach, making you feel just how deep he was, exactly where he was hitting inside you. His thumb stretched down to your clit, rubbing it in small circles. "Such a good girl." He mused, smiling down at you. "Gonna cum for me? Make a mess on my dick? Bet that's what you were thinking about while you were at your desk, huh?"

You nodded helplessly. "Needed it so-so bad." You said through moans, reaching for his hand. It was overstimulating but it felt so good.

"Maybe I'll just have to come with you tomorrow, huh? See how you do cockwarming me all day with everyone watching." You moaned loudly at that, head rolling back. "Oh, you like that, huh? The thought of getting off in front of all those people~" You couldn't take it anymore, back arching off the bed as you came. "Fucking attention whore." Nikki grunted.

He leaned back down again, caging you in under his. His thrusts lost their rhythm as he humped into you, his own noises getting needier and more desperate as he chased his high.

Nikki pushed his face into your neck as he came, placing a few soft kisses there as he came, painting your insides with his cum.

He waited a moment, keeping most of his weight off of you but letting you feel the pressure of him on top of you. He pulled away to look at you, smiling at the fucked out look on your face. "How about I order something, huh?" You smiled tiredly and nodded.

#motley crue smut #motley crue rp #motley crue x reader #motley crue fanfiction #motley crew #motley crue #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx smut #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x you

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sociomoony · 5 months ago

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Yo bbg gorl you should totally write some head cannons abt ur top 3 favorite jjk characters.

Also would you be opposed to writing silly little things abt it Ocs if you have any currently. (Feed me wife pls I am starving of ur presence and writing 😫

-Love, your FAVORITE wife 🥰😘

Top 3 favorites head cannons? I can sure try 😭🙏 (and absolutely, I'll have something out about Ocs if that's what you wish!!!) I love you my beautiful wife 🫶

Headcannons- General + Romantics (I am a fanfic wrighter, watchu want from me 😞)

Includes - Megumi, Noritoshi, Takuma

Headcannons!!!

(1) Megumi Fushiguro

•Now we love our little urchin haired boy!! And to be completely honest, his classmates have to had mentioned that at least once to him. I mean it's just so- fitting 😭 spikey on the outside, vulnerable on the inside! For a while, Megumi hated it, but started to think it might actually make him sound cool considering how painful urchins could be (that didn't last long at all)

•Has 100% called Gojo 'Dad' in school before. He has never been able to live it down from Gojo, but after Gojo's end, Megumi started referring to him as dad a little more freely to Yuji and Nobara when mentioning him.

•The bag carrier anytime the friend group goes out. This is more fact than head cannons but I find it funny. Yuji will start out as the carrier, but of course something will catch his eye. He'll give Megumi the bags to hold, and then never grab them again, and Meg's just goes along with it because why not. Not that big of a deal

•Has the little note Gojo wrote him kept tucked away in his wallet at all times. Over time it got older and more frail, so he framed it. It sits on a table at his bedside now.

•Megumi hates to ever admit to anyone, but he deeply misses Gojo, and it's clear as day, he just hates admitting it. He has openly cried ONCE to Yuji about him, and couldn't stop for hours.

---Romantics--~

•Megumi used to hate physical affection, but now when he gets it he sinks into it. It doesn't even have to be romantic actually, if Yuji hugs him, he'll protest, and then just melt.

•Is very cautious of who he's with. You can't blame him, most people that were supposed to be important to him have left or disappeared and randomly came back. He was upset at Yuji for it, and he doesn't make exceptions. It will take months, maybe even years of knowing him before he let's you in, and he won't be quick about it.

•The type of guy to take you out every morning for something to eat. He doesn't have much value for money besides his essentials, for he fears he won't be around long, especially after what happened. Why would he spend money on things he likes when they could go to waste one day?... Don't tell him he's being hypocritcal when he's insisting on you both going somewhere you've been gushing about, but he won't just buy the game he's been talking about for weeks.

•Not big on sweets, but he eats them around you. He's more wary about being different or not exactly ideal, so on your first few go- rounds, he tries eating the sweetest things... Sugar cookie cake pops, red velvet cookies, chocolate moose cake... But when you hear from a passing conversation from him and Yuji of how he doesn't like sweets because they hurt his teeth, you're quick to ask him about it. He tries to ignore it and change the topic, but your firm on it since it truly isn't a big deal. The small detail turns into him breaking down about wanting to be good for you, especially since his flaws chalk him down to being difficult to deal with. Your confused on why such a small thing would make him this upset, but to him it was more than that... He just wanted to be normal for you, not a Jujutsu sorcerer, not a fatherless guy with raging daddy issues, he just wanted to be good for you..

•Comfort goes both ways. If you're in the slightest bit of distress, he's not so quick to tell you to suck it up like he might his friends. Why would he? You're someone who stays with him because you love him, not tolerate, and believe me when I say he'd go lengths to make you feel better. But most of the time you both settle for laying down in one of your rooms and just talking or sleeping for a few hours. When it comes to him, it's almost the exact same thing. It's a routine you both do, with blankets and warm, comforting words or silly stories to ease or distract, and honestly that's enough for both of you.

(2) Noritoshi Kamo

•You guys I'm so normal about this man I swear

•Got made fun of when he first arrived at the sister school. He was awkward and quiet, and anytime he spoke he had that attitude to him that made you double take.

•has thought about cutting his hair multiple times just to try different styles. He tried when he was younger to make a Mohawk, and got majorly chewed out for it.

•Refuses to partake in the few times parents ever came up in conversation. He had grown more accustomed to the others, and became more open to them, but when it came to talking about family he shut down. Todo has tried to speak with him about it, but it just pissed Nori off and ended in him calling Todo nothing but a mindless hunk of meat. The two don't talk much anymore.

•He will be the first to call Miwa useless. He finds her skills pathetic in the real world and doesn't care for her 'theatrics'...

•When Mechamaru died, Noritoshi sat with the same Miwa he hated, called useless, and held her as she cried for hours. He stopped calling her useless, especially after her sacrifice during Shibuya. She became his closest friend in a small amount of time, and she was the first to openly know about his mother.

•A little more random, but I feel like Noritoshi would be the type to listen to She Wants Revenge and Sleep Token

---Romantics--~

•Has used his blood manipulation to form small items like a heart and such for his partner on multiple occasions, even if it hurts him a little in the long run.

•insists on teaching you how to use a bow like him. He gets a little pissy when you continuously get it wrong, but he's quick to realize it himself and correct it to a silly sassy attitude. He apologizes after, even if you didn't see anything of it.

•He dates to marry, especially with rules from his clan. If you come into his life, you'll be damn sure to not leave without a hell of a fight.

•with a female partner, he tries his best to help you with your period. He's been told blood manipulation can help, but he's a little clumsy with it since he wasn't exactly taught about woman's reproductive things. He treats you like royalty when your time comes, though. For his beloved to be hurting to the point she can't get out of bed? Treason would be his deciding fate if he could for what hurts you, but he settles for treating you rather than hating your reproductive organs. He gives you the essentials, chocolate, snacks, medicine, etc, but he doesn't stay with you much unless you need him there. He takes it as more time to train without being worryful if he gets too aggressive with you watching.

•He doesn't like you seeing him angry. He's naturally a calm man, but the few times he's gone overboard, he fears for what you think of him, fears that you might be scared of him..

•His music taste is interesting.. But one of his main love languages would definitely be you listening to his music choices if that was an option. It's actually acts of service, but he gets just as giddy whenever you listen to things with him. Whether it be while he's training you both listen with an earbud, or laying in bed and letting it play on the speakers while you both make out or do something to pass the time.

(3) Ino Takuma

•Nanami's death hit him hard. He didn't know right away, and had to be told by someone. I think that's what hurt worse, is that he wasn't there.. He couldn't help him, couldn't try to save him. He could have showed Nanmi his teaching worked, that he was a good teacher, but he wasn't there. He beats himself up for it a lot, but you best bet he got first grabs on Nanami's things. He wears his watch, used his weapon, he held onto those things like they were too fragile to be touched by another.

•when the situation happened with Toji, he quite literally cried like a baby when he got back, because first, ow, and second, he got beat so quickly, he feared Nanami would think even less of him.

•To be fair, I feel like he saw Nanami as the closest thing to a father figure he'd ever get. He has RAGING daddy issues, and it shows.

•Hasnt washed that mask/beanie in YEARS. Anytime someone steals it or tries to wear it, because he can even argue to give it back, they are shoving it against his chest, coughing like they just opened a century old book.

•Typical skater punk like dude. He has tried to act the part, but in reality if you made a fart joke he's loose his mind in laughter.

•Speaking of that, he has the WORST sense of humor. He unironically quotes Skibidi toilet things or some weird song he heard on tiktok that you can only deter to be the most brain rotting things ever. He's a fucking lunatic for things like that, and will laugh his ass off if he sees or hears it.

•Listens to music on a constant, no matter the condition (unless it's fighting, he doesn't want to loose his precious earbuds) but with training, walking on the streets, making food, anything, he's listening to music. His taste is actually pretty decent

---Romantics--~

(A little bit of NSFW since this man is of age)

•Hes CLINGY. If you go anywhere, he's very quick to follow. You walk into a room? Everyone knows Takuma will be a few steps behind. You're idly talking to someone? His arms are around your midsection with his chin on your shoulder. Walking the streets? He's beside you holding your hand or with an arm around your shoulder.

•Lends you any sweatshirt you want. He has too many, but you can't just get away with it that easily. He will request something back. You jokingly gave him a crop top back once, and he wore it around with style. You know that trend of girls giving their boyfriends makeup only to find out they look better than them? That was basically what Takuma was serving.

•I'm pretty sure we've all agreed Takuma would worship the grounds you walk on. He's deadly respectful, not just to you, but most anyone. Elderly, young, you name it. He will put you on a podium above the rest, he will carry you when your feet hurt, he'll open any door for you, he'll fix your heels for you, all of that. He'd let you step on him if it makes you feel good, as long as your happy, he's happy. However, it's gotten to the point you've had to tell him willingly letting someone do the things he says you can do isn't okay. When you get upset, he offers to be who you take it out on, and you've had to tell him over and over again that you would never lay a hand on him, and that letting people so that isn't okay. He doesn't understand it in all honesty, but he does understand your point when you ask what would happen if the roles were reversed.

•His clinginess is quick to turn into horniness. Let's say he's out talking with Nanami while you sit next to him. His hands on your thigh, and your getting tired of him and Nanami speaking, so you pull his hand to touch lower. He's quick to start stuttering and getting all flushed in the face. He grips exactly where your hand puts him, tightly holding as you jump and hold his arm. Tease for tease, and you best believe when you get home, he'll have a he'll of a fun time with you.

•His relationship with Nanami has gotten in the way of your relationship before. You've had to tell him multiple times that he can't just blow everything off immediately when Nanami asks something of him. He's had to cancel multiple important date nights or other events simply because Nanami wanted to talk or have dinner with him. It's taken a couple fights for the both of you to come to an agreement on how much is too much, but the last thing he wants is for you to think he doesn't want to be with you, or that he cares for one over the other.

-------------------------------ඞ-----------------------------------------

okay so this is kinda my first headcanon, super duper scary but I hope I delivered what you liked ♡♡

- mwah, your writer ♥︎

#fanfic #headcanon #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #noritoshi kamo #jjk noritoshi #ino takuma #jjk takuma #takuma x reader #noritoshi x reader #megumi x reader

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dadsbongos · 9 months ago

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Heyyy (ノ^∇^)

Idk if you write for him, since I barely see any other writers write for him😔, but would you be willing to write for Toshiro? 🙏🙏🙏

I love that man soooooo so fucking much but there barely any concent of him where it's not about his fight with Laios and it's frustrating ngl-😭😭

A thought that has been in my brain for quite some time now, is like— sorta like an arrange marriage type of situation where they started off awkward but then one of them (in this case, Toshiro) started to have fallen head over heels for his spouse who has been secretly falling for him first

Just the thought of him, barely touching his spouse on their wedding night because they just got married to some stranger (probably, or maybe they knew each other but not necessarily close?) to then sharing a passionate night with them❤❤

I'm feral somebody hold me down-

i wanted this to be longer but lately i've been... funky so its some bland honeymoon shiz before i scare the hoes with toshiro bugfucker truthery

1.2 k words / warnings - reader has a pussoi, honestly this is more fluff than explicit but smut is the setting frame, not super proofread ~~~

“Do you…” Toshiro clears his throat, “Would you want to share a bed tonight?”

You paused, blinking up at your new husband stupidly before jerking your head to the side, “I’m not sure…”

“I’ll make a separate place for myself again, then.”

“Well, no, that’s not necessary…”

Black brows furrow down at you, “I’m a little confused.”

“As am I,” you confess, eyes tracing the hardwood floors with a soft sigh, “I’m just concerned with what you’ll think of me after I’m honest with myself.”

For a long while, Toshiro is perfectly still. Then his heart squeezes, blinking at you numbly, “I’m sorry?”

“What if I humiliate myself? Or I’m too eager?”

Oh?

“How could you be too eager?”

Gaze stuttering from his framing baby hairs to his gentle eyes to his slim waist to his legs. Tender flesh obscured by a jade yogi. Black hair cascades over his shoulders, shining beneath flickering candle light. Cheeks flush and lashes fluttery.

“You couldn’t imagine.”

Oh!

Toshiro smothers his shock with a hand over his rising mouth, looking away from you, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You don’t?”

“Not at all,” Toshiro clenches his eyes, even the wrinkle in his forehead captivates you, “I didn’t want to scare or intimidate you by seeming too eager.”

Scandalized, you gasp, “Toshiro!”

“I know… I’m sorry if that’s unsettling to hear.”

“But is it true? You aren’t saying this for flattery’s sake, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re both eager.”

“We are,” he confirms, clearing his throat before gesturing to the futon you’re designated to share, “Do you want to share the bed tonight?”

Just asking twice makes him feel uncomfortable, though he supposes the entirety of your engagement has been uncomfortable.

(“I insisted to my father, I’d find my own partner…”

“Sorry, if I’m disappointing.”

“No, no. I just… would have wished to not drag people into our lives.”)

You’re a bit more outgoing than himself. He prefers you to take charge, but suddenly you’re shy. Clamming up and awkwardly shuffling onto the mat. Legs pin straight and boring holes through his skull with a wide-eyed stare.

“Would you mind showing me?” he murmurs, “I feel you’re more… experienced in these matters.”

“Does it bother you that I am?” you frown suddenly, “Maizuru seems to hate it…”

If he hadn’t rushed to tuck his head down, you would’ve caught his vicious eye roll, “Maizuru doesn’t know what I want.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. I find you just as pretty.”

Thankfully, his stammered and jumbled admission appears to soothe the tension in your shoulders. Rocking forward onto your knees before apprehensively tugging open the part of his thick robing.

“You might be the pretty one in this marriage.”

He’s forced to choke on his retort as you’re kissing up his freshly exposed thigh. Wandering hands shirking the thick material off his shoulders and combing through silky hair. Uneven pants lace the air, chapped lips parting to wheeze your name. Warm palms cup your cheeks, fingers toying around the bone of your jaw and thumbs rubbing beneath your lashes.

Coaxing you onto your feet, Toshiro cups your cheeks fully and he’s muttering. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to whisper sweet romantics for you, and you’re tempted to ask for clarity when he abruptly snaps you onto your back.

Nose digging into the junction of your neck as Toshiro folds your legs to cradle his waist.

“Can I speak plainly?” he requests, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs before scaling up your tummy to peel off your own sleepwear.

Jolting shoulders and arms up to make the disrobing easier, you nod rapidly, “Of course!”

Still, his eyes are closed to avoid catching sight of your potential horror or displeasure, “There are many things I want for us to do, but tonight I’d like to stay this way.”

“Look at me,” you pet through his hair, kissing the corners of his downturned mouth and the bunched skin between his eyebrows, “Won’t my husband look at me?”

Slowly, he heeds your command. Long lashes batting your thumb pad. He squeezes the round of your thighs circling his bare waist to strangle the urge to run. To flip himself over and let you do as you please. To not put himself out there and let you see him any less proper.

“I’ve been fond of you since we met,” you crane up to smooch his forehead, the heat from his face searing your lips. You rather like the sensation.

“So long?”

“How couldn’t I be? I like men shy and reserved, though I think I’d like you more if you could break out of your shell when we’re alone.”

Toshiro returns his face into your neck, hips snapping to impress his hardening cock against you. Breath hitching when he’s embraced by wetness, shoulders tensing -- so this is happening.

Loneliness plagued Toshiro his entire life, even following reconciliation with the Toudens -- it isn’t as though he lives in Melini, after all. Instead he’s occupying his father’s place in their family, on Wa.

Your engagement was his only respite from the gnawing solitude, and now you’re dedicating yourself to sides of him you haven’t even seen yet.

His slow thrusts are stiff and mildly pleasant until you coo and snag fingers into the divot of his tailbone. Pushing his hips to roll into yours, black pubes brushing your clit and curling a real whimper from your lips. Toshiro stares down at you at the sound, fumbling a moment to snare your thighs tighter around him before eagerly repeating the motion.

Canting up to meet Toshiro’s efforts rewards you with a warm stretch and soft squelch as your hole adjusts around him. Huffy pants escape the man above you, chest dying red and hands bruising your hips.

He’d never liked someone as much as he liked Falin, but he’s thinking -- even through delirium and heat and lust -- that maybe he could love you.

Pitching up on your elbows, you whine quietly into his cheek with more lavish kisses. Toshiro greedily turns his head to capture your lips with his, praying to drown his rhythm-less, virgin embarrassment in your saliva.

You don’t finish. You say you’re okay with that. Toshiro isn’t, it feels selfish.

“Please, let me…” his fingers skim over your stomach before dipping between your thighs and tracing the sloppy, soaked seam of your cunt, “I want to.”

“Do you insist?”

Toshiro feels unnaturally bold, swallowing around syrupy desire. He nods, “I do.”

days prior.

Hands swept tightly behind your back, you carefully observe the way a common copper beetle is ticking around the hanging tree leaves. Fascination blazes your eyes wide, and lips coiled upward.

Toshiro hadn’t meant to actually see you. He wasn’t even aware you were still on the premises, certain that having his fiance so close before their wedding night was some strain of scandal.

Nonetheless, you’re here. And you’re admiring the fuzzy legs of a mere beetle.

As far as he was aware, people were not fond of beetles. Butterflies or moths, maybe. Not beetles. Hien would squish them instantly, and even Inutade tried maintaining distance.

You smile upon the creature, paying no mind to the outside world.

Toshiro wonders if you could smile upon him that way, too.

~~~ yes toshiro starts liking you bc you’re admiring a bug that moment in the manga was so significant to his character and to me and ill be damned if i dont get to add onto it

#toshiro nakamoto x reader #shuro x reader #toshiro dungeon meshi x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #nonny.requests.🥝

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risuola · 2 years ago

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ummm hello! idk how to say this without sounding like a request :)) but I read some of your writings and I really love them 😭🫶 when you have the time and inspiration, or if you want to write something really fluffy and comforting and idk romantic with teen geto? like idk, both reader and geto are studying in jujutsu high, they are best friends and one night reader can't sleep and sneak into geto's room and talk with him about things idk and they end up together.

just if you want. thank you 🙏

SLEEPLESS NIGHT — GN. READER x GETO SUGURU

It was one of those nights that kept you up. You just couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much you tried and the view of your own ceiling began to drive you insane. You decided to pay a visit to your school friend.

cw: pure fluff, both are 18 years old — 1,8k words

a/n: asking me if I want to write fluffy suguru? the answer is yes, always. thank you for the suggestion! also, thank you for the kind words! it means the world to me that you enjoy my writing dear 🖤

You couldn't sleep. It was one of those nights when thoughts kept piling up in your head and you couldn't find any comfort in the softness of your pillows. Listening to music didn't help either, your concentration was off, everything seemed wrong, and as you lay there with your eyes wide open, staring at the dark ceiling, you decided to get up before you completely lost your mind.

Maybe some water would help? Or a snack. Yes, a snack would be great. With that in mind, you pulled a hoodie over your pajamas, the one that you stole from one of your classmates, and headed for the vending machines outside the dorms on tiptoe, careful not to make too much noise. Everything had been dark for hours now, the clock read almost 1am, and the last thing you wanted was to be scolded by Yaga for walking around campus at night. The man had no chill.

"Gotchu," you mumbled, fishing the chocolate bar out of the compartment at the bottom of the machine. On your way back, you noticed the faintest streak of light coming from under the doors of one of the rooms. Suguru's room.

It took you a minute to think, staring blankly at the door. Maybe he was asleep and forgot to turn off the lamp? Or maybe he couldn't sleep, just like you? Both of you had been under a lot of stress lately, and you know from your own experience that if you try to hide your problems during the day, you will definitely suffer at night. So, you approached the door, carefully pressed your ear to the wood, hoping to find out if he was sleeping or not, and finally, you gave in and knocked softly. The quietest hum answered, and then a series of small sounds that led to the doors opening.

In the dim light of his bedside lamp, Suguru's form met your eyes. His hair was down, slightly disheveled, and he wore only shorts. He clearly wasn’t sleeping yet, but probably tried to force himself to doze off.

"Come in," he whispered, pulling you in gently before anyone noticed you weren't in your own room. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah..." you sighed and followed him to his bed. "You?"

"Same," he motioned for you to get in, and as you slipped under the covers near the wall, he did as well, making sure you had enough blanket and a pillow. It wasn't the first time you sneaked into his room late at night, you'd been in his bed before, but usually the two of you were on top of the sheets, so this was new. You didn't complain though, you're quick to get chilly. He turned off the light so no one would notice your little escape to his room. The darkness was comforting and you were sure if that’s because of his warm presence next to you. Darkness in your own room seemed cold.

"What's bothering you?" he finally asked when you were both comfortably on your backs. The question got you exhaling deeply, melting into the cushioned surroundings, saturated with his scent. The comfort of his room, his bed made you wish it was a place you could come back to every night. You always look forward to any activity that involves Suguru Geto and sometimes you’re lucky to share a mission with him. There is a suffocating feeling of longing inside you that you couldn’t really act upon.

"I don't know, it's just... it's a lot of everything lately. I feel like I'm not good enough to be a sorcerer, I find myself helpless more often than actually useful. It sucks," you muttered, and it felt good to get it off your chest, to say it out loud. Joining Jujutsu High was something that gave you hope and the opportunity to help people. You wanted that, to use the weird things that your body can do to bring safety to others, but somehow you couldn't find a place for yourself. "Everyone around me is so amazing... I mean, the first years, Nanami and Haibara are both so cool. Shoko is amazing with her reverse curse technique. And then there's you and Satoru on a completely different level."

"You're too harsh on yourself, y/n," Suguru said, his voice soft as honey, and without fail, the tone in which he speaks your name always makes your heart skip a beat. Geto has a way about him that really draws you in. To say that you have a little crush on him would be an understatement, but you kept it to yourself. Having him as your best friend is enough for you, you wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, and you would never risk making your relationship with him awkward if the feeling wasn't reciprocated.

"You're strong," he smiled, still looking up. "And you really are doing great. It's just our reality that not every time we can help others. Sometimes, we fail. Even Satoru fails, believe me. I fail too."

That made you chuckle.

"You always seem so perfect in everything you do."

"Oh, don't be fooled," he shook his head slightly. "I am far from perfect."

"Thank you, Suguru," you whispered finally. "What bothers you?"

"I'm not even sure..." he exhaled and tucked one of his hands under his head. "There have been a lot of missions, a lot of stressful situations, and Satoru obviously takes everything so lightly because he can. I mean, he processes everything in his own way, I'm sure, but for me... I feel like it's weighing me down a lot."

"There's a lot on your shoulders. Strength always comes with responsibility," you whispered, grabbing the hand he'd raised from its place on his stomach and stroking it with your fingers. It was a small gesture, but it made Suguru sigh softly as the warmth of your fingers radiated through his palm. Somehow, the smallest touches from you, even the accidental ones, held a power over him that he himself didn't quite understand. Sometimes he'd catch himself thinking about you, his mind wandering to where your image was saved and his body aching for anything connected to you. Those tedious car rides when your thigh would be pressed against his as you sat between him and Gojo, or those long train rides the two of you had to take sometimes when you would stand up with your arm wrapped around his middle because you couldn't comfortably reach the top handle so you held onto him instead. Every little brush of your fingers against his hands, every single one of your touches is stored in his mind and cherished, along with every mental picture he took of you smiling or scrunching your nose so cutely. Yeah, Suguru is head over heels for you, and those sleepless nights when you come to his room are sacred to him.

"I guess so," he said finally, letting his body relax, pushing away the tension. "But I feel the same way you do. The people here are out of this world, and even though I'm, let's say, strong or whatever, I often feel like I'm still lacking so much. It's frustrating. And my technique... Disgusting, really."

"I find your technique amazing," you muttered quietly. "I mean... you told me about the taste, and I get it. But I feel like... I don't know, most of our techniques are purely destructive. Isn't it incredible that you can take the curses that already exist and use them to do good? To fight, to protect people, shit, you can fly with them. That's so dope."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

He sighed, as the quiet once again filled in the air. Silence between you two always was relaxing. It felt natural, carrying no awkward undertones, as you focused a little longer on drawing circles on the palm of his hand, and he allowed you to do it without thinking much about it.

"It reminds me a bit of our first days here," you began again, keeping your voice down, not much above a whisper. "We were both so clueless about everything, and after the first few days, we met here and talked about everything on the floor."

"And we ate the frozen pizza that we tried to heat up on the stove," Suguru chuckled as the memories flooded his mind. "God, it was awful."

"Hell yea, it was," you joined in the laughter. "But I loved it."

"I liked it too. Time with you. It's always grounding. Not the pizza though."

"Definitely not the pizza," you agreed.

Suguru was a safe place for you, and as the two of you continued to talk about sweet little nothings, reminiscing about the two years you had already spent together in Jujutsu High, sharing muffled laughs and long exhales at everything you found funny or sad, you found yourself urging to tell him about your feelings. You shouldn't, you knew that, but sometimes you felt like maybe, just maybe he might like you back? He is always so warm and open to you in a way he isn’t even to Satoru and they are basically brothers.

"Suguru?", you finally called his name after a little while of silence. Flipping to your side, you analyzed his slow and regular breathing, his eyes closed, and you thought he might be asleep already, but he hummed softly in response, encouraging you to continue. "I... I like you. I really like you." Your voice was barely a whisper, but in the silence of the night, you were impressed that you could speak so loudly about the feeling you’ve been keeping to yourself for almost two years now.

You watched him for a moment, his beautiful profile that even in the dark you were able to admire, but nothing changed in his stance. His features were still neutral, his chest was still rising in serenity, and you thought that maybe he really was sleeping. Maybe the hum he gave you was not a response, but rather a random noise he made. That's probably for the better, you thought and closed your eyes, exhaling and hoping to get rid of the tightness in your chest. But Suguru shifted, slowly turning his body towards you and carefully wrapping one of his muscular arms around your frame, pulling you to his chest. Your entire being heated up in shock, but somehow the tension quickly faded, leaving you relaxed as never before.

"I really like you too, y/n," he whispered against your hair, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Smiling, you snuggled even closer, pressing your ear to where his heart beat.

"We're gonna get in trouble if I stay here," you whispered, having no intention of getting up.

"Yeah, probably," he murmured, tightening the embrace, closing every gap between the two of you, and you could feel him relaxing as sleep began to overtake him. "Seems like a tomorrow problem; Not gonna worry about it now."

"Good night, Suguru," you smiled, closing your eyes and melting against him.

"Good night, y/n."

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gnohomotho · 1 month ago

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Hello again!! It's the anon from the last request (the personal ask) and omg 😭😭😭 OMGGGG ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I was giggling and just so into it THANK YOU! Please pleasseeee tell me they live happily ever after!

And thank you for reaching out it means a lot ❤️❤️ doing much better but really thank you 🙏😭

Oh, Anon, that makes me so utterly glad. They do live happily ever after, and to be quite honest, I was upset I didn't write more, so was working on a nice fluffly ending anyway.

And I am truly, truly glad you feel better. ♥ Still here, if anything comes up. Here you go, even if it wasn't a request - I hope it makes you smile again.

Two Lives on the Table ➴ಇ — Epilogue

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: Shameless, shameless fluff with a hint of edge. ♥ Warnings: None, just pack some extra insulin. Word count: 1.8k A/N: I am aware it's likely extremely out of character, but dear God, I just love writing or giving things that people can feel cuddled by. ˙ᵕ˙ Shared warmth > everything else right about now. Link to beginning ฅ^._.^ฅ Gorgeous gif by: @phantom-evil If you like my writing, I appreciate every like // reblog // follow // message, it keeps the blog visible and going! ♥

"Do you remember the night we met?"

You hum more to yourself than to the figure behind you.

"The lady on the bridge, dress fluttering wildly with the wind? Of course not."

You feel steps behind you - you've learnt to anticipate him even in his careful silence around you. A warm presence lands on your shoulder and moves up your neck.

"I don't remember her beautiful face, hollow and torn at with a weight she couldn't carry alone anymore."

His kisses travel upwards and nudge your ear. His voice turns to a sweet soothing whisper.

"Nor do I remember how her hair enveloped her features as she sunk those pleading yet resolute eyes into mine, I don't remember feeling like a little universe breathed life into itself and almost died right in front of me."

You smile sadly but cradle his head on your shoulder with your palm running through his thick black hair. He sinks into the rhythm of your gentle movements and you hear his breathing grow steady.

"I don't remember her shivering elegant hands enveloping the bullet, like she was handling a delicate flower."

His kiss travels to your cheek before sinking his warm lips into the crane of your neck. His shared warmth travels through your shoulder and envelops itself in your chest like a little owl cozying into its nest.

"I don't remember the feeling of my heart stopping and my tie growing too tight as she handed me the live bullet. Handing me her whole life with trust she told me she didn't have. I cannot recall her tranquil yet timid smile, as if trying to sooth both me and herself - and she shivered, hands still intertwined."

He uses one long leg to sidestep around you and remain in the warm confines of your neck. His other hand finds your unoccupied side and trails a brush of a single finger from your cheek down to your jaw. One finger caresses it in slow, repetitive motion.

"A beautiful ghost in front of me, her lips still caressing mine although so far from me. I don't remember spinning the magazine so she didn't know a thing. I don't remember how the motion of taking the bullet out felt like the most natural thing in the world. As if my fingers knew what to do before my mind leapt to agree."

You giggle softly, trying so very hard to believe him. It seemed so unthinkable, so far away. His kisses reply by trailing your cheek, brushing lips against each molecule of skin they find, as if he cannot bear to be disconnected from you for even a second. His hand envelops your neck softly, protectively, and rests against you. Nudging the small of your nape as he moves down to kiss your chin, your neck, moving lower to the hollow of your throat.

"Serene, dignified, and I wish I could remember that little universe reaching out to me like a newborn baby asking to be held."

He plants a kiss straight in the little dimple where your breath always gets caught when you're nervous.

"So polite even in her tired, sharp, enveloping armour. Can't remember, not one bit, how astounded I was when she thanked me."

His breath rests on your skin and you don't stop swaying, only ease the motion as if to calm him.

"Knowing she'd likely die. But she wanted to thank me for the few moments of torturous peace - and I don't remember."

His hand clasps your shoulder, though his body remains steady. You feel his breath quicken and continue your lulling motions as his hand trails and holds onto your back.

"I don't remember how my hands froze and grasped at thin air, how much I longed to be in her hair again, so close to her face, so intertwined with her that skin would feel like a barrier. How much I wanted her to hush into my suit and bury her head into my chest - I don't remember the anger I felt as I didn't understand. I didn't understand and I had felt...like the game had played me."

Finally he lifts up from your embrace, your chest, your throat, and sinks his eyes - so calm and wistful now - into your own. Threatening to pull you in with their seemingly true sincerity. How much those eyes can say when they actually speak - and how much was reserved for you.

Even now, it both daunted and melted you anew. He wouldn't show that to just anyone. And just anyone wouldn't bother to read every single twitch, non-blink, and gentle crane as his charcoal pupils followed yours.

"Because I simply don't remember feeling like I had no choice."

You let the silence speak, not wishing to intrude. Softly you breathe into him.

"That sounds...awful for you, darling."

"Oh," he smiles politely, not quite teasing, "it would be absolute torture if I remembered anything at all."

He places your face in both his hands and envelops you - how you love when he can do that and leave almost nothing without warmth and still remain so gentle - as gentleness is a choice he willingly lays down - and he kisses your forehead, the bridge, then the tip of your nose and finally, your mouth. Brushing his lips from one corner to the other before simply remaining at their side, touching, feeling, being.

"Though one thought that I do remember keeps me up at night, dear mine."

His voice had changed to a low coo as he smiles at you, one corner lifting yet concealing feigned seriousness. The air grows just a little colder.

"And I can remember it quite well."

You pause, studying his face, his features, unsure if he's truly being serious or still half playing with you. He leans close, lips brushing your ear. You smile as it tickles and you feel his breath hop just a little bit - you know this one, he's trying not to laugh or give away the game too soon.

"She seemed quite enamoured with someone else. Tell me, sweetheart, and don't lie..."

The atmosphere has stiffened but you remain ever still, anticipation cradling the warmth in your chest. Though your gentle lulls have also ceased. The air holds a breath for you and he gladly snatches it for himself:

"...does Death really have such nice calves?"

You burst out laughing, doubling over into him and grabbing his back as you use his suit for cover.

"I'm so sorry, darling," you muffle between giggles into his all-enveloping frame, feeling his hands lay upon you in return and guide your whole body into his, his own chest fondly lifting in a subdued series of chuckles.

"I mean it was a tough choice, really had to think hard about it. Calves, the cape...to be honest..." Your hand finds his throat, tapping on the collar of his shirt before playfully but gently yanking at his tie.

"It was the tie."

"The...tie?" He pulls away in utter jovial surprise, still pretending he's trying to be incredibly serious on such dire matters. But the corners of his mouth are twitching and that gorgeous round face is as full of life as it was when you first jumped into a kiss unprovoked.

"Yep. Darling. The tie. Death might have the legs and the cape, but he doesn't have that absolutely dapper tie. Or those gorgeous hands that always make sure it's in place when you're getting serious."

"Then allow me," he straightens and adjusts his tie, his face falling into an unreadable mask of absolute cool resolution.

"Still offended, little lady, this shan't go unpunished."

A glint in his dark eye reminds you who this is you're taunting. And it sure doesn't help you cease nor desist.

"Gosh, if only the young knight knew he didn't have to play chess, lose everything in the game itself, if only he had simply...adjusted his tie. Death would have had to fold right then and there."

The absurdity is rivaling your own attempts at not losing your composure again.

He lifts you into him, as lightly as if it were nothing to him, reminding you how much stronger and how much more dangerous he truly is - but leaves it all (well, most of it) at the door when it comes to you.

As you snuggle into his neck and kiss him, caressing him with your face, your forehead, and planting your lips wherever you can in little intervals and feel his nudges and hushed breaths in reply, you whisper in his ear as his hands tighten around your waist, letting one do the holding and the other trail fingers up and down your back:

"Your calves are very pretty too, just so you know."

A very serious inflected 'hmmm' fills the silence and you get flung into him, now using your legs to steady around his waist and grip.

"Well, we can't have that, I need to outplay Death again it seems. On the matter of calves."

He leans in and gives you a small kiss, feigning exasperation but adjusting you with a little jump right against his own lower body.

"Little lady, you're impossible."

You blush from your cheeks to your chin and your heart might just flutter out of your chest.

"And that tie would look far better around my mouth, I know, I know."

He lifts both eyebrows, intrigue rushing through the playfulness and the attempts at remaining stoic. Was that a little hand flutter?

"I was thinking wrists, to be quite honest, because I've grown fond of that mouth of yours - then again, you seem rather radiant lately."

That smile becomes truly devious and you could swear the atmosphere packed its bags and left the building, unable to breathe here.

"What if I flipped you on the bed in lieu of a coin?"

You tip your head back and laugh, blushing evermore, feeling every warm part of his body against you, enveloping you, caressing you.

"Heads?" You kiss his forehead, a whisper of a giggle hiding in your smile.

"Tails." He moves his hand down the small of your back, teasing gently, caressing you from the curve of your waist down yet never even beginning to act crude. Yet.

"What if I land on my side?" You cock your head to the left and try not to smile, truly living the wager here.

"Then I get both," he simply states as if the matter was settled and carries his radiant love to play.

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