#i'm atrociously bad at fluff

[yeyinde]

IN DREAMS | Price x GN!Reader

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown.  He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know.

》 WARNINGS: 18+ – MATURE, SMUT | GN!Reader: no use of pronouns, gendered language or anatomy; very soft smut; soft John Price; established couple; gratuitous fluff (does this count as fluff????)

》 WORD COUNT: 4,6K

》 NOTES: Since there were no gender specifications, I kept everything as vague as possible for the descriptions of MC so this could (hopefully!) be easily read as Gen Neutral Reader, Fem Reader, Male Reader, or whatever you prefer. I did my best to exercise as much of the angst out of this as possible but still found myself having to slap my fingers from typing out legions of hurt. This is my BEST attempt at fluff. Sorry.

This is wholly dedicated to this anon!!! I hope you feel better! 🖤 

Waking, he finds, is often easier than falling asleep. 

It's a quick descent into cognisance, the dream he had—long forgotten, never remembered—fading into smoke in the back of his head. The popcorned wall of his ceiling takes its place. A water stain in the corner—coffee brown. A crack above his head. The hairline fracture is just a small river of black that cuts through off-white. 

Falling asleep takes ages, aeons. Lying on his pillow for hours without feeling the talons of sleep dip into his temple. 

Silence is consuming. Crushing. It makes the threads of his thoughts echo in the recess of his mind, bouncing off the walls until they bruise. It leaves its mark in the shape of burning eyes, restlessness. 

Cureless insomnia. 

It's easier with someone else. You. 

Price isn't a man who needs much outside of a stiff drink or a rich cigar. Cures to an age-old conundrum in the form of vice—vices because Price was never a man who could just stop at one—but nothing batters the errant thoughts into quiet disinterest quite like you sleeping beside him. 

The noises you make are loud enough to drown out the ghosts in his head. Soft snores, the rustle of sheets. Your arm draped over his broad chest keeps him locked to the mattress, forced to forego his usual nighttime ritual of rising after trying—and failing—to fall asleep after a few hours. You stop him when he'd normally pour himself another drink, light a cigar on the deck, and watch the ethereal gloom of midnight swell over this little part of Liverpool he calls home. 

Keep him in check.

Though, sometimes, it doesn't work, and he lays awake all night staring at the damned ceiling while you curl up against his side, chasing lavender in your bare palm (a recurring dream, you tell him, and he tries to remember when he last slept long enough to truly have one. He comes up short each time.)

He rises before you, always. Doesn't have the heart to tell you he doesn't sleep. That he stares at the ageing canvass of the ceiling, mind stuck in an endless loop of inanities that are not worth losing sleep but still rake across his mind with a viciousness he knows won't go away until morning, when he wakes in a daze. A fog. 

So, when you ask him how it was, running rheum from your eyes, he lies and says it was okay. 

But he slept last night. Knows it because he dreamed. 

Falling lavender. Knuckles warm, soft against his temple. A voice—susurrus, low; the sibilant echo of sweet dreams whispered against his ear.

Sweet dreams.

Sleep, as an insomniac, is always a double-edged sword. No matter how many hours he spends chasing REM, that fickle mistress, she always evades him in the end. Dancing just out of reach. 

He wakes up feeling worse each time. Over-exhaustion. The paradoxical conundrum of being too tired to sleep. 

He feels the same clutch of evanescent slumber tangles through his lashes, making his lids too heavy to open, but it's dulled. Lessened. 

Price forces himself to keep his eyes open, staring at the blurry ceiling above. He wakes to this sight every morning. A familiar ritual. Three blinks. He watches the ceiling gradually grow clearer. 

His hand threads across the sheets, and where he expects to find the warmth of your skin, he instead meets empty space. The sheets are already leaking the heat you left behind. 

Price blinks, lashing clinging together from the sleep crystallising along the crease of his eyes. He has a headache needling behind his brow, a tension building from lack of sleep, and—

His tired eyes slide from the empty bed to the half-smoked cigar sitting in the ashtray. The empty glass of scotch beside it. 

He's found a cure for woes in the form of a stiff drink—scotch, neat; and a side of spring water—and a perfectly rolled cigar. Vices, of course: the kind that rots his insides, and stains his teeth. 

Cirrhosis. Emphysema. All the ugly little warnings on the back of a tobacco box. 

But it numbs the ache in his bones, and the ghosts in his head, so he considers it an equivalent exchange. 

(Just one that takes more than its fair share when he doesn't oblige by the rules.)

There is a respite from the steadily growing throb behind his left eye when he grinds the heel of his palm into his eyelids. A brief moment of fleeting pleasure. It rears when he pulls his hand away, letting them fall to the sheets. 

Today feels a little off-kilter. 

Without you grumbling about sleeping in beside him, peacefully chasing after lavender, and the same dream clotting behind his eyelids, he feels distinctly out of place. 

His hand slides over to your spot, fingers curling around the cooling sheets. The blankets are tucked in around him. 

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown. 

He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know. 

You're not hard to find. He can hear the rattle of the old pipes as you shower; the hiss of the water hitting the title. 

Lured in like a beacon, a siren's call, he follows the breadcrumbs that lead him to you. 

Your silhouette is a dark line against the old curtain he keeps meaning to replace, but even the shadow of you seems to dampen the maligned feeling curling in his gut. 

A sight, he thinks, for sore, tired eyes. 

He rasps on the doorframe, announcing his presence. You scare easily, he finds, and he'd rather not get a bottle of your shampoo tossed at his head for the trouble. 

The curtain peels back. You greet him through the cracks, blinking owlishly through the rivulets running down your forehead. 

"Room for one more?"

A wide grin stretches across your face as you nod eagerly before disappearing behind the curtain once more. The spray of the shower swallows the echo of your laughter. 

"Thought you were gonna sleep all day, old man," you call, loud and exaggerated. He watches your arms lift over your head, fingers threading over your scalp. 

You think you're funny. Charming. 

(He does, too—he'll never admit it, of course, but he laughs the hardest when it's just you and him; when the world around you fades into the background, and all he can hear is your effervescent giggles over the words you uttered, the jokes that always come after the punchline. The ones that fall flat, that miss. 

It's funnier, you say. When it isn't supposed to be, you know?)

You wander through life with ease in your gait, a sense of peace in your mien like the world and everything in it is your best friend. Comfortable in your own skin, content with your lot in life. Happy, he thinks, just to be included. To be a part of it. 

Happy to have him in it. 

"Might have," he mutters, affection blooming in the gnarled remains of his heart. 

You bring a sense of chaos to his life that feels like watching a nasty storm brew in the distance from the sanctity of his window. Laughter that sounds like a whip of lightning striking the pavement, close enough to smell the ozone, to have his neck prickle with danger, but far enough to feel safe. A voice that echoes like a thunderclap. Pelting hail. A torrential rainfall. A gale. 

(All his life he was told to run from storms, but you make him want to chase the calamity brewing in the distance; to feel the hazard against his skin.)

"But I couldn't sleep without you snorin' in my ear."

"I do not—!" 

Your words of indignation taper off into a yelp when he pulls the curtain back fully, letting the chill of the mid-spring morning drift over your slick skin. Goosebumps ripple across your trembling flesh—no longer a tantalising tease behind plastic (ohh, you cooed when you first saw the simple navy and blue striped curtain. Very predictable, cap; very you) but bared to his eager, hungry eyes. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight that greets him, a low rumble spreading through his chest. "Well, don't you look cosy?"

"It's my day off," you whine, shivering when he draws out getting into the water behind you. "Let me pamper myself a little bit." 

"Don't you get pampered enough?"

"Do I?" 

His hands settle on your waist, nose bushing against the wet space between your ear. When he breathes in, the familiar scent of you floods his lungs. Warm milk. Honey sweet. A touch of loam, something bitter. The acrid tang of your sweat still clinging to your hairline. It reminds him of sex. Of your dewy skin when he has you pressed into the mattress, head burrowed into his neck, he fucks into the tight clutch of your willing body. 

He stirs. Want smouldering low and heavy in his belly. You feel it when he presses tight against your back, but there's no rush. He feels no urgency to seek release. To get off. He just—

Wants. 

Always, really. There is this distant buzz of desire that sits low in his belly whenever you're around. A constant simmer. 

Wanting you, he finds, is the same as craving a draw of nicotine behind his teeth. 

"Always," he rasps, nose running down the length of your neck. The warm spray of the shower rouses him from the last tendrils of sleep, clearing the congealed rheum around his lash line. "You always get pampered, love." 

When you hum, he feels it reverberate through his chest. "You're slacking today then, John."

His hands slide from their perch against your hips, your quivering stomach. Soft skin, slick from the water, flutters under his touch. He dips his hand down to cup your sex in the palm of his hand, feeling the heat of you bleed into his skin. 

"How do you want to be pampered then, love?" 

You lean back against his chest, tucking yourself into the fold of his body where you fit like a mismatched puzzle piece, bent and cut until it slides in. The gaps between your bodies are filled with the steam that curls off the hot water pulsing down around you. 

"Just—fuck, John—," you gasp when his thumb rubs soft circles over your sensitive skin, arching into his embrace. "Just—ah, just this—"

"Want me to wash you?" He presses his hips into the plush softness of your ass cheeks. "Or want me to get you off?" 

His question makes you mewl, thighs spreading to fit more of his hand between them. "A–anything—both—"

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" 

"Fuck, John—"

Your petulant whine disintegrates into a soft hum when he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tighter to his chest. His chin settles on the plinth of your shoulder, watching his fingers trail over your sateen flesh. 

He's content to just feel you. The keen in your naked chest when his thumb brushes over a spot that makes you melt. The harsh pants; soft, languid little noises slipping through your wet lips—uh, uh, uh—interwoven with the hymn of his name. The shudders that wrack through your body when he presses the fat length of him against the plush seat of your ass. Your hips cant, rocking into his hold, as you greedily seek your release. 

Your fingers curl around his thick wrist, thumb and forefinger barely able to lock in the middle, and it's the sight of you wholly in his grasp that ignites a childish sense of glee in his chest. 

He's never been a particularly possessive man. 

The transient lifestyle he led, the one he'd been primed for since he was young, and everyone around him just expected that he'd follow in his father's, his grandfather's footsteps, doesn't allow such luxury. 

And he'd never been the type of man to take it. To want it, to pursue it. He was content with the ephemeral romance that came and went, a flickering flame that bloomed bright before eventually burning out. It was easier. 

Lonelier, too. 

You had been unexpected—a squall. 

Your presence has ripped through his life like a violent tornado, leaving everything turned upside down in your wake. 

You left him wanting. 

It always seemed silly to run toward the thing that could kill you, but when you grinned at him—the recession of water before a tsunami hit—he finally understood why some people chase danger their whole lives. 

He thought he'd have to adjust, to make room for you when there is no more space left. 

But storms don't squeeze to fit. 

They rip through. 

He supposes, then, that there's no need to worry about making room when there are no walls left standing. 

"Give you whatever you want, love," the words are a broken snarl in his throat, bleeding with the tangled remnants of his filthy desire; an aching sense of possession, and hunger. "Anythin' you want. Anythin'. Jus'—"

The empty bed flashes behind his eyes. Your side, now cold to the touch; the heat already fading out from the sheets. Whispered promises in the sleep-stained curl of his hair. 

"Jus' stay—," the mangled plea is a faulty firecracker in his throat. 

His arms tighten around you. Possession, he finds, is a silly thing. Ownership. Covetousness. All of it means substantially little to him when the only home he'd ever known is a duffle bag packed full of clothes he'd never wear. 

And then he comes home to you. The space is saturated with your scent. Little markings around the flat that remind him of your presence. That scream out into the desolate stagnancy of a place that was always covered in a fine sheet of dust, and cobwebs, that you were here. Are here. 

The fridge is stocked. The cupboards are full. 

His bed slept in. Calendar marked with dates that mean something to you—meetings, negotiations, birthdays of people who matter in your life. 

Scented candles run out the stench of disuse. 

The days when your worlds don't overlap, and he comes home to an empty flat in a city he thinks he loves, he's never felt emptier. 

It's harder to sleep those nights, too. 

The whisper of an empty bed haunts him, echoes isolation and loneliness each time he reaches out and can't feel the warmth of your skin. 

"Greedy," you mock, words a breathy mewl that are quickly swallowed by the hiss of the shower. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, clinging to him as he works you through the gentle waves of pleasure, slowly letting you drift toward the precipice of your release. 

It's when the other reaches up behind you to thread through his damp locks, nails scratching across his temple, that he finds himself a little lost under the swell of you. Swept away by your breakneck pace. 

Possession, he thinks, and finds himself drawn to the way your fingers curl around him. How you hold him tight, keeping him locked against you as you take. Syphon your pleasure from the feel of him against your skin. 

Hard, wanting, he barely thinks of himself when he grinds his pelvis into your ass, cock slipping between the globes of your cheeks. Too enraptured by the way you fit in the palm of his hand (in his head, his bed, his house, his life—) to worry about anything else. 

"Tha's it," he slurs the word into your neck, the scratch of his beard catching the droplets that run down the smooth column of your throat. "Jus' like that, love."

You writhe against his hand, strangled noises slipping from between the parted seam of your mouth. It's when his name falls, bitten in half when you snap your teeth together, lips curled, does he realise he's not even kissed you yet. 

His hand slides to cup your jaw, craning your neck until your chin rests on your shoulder. He meets you with a kiss, and can't stop the groan that rumbles out when he feels the weight of your lips on his. 

"You're extra touchy today," you breathe into his open mouth, words curling around his teeth. He tastes you when he swallows, and it soothes the burn in his joints; the ones that ache for nicotine. "What's got you in such a mood?"

"A mood?" He volleys, thumb rubbing the skin of your cheekbone, keeping you locked against him. He isn't ready to forfeit the taste of you, the feel of your lips moulding against his. "What kind'a mood do you think I'm in?"

"You're—," you gasp so prettily when he touches you in tandem with his peppered kisses; back arching in a way that makes him throb. "—clingy," you pant, breath warm and sweet when it ghosts over his tongue. "Needy."

You have this way of pulling truths out of him. Like you know how to crack his skull open, and rifle around inside until you find what you're looking for. A remarkable ability to galvanise his whims into words. 

Price doesn't even try to bite them back when they slip out, syphoned into the air from your pull. A black hole. A vacuum. You consume. 

(And he lets you.)

"Wakin' up," he starts, words trailing off when you buck, clumsily, into his palm. 

He devours you, then, swallowing down each moan and grunt you make as he brings you close to the edge, desperately wanting to see you fall. Break apart in his hold. 

"Tha's it, love." He murmurs, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the smooth column of your throat. His matted beard grazes your sensitive skin until you shiver, whimpering from the coarseness of it juxtaposed to the soft kisses, and teases of his teeth in small nips he plants over your slick flesh. "Come on—wanna see you cum for me." 

It doesn't take much to bring you to the brink. Years of learning your body, of decoding the little places and tricks that make you howl for him, have given him the insight into how to work you to completion. He uses them all, a softer, muted descent up that wobbling precipice, and knows when your toes are dipping over the edge when your nails bite into his skin, and your hips buck into his palm. 

You're a pretty little thing when your eyes snap shut, mouth dropping open as you dive down the vertiginous slope and into the maddening clutch of nirvana. 

His pretty little thing. 

He cups you in the palm of his hand, a fluttering little bird beating against his lifeline, and wonders if he can entice you to crawl back in bed with him, nestled tight under the covers while he spends the whole day worshipping every inch of precious flesh.

Might be able to, he thinks, when you go lax in his hold, chest shuddering with the shocks of pleasure the tips of his fingers bring. 

"God, John—" you whine when he keeps it up, 

 stroking your sensitive, throbbing flesh until your knees threaten to give in. "Stop—I can't—"

You could. He knows your body by now. Knows he could get you off again and again until you were a weeping mess tangled in sex-soaked sheets, begging him for reprieve. He nudges against your mettle each time, rapacious to see how far he can push you until you're overstimulated, and barely conscious. 

Greedy. Always. 

His hunger for you is never satiated. No matter how many times he buries himself inside of you, it's never enough. A ceaseless wanting deep in his gnarled chest to have, to consume. Something in the polluted pit of what was once the heart of a man who didn't think he'd succumb to greed, to gluttony, now wants to devour you whole. Ingurgitate you into his marrow, into the rotted remains of his still-beating heart where you'll stay, safe and sound, forever. 

His fingers itch, even now, to delve deep into your being. And so, he does. 

Tries to, really. But there's a surprising dearth of strength hidden in your body, and he lets you go without a sound when you push against his wandering, hungry hands. 

You twist in his hold, knees buckling as you try to slide down for him, but he stops you. 

"No, love," he rasps, the words ungluing reluctantly from his throat. "Later. Jus' wanna take care'a you for a moment, mm?"

His arm winds around your waist, pulling you taut against him. His cock is trapped between your bodies, leaking prespend over your quivering stomach. Price thinks he could get off like this. Staring at you like this—eyes lidded, cresting in the aftershocks of your bliss; gazing up at him through heated skin, warmed from the molten spray of the shower pelting across your body; lips blistered and bruised from his kisses, and the abrasive scrape of his beard over your flesh—he doesn't think it'll take much to get him there, but he finds he likes the delay a little more than usual today.

Likes the lazy way you lean into him, fingers threading through the damp, matted hair on his chest before sliding your palms down to where he aches. His cock juts up between your soft belly, and trembling thighs—fleshed vermillion, and swollen. Your fingers dance across his weeping slit, catching the thick pre-spend gathering there. The feel of your flesh on him—hot, and softened from the water—sends tendrils of pleasure coiling through his loins. 

He won't last. Not when you rest your chin against his sternum, staring up at him as you languidly work your hand over the head of his cock. Eyes heavy, drunk with the slow ebb of your bliss. 

You paint a pretty picture. One he finds he could stare at all day—every day—if you'd let him. 

Mauldin spools in his eyes. He knows this by the way your hands spasm around him, eyes catching the frisson that flickers across his face, mirrored in your liquid gaze. 

"What were you saying earlier?" You murmur, pressing a kiss to his slick chest. "Waking up—?"

You're teasing him, of course. The impish twitch to your lips gives you away. 

"Wakin' up alone—," he grumbles, hips canting into your grip. "Guess it made me miss you some." 

The impact of the words on you is breathtaking. The sudden bashful dip of your chin, the flutter of your lashes as you drink in his words—it's a sight that tucks away in the fibrils of his heart, kept safe for later when he's all alone in his bed, or off in some corner of the world with bullets raining down on him. 

(You don't have to worry much about bullets, you always quip, the barb in your voice, the teasing nonchalance, dulled by the quiver in your joints. You've fallen out of a helicopter more than you've been shot at.

He's never felt more drawn to you than when you're struggling through the fear gnarling in your eyes to joke about the many ways he'll die just to bring him some iota of comfort.)

His release bubbles quicker than he'd expected, aided when you press a soft, gentle kiss to his thundering heart. A wild storm on the horizon, one that leaves no wall left standing. You break him into pieces without even so much as a murmur. 

Price falls apart in your hands, and he thinks, then, about the promise in his dream. 

I'll catch them all for you, he'd said when you pointed to the whirling lavender petals falling down around you, eyes light with wonder. All of them. Jus' promise me you'll stay—

Your knuckles against his temple. The sun dawning in the curve of your smile. You breathe and he tastes wildflowers on his tongue. 

Stay? You echo, teeth flashing. But—

"I'd never leave you, John." 

He shudders in your grasp, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, slanting his mouth over yours in a clumsy, searing kiss. 

Your name is drenched in benediction when he spills himself all over you, words a hushed gospel over the altar of your tongue. 

You pull away from him, eyes gazing toward the field of yellow sprawled around the hazel boscage. 

When he looks up, he finds thunderclouds on the horizon. A looming storm. 

"It's gonna rain," you murmur. 

He rumbles. "Doesn't it always?"

"Only when you're around." 

He catches a petal in his palm. That shape of it reminds him of the curve of your smile. He tucks it in his breast pocket for safekeeping.

"Best keep me around for a while, then, mm, love?"

The sound of your laughter is swallowed by the crack of lightning.

In life, he finds there is nothing better than a cigar, and a finger of scotch after a round of sex. 

(Or anything, really.)

He sparks the lightener, holding it to the end, and takes quick puffs from the stem. The sound of burning paper crackles as it burns in the flames. 

Price stands on the balcony, eyes aimlessly drifting across the docks. The water is grey, nearly black; shaded by the approaching storm in the distance. A dark cloud on the gunmetal horizon. He tastes ozone in the air; the electric buzz of a gathering lightning strike. 

The morning leaves him feeling off-kilter. The dream—dreaming, even—and the empty bed still sits in the pit of his guts. Uncomfortable, disquieted. 

He's anxious, he notes, fingers trembling around the fat stem of his cigar. Each draw does little to quell it. Nicotine and scotch on little sleep and an empty stomach do nothing to calm his ruffled nerves. A state he hadn't fallen into since he watched Laswell grow smaller and smaller on the horizon. 

He nearly smoked three cigars back to back before Gaz snatched his lighter. 

("Don't think this is helping you much, cap.")

It does. Did. 

But—

Your arms snake through the brackets of his elbows, curling around his waist. He's too tall for you to notch your chin on his shoulder, and so you settle for leaning over, and peaking out around the bulk of his broad back. 

"Lovely morning for it," you murmur. 

He catches your eye, teeth sinking into the stem of the cigar to hold it steady as his hands drop to your forearms. He catches the derision in your gaze. The pointed look you send him, sarcasm dropping from your eyes when they swing, pointedly, between the clock on the wall—barely noon hour—to the cigar in his mouth, and the glass of scotch on the patio table. Wordless disapproval of his mid-morning choices. His vices. 

It makes his lip twitch up, pulling back from his teeth. It's hard to talk around the delicately balanced cigar clenched between his incisors, but years of practice lead him well. 

"Ain't it jus'?"

He likes it when you're close to him. 

Needy, you'd said. Clingy. 

He feels it, too. There's a desperation inside of him, a clawing sense of affection woven with the threads of anxiousness, and it makes him unsettled when you're too far away from his greedy hands. 

His fingers latch around your arms. 

"You should stop smoking so much," you say in that tone he knows well—the one that, despite the subdued words murmured in a soft breath, actually means: stupid old man, you better listen or so help me God—

The same tone his mother had perfected when he was younger. Equal parts hedging, cautious, but firm enough to feel the blooming heat behind them. A caustic warning. One that, translated, means: there won't be another one. 

No more chances when you speak to him like that. None. 

And he gets it. 

He's on the wrong side of forty, and you're tired of the ashes on the sheets, the cigar burns punched through the mattress you just bought (at a steal, you'd said, gleeful and bright, and—fuck). 

So, he says, "sure, love."

(And really, giving up that extra cigar a day seems easy when you smile at him like that.)

You say nothing when he holds you a little bit tighter to his body, keeping you close; but he catches the soft sigh when he relaxes in your arms, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

You make a soft noise when he stubs the cigar in the ashtray, and then turns to you, eyes heavy.

Thunder cracks in the distance. The heavens split in two sending a deluge down that rips across the grey docks. Liverpool smells of ozone and wet pennies in the downpour.

Price pulls you in to his chest, hands heavy on your skin. Firm, rough. He's never been a gentle man, but you make him want to try. To be tender. Soft. Whatever you need, and more. Anything, he thinks. Anything.

You echo the call, and place your warm palm on his cheek, lids cresting in that sleepy desire that never fails to make his heart race.

He likes the way you make yourself fit against him - an imperfect puzzle piece - and draws you close when you lean up on the balls of your feet, eager to meet him in the middle. It's a searing kiss, the kind that instantly warms him against the sweeping winds howling through the wet streets below.

Nirvana in whispers. A soft tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He imagines this is the closest to peace a man like him will ever get, and it makes him hold on to you just a shade tigher. A bit more desperate. Unwilling - unable - to let go.

Thunder booms in the aether above, and echoes through his hollow bones. He feels the pulse of it thudding in his throat when it strikes again, and scents the livewire tang of a lightning strike when it cracks across the grey sky in a blinking, evanescent flash that makes you jump a little when it hits.

Price huffs into the kiss when you tremble in his arms, and holds you closer in the bracket of his chest.

"Jus' a storm, love," he whispers, the words a rough rasp pulled from his throat. "It'll pass."

"I know," you murmur, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt when another strikes scorches the pavement.

"Maybe I should distract you, mm?" He peppers kisses across your face, brows drawing together. "Could go for a nap after."

It makes you hum, a soft, honeyed coo. ", Take me to bed, John."

"Gladly, love."

He's never felt more at peace than in the middle of a terrible storm.

(But that should be a given considering they always seem to remind him of you.)

[star-sim]

his "oh" moment ☆ enha hyungs

☆ non-idol! enhypen hyungs x fem! reader ☆ summary: the exact moment that your enha boy realized he loved you. ☆ genre: fluff, down bad boys, very domestic and intimate, can be interpreted as either pre-relationship or established relationship, wtv u want :) ☆ warning(s)? no, theyre all just so atrociously down bad ☆ word count: 1.3k total

heeseung just came back from a little run to the convenience store for snacks. when he asked you if you wanted to come with him, you only smiled and said that you'd stay in his apartment to watch the boiling pot of ramyeon that you were preparing.

it was 3am when he ventured out into the cold, night air, pulling his hood over his ears. as the bag filled with all of your favorite drinks crinkled under his fingertips, heeseung slipped his housekey into the keyhole, sniffling softly from the cold.

as he cracked the door open, he was met with warm, orange light, warm air, and the smell of his favorite ramyeon.

"i'm back!" he shouted from the door, slipping his shoes off. you didn't hear him, so he just made his way into the kitchen.

the sight he saw before him was enough to make heeseung's heart skip a beat.

there you were, humming quietly to yourself as you graced his kitchen. lost in your own world, almost like the only thing that matter to you in that moment was the small pot of hot ramyeon, the same one that you always made when you were with him because you knew that he loved it. the way his kitchen lights shone down on you made you glow, almost like you were a saint to be venerated.

the sound of heeseung's breath getting caught in his throat caught your attention.

you turned over your shoulder, and the moment that you eyes met his, you expression melted into a smile— the one where your lips lifted so that he could see your teeth, your eyes forming thin crescents as your nose crinkled— the smile that heeseung swore he saw in his dreams.

"welcome back, hee," your voice greeted him.

as those words tumbled from your lips, heeseung's eyes widened into saucers as his heart dropped to his stomach.

he wouldn't mind hearing you say that to him everyday for the rest of his life. the thought of him coming home to you everyday, seeing your pretty, smiley face as you said his name, made heeseung light-headed, his face becoming the same color as the red broth of your ramyeon.

shit.

jay didn't think what he just said was really that funny.

it was a small, off-hand comment that he made, a mere remark that was miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

but the way that you keeled over yourself, your eyes squeezed shut yet tears spilled out of them, gripping onto the table as you laughed, told him otherwise. you struggled to form words, constantly cutting yourself off with laughter, wheezing so hard jay was worried that you'd stop breathing.

the sound of your laugh was like music to his ears. jay couldn't help the small, dumb grin that began to bleed onto his face; it started with his chest filling with warmth, rising up his neck, to his ears, and finally his lips. one corner of his lip raised slowly, before the other one did. his lips wobbled, watching you as you wiped a tear from your eye, until he couldn't hold it back anymore, and the smile that he tried so hard to swallow back unraveled across his features.

"st-stop!" you cried as laughter erupted from your chest, throwing your head back. you cheeks were beginning to hurt, but jay's words kept reverberating in your head. "i-i'm gonna pee myself!"

that's when jay laughed.

"shut up," he said, but no matter what he did to push the sound of your laughter to the back of his head, there was nothing he could do.

his cheeks were already too red, his heart already pounding in his chest like a drum, this memory already cemented into his head.

and plus, he already made up his mind: he could get used to hearing your laugh everyday.

or even better, he wouldn't mind being the reason for your laughter.

jake had no idea how his brother did it, how his brother managed to have a kid and not snap into a million pieces.

but as you held his infant nephew, cooing at his small hands and chubby cheeks, jake felt his entire world pummel to his feet.

"hi baby!" you cooed to the child, your knees folded below you as you helped jake babysit his nephew. when the baby babbled back, soft and sweet giggles fell from your lips, you laid on your back, holding the baby over you.

you gently rocked the baby in the air, relishing in the way that it let out small and high-pitched giggles.

jake watched. the way your touch was so gentle, pulling the child to your chest as you cuddled with him. your tenderness was so... soft. so soft that it made jake's brows furrow together, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, in order to hide the look of pure stupid that was threatening to seep through his expression.

you were so warm, so kind, so affectionate, that it made jake feel all mushy inside, like he was going to evaporate.

he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep the palpitations in his chest at bay, trying to keep the ache in his heart from consuming him whole.

"i didn't know you were so good with kids," he said to you, kneeling beside your figure that embraced his baby nephew. his tone was half-teasing, but jake knew better. there was a war raging on in him, and frankly, he wasn't going to win.

the more he watched you, the more everything became clear to him.

maybe he wouldn't mind having kids, if it's with you.

sunghoon had a strict sleep schedule, one that he would do anything to protect.

as his phone illuminated his bedroom, the blue light gleaming so bright that someone could go blind, and as that godforsaken ringtone shook sunghoon awake, he thought that he was going to punch someone.

but the moment his half-asleep eyes traced the letters of your name, his finger darted to answer your call, no questions asked.

"hello?" he rubbed his tired eyes, yawning, yet with no intention of going back to sleep. after all, it was you.

"hooooon," your voice slurred on the other line. he could hear loud music in the background.

"are you drunk?" he asked, worried. his brows crashed together, concern bubbling in his chest. "where are you?"

you laughed, the sweet sound almost making sunghoon feel at ease. "at the cluuubbb."

"shit," sunghoon muttered under his breath.

"don't worry about me!" you reassured him. "not drunk.... hehe!"

sunghoon was already grabbing his coat and keys, slamming his front door.

it was only when you snuggled up against him in the backseat of his car, pushing your cheeks into the crook of his neck and clutching his arm, that everything came crashing down on sunghoon's shoulders.

it was a quiet realization, like the small light that had always been glimmering inside him suddenly flickered on. it was no surprise to him: a silent and hushed wave of fulfillment crashing onto the seashore that was his heart, before fizzling out into white seafoam.

his eyes traced your features under the dim light, taking in the faint scent of your perfume.

you muttered his name, reaching out for him, and all he could do was feel his heart throb for a few pulses, before sucking in a sharp breath and letting a curve form on his lips.

"i'm here," he said quietly into your ear. "i'm always here."

[yurinaa-world]

Could I request Blade, Welt, and Dan Heng with a who likes drawing and painting them?

"𝓓𝓻𝓪𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Blade, Welt, & Dan Heng x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who likes drawing and painting them

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

“Could you at least try to smile?”

Your 10th critique about him. You loved drawing him all the time and now you’ve made him into your subject to draw. But you don’t seem happy at all, squinting at him, in hopes that he listens.

“I’m not smiling.” He groans, refusing your demand—honestly, in your eyes, a smile might fix the only atrocious pose he does all the time—arms crossed, while accompanied by a blank-looking face. “Come on! You would look perfect with a smile on your face!” You rebuked. You didn’t bring out all your best supplies just for a basic sketch of him you do all the time! This has to be perfect!

“Hmph.” 

That meant no…

Then you’ll play dirty yourself. 

“I thought you loved me!!” You began to fake cry and looked away to make him feel bad. “If you loved me enough, you would at least smile for me. I’m only painting the man I love dearly out of my free will and time.” Every word you spoke made him out to be a terrible person, and until your last breath, he did not hear the end of it.

“Fine…” 

He had enough of your anger directed towards him, as he sighed, the ends of his lips shakily spreading wide and revealing an ugly and awkward-looking smile—which makes him look like you’ve got him at gunpoint— “Uh, forget I said that, you don’t have to smile,” those words alone leave him instantly frowning and glaring at you.

“I was just joking earlier!”

💫𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈"

“Are you going to line those sketches?”

You jump the second you hear his voice from behind you, a bit flustered, closing it and pressing your sketchbook right against your chest to hide the drawings of him, though it’s clear he’s already seen it. “Well…Well, I'm not sure yet.” you sputtered, watching him sit beside you while you were embarrassed by the fact he saw your sketches of him.

“Could I see them? Your sketches look beautiful from a distance, you want me to see them, that is.” 

“Uh…” Gazing back at his hopeful eyes while he awaited your answers. It wouldn't be harmful to show him, since already seen everything.

“Uh, sure, they aren’t that good though.” 

Shakily handing him your sketchbook in his, his hands flipping through the pages while looking at every one of your drawings with a distinct eye. It feels like an inspector is looking through them (if you’re being truthful). Watching his expression every time he flipped through a page; nervousness pools its way into your stomach.

“These are incredible, you’ve left me speechless.” Even the way you drew him; made him look far better than he does in person. The way you draw, each pencil stroke having its place when during a messy sketch, your hands are truly gifts.

💫𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔 "𝐼𝓂𝒷𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝐿𝓊𝓃𝒶𝑒"

He could feel the tips of his ears go red as he awkwardly posed for your painting. Your detailed gaze looked at him; it felt like you were looking through him. You could even get up to capture a certain detail on his clothes.

Please don't notice. Please don't notice. Please don't notice.

He keeps repeating that phrase in his head. Your fine eyes looking up at him make him freeze even more. You make him feel so see-through as if you were trying to unravel his deepest secrets.

“Dan Heng, inch your head up a little.” you move away from your canvas to look at him, signalling with the tip of your paintbrush in your hands, yet you frown at him when he inches his head a bit too high up, which makes him freeze up—unsure where to move his head.

“A little down,” 

“No, no, that too downwards,”

“Now you're too high again, wait a second.” You sigh, putting down your paintbrush and pallet somewhere off the side, before quickly reaching to his side, gently cupping his chin, and lifting it to your desired height and position. He could feel his sweat dripping down his forehead as you quickly fixed his appearance once again; maybe his ears might go red with the close proximity you have with him.

“There you’re perfect now, Do not keep that position for me please.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[gyumazing]

YANG JUNGWON

Goodnight Kiss

-

Pairings: Jungwon × Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: A little suggestive

-

How dare your boyfriend ignore you? How dare he tuck himself on the opposite side of your king-sized bed, leaving you all alone and shivering? And lastly, the most atrocious thing, how dare your boyfriend fall into a deep slumber without giving you a goodnight kiss?

You looked to your left and saw Jungwon peacefully breathing, looking like an angel in eternal sleep. Normally, you would've gawked and taken your precious time to appreciate your man's stunning face. But right now, you were too mad and betrayed to dwell upon that.

"'Love you more than anything,' my ass," you sarcastically muttered to yourself as you scooted closer to his side.

Apparently, your boyfriend was so keen on celebrating every milestone in your relationship—even the smallest ones, I tell you. Sometimes, it gets to the point where you'd look bad for being nonchalant about some. First boat ride together? First ice cream? First sleepover? Jungwon's got everything recorded and celebrated. Now, it was your 1000th day together and you didn't even know. In your defense though, how were you supposed to remember that today was your guys' 1000th day together? Come on now. If it were your anniversary, then you'd understand him losing his shit after arriving at your shared apartment with a bunch of gifts and hearing you greet him with a nonchalant "yo."

You had said sorry a couple of times already, but the brat decided to ignore your words throughout the night and dozed off to sleep earlier than usual.

"You're such a brat, love," you mustered, brushing stray hair strands out of his face and tracing the outline of his brows.

You almost let out a loud curse when he opened his eyes. He was as surprised as you, too, with his eyes wide like a cat hunting at night. However, he was quick to plaster an upset expression on his face the moment he realized what was going on.

You were about to say sorry again, but Jungwon quickly turned his body back from you.

"Baby," you whined, slapping his back lightly as you rose from your bed. But alas, Jungwon stayed firm and continued ignoring you. You jumped out of bed, wore your white kitty slippers that Jungwon gifted you for perfecting an exam, and went to his side of the bed. Yet, Jungwon turned around to face the direction he was originally facing when he saw you coming, ignoring you again.

You sighed.

"Won," you whined again, climbing back into bed and engulfing him in a tight hug from behind. You thought that he was going to shuffle in your hold and refuse your hug. But surprisingly, he stayed still. You could feel his low breathing, smell his body wash, feel his warmth. No matter how much you guys bickered and played pranks on each other, and despite the countless times you declared him the most annoying person ever, you still couldn't deny that he was your comfort zone, your home. "Wonie, are you still mad?" you asked carefully, resting your chin on his shoulder and snuggling into his neck. He smelled like vanilla.

You heard no reply.

"Baby, I'm really sorry," you said in a defeated tone. You stood up and walked over him to get to the other side of the bed. Jungwon immediately closed his eyes. But that didn't stop you from smooching his cheeks with kisses, pampering him with tooth-decaying sweetness.

"This one is for your eyes because they hold the prettiest stars in the universe," you said, then kissed his closed eyes. "This one is for your cheeks because they hold your pretty dimples that show up whenever you're happy," you kissed his cheeks. "This one is for the lips that always say the right words at the right time." You giggled when you saw his lips quivering—a sign that he was suppressing a smile.

You grinned.

He rolled his eyes at you but immediately engulfed you into a tight hug, burying his face at the back of your neck.

"Sweet talks won't do, love. Since I'm too sleepy right now, I will get back at you for forgetting tomorrow morning. Don't say I didn't warn you." he mumbled lowly, pulling you closer with his hands creeping onto your stomach. You could feel his warm breath hitting your nape, his fingers drawing circles on your abdomen. Just as you thought he was dozing off to sleep again, "Brace yourself. I will give you a reason to call me a 'brat' for real." He added, bitting your neck lazily.

You gasped.

"Oh my God, Yang Jungwon!" You heard him chuckling contentedly, pulling you closer to his embrace.

You huffed.

Jungwon's delicate fingers made their way towards your chin, propping your head up lightly. Then, he crashed his lips onto yours, biting down on it gently. You held your breath unknowingly. "There. I know you were waiting for your goodnight kiss." He muttered smugly. He looked you in the eye, the soft glow coming from the moon's light perfectly highlighting his feline like gaze. "Now, don't stare at me while I'm sleeping, alright, love?" He says, attempting to wink at you.

You groaned.

Damn you, Yang Jungwon.

___

A/N: I literally had this in my drafts for almost a year lol 💀

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Excuse me but the idea of MC and Xav sitting on their respective balconies and texting each other The Tea while people watching in their neighborhood is both so silly and so endearing to me.

So let's go on a small adventure, shall we?

Warnings: None.

Just fluff. Pure, unadulterated fluff.

The late morning sun was already warming you through the windows of your tiny apartment before you'd even stepped foot outside. It was finally mid-spring in Linkon, which meant you could enjoy your late breakfast on the patio without having to worry about a stray chill or errant frost dampening your weekly Saturday 'brunch' plans.

Opening the patio door with your granola bar in one hand and phone in the other, you settle into the cushioned bench that overlooked your apartment courtyard and took a deep breath. Sometimes it felt like winter was neverending in Linkon, but you could finally feel the tension of the gripping cold that had settled in your bones start to slowly bleed from you.

After getting comfortable, you finally pulled out your phone, and quickly found your brunch 'date's' contact info, sending him the customary "Get up it's people watching hour" text.

[Hey Xav, you up? I'm already on my balcony?]

It doesn't take long for his reply. This has been your weekly tradition for a few months now. Ever since you had both just so happened to see that kid getting dragged down the street by the monstrous hound, it had become something of a... habit for the two of you to text each other the funny happenings on your street when you were home. Not that either of you were particularly prone to gossip, but the simple domesticity of it was oddly comforting after a long week of getting slogged on by wanderers.

[Yeah I'm up. Give me a sec]

The soft ping of your notification broke the peace, followed shortly by the shuffling of his patio door sliding open from above you. Sure, you could simply call out and greet him, as the acoustics out here are great and the soundproofing is atrocious, but the silence is cozy, and the atmosphere almost feels magical. This is your ritual, after all.

It's a bit like a storybook scene, you think, the two of you sharing a moment in time together yet still separated by some outside force. Maybe it was silly, but the fabricated longing almost made it feel romantic in a way that you're sure your neighbor would find ridiculous.

When you hear his footsteps above you come to a halt, you immediately notice something in particular is missing, however.

[You forgot your coffee Xav. Are you gonna be able to stay awake?]

[How could U tell?]

[I didn't smell any burning 🤭🔥]

He doesn't reply, but you can hear the huff he makes over the railing as his footsteps retreat, fading behind the sliding door once again. You don't even try to hold back the laughter his reaction elicits from you, hopeful the concrete carries it to him easily.

When he finally does reemerge, faint smell of bitter charred beans on the wind, his phone is already buzzing with the morning's newest additions to your people watching portfolios.

An older man you'd long ago dubbed "Green Thumb" who liked to frequent the flower garden outside your apartment complex was already taking photos of the new stargazer lily blossoms that had just opened this morning. So enamored by the vibrant petals, he didn't even seem to notice the couple he'd backed into who'd happened to spill their groceries all over the sidewalk. You heard Xavier call "Watch out!" From above you when he'd recognized the impending impact, but at your distance, it was no use.

[That was nice of you Xav. Too bad it didn't help 🫠]

[I can't believe they didn't see Green Thumb. He was so hard to miss. Even when Ur distracted U still see better]

[HEY! I'm not the one who sleep walks! 💀]

[And yet I'm always there to guard Ur back partner]

He's right of course, though you're not going to tell him. Xavier likes to play the part of a soft and harmless little thing, but it doesn't take much to stoke the hunter into burning hotter than you intended. His evol might be light, but you know better than anyone that light, under careful concentration, can start a blazing fire if you're not mindful. His teasing isn't ever harmful though, so instead you decide to simply poke the bear.

[Only because I'm starting to suspect you like it back there]

The distinct sound of a phone accidentally hitting the concrete marks the end of that thread.

Its not long before another of your regulars, pair of young kids Xavier had called the Trouble Twins arrived on scene. Aptly named for the number of times their poor mother has chastised them for chasing the ducks and picking the flowers, the siblings were quite the rambunctious duo. Today they seem to be a few steps ahead of their vigilant mother, rushing into the park with high-pitched hollers and improvised swords made of small branches they'd found. Today's unfortunate conquest seemed to be the pigeons that were being fed by the local grannies.

[They look like a pair of knights today don't they?]

[Knights? Don't knights usually protect people?]

[Maybe they're protecting us from the pigeons]

[Xavier those old ladies look pretty mad idk. That one even tried to chase the boy and almost caught him!]

The pause in messages was punctuated by his soft laughter above you, carried on the spring breeze. It was so warm, so genuine, so comfortable. You didn't need a mirror to feel the heat bloom in your cheeks; the overwhelming sensation of ardor flooding you at the the very sound.

[You're right. He needs more training. A good Knight should never be caught by an old lady]

[.... I don't think that's the message here Xav]

The rest of your morning goes back and forth like this for another hour. Watching your favorite people pass by, concocting new and interesting stories for them as they pass your balconies. Xavier has very interesting and oddly insightful opinions on those around him, considering you don't really recall seeing him with many friends. None the less, his company and companionship on your balconies has easily become your favorite part of the week. The only noises between you are the laughter that passes back and forth as the texts volley from one to another.

Finally, as the afternoon sun starts to become an uncomfortable heat, your phone chimes once more.

[I'm getting kind of hungry]

[Oh good. You're warning me this time. Thanks!]

[What?]

[No. I was going to ask if U wanted to go to lunch. With me, I mean?]

And just like that, the storybook was snapping shut. No longer a fragment lost in time where two people gazed at the same scene together from two separate places, but a tangible moment you could step into. Something intimate and real.

Perhaps you stayed in this thought a moment too long, or your silence below him made him second guess himself, as the chime of your phone snapped you out of your daze again.

[I didn't mean to impose if U have plans]

[I know it's Ur day off too]

Fumbling with the suddenly slippery device, softly cursing, and praying he didn't hear, you quickly hammer out the only thing that's been playing in your head on repeat-

[Yes absolutely! I'd love to grab some lunch I'm starving]

[Meet me downstairs in 30?]

[whorediaries-09]

this party's shit

pairing - sirius black x reader warning(s) - fluff, alcohol. a/n- AHHHH

little train.

you didn't really hear james over the loud music. but you do catch up on the important things said over the phone. that is why you found yourself in the most unflattering attire while entering one of the most lavish bars of london. at some point, you were even worried that you wouldn't be allowed in the bar.

but of course you didn't have enough time to fix yourself and make yourself presentable. you didn't even care about rashly driving to the bar.

it was urgent and sirius black had thrown a tantrum that he needed you. no wonder he was an idiotic bloke.

you're rushing into the club, running to the vip section where james had told you they had been lounged at. and god it's a sight when you reach there. sirius is standing upon the table, dancing around with a bottle of beer, with a cigarette hanging from his slender fingers. he's throwing around his hands, his crop top riding up all the way, his low waisted flared jeans showing the elastic of his boxers. from the neck of his top, hangs several silver chains and a heart shaped sunglass. within the low purple lights of the club, his tattoos reflect magnificently. and god forbid you could be drunk on that sight.

when his eyes falls upon yours, he stops dancing around. for a moment, you see his pupils recovering from the haze of alcohol. he smiles, showing his pearly white teeth.

he stumbles, trying to get off the table. you rush towards him, hoping to catch him so he doesn't injure himself. but he jumps off the table just fine. he puts on his heart shaped sunglasses. he wraps his hand around your wrist, trying to pull you on the couch. you don't move.

'sirius,' you warn. he hums, chuckling happily.

'h'lo babeee,' he drags. 'come join us, pleasee,' he says. it's no use arguing with him when he gives you the biggest puppy eyes known to mankind.

you sigh. with a stone in your heart, you say,

'no, sirius, we need to go home,' sirius leaves your wrist, jumping in what seems...excitement.

'folks!! she's taking me home! the girl i've been in love with for so long is taking me home!!'

your cheeks instantly redden, as the blood rushes to them. you only hope the purple lighting covers it up.

'sirius! i'm taking you to your home and i'm going back to mine,'

he stops jumping. like a little whiny child, he stamps over to you. but he listens. and that's what matters. so, you let him hold your hand while you take him out. the night breeze welcomes you as you escape from the atrocious scents of beer and whiskey that dimmed in the club.

before you're able to take him to your parked motorcycle, however, he holds you by the wrist.

'tell me, bbaabeee. don't you like me?' like? i do more than just liking you.

'i like you alright, sirius.' his face dampens.

'what, do you want me to dislike you?' you ask, letting your hand free from his grip. you give him a helmet.

'now, wear this.'

'no.'

'why not?'

'it's no point in living if you just...like me'

'that, sirius is a very bad thing to say. now sit down.'

'it'll ruin my hair,' he elaborates.

'is your hair more important or your life?'

'my hair is my life!'

god you wanted to hit him. square on the chest. you stay silent, sitting on the motorbike. he sits behind you, wrapping his hands tight around your waist.

*-

he's tucked under the duvet. you've wiped off his makeup, rubbed in moisturizer onto his extremely dry skin.

'hi,' you say, sitting by his bed. he still seems sad about something.

'hi,' he says, not meeting your eyes.

'what are you thinking about?'

'is it true then? do you just like me?' you scrunch your eyebrows.

'do you want me to hate you then?'

'no...i just wish you loved me the way i love you.'

you suck in a sharp breathe. it's okay, you assure yourself. he's drunk, gibbering nonsense. still it doesn't stop the feeling of hurt deepen and sting.

'i don't understand you,' he looked at you as if you'd said something direly stupid.

'do you not understand me, or do you pretend to not understand me?' he asked. your heart skipped a beat, mind reeling with so many answers, but none coherent. he grinned. he'd got you.

you stutter.

's-shut up. you'll shut up when you're not drunk,' you said. you tried not to grow flustered over his gaze that ran throughout your body, as if drinking the sight of you in.

'i'm feeling soberest i've ever felt in my life right now, sweetheart,' he said. he got up, resting his back against the headboard. you rolled your eyes.

'that is the biggest lie ever, and you know it, sirius black.' he blew a raspberry at you.

'maybe not the soberest, but i'm feeling pretty clear ya'know?'

the silence was almost deafening. try as hard as you might, you couldn't really escape the fact that sirius black had just confessed to you. it felt ridiculous because last you remembered, it was you pining over him since your school days.

your hints went seemingly unnoticed, as if he was an oblivious brick. but god forbid, he could catch onto everything you hinted at. not you mention you weren't actually very subtle about it. he wished he wasn't scared back in the day, otherwise he wouldn't have to face this day. his hopes were however high. he hoped you still had your feelings for him, just like he did.

you were acting like a dense wall, even when he'd spelt it out for you.

'you can't take a hint, can you?'

'you know i can only properly function when someone's direct with me,'

sirius grinned. he knew how he could be direct with you. it was perhaps a stupid decision, but too tempting to not try. so he grabbed you by your neck, pulling you closer, smashing your lips against his.

the hint was received.

**********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

************************************

[wholoveseggs]

Luv my birthday is on the 24th of this month I was wondering if you could make something for Elijah as a birthday special. 🥰

What did you wish for?

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

♡♡ Happy Birthday Amaya ♡♡

On your birthday, Elijah and Rebekah find themselves at odds when it comes to organizing the party.

2k words - Warnings: pure fluff & a little smut.

Rebekah was at her best when she was party planning; there was something about it that lit a spark in her. She was absolutely in her element. From the food to the décor, and especially the guests, she wanted everything to be perfect. This party was special; it was the first birthday of yours she was able to be a part of, and she was beyond excited. Rebekah was going to make sure it was nothing short of spectacular.

The only problem was there was another person who wanted to plan it as well: Elijah. In the thousand years they spent as brother and sister, they rarely clashed, and even then, the issue was resolved with ease. So the fact that she was currently at odds with him regarding your birthday celebration was completely baffling. She loved him dearly; she was proud to call him her big brother, but right now, she was seriously contemplating daggering him, just for a day or two.

"We need to discuss wine options," he said, entering the room, a stack of papers in his hand. "Perhaps we should have a selection of reds and whites?"

"You're joking, right?" She rolled her eyes, turning back to her work. "I already took care of the drinks. I thought we discussed this; we agreed to let me handle the menu, remember?"

"No, I don't think we did," he sat down across from her. "I recall telling you I would handle the beverages and you, the guests"

"I've already ordered it! If we change anything now, everything will be ruined."

"I see," he crossed his legs, resting his hands atop them. "Perhaps I should make a list of the other decisions you made without my consent. We could start with the decorations, which are hideous, by the way."

She scoffed. "What's wrong with them? They're perfect."

"Perfectly atrocious," he countered.

You were trying your best to stay out of it, knowing it was unwise to come between two originals in a fight, even if you were the subject of it. But the more they argued, the more worried you became. They had been at it for days now, and it didn't seem to be slowing down. It was almost amusing how petty the argument was.

They were both trying to do something nice for you, and it was touching, to know they cared so much. But the more time they wasted arguing, the less time they would have to finish their preparations. And if things didn't get resolved soon, there wouldn't be a party. And that would be a tragedy. You were so looking forward to celebrating your birthday with the two of them.

"Elijah, I'm sorry, but if you don't stop insulting the decorations, I'm going to throw you into a wall. I've worked really hard on these, and I won't have you tearing them down," Rebekah scoffed.

"Fine," he shrugged. "If you want the party to look like a gaudy mess, that's up to you."

"Will you two please stop!" you cut in, unable to take any more. You walked over to Elijah, wrapping your arms around his neck. He smiled softly, kissing you lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you," Rebekah grumbled. "I'm not used to being outshone." She smiled sweetly. "I just want to do something special for my best friend, is that so bad?" she asked him.

Elijah looked up at you, placing his hand over yours, "everything is fine my love, my sister and I will come to an agreement. Isn't that right, Rebekah?" He turned to her.

"We will?" She asked, her tone dripping with annoyance.

"We will," he shot back.

"Okay," you shook your head. "Well, thank you both, for putting this together."

"Don't worry about it, darling. Go get ready for the evening," he responded, pulling back. "Rebekah and I will handle the rest."

You headed off, leaving the siblings to their squabble, praying it would be settled before the party. You'd never been to an original family function, let alone one in your honor, and while the thought was a little terrifying, you were excited.

It had taken most of the afternoon, but Rebekah and Elijah had managed to pull it off. The house looked beautiful, a myriad of colors, and scents wafted through the air.

Elijah had insisted on adding extra lights to all the ivy draped along the walls and ceilings. Rebekah had picked out some incredible food and drinks, long banquet tables filled with dishes from all around the world. She'd even managed to procure a few bottles of wine that Elijah had insisted on.

All in all, it was perfect; you were in awe. As you wandered the halls, admiring the decor and chatting with the guests, a feeling of peace and happiness washed over you.

This was what family was supposed to be. People who cared about you and would go out of their way to do something nice for you, even if they didn't always see eye to eye.

Rebekah came by, fiddling with your outfit and hair, making sure everything was just so.

"Rebekah, really, everything looks wonderful," you insisted, watching as she straightened your dress, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"Thank you," she said, giving you a warm smile. "But, it's not done yet."

"Oh?"

"Come," she grabbed your hand, leading you into the ballroom, where a huge cake stood in the middle. It was covered in delicate icing flowers and dozens of lit candles.

"Happy Birthday!" Elijah shouted, standing next to the cake.

You couldn't believe they had done all of this, and so quickly. You'd never had a proper birthday party before, and here they were, throwing you one, without even being asked. It was the best gift you'd ever gotten.

"Make a wish!" Rebekah exclaimed, motioning towards the cake.

You closed your eyes, blowing out the candles, the smell of smoke filling the air. Elijah wrapped his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

"Happy Birthday, love," he whispered, pulling you close. "What did you wish for?"

"Something I already have," you replied, gazing into his eyes.

He gave you a knowing smile, his dark eyes sparkling. "What's that?"

You turned, looking around the room, seeing the smiling faces of the people you loved most. The people who would go to the ends of the Earth for you, who had become your family.

"My family," you grinned, looking up at him. "And I couldn't be happier."

He kissed the top of your head, holding you close, as the others came over, wishing you a happy birthday.

After having your fill of all the delicious food and desserts, Elijah led you to the dance floor, taking you in his arms and swaying gently to the music.

"This has been the best birthday ever," you sighed, leaning into him.

"I think it would have been better if Rebekah hadn't gone with the garish decorations," he replied, his eyes drifting around the room, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Elija-," you were cut off by a soft kiss, his lips brushing against yours.

"I'm kidding, love," he said, pulling away. He wasn't.

You chuckled, shaking your head, and looking out across the room.

The party had been going on for a few hours, and you could tell everyone was starting to wind down. You spotted Rebekah chatting with Marcel, their heads close together as they laughed.

You smiled, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you, as you watched the people you cared about the most, enjoying themselves. You never would have imagined your birthday could have turned out this way, and the fact that it did, made your heart swell.

"Come," Elijah said, his arm wrapping around your waist, as he led you out of the room. "I have a surprise for you."

"Really?" You asked, grinning at him.

"Yes, but we need to go somewhere private for this one," he replied, his voice lowering.

"Ok," you said, a feeling of excitement washing over you.

He led you up the stairs, stopping outside of his room, and opening the door, gesturing for you to go inside.

As you stepped into the room, your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes widened. The room was filled with carnations, every surface covered in beautiful blooms.

"Elijah," you gasped, reaching out and running your fingers along the delicate petals.

"Do you like it?" He asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"I love it," you turned around, placing a soft kiss against his lips. "How did you know I love carnations?"

"I have my ways," he smirked.

"Thank you, for all of this. It's perfect," you said, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

"There is one more thing," he replied, stepping away and heading towards the door.

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you, but I can show you," he grinned, closing and locking the door behind him.

Your cheeks flushed, and you felt a tingle of excitement run down your spine, as he began removing his clothes, tossing them aside.

"Elijah," you giggled, watching him strip, until he was standing before you, wearing nothing but a smile.

"Happy Birthday, my love," he said, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply.

His hands trailed along your body, sending sparks of pleasure through you, as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured, his hands finding the zipper of your dress and slowly pulling it down.

The fabric fell to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. His eyes darkened, roaming over your body, before he pulled you into another kiss, his hands sliding down your sides.

He led you over to the bed, laying you down gently, and removing the last of your clothing, his fingers caressing your bare skin.

His tongue traced your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours. He reached down, his fingers dancing across your thighs, causing you to let out a soft sigh in anticipation. His lips brushed against yours, his breath hot on your skin, as his hands continued exploring your body, every touch lighting you on fire.

"What does my birthday girl desire? Hmm?" He murmured, his hand moving between your legs, brushing against your clit.

"You," you moaned, arching into him, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please."

He grinned, slipping a finger inside you, earning another moan from you, and a wicked look flashed in his eyes.

"You like that?" He purred, curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

"Yes," you cried, your hips bucking against him, as your body began to tense.

He added a second finger, pumping them slowly, his thumb circling your clit, as he brought you closer to the edge.

You moaned, digging your nails into his back, as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, your walls clenching around his fingers.

He chuckled, his lips brushing against yours, as he pulled you against his chest, your legs wrapped tightly around him.

"Feeling good, my love?" He murmured, his cock grazing your entrance.

"Yes," you breathed, biting down on his shoulder, as he entered you slowly, his hips moving at a leisurely pace.

He peppered kisses along your neck and jaw, his lips brushing against yours with each thrust, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

You could feel the pressure building again, the knot of pleasure winding tighter, your release just out of reach.

"No, no, not yet," he chuckled, sliding out of you, and leaving you feeling empty. He grabbed your thighs, spreading you open, and lowering his head, his mouth finding your clit.

He gently sucked on the sensitive bud, his tongue swirling around it, sending a rush of heat through you. Your hips rolled against him, as the pressure coiled, your thighs tightening around his head as you tumbled over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing over you, his name falling from your lips.

"Such a good birthday girl." He whispered, kissing the inside of your thighs, his fingers trailing along your skin.

He sat up, pulling you into his lap, and bringing you into a passionate kiss, your tongues tangling together. He lowered you down back onto his cock, you wrapped your arms around his neck, riding him slow and deep. He grasped at your hips, lifting you up and bringing you back down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming out in short pants.

You bounced faster, your chest flush against his, his hands tangling in your hair, as your lips found his, swallowing his groans and moans. His fingers tightened, pressing into your flesh, as you both neared the edge, the heat building between you, your bodies slick with sweat.

"I'm gonna-" you gasped, his hips thrusting up hard, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each movement.

"Me too." He growled, sucking on your neck, his pace quickening.

You clenched around him, the pressure snapping, your orgasm rushing through you, his own release following.

Your bodies trembled, his hips rolling, helping you ride out your high, until you fell back on the bed, exhausted and sated. He pulled you into his arms, your chest rising and falling, a content smile on your lips, as he kissed your shoulder.

"Was it everything you hoped for?" He asked, chuckling, his eyes glowing.

"Better." You replied, nestling into him, the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers around you, and the man in your arms, humming softly.

You had never felt happier or more loved, and it was all because of him.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vervain3 ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡

I tried to tag you but I don't think it worked list:

♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡

{please let me know if these tags worked, its my first time using them - xo)

[oops-all-concrete]

Hi! I have a request for bg3 head-cannons. These entail Tav not being able to read and the group all separately trying to teach them how to. (I feel like gale would be the master at this). Thank you!❤️

Aw, I love this ask!! Thank you for the request, this is genuinely so sweet and is spawning like a million ideas in my head. (I have a Tav I always imagine being illiterate)

BG3 companions react to; Tav not knowing how to read!

No content warnings, just fluff and sweetness for the most part. Potentially minor spoilers for certain characters? But nothing major/important.

Lae'zel -

She's a little surprised, given how old Tav is. She knew how to read Tir'Su slate by age 6. Knew how to read and write common by 8. Learned a few other languages by 12. For Tav to not know their own language in writing is concerning. She wouldn't have the patience to teach them, but she would go out of her way to read out signs and plaques to Tav. They need to get by somehow and she's at least got the patience for that.

Shadowheart -

"Oh? Was this not a necessary skill where you grew up?" She's quite open minded. She understands not all societies have a lean on literacy, as much as she couldn't imagine living like that. She asks if they'd like to know and reads to them in the evenings. She only has some chappy romance novels and crime fiction, but she likes the books, so she's happy to read to them. It's a slow process, but she's patient.

Wyll -

He's stunned. He knows there's plenty of people who simply can't obtain the skill due to a number of reasons, dyslexia, bad vision, blindness entirely, but Tav should know if they can learn. He's quick to get as much reading material as he can find and invite Tav to little lessons. He's a wonderful teacher, praises every new word, applauds the reading of a sentence and smiles every time Tav reads something on their own during an adventure.

Karlach -

She's the least bothered. A little surprised, but not judging. "Eh, I can't ride any mounts or hold my breath for more than 20 seconds at a time. I've lived, so will you" She shrugs it off so easy. She does however keep that information to herself if she's the only one Tav has told. It's not worth judging, she refuses to look down on anyone for it, but she worries Gale, Astarion or Lae'zel will be critical and perhaps even mean about it? And Tav doesn't need that. Mama K's got you.

Gale -

He's not critical, but he is interested. Gale might have a bit of an ego and thinks the world of his skills, but his mother wouldn't let him leave the house if he thought less of others for not having skills. He does offer to teach, but he asks in a very particular way. "I'd be happy to teach you, should you wish to learn. It's fine if you don't though. Just tap me and point and I'll translate for you" He says, calm and even. Deep down, he is concerned, but stays level headed. Tav deserves that much.

Astarion -

"What, did your folks just get lazy? Ugh, what swine." He's offended on Tavs behalf. He thinks it's atrocious they don't have such a basic and essential skill and can't believe whoever/wherever Tav was brought up just didn't help them. So naturally, he pulls out some of his own reading material and finds some easier things during travel if he can. He'll be damned if he's going to let them sit there and not know what a warning sign is.

Bonus! The elder folks 💕

Halsin -

"Ah, you need not be ashamed. Nature never intended writing, as helpful as it can be." He smiles. He's happy to teach, but doesn't mind if Tav has no desire to learn. He thinks it would be helpful, but otherwise thinks nothing of it. He will read things if asked without question, but makes no other comments.

Jaheira -

"Cub, as long as you can remember what I say and know how to say what you're saying, I couldn't care less...but if you want to learn, you can always tell me or Halsin...or the wizard, Gale. They'd be happy to teach I'm sure" She just shrugs and keeps moving.

Minsc -

"Warriors have no need for words anyhow, my friend! We can just speak with our hands and feet...in combat!" With some encouraging squeaks from Boo.

[loveephia]

the miya twins having a crush on the same girl.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, my poor humor (i'm sorry 😔), them fighting over you, you can pick who you end up with, suna is in the scenarios, timeskip.

⚠ warning/s: manga spoilers.

HEADCANONS

they're like two puppies when it comes to you and your love RAAAAAAHGHHHGH

whatever you're interested in, they're trying to learn more about it so that they can see your eyes sparkle when the topic is brought up

when you're at their games and cheering for one twin, the other gets MADLY COMPETITIVE

THEY'RE ON THE SAME TEAM YET YOU SEE THEM THROWING HANDS ON THE COURT

when you want to watch atsumu warm up, he exclusively lets you!!

what i mean by "exclusively" is that he doesn't let his fangirls in the gym. LOL

he does all these cool tricks, flexes his muscles, and goes all out in practice matches, just to see your adorably shocked face

when you forget your lunch, osamu would be willing to share his with you!!

osamu can't keep his mind off of the fact that you're eating from the same chopsticks as him, which means that that's an indirect kiss 😭

down atrocious

when they're both sitting next to you on the bus and you've drifted off to sleep, the twins are wondering whose shoulder you'll rest on for the entirety of the trip

if you've lost something, say, as something as simple as a pencil or eraser, the boys come running to your side in a flash with the needed item

both of them never ended up confessing, in chance of hurting the other twin, so you never knew about how they felt

until one day, suna had tattle-taled on them a few years after graduating

one twin ended up losing feelings

while the other's remained

ATSUMU MIYA (SCENARIO)

"wait, what?" you said as suna instantly closed his mouth shut. even osamu's jaw had slackened at the middle blocker's little slip-up.

"well.. i—!" atsumu panics, trying to find the words, while osamu drags suna away to give you two some privacy. osamu knew atsumu's feelings. he just hopes it's requited. atsumu merely sighs, "it was just a li'l crush from a while back, nothin' major!"

"how long ago?"

"..high school."

your eyes widen at his hesitant answer.

then came silence. silence, which was slowly killing atsumu. it's unlike him to stay this quiet for so long, osamu may think.

"what a shame.." you start, staring at your glass of water in the slightest hint of sadness, "i guess you could say that i had a little crush on you from a while back, too."

now it's atsumu's turn to be shocked, "huh, since when?!"

"high school." you smile.

OSAMU MIYA (SCENARIO)

"oh." were the first words suna muttered after he had let out one of the twins' most trusted secret on (an honest) accident. atsumu was nonetheless, frozen like a brick in place. while osamu's expression was mortified.

atsumu's eyes flickered rapidly from osamu to you, worried for what's about to happen between you two's relationship. suna had read the room, so before atsumu can worry any further, suna drags him away against his own will.

you turned to osamu, "judging from suna and atsumu's reaction.. i'm gonna assume that it's true?"

"..maybe." he meekly replies, wiping the table with a used rag to ease his nerves. "are you disappointed?" osamu asks a bold question that even he doesn't want the answer to.

"yes."

osamu's heart drops.

"because i had also liked you back." you confess, mischeviously poking his cheek in the process, "too bad that you don't like me now, though. otherwise, we could've been dating, then happily married, with a nice little family of our own."

you've never seen osamu's face redden this fast before. it's amusing. "now, hold on—!"

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[ghouldtime]

Random Rant on Fanfic Pet Names

Let me say this is more me screaming into the great unknown because it's something that I KEEP seeing and it keeps irking me and causing me to cringe out of my skin. Putting it under the read more, it's just a rant mainly about the COD fandom, you're not missing anything if you don't read this

Disclaimer: I mean absolutely no hate to the writers who do this. Because you should be writing what makes YOU happy and what YOU like to write. Writing is unique and independent to each individual and just because I don't like something doesn't mean that it's inherently bad or shouldn't be done. You do you, you go on your own journey - just cause we both like hiking doesn't mean we have to take the same trail or that one path is better than the other. Judging people like that who write different than you is nasty and policing harmless writing over little things is stinky sock sniffer behavior. Just cause it's my yuck doesn't mean it is everyone's and I don't expect everyone to agree with me nor is my point meant to be an objective truth or statement. It's literally just my feelings and I need to yell about it

The COD fandom in particular I've seen is atrocious for doing this. But I abhor when they make the characters use pet names like "pet" and "little girl" or "little boy".

Especially when they've literally JUST met

Every time I see it I immediately have to exit off the fic as I gag. I swear it's instinctive at this point. You know those videos of cats who do the extremely dramatic gagging when they smell something they slightly don't like? That's me. 110%

It comes up and I look at the page like this

It just feels so so gross to me and has this icky undertone that I cannot stand. And I don't know if I'm reading into it too much or if this is just me a me thing but I swear to any gods above this keeps happening. It's done so much I have tried putting filters on specifically to avoid it

It strikes me as so odd??? Like why that out of everything. Why something emphasizing age/maturity or treating the reader like they're a possession when it's a regular ass fanfic.

It makes my skin crawl and the possessive/dismissive undertones there are NOT cute. It always reads as ignoring reader's autonomy and treating them more like an object or thing instead of a person. When they just met too or the relationship really doesn't call for it or where it would be weird, it's just shoehorned in and I reallllly really really hate it oh man.

Like if it's established and is a fic where it's like "hey, this is what this is going to be! We're doing a nsfw/bdsm-y undertones here! That's the vibe!" Then great! Fantastic! That lines up, you're expecting that. Not when it's like a fluff fic or supposed to be super causal

I see this mainly with Ghost in fan fics. For some reason, he seems to be numero uno when it comes to calling reader "pet" as a form of endearment. I'm so sorry but I can't ever see him doing that. The guy who has extensive trauma with animals from his childhood, who would take an IMMENSE amount of time forming a close bond with someone to ever get into a relationship (following the comics for his history anyhow which is what I've seen most people do, Ghost has literally seen his family killed and has been through so so much trauma it's wild and the dude has a lot going on mentally), calling someone he cares about a pet??? I just don't see it happening. I sure as shit don't think he'd do that to near strangers either. Even if you ignored that past history for him or write Ghost different -that's just a flat out weird thing to call someone you don't know and has the implications of ownership/subservience on that person's part. Doing that to someone you REALLY do not know is insane

And the little girl/boy one used in conjunction with an age gap??? No??? That's just. So many shades of ew to me and is really putting emphasis on the wrong thing there (at least how I see it and in the context of the fic. I've never seen it used appropriately unless the reader is meant to be a literal child and it's a platonic fic. Context matters). ESPECIALLY when they emphasize reader is young (as in, barely legal, just turned 18/19 or heck even 20). Which I also keep seeing too when it is used. I'm not here for that reallllly creepy vibe that sounds like something you'd eventually hear about on Dateline or in a youtube exposé video

Like y'all. Anyone being shipped with them should be a grown ass adult because THEY are all grown ass adults. For me the little is never emphasizing size when paired with a gendered term, it's emphasizing how small their age is and that's wacky. Maybe that's just a me problem but when I hear "little girl" or "little boy", I'm thinking of a kid. Because girl/boy are most commonly used for children and when you're pairing it with little there, that's what you're emphasizing and you're practically guaranteeing that image.

Be real, if a guy you JUST met who you don't find attractive sneers and says, "Be quiet, pet." or "hush little girl/boy, " you wouldn't find that hot, you'd find that creepy. It's only excused because you're attracted to the character and find them hot. I'm picking a fight, I'm throwing hands if that's dropped on me in the real world out there. Probably not because I'm too non-confrontational but you bet im cringing and giving him the most:

look I can absolutely muster.

Maybe this is just a me thing and I'm losing my marbles. Or maybe it's the fact that I've had that happen to me where a dude I barely know called me "little girl/boy" (despite me being older?? and like the same height?????) and I just died on the inside viscerally that day

For the record if someone pulls the 'pet' card, I'm living up to it. I'm puking on the carpets somewhere in the dark at 3am, I'm yelling at the mailman and doorbells, I'm doing parkour off the couch when you're trying to sleep. Why the absolute hell are you calling someone you JUST MET that when it isn't even supposed to be that kinda nsfw fic.

It's one thing if the vibe is established and the tags are there and you know what you're getting into. But I lose my mind when it's a casual fluff or meant to be romantic and then all of a sudden, BAM THERE IT IS AGAIN.

It makes it so hard to read fics because it's like roulette, I swear I'm always suddenly hit with it and there goes my interest in trying again 🥲

To anyone who read this i admire your courage and akbwdbkawd im having a moment over here

(And hopefully everyone is having a snazzy day! 💚💚💚 my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent or need someone to talk to or want to join me yelling into the void)

Rant over,

Ghoul out

[stergeon]

25 rejected edeleth fluff ideas

here are some edeleth stories i thought a lot about but did not write. if anybody wants to actually write one of these, be my guest (and also pleeeeease send me a link, i'm desperate for content about Them Girls™)

byleth takes edelgard on a fishing trip and she has an absolutely abysmal time

edelgard makes a valiant attempt to corral byleth's atrocious fashion sense ahead of a formal event

byleth teaches edelgard swear words

edelgard tries some of those weird herbs rhea used to give students to relax; byleth is more than happy to babysit

byleth does edelgard's taxes. she's wearing her goofy professor glasses. it does something weird for edelgard

edelgard takes byleth on a date to the opera and byleth cries the whole time

byleth reads a work of fiction for the first time ever. it's a horror story. she did not like it. edelgard reads her something nicer.

edelgard gets byleth to pose for a portrait and shows it to her

byleth has to give a speech at a big event and is a nervous wreck. edelgard has been waiting all her life for this coaching opportunity

edelgard tries to teach byleth how to draw (she is very bad at it)

byleth cannot for the life of her figure out which fork is used for what purpose at this fancy dinner. edelgard covers for her

edelgard goes all out to celebrate byleth's birthday on the day byleth thought was (read: randomly chose as) her birthday, not her actual birthday; byleth doesn't have the heart to tell her

byleth brings edelgard various souvenirs from her travels around the country. edelgard tries not to be so soft over it, even though they're… not all hits

edelgard attempts to make dinner and botches it beyond salvation. they get takeout.

byleth will not shut up about this cute house she saw when she was out on a mission and how nice it would be for them to "have something like it one day." edelgard arranges to buy the place

edelgard sees byleth in a dress uniform and cannot stop swooning

byleth is being relentlessly pursued by a suitor who won't take a hint and edelgard challenges the idiot to a duel

edelgard decides she will learn to swim. it goes poorly, to say the least, but she manages in the end. as it turns out, getting to see byleth in a swimsuit is a good motivator

byleth gets caught kissing edelgard by hubert. the resulting conversation is unpleasant for everyone. ferdinand, meanwhile, is overjoyed

edelgard is having a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day. she chews byleth out over nothing and immediately feels awful about it. byleth forces her to take the rest of the day off to chill

byleth is going away for a month-long mission. both girls are inconsolable. they write each other letters literally every day.

edelgard really puts somebody on blast in a council meeting. byleth gets stars in her eyes

byleth concocts a very, very elaborate story about some kind of summit in faerghus; she and edelgard leave enbarr for two weeks to attend. surprise: there's no summit, it's a spa retreat

edelgard arranges a "normal date" where they go out in town in disguise and do very boring things like run errands, look at furniture, buy socks, etc.

doropetra-edeleth double date

[lvlyghost]

Salvation II

Pairings: John Price x F!Reader

Summary: after a few months since his last visit, john finally gets the chance to see the girl.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tw:angst, fluff, slightly suggestive (not really) but just in case, mentions of abduction but nothing too explicit. kate shows up bc we stan🫶🏻 john being a softie 🥹✨💞also not proofread🐸

A/N: omg i can't thank y'all enough for the love the first part got🫰🏻🥰 I hope you like this part as much! Please remember english isn't my first language, corrections are appreciated as usual🩵

Masterlist✨ | Part I | Part III

The soft sound of rain outside the house, lightning and a thunder shake the windows. Carrying two cups of hot cocoa in both hands as she walks where John is waiting for her in the living room. He's scrolling through his phone and immediately puts it down when he sees her. A soft smile makes its way to his lips.

She figured she'd make something warm for them to drink. The rain had come pouring down unexpectedly at the fair, which made them run to John's car to no avail. They were soaking wet by the time they reached the automobile, laughing and enjoying the presence of each other.

"We should take a bath before we get sick."

He had suggested, as soon as she opened the door. John had tried to shield her with his coat and beanie, although it could only do so much. Her teeth were chattering, still never losing that damn smile he had grown fond of.

So here they were now, engulfed in their pajamas ready to get some rest. The stuffed otter was placed on the sofa across from him. She handed John the mug to which he thanked and took a small sip.

"Probably not as good as your Earl Grey but..."

"It's perfect, love. C'mere." He pats the empty spot next to him. She obliges, crossing her legs as she sits. A comfortable silence falls between the two for a moment when the sky rumbles again.

"Doctor said once I'm able to go back to social life I should try to go on a date you know?" She began, shaking her head as if the mere idea was delusional. Her thumb absentmindedly tracing the rim of the mug. "Get to know people. She called it healing." She scoffs. "As if it was that easy."

Taking a sip, John watches as she bites her lip. He can't help it but a strange feeling sets in his gut.

"Is that so crazy, sweetheart?" She turns to him, studying his features with a small frown. "You deserve to be happy. Every single day, you deserve that and much more."

"I... I-" she stutters. "What if they think I'm weird John? I can hardly be myself. What happens when they ask about my life? I'm scared. Every time I close my eyes I'm back in that place..." she glances up to the ceiling, glossy eyes threatening to mimic the pouring rain outside. "I'm never going to be normal. Never going to be whole again...-

"Are you afraid of me?" He interrupts her, forcing her to turn to gaze at him. Swallowing saliva, she meets his bright blue eyes. He's dead serious. The cup long forgotten as he had placed it on the small coffee table. She shook her head.

"You saved me. You've seen what I've been through, and no,..." she stops him when he opens his mouth. "I know you've read the files. You must've in order to know what you were getting yourself into, John. And not just you but your team. And every time you look at me I see it. You were there when I testified... no one knows better than you... nobody knows me better than you." She's choking on her own words when she's finished, tears streaming down her face.

John wastes no time, pulling her into his lap as she hugs him as if her life depends on him.

It probably did.

Sobbing and hiding her face in the crook of his neck she feels the pain, the tension, the agony subside; John holds her small shaking frame against his body. He was often scared to touch her even if it was something so innocent like a hug. Something like this. Even when he wanted nothing more than to be near her. Be the one to shield her from the bad dreams, when the memories of the atrocious life she was forced to endure came to haunt her. He's tracing soft circles on her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

"I could never be afraid of you." She assures him.

-

"Do you know how many people I had to call?" Kate asks him not waiting for a response. Both looking at the girl sitting in the room behind the tinted window. "Twelve."

"I get it Kate." He grumbles. "Thank you. I owe you." He crosses his arms not losing sight of the girl he recently rescued. "I just wish they had given her more time to heal. She's in a bad shape, can't they bloody see?"

"I was thinking the same, but the clock is ticking. We can't afford to lose more time."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's barely gotten any sleep since the mission. She had held his arm the entire ride back. Squeezing with all the strength she had left in her system

"What's gonna happen to her once this is over?"

Kate side eyes John, wondering why he cares so much.

"The NCA will take over from here. Most likely be put under witness protection and given a new identity. Just like the rest of the survivors."

"Hmm." Grunting he takes a step forward.

"John?" She quirks a brow.

"I might just need one last favor."

"Of course." She rolls her eyes feigning annoyance. "This is gonna cost you two tickets for the soccer game next week."

John turns to her.

"You mean the football match?" He politely corrects her.

"I meant what I meant."

"All I remember that morning is I was getting ready for high school. Said goodbye to my grandmother and left. We lived in a complex of apartments with an underground parking lot. She had an old red cavalier that belonged to my grandfather. Last thing I recall is opening the door and then nothing. Just... nothing for years."

-

She feels John standing up from the sofa carrying her body in his strong arms. She doesn't have to look, just know he's taking her to the bedroom. Before he can lay her down on the mattress she gets off of him. Bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. John is about to ask what's wrong. Maybe he made it look like...

She kisses him on the lips. It's quick and it takes him by surprise. Her cheeks flush and eyes go wide, he smiles fondly.

"Do that again." He prompts her.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" She asks with pleading eyes.

"For as long as you want me to." She grabs him by the neck and pulls him down to her level.

"It's okay John. Even if I have ghosts I know you'll make them disappear."

That's all he needs to hear. His hands find her waist, all doubt gone. All this time he was terrified that he'd scare her, not wanting to make the first move. John respected her and wanted the girl to feel safe around him. That's why now after hearing those words he lets himself feel her. The soft edges of her delicate skin. Her labored breathing.

He kisses her soft lips, hand coming up to caress her cheek and then, right there he knows she's let all her walls down for him. Letting him in, see all the parts she thought would have to bury for eternity.

He ought to do the same for her. He has his own ghosts. John needed salvation too. Perhaps in a different way.

And if anyone ever dare to try to harm her, taker her away from him...

He'd kill them all.

[mamawasatesttube]

for the prompt thing: "i'm better now that you're here"

alternatively, "i'm not going anywhere", whether that's angst or fluff is up to you

Unlatching Tim's skylight locks with a flick of TTK is as easy as breathing. Kon slips into his apartment like he's done a thousand times before, hovering near the ceiling for a moment to take in the glorious sight below him.

Tim's holding a PlayStation controller and glaring at the TV. He has his bad leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice pack on his swollen ankle; he's wearing one of Kon's old, faded Smallville Daylily Enthusiast Club T-shirts and a pair of atrociously purple gym shorts that can only have been a gift from Steph, and his bangs are pinned back to the top of his head with a big, sparkly Wonder Woman barrette. His grumpy scowl and puffed out cheeks only add to the spectacle.

What a fucking mess. Kon is so in love with this man it hurts.

Grinning like the besotted fool he is, he swoops down from above, sets the tote bag full of homemade baked goods on the table, and plops down next to Tim. "Hi, sunshine. How's my poor flightless bird doing?"

Tim flops into his side. Kon wraps an arm around him and coos sympathetically, and Tim sighs. "Better now that you're here. ...As long as you did bring Ma's apple pie like you promised."

"I did bring you Ma's apple pie," Kon assures him. "And chocolate croissants, and blueberry muffins, and almond twists. We went all out on the baking to support you in recovery from your horrible injury, and now I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, so you have both good food and good company."

Tim's lips twitch, and he gives Kon a long, contemplative look, one that Kon can easily read as him not knowing whether to be pleased about the sweets or grumpy about the teasing.

Well, Kon can help him make up his mind real easy-like. He gives Tim a fond squeeze, smushes a kiss to his temple, and grins.

"I still can't believe that despite being a superhero every single night, you managed to fuck up your ankle doing skateboard tricks. You're a fuckin' riot, man!"

Yup. Tim's face goes flat, and he huffs (although in both entertaining and endearing news, he doesn't stop snuggling into Kon's side). "Shut up, asshole. Dick and Cass have been making fun of me in the group chat all day. I don't need this from you, too."

"Awww." Kon kisses his hair. Tim leans more heavily into him, and he has to fight not to melt completely into a puddle of fond laughter. "Okay, okay. Sorry, Tony Hawk. I know this must be hard on you."

"One more skateboard joke and I'm divorcing you," Tim warns.

"We aren't even married yet." Kon squeezes him affectionately. "You'll have to marry me first."

Tim heaves a very put-upon sigh, glancing up at Kon through his eyelashes. Then he casts a meaningful look at the tote bag and hums. "Hm... keep that up, and I might just."

Grinning harder, Kon lays his cheek against Tim's hair. "Well, sunshine," he says, "if you ask me, I think we've got a deal."

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

[loverslodge]

in the kitchen

summary: you and jake were competitors but one mistake changes everything.

pairing: Chef!Jake Jensen x Reader

warning: angst, fluff, time leap, happy ending, implied smut

A/N: i finally got my grubby hands on my Jakey. i wanted smut it up but i thought it would be nice to ease Jakey in.

When you say you have career plans, you mean you have plans that have been stretched out for 5 years. And when you say you hate Jake Jensen, you mean he is one annoying, blue-eyed, blond haired, carefree smiling jerk, who thinks he has everything figured out.

Being a university student meant working hard. This was for your own future. A brighter and better future that you wanted to build for yourself. That is why you are where you need to be, as one of the top students. 

Your grandmother was a chef in your family restaurant and that grew into your father taking over and your mother became the new chef. You would often join the kitchen since you were child and saw the meticulous methods used to create the perfect dish. You learned those methods, the ways and the recipes to build perfection. You wanted to make your family proud.

But right now, all you wanted to do was throw this can of tomato sauce on Jake Jensen’s head as you saw him bopping around the station with his music cranked up so loud that it was difficult to hear your own thoughts.

You were given a task to make a dish from ready-made items, available to make cooking easier. You thought it would be easiest to make spaghetti with tomato sauce and cheese with basil and rosemary for garnish. Guess who else is making spaghetti? Yes, that's right, that little handsome piece of shit. Although he isn't that little.

Little known fact about Jake Jensen is that he loves to annoy you. He had been on your case since the first year of university. He always called you uptight and oh! Let us not forget the nickname he has given you.

“Jensen! For the love of god, turn off your atrocious music! I will burn off your hair with this burner.” You have had it up to here.

“Ah! Kitten is getting angry again. Better do as she says or she’ll not leave any wood for us.” Jake laughs at his own mocking.

“I'm being serious, Jensen. Turn off your music. I can't concentrate. I need to think to make good food, unlike you, who throws everything in a pan.”

“But I need music to make cooking more fun. You sway, you dance, you sprinkle. Isn't that part of what good food is about.”

“No! None of that is true. Never sprinkle without the correct measurements! Always follow the recipe.” You pointed at your notepad where you had fleshed out everything.

Jake got out of his station and walked into the pantry. Making sure that he was gone, you walked to his station and turned off his bluetooth speaker. You sighed in relief as you felt the peace and quiet around you. The only sound you needed was the sound of simmering and chopping. You sauntered your way back to your station and started working on your recipe.

The spaghetti was boiled and done. You drained it and gently put it into the saucepan where you had put your tomato sauce to simmer. You grated the cheese a little into the sauce to thicken it a little and started mixing everything together.

“Kitten! Did you seriously just turn off my music?” Jake stomped up to your station.

You shrugged your shoulders and went back to work without looking up. He walked back to his station and you thought to yourself that you had finally learned how to shut him up but boy were you wrong. A loud drum beat played right beside, causing you to spill your entire prepared dish on me. Your clothes were safe, thanks to the apron, but you could not say the same about your hand. Your own food had burnt your hand off and while Jake spent his time laughing at the antic he pulled, you rushed my hand under cold water, hoping the damage was not that bad. It was a boiling hot tomato sauce after all.

“What? Is kitten angry?” Jake’s taunts were not going to get to you because the burn already did.

Tears spilled from my eyes as you tried my best not to feel the burn. You could see a large red spot forming surrounded by blue and black spots. Once you were convinced that there was not much you could do right now, you removed your hand from under the cold water and patted it gently. It did hurt a lot but you were not going to say anything. Except you just untied your apron and threw it at Jake’s face. The sauce from earlier, smeared on his face and he looked at you dumbfounded.

You looked at him one last time and walked out of the kitchen, hoping you would not run into him again today. You started making my way to the medical wing of the university when you ran into Aisha, one of Jake’s friends.

“Hey! I was just coming to get you and-, are you okay? Why are you crying?” She pulled you by your injured hand and you hissed. She immediately let go of it and saw the injury. “Oh my god! We need to put something on it!”

She pulled you by your uninjured hand and we entered the medical wing. You got a bandage around it and were asked not to move it around a lot.

“Now will you tell me what happened?” Aisha asked, sitting you down on the bench in the courtyard.

You had stopped crying but your red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face was not making it easier for you to not complain to her about what her friend did. You shook your head. “Nothing.”

“I dare you to lie to me again. What happened?” Aisha insisted.

Your eyes sprung tears again and you told her everything that happened with Jake in the workstation. She hugged you and let you cry out. The pranks, the teasing had never been taken this far. Jake hurting you was the last thing you wanted but it had happened.

So maybe you didn't really hate Jake. You were just too much in love with him. You fell in love with him on the very first day. You saw him joking with his friends and laughing out very carefreely. You loved his smile and his sparkling eyes. His body was just an added bonus to everything.

In fact, you had approached him once, trying to be his friend but he doesn't remember that. It was during the freshman party. Everyone was gathered and almost everyone was drunk. You weren’t, you didn't want to indulge in a new place. You saw him talking to his friends and you went to talk to him. You figured he was drunk but you still talked to him. Then you kissed. You didn't want to take it farther than that because he was drunk. It was a kiss that made you see stars. You had hoped it would've worked out the next day but remembered nothing and someone in the class called you uptight because you had refused to put out. That stuck to Jake and so here you were, rivaling over god knows what.

You held on to whatever connection you got with Jake. You let him be mean to you because you craved his attention. You loved when you were the center of his universe, even for 5 minutes. You cried a lot because of this though. Because how hopelessly in love did you have to be to let him get away with teasing and name calling?

“You should tell him, Y/N.” Aisha patted your hand.

“No. I don't need to tell him anything, Aisha. We- He doesn't see me and he never will. So please let it go. I'll get over it. I'll get over him. I always do.” You get up from the bench and walk away, giving Aisha a wobbly, half-hearted smile.

………………..

“No. I don't need to tell him anything, Aisha. We- He doesn't see me and he never will. So please let it go. I'll get over it. I'll get over him. I always do.”

Jake heard that. He was on his way to meet his friends when he saw Aisha. He was about to go to her when he saw you with her. He stilled. He hid behind a column and looked at what was going on. His heart sent a tug when he saw your tear-stained face. Your bandaged hand also didn't go unnoticed. He wanted to walk up to you and ask but the conversation he heard broke him.

He really never saw you that way. He always thought of you as an uptight competition who fought for first place just like him. You were not a woman to him, just a classmate. He remembered seeing you at the freshman party. You wouldn't drink, wouldn't talk to anybody and that was it. Then he doesn't remember anything other than making out with someone.

Jake started teasing you because he loved seeing your angry face. Your scrunched up nose, flare in your eyes and he especially loved hearing your quips. He found you so fucking witty. He doesn't know this but he follows you around like a puppy because he loves to tease you. Sometimes he would hide from your sight just to see you work. He loves seeing you work, with your eyes laser focused, involuntary pout on your lips and sparkling eyes when you get the result you want.

Jake saw you run away as your tears ran freely. He just stood there trying to think what happened. He heard you, loud and clear. You will get over him. Why would you?

“You can come out now, Jake. she's gone.” Aisha got comfortable on the bench.

Jake walked out from behind the column and sat beside her. “What happened to her?”

Aisha hit the back of his head, hard. Jake was stunned. “Seriously? You hurt her and you don't know what happened?”

“How did I hurt her?”

“You burned her hand, dumbass. You and antics. When will you learn that when it comes to her, you've got to stop being a child.”

“I burned her hand?”

“Yes. when you startled her. Why do you think she ran from her workstation? It wasn't because she was annoyed. She was hurt. She is hurt. Seriously hurt, Jake.”

“Is that what she meant when she said she'll get over me? That she’ll forgive me?”

“That is a completely different conversation. I don't know if she'll forgive you for this.”

This piqued Jake’s interest. He had a chance to know more about you, from Aisha no less.

“Tell me about this other conversation. I want to know what she meant by that.”

“Jake, why are you so interested in knowing about her all of a sudden? You never cared for her. Is this because this is the final semester? Or this because you finally remembered whom you kissed at the freshman party?” Aisha was pissed. She was going to intervene now. She's had enough of your feelings getting hurt and Jake being an idiot.

“What does that have anything to do with her?” Jake paused. His eyes turn to the size of a saucer in realization. “It was her! The girl I kissed was Y/N?”

Aisha’s silence answered his question. His heart hammered against his chest. No wonder she looked hurt when he laughed at her the next day. No wonder she-

“This is not my place to say but she never will. I am tired of seeing her getting hurt over you. She deserves better.” Aisha looked Jake right in the eyes. “She will never tell you because she thinks you don't feel the same way. She thinks youre gonna laugh at her if she tells you and you probably will. She will move away from you, you know, as far as possible. She says she wouldn't be able to take it anymore.”

Jake felt the world go still. “What do you mean move away? She can't go. She just got a job at that world class restaurant. What is she going to do about that?”

“Well, she has her family business to handle so I'm sure she will be going there. Why do you care? It's not like you have feelings for her, do you?” Aisha poked at him. She knew that if she poked enough, he would realize.

Jake went deep in thought. He didn't like her, did her? Of course not. He just liked teasing her, being near her. There is nothing romantic about this. He just wanted to run to, have hold him tight and-

……………….

Jake snapped back to reality. He watched you saunter in your sundress and apron tied on you. You were greeting customers and chatting with them with the same beautiful smile on your face. He waited at the table, waited for your attention.

It had been three years since that day. He didn't make a move. He couldn't. He realized his feelings a little too late. You were gone by then. He saw you leave from his dorm room. You looked broken. He didn't do anything about it. When your taxi had left, he was bawling his eyes out. His friends gave him sympathy but couldn’t do anything else.

His friends had tried to cheer him up. He got the job that you had left and his life was doing good. His friends finally tried to hook him up with other women but they weren't you. Jake regretted everything till this date. He had the chance to have you but the fault was his own.

Sitting in your restaurant, seeing you happy, something tugged in his heart. Was he really happy to see you happy or was he sad to see you happy without him?

“Hi! I'm Y/N and I will be serving you today. Today’s specials are-”

You went still. Your heart thumped so loud, you swear he could hear it. Your cheeks tinged pink and a gasp escaped your lips. Jake stood up and grazed your hand with his. You jerked away and ran into the kitchen. You were heaving as if you were finally able to breathe. Tears swam up your eyes but you brushed them away.

You hear a knock on the door and you move aside to open it. Jake is standing right in front of you. His blond hair had grown and his blue eyes were boring into yours. He pushed in the door and closed it behind him. He faced you and walked to you. You walked back till your back hit the wall and he stood in front of you.

“Why are you scared?” Jake wanted to hug you but your reaction made him hold back.

“I’m not scared. I’m just shocked. You’re- why are you here?”

“I'm here for you.” Jake approached you softly. Your eyes widened at his admittance.

“Why?”

“Because I finally think I'm worthy of you.” Jake reached out for your hand. You didn't resist and let him take your hand in his.

You had missed his warmth. His hands were calloused and his thumb stroked gently the back of your hand, sending tingles down your stomach. Your heart kept on skipping a beat and if it went on that way, you swear a heart attack was not that far.

“You were always worthy of me,” you say softly and grip his hand tighter. “I wasn't the one for you. I'm still not.”

“You are. You so are. You've always been. I was blind. And dumb. The dumbest idiot ever.” Jake rushed to answer.

Jake walked closer to you and cupped your face. Your hand went to his waist and fist his t-shirt. He stroked your cheeks and you let out a soft hum.

“Well, it is three years too late, don't you think?” You look up to him.

“If you would still have me, I would love to make up for the loss.” Jake pulls your face closer to his, asking for permission.

“I would love that as well, Jake.”

He sighs with a smile and pulls you closer and smashes his lips against yours. You relax against his chest and pull him closer by his t-shirt. He nudged your lips with his tongue, asking for entrance but you felt playful. You wouldn't let him. He nudged again and a laugh bubbled out of your throat. He let your face go and rested his hands around your waist.

He looked at you in amusement. “So someone’s feeling like a tease.”

“I'm not being a tease.” you laugh out loud. “The situation is just funny to me.”

“So my kissing you is funny?”

“Well, yeah. I never would've thought that you would- that we would be here confessing our feelings without exactly confessing and i would be kissing you again.” A gasp left your lips and you covered your mouth after saying the last word, realizing your mistake.

Jake’s eyes soften. “I'm sorry I didn't remember our first kiss. I was a stupid kid. I actually really liked you but then everyone around me talked shit about you and I did the same to become more popular. I'm so sorry, baby.”

“It's okay, Jake. We've come far from that now. Look, you have me in your arms, again. You get to finally remember the kiss.” You rubbed his back slowly.

“I'm gonna kiss you so much. I'm gonna make up for so much.”

Jake leans in again and this time you welcome him with an open heart and mouth. His tongue slides right in your mouth. You moan as he tightens his hold around your waist. His hands roam all over your body and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

When he reaches your thighs, he nudges them and you jump and wrap your legs around his waist. He moans in your mouth as his grip tightens on your thighs. His mouth moves away from your lips and he trails kisses down your neck. You grip his hair and pull him closer.

A knock on the door pulls the both of you out of the moment. You both are panting. He is still holding you wrapped around your chest.

“Y/N? Are you in there? The rush hour is about to begin. You better tighten that apron, it's gonna be another long day.”

You and Jake looked at each other. You tried to get down but he pulled you back against him, refusing to let you down. You looked back at him with wide eyes. “Jake, I have to go.”

“But I haven't made up to you yet.” He pouted.

You laugh and put your head on his shoulder. “It is okay. We have time. Tonight? At my place?” You stroke his face gently, lovingly.

“Okay. just-”

“What is it?” You looked at him in worry.

“Say my name again, please.” His puppy dog eyes made their appearance. You always had a thing for it but now that he pulled them out again, after all these years, you fell into the puddle again.

“Jake.” You say it so softly with the sweetest smile. He groans and pulls you in for a deep kiss. He sets you down and walks outside the door with your hand in his.

“I'll be right here, we'll go back to your place together and then I'm going to make up for everything. I hope you have a day off for the rest of the weekend because you are not getting out of the house until monday.”

[aokoaoi]

Hi love I was wondering if you could please do a Shuri x black! fem!reader where the reader is jealous of riri but Shuri just reassured her with lots of fluff I’m so sorry if this is a bad idea but thank you for reading!!

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞.

pairings : shuri x fem!reader.

" i don't care how long it takes,

as long as im with you ive got

a smile on my face. "

Your attention the whole day was on Shuri and that african-american girl she apparently saved. She hadn't even spent an hour with you this day because of how she clung onto 'Riri' the whole time.

How upsetting.

Yeah, yeah, Shuri had to protect the girl. But was she that into protecting the girl to the point she can't even spike up a conversation with you anymore? You were practically being taunted by their echoing laughter inside the laugh.

God you almost wanted to tear off your ears from its place.

It's not like that girl isn't capable of protecting herself after all. She has the brains to protect herself. She even created a whole Walmart version of Iron Man(no offense) for goodness sakes.

You rolled your eyes with a scoff when you hear Riri laughing at something Shuri says, tearing your eyes away from them. Okoye, who was standing beside you the whole time only looks at you unamused.

"This is a whole new side of you, (name)." She perks up. You peaked a glance at her direction, puffing out your cheeks childishly. At least someone still wanted to talk to you.

"I don't get what you mean."

Okoye gave you her usual taunting look, acting as of she was oblivious as well. "You're normally a laid back type of girl, but today.. You're scoffing, rolling your eyes, muttering and huffing alot." Okoye states.

You scoffed, waving your hand dismissively. "It's nothing."

"You just did it again."

"Did what?"

"Scoff."

"I don't scoff."

"You do, and you just did."

"It's a habit."

"Right.." Okoye hums, not believing every word you're saying. She looked at the direction the Queen and Riri was, raising her brows at the scene, and then back at your sulking aura.

"Oh my.. is the tough, cool, laid back (name) jealous?" Okoye taunts, a big grin etching on her pretty face. Her spear remains next to her as she leaned closer to your face, watching as your reaction looked as if you were mortified.

"Jealous?! God, no. Ew." You hurriedly refused, shaking your head at the atrocious idea. You and jealous dont go well at all.

Okoye only looks at you dumbfoundedly with her brow still raised, her expressions practically screaming 'yeah right' in a taunting way.

"Seeing new versions of you is certainly entertaining." Okoye states, only getting on your nerves even more now. You irked at her, and suddenly the air was hot.

"I'm glad you think I'm entertaining."

"Oh no, not you. just the other personalities that we rarely see."

You let out a frustrated sigh. Okoye snickered at your frustration, leaning on the counter behind her. "You don't have to hide yourself, (name). Almost everyone on the Dora Milaje practically knows your feelings for the Queen."

"What feelings? Were just friends."

The general scoffs at that, shaking her head at you stubbornness. "Yeah, you've got somethings to figure out, huh? Goodluck on that." She snarked, spinning her spear before taking her leave, leaving you standing alone dumbfoundedly.

What was she on about? There was certainly nothing going on between you and the Queen. If something were, you're sure you would have just jumped off a cliff. You'd rather bring your feelings to the grave than make a literal embarrassment out of yourself.

Your gaze then went back to Shuri and Riri, seeing how they were still talking and certainly looked like they weren't stopping anytime soon. You blew raspberries, grabbing your own spear that laid on the white counter and walked away. Away from the sight of those two together.

It was almost dark out and Shuri haven't been able to talk to you yet. It seemed like you were avoiding her for some reason. Had she done something wrong? You looked upset when she came to greet you a hello earlier.

Okoye practically makes a face as the Queen continued to harshly drag a pencil on the table.

"Is something bothering you, Shuri?"

The said girl nods her head hurriedly at that, immediately dropping the pencil with a loud sound. "(name)'s been avoiding me, and she looks upset whenever I go near her. I saw that you two were talking with eachother earlier, so I assume you know." Shuri rambles.

Okoyes brows raised, surprised at the fast pace of speaking. "..Yes, the girl is upset.. and yes, we were talking earlier.. and yeah.. I do know why she's acting that way—"

"Why?"

Okoye hummed unsurely. Should she just say? If she does, you'd probably come storming towards her with your spear, looking like an angry bull ready to pounce.

"Well.."

"Well?" Shuri imitates, impatient.

"She was upset about how you weren't talking to her anymore. And by upset, I mean jealous." The general spills. Shuri pauses for a moment, letting the woman's words in her sink in.

"She's jealous? That doesn't sound like her."

"That's what I said as well. She doesn't like how you've been with Riri more often, that's all I know. I've said too much." The general mutters the last part, disappointed that she couldn't keep your small secret to herself for even a single day.

"...are you sure we're talking about the same person..?" Shuri questioned. Whatever the general was talking about didn't sound like you at all. What happened to the cool, laidback (name)?

"Yes. She said it to me herself, even I was surprised. But you didn't hear this from me, okay?" Okoye hissed, giving the queen an fierce 'understand me?' Look.

The Queen nods, unsure of what to do. But now, she has to try and find you to confront you about what you were upset with. Or shall she say, jealous.

Shuri finally finds you in the gardens, seeing you just standing over the flowers with the most bored look she's ever seen. She might be very tired right now, but she could've sworn she heard you talking to the soft colored petals.

"Hi."

You swiftly stood up, a surprised look on your face at the sudden sound of a familiar voice. "Shuri? Hi!" You greeted at an unnecessarily loud volume. Yes, you were in fact talking to the flowers. If the Queen heard you, you might as well just drop down on the ground right now.

"I noticed you've been ignoring me." And at the Queen's words, your mood drastically changed. You looked at her blankly, as if remembering her actions earlier.

"Oh yeah."

Shuri slightly tilts her head at that, unsure of what to say. "..so, is that a yes about you ignoring me..?"

"Yeah."

The Queen was amused by your straight-forwardness. She let's a smug and amused grin show on her face, looking at you up and down. "Okoye told me why."

"She did?," You perked up, and the as if a light switch just flicked inside you, you realized what she said. "She what?!" You incredulously yelled. Shuri chuckles at your shock, noticing you slowly begun to feel an embarrassed furiousity.

"I've got to say, jealousy somehow doesn't fit you, but it is amusing." The Queen states, watching as you looked at her in annoyance.

"If you're here to pick on me, then I'm gonna go take my leave." You huffed, gripping on your spear with annoyance. Shuri stops you from walking away, looking at you apologetically.

"I'm just kidding around. Please don't leave, I'm not here to pick on you." She pleads. You hummed, pleased by her change of persona.

"Go on."

"I get why you're jealous, and I'm sorry. But I promise you, I won't do that shit ever again. You're the only one for me, (name)."

"You make it sound like we're together." You mentioned, completely unserious of the situation. Shuri looks at you, confused. "We aren't?" She questioned, raising a brow.

Your whole body stopped momentarily, letting her words sink into your thick skull. "What's that supposed to mean..?" You hissed, flustered. Shuri let's a coy smile form on her face.

"I'm saying I like you."

Your jaw dropped slightly, not believing your ears. The Queen of Wakanda, is out here, confessing her feelings for you like it's nothing.

Shuri steps closer to you, looming over your slightly shorter form. "You don't have to respond to my confession now, I completely understand, but I just wanted you to know about my feelings."

"I'll understand if you don't reciprocate my feelings, but im done pretending like my feelings for you don't exist. I like you, (name), not her. Not Riri. I wouldn't dare replace you with her after all the things we've been through together."

You felt like the air in your lungs had been knocked out. Shuri had just spilled her feelings out for you and you could barely react. You were speechless, you didn't know how to react.

You can't even figure out your own feelings yet, how do you respond.

Seeing your pressured expressions, Shuri gives you a reassuring look, grabbing your attention once again by holding your hand with her own. "You can think about it, 'kay?"

You only stood still. Shuri let's go of your hand, although she was disappointed, she couldn't force yourself to respond to her sudden confession. She turns around, beginning to walk away.

You wanted to reach out to her hand when she began walking away from you. You wanted to hold her hand and tell her your feelings as well. You wanted to tell her you like her.

But you can't.

yet.

idfk how the hell this turned into Shuri confessing instead of fluff wtf😭 also no hate directed to riri<3

[sanccharine]

03 | getting away with cheating

hogwarts au

pairing: hufflepuff!tzuyu x slytherin!reader genre: fluff, slice of life word count: 2.3k

warnings: implied bad parents

summary: whether on the field or during class, you never shied away from trouble. and in your sixth year, trouble seemed to follow you like a shadow, though you couldn’t complain. especially when that series of misfortunes led you to the transfiguration prodigy, chou tzuyu. includes: red velvet’s yeri, ateez’s san, viviz’s sinb, loona's olivia and txt's yeonjun

status: ongoing a/n: i know this short, especially for the wait but,,,,yeah i have nothing RIP

masterlist | chapter 2 | chapter 4

Never in your school life—no, in your life—have you woken up this early for anything. But at Eunbi’s request, both you and Yeri were there for breakfast. Despite the grogginess, there was a great advantage, early access! Yeri was scraping every dish as it appeared on her plate. You were not better with your mouth too full to even breathe. The pair of you ate as if you’d been neglecting meals for the past week, as if you hadn’t gorged yourselves the night before. 

A loud thump to your right made you jump a meter into the air. Your knees knocked into the table and you let out a muffled whine as silence fell over the hall. Students as well as teachers peered over their meals. 

“Nothing to see,” Eunbi grumbled, waving her hand. As if ordered, the commotion began again.

Where there should be plates, there was a huge pile of books. Some of them you recognized. Of course, you did. They were the required materials that you couldn’t buy. Some of them were notebooks on the precipice of falling apart due to the number of sheets sticking out of them. Why these books were here was a mystery to you, as per usual, you shot a confused glance at Yeri. But instead of meeting your look, she was gazing at her plate but not eating. 

“I have the textbooks for Transfiguration, Dark Arts and Charms,” Eunbi huffed. She thumbed through the pages of the top book. “They have my notes, so they should be extra helpful. I don’t care if you mess it up, I'm pretty confident with it. For Potions, I’m transferring my notes. There are so many new ingredients with ridiculous instructions. You’ll have to be textbookless for a few weeks,” she sent you a strange look before continuing. “I’m sure you were going to manage that anyway seeing as you have no books, but I will get it to you soon!”

Eunbi stopped. Completely.

After unloading all that information in one go, she froze. Her eyes fixated on the greens out the window, searching for something, before she snapped her fingers. 

“Care of Magical Creatures! Right!” she said, finally turning to you. “I didn't take that subject, so I’ve asked my friend to lend his textbook and any materials, so that's settled. Anything else you should probably find in the library or borrow from some other sixth years. But that is all, I think.” 

Eunbi nodded, proud of herself, she patted her books.

“You didn’t have to—”

“And if I didn’t, who would? Your parents?” Eunbi scoffed, as she scanned your plate for something. “Your parents suck, that's what I wanted to say last night. They suck. Now, I'll take this as payment, this is breakfast!”

Eunbi stole a chocolate muffin and waved it about as she walked away. 

That had to be the most confusing interaction you’ve had with her this year, and it was only the second day. You opened the first book and you scanned her notes. Her handwriting is atrocious, absolutely illegible, but were great notes nonetheless. She was at the top of the class for a reason. On the train, you’d put aside your worries about having zero materials. You couldn’t buy them beforehand and your grades would be horrendous either way, you’d given up. The library and used copies were your best bet for the next two years. But now, you have your textbooks. 

Yeri. 

She was smiling sheepishly when you turned away from the pile. Before you could start, she held up her spoon to allow her to go first. 

“Listen, I only have money to buy you candy and treat you to a meal or two,” Yeri said. “I’m not made of money like San or your parents,” she said the last bit under her breath. She didn’t care to hide her distaste but did it just to make you feel better. “So I had to get creative! Because as Eunbi said, your parents suck.”

With that, she returned to her meal as if she told you what day of the week it was. Matter of factly, unbothered. You didn’t know how to respond. 

Logically, you thought to have some sort of scorn against your friends. Especially when they said such things about your parents, they were blood after all. Logically. But your friends were right, all you could do was mumble your thanks and eat your breakfast. 

Are you playing this year?

Tryouts were approaching soon. With each passing day, you began to turn the question in your head until you were left with a splitting headache. 

Every time you looked at your teammates, you wondered, are you playing this year? When San smiles from across the classroom, yes, you’ll play. When Olivia speaks of playing at the world cup with her eyes shining, you decide, no, you won’t play. When Yeonjun shares his snacks with you at midnight, you entertain the thought of playing one last match beside him. 

Every time you found your broom lying motionless under your bed, the question returned to you. Are you playing this year? It was as if your broom was asking you. It was hard to look at it. You hadn’t taken it out since you arrived, not even for a little late-night ride. 

When you passed Chaeyoung down the hallway, the question was in her eyes. Are you playing this year? You all but ignored her when she would actually bring it up herself. 

The question plagued you everywhere you went. Followed you much like the school ghosts, haunting your every waking moment. Not only that, assignments had begun to pile in and your attention shifted. If you weren’t struggling in classes, then you used your free lessons to catch up. If you weren’t fretting about falling behind, then you were stressing over assignments. If you wanted pointless busy work, you wouldn't have dropped History of Magic.

You were a fool to think you could get by this year by borrowing textbooks, Eunbi may have just saved your life. 

Apart from the hefty increase in content and theory, there was the change in spell casting. Non-verbal magic was mandatory in all of your classes. Which is proven to be quite difficult when you can barely manage with verbal magic. You remembered how Tzuyu had levitated your luggage without uttering a word. 

Shaking your head away from thoughts that wouldn’t help your homework, you locked your gaze on the shelf above you. 

You’d been running laps around the library to find proper references, only minutes away from having a breakdown. The first Dark Arts assignment of the year would be no walk in the park, at least for you. Professor Kwon, having made it his career to make the lives of students absolute hell, decided to give you an essay assignment. 

To make matters worse, Chou Tzuyu was there to witness your downward spiral. 

Carrying more books than necessary, you rounded a corner and crashed right into her. Books fell all around you, perhaps you didn’t need so many. Their fall boomed down the library, but the small yelp was unmissable. This was the second time Tzuyu had been knocked down because of you. Things are not looking great. 

Forgetting your material, you quickly helped her up, tugging her close enough that the ends of your shoes were touching. Much like on the train, you began your line of apologies only for Tzuyu to chuckle and wave them away. She was quick to pat down her robe and straighten her hair. 

She looked perfect as usual. 

You, on the other hand, must’ve looked like a mad person. 

Your shirt was half untucked and some of your buttons were undone, your tie was nowhere to be seen, and not to mention, you were sweating head to toe. Calling you dishevelled would be an understatement. However, you were more worried the perfect would snitch on the state of your uniform.

“It’s fine. I’ll help,” she stopped your racing mind and began picking up the books. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled before joining her. 

Once you were done, you wordlessly led her to your table in a secluded corner. The table, much like you, was an utter mess. There was already another pile of books and pieces of loose sheets covering almost every inch of the desk. Eunbi’s textbook was haphazardly balanced on your bookbag which was holding your parchment from flying away. Tzuyu sucked in a breath at the sight. 

She placed her pile down onto a chair and let her eyes wander over the table. You couldn’t help but fidget with your fingers. Standing aside like a toddler waiting to be scolded. Tzuyu made her way around the table and stopped beside you. She leaned down and gingerly brushed the notes on Eunbi’s textbook.

“Your handwriting is atrocious,” she said, simple and clear. 

There was that coldness again.

Clearing your throat, you corrected her. “That's Eunbi’s notes.”

“Her handwriting is atrocious,” just like that, Tzuyu corrected herself. You couldn’t help but chuckle at her honesty. “Kwon’s assignment, right?” 

She didn’t wait for your answer before she began to clear out your desk. The books you’d brought together were pushed aside, except one from the middle was dragged out. 

“Honestly, you don’t even need references. Definitely not this much,” Tzuyu chuckled to herself. She looked over the pile of books that were already on your desk. “Kwon writes confusing questions to trip us up but everything you need is in the textbook.”

She pushed the textbook onto your parchment and placed your bag on a chair to the right. Leaving three books on your table, the rest were on a pile in the corner that came up to Tzuyu’s shoulder. 

“I don’t doubt Eunbi’s notes, they are thorough. So you don’t need the references but they will increase your grade, easy marks,” she moved to the book in the middle and flipped it open. Within seconds, she stopped on a page. Tzuyu looked up with a dead stare. “This was open like this.” 

Happy with her work, she stepped back near the ginormous pile and smiled at your now tidy desk. 

Did the top of the year, miss prefect herself, give you the answers?

Isn’t that cheating? You wanted to ask, but you didn’t. 

You were no saint, you’ve done your fair share of copying and have been caught red-handed many times. So much so, you doubted most teachers cared anymore. What startled you was that it was Tzuyu that aided you this time around. But you don’t feel like pushing your luck tonight. 

“It's a simple assignment. I’m just helping,” Tzuyu said as if she'd read your mind. “Besides, if Kwon wants unique answers he needs to ask unique questions. Got to change that if you don’t want your students copying each other.” 

You didn’t know what to make of that statement. “Thanks again for this, you didn’t have to—”

Tzuyu shook her head before jutting her chin at Eunbi’s textbook. “You have good friends.” At that, you nodded, a smile forming easily on your face. Tzuyu returned it. “If you don’t understand something, feel free to ask me for help. Or I could have a look over it before class tomorrow, I—”

“Are we friends?” 

“—don’t mind tutoring.”

The question had left your lips before you could even process her offer to tutor. Before she even finished her sentence. You wish you could take it back. It would save you the embarrassment of hearing your voice, timid even to your own ears.

Tzuyu paused for a moment, giving you a quick once over before nodding. 

“We can be,” Tzuyu said as she hefted the pile of books into her arms. 

“Let me help,” you tried to pry the pile from her but she swerved. 

“No, no, I got it,” Tzuyu said, not showing any discomfort from the weight of the books. “I’ll take these back.” 

She turned to walk away. 

“I’m sorry!” You called out, finally remembering that you never apologized properly. Tzuyu stopped with her back to you, waiting for you to continue. “For the bread roll.”

Her shoulders shook as a snort escaped her. Shaking her head, she said. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You watched her walk away from you, swearing you could still hear her chuckle. Once she was out of your sight, you sat down and flattened your parchment. Tzuyu was right, this was a simple assignment and you have great friends. With newfound determination, you began the essay that was due the next afternoon. 

The next morning, you woke up early again. Something else adds to the skip in your step apart from the promise of a delicious breakfast. 

You were there at the Great Hall, your parchment clutched in your hands. Perhaps for the first time in your academic life, were you proud of the work you’d completed? 

You waited. 

Not for food, not for your friends. 

And you kept waiting. 

You tried not to show your disappointment on your face when San took a look at your assignment instead. 

Because Chou Tzuyu never came. 

Good reference.

That comment scribbled in cursive was probably the closest thing to a compliment from Kwon. 

You were elated. Or at least, you wanted to be, but all you could feel was shock.

The number at the top of your assignment only added to your situation. 

“No way!” Yeri yanked your assignment from your hands before jumping over the Slytherin table. She huffed out again. “There is no way.” 

San and Yeonjun seemed to materialize out of nowhere at her side, pressed shoulder to shoulder. They too, in shock, stared at the grade. 

“Is this real?” Yeonjun asked with a smirk. You had to hold yourself back from jumping over the table and tackling him, but you shared the sentiment. It didn’t feel real.

“I think this is the highest grade you’ve gotten,” San said, befuddled. He gingerly picked your assignment from Yeri’s still hands and read the comments. “Like ever.” 

“Yeah,” was all you said as you turned over to the Hufflepuff table. 

Tzuyu was already staring at you, a knowing smile on her lips before she turned back to her friends. 

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i say this every time,,,,and you will keep hearing it,,,,,sorry for taking so long ;-;

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

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