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sayoneee · 11 months ago

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☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual.

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song.

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night.

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you.

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin.

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin.

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge.

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness.

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship.

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange.

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things.

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you.

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red.

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

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hello-there · 9 days ago

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Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

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fangdokja · 4 days ago

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The cage he’s built for you is so beautiful, you almost forget it’s there.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Alhaitham x Reader, Yandere! Diluc x Reader, Yandere! Zhongli x Reader, Yandere! Dainsleif x Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,801

♡ Alhaitham – The Scholar’s Cage.

“Your freedom is the illusion I designed for you. Do you see it now?”

Alhaitham’s jealousy is a quiet, suffocating force, crafted with precision and intellect. It doesn’t roar or rage, nor does it seek to overpower with brute strength. Instead, it threads through the very seams of your life, a methodical and unrelenting presence that tightens its grip with every passing day. His love is not chaotic—it is controlled, sharpened into something surgical, leaving no room for resistance.

You don’t notice it at first, the way he dismantles your autonomy. It begins with simple suggestions, his calm voice dripping with reason. “Why waste time with them? They don’t understand you.” A polite dismissal of your acquaintances, a small reorganization of your daily routine—all done under the guise of care, of making your life more efficient. Slowly, the world outside his orbit fades into obscurity, replaced by the inescapable reality of him.

Each step is calculated, deliberate, like the turning of pages in his meticulously annotated tomes. Alhaitham doesn’t need to raise his voice or resort to crude displays of anger. His jealousy operates in silken whispers, in arguments so flawlessly logical that to disagree with him feels like an admission of ignorance.

“You waste your time on frivolities,” he states, his tone flat but unyielding. His eyes pierce through you, sharp and unreadable. “Do you truly believe anyone else sees you for who you are? I’ve devoted myself to understanding you, shaping a life where your brilliance can thrive. What have they done?”

And when someone dares to overstep, lingering too long in your presence or speaking to you in tones he deems too familiar, Alhaitham does not act impulsively. No, his retaliation is an art form. The offending individual doesn’t disappear suddenly—that would be too crude, too obvious. Instead, they find their world unraveling.

A missed promotion, an inexplicable reassignment to a far-off land, their life tangled in bureaucratic webs they can’t escape. By the time they realize the Scholar’s hand in their downfall, it’s already too late. You notice their absence, perhaps even question it, but Alhaitham’s explanation is maddeningly irrefutable.

“They were a distraction,” he says simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need people like that cluttering your life. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

He’s maddeningly composed, his jealousy cold and unyielding, a stone wall against which your protests shatter like glass. And yet, beneath his calm exterior lies a hunger so all-consuming it feels like an abyss, ready to swallow you whole.

In intimacy, that hunger reveals itself in the way his hands move over you—not hurried, but deliberate, like he’s studying you, mapping every inch of your body with the same precision he applies to his research. His touch is a paradox, both clinical and possessive, as if he’s documenting every reaction, every tremor, every gasp, to remind you that no one else could ever know you this intimately.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice is steady, each word a carefully crafted statement of fact. “Not just your body, but your mind, your soul. Every thought you have—I’ve already claimed it.”

There’s no room for resistance in his embrace. When he takes you, it’s a symphony of control, every movement deliberate, every whisper a reminder of how deeply he owns you. He doesn’t seek to hurt; pain is a crude tool, unworthy of his intellect. Instead, his love is an overwhelming force, designed to erode your defenses until you can no longer imagine a world without him.

And when he looks at you, there’s something terrifying in his gaze—a blend of devotion and dominance that leaves you breathless. You see yourself reflected in his eyes, not as a partner, but as something precious, something he’s spent his life perfecting. And as much as you might wish to escape, a part of you knows the truth.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “When you finally understand that no one else will ever love you like I do. Your freedom, your independence—they were illusions, distractions. I am your reality now. Do you see it?”

────────────

♡ Diluc – Ember’s Obsession.

“There’s a certain poetry in the way flesh burns. Shall I show you what it means to belong to me?”

Jealousy in Diluc is not a sudden blaze—it’s a simmering ember buried deep within his chest, smoldering until provoked. And when that ember finally ignites, it consumes everything in its path. His rage is a tempest of fire, and his vengeance is exacting, merciless, yet meticulously controlled. To call it passion would be a mistake; this is something darker, primal, and utterly destructive.

The tranquility of the winery is the first thing to vanish when his jealousy peaks. The birds no longer sing, the soft rustling of leaves becomes an oppressive silence, and the air carries the faint, acrid tang of smoke. The vineyards, once a symbol of beauty and life, become the stage for his wrath. The trespasser who dared covet what was his is gone before you even realize it, their existence wiped away as if they never belonged to the world.

When you ask, his eyes burn with an intensity that freezes you in place. There’s no need to raise his voice—his silence is deafening, his actions more eloquent than words. The blood on his gloves isn’t cleaned, the charred remains of their belongings left just close enough for you to see. He wants you to understand the cost of disobedience, of entertaining the thought of anyone but him.

“Why are you trembling?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like embers crackling in a dying fire. He steps closer, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, a tender gesture at odds with the ferocity in his gaze. “Surely, you knew how this would end. They weren’t blind. They saw you. And I don’t forgive those who covet what’s mine.”

When Diluc kisses you, it’s bruising, his lips pressing against yours with a feral desperation. His hands are hot against your skin, leaving an almost burning sensation in their wake, a reminder of the fire he wields and how easily it could destroy you. He holds you tightly, his grip a cage, as if you might vanish if he let go.

The manor becomes your prison, the towering walls that once promised safety now looming like an inescapable fortress. He replaces the staff with people who would die before they crossed him, their loyalty bought or burned into submission. Your freedom dwindles day by day—no visitors, no letters, no life beyond the world he’s carved for you.

Even in his tenderness, there’s a darkness that pervades. When he pulls you into his arms at night, the weight of his obsession is suffocating. His fingers trace the curve of your throat, his touch almost reverent. His words, however, betray his madness. “If you ever think of running, don’t. Fire purifies everything, even memories. You won’t last without me. And I won’t let you.”

He doesn’t need chains to bind you; his fire does that for him. You feel the heat of his wrath even in his absence, a smothering presence that lingers in every room. The scent of charred wood clings to your senses, a constant reminder of what lies in wait should you ever defy him.

Yet, in the darkness of his obsession, there’s a twisted beauty—a fervent devotion so consuming it becomes poetic in its destruction. Diluc’s love burns, and like moth to flame, you can’t help but stay, even as it threatens to destroy you.

────────────

♡ Zhongli – The Stone Emperor’s Dominion.

“Erosion affects everything… but my love for you will endure until the last star in the cosmos burns out. Whether you want it or not.”

Zhongli’s jealousy is an ancient, unyielding force, as patient and inevitable as the shifting of tectonic plates. It doesn’t erupt like fire or howl like the wind—it seeps into every crevice of your life, an invisible weight that crushes resistance beneath its relentless pressure. His love is not the passionate frenzy of youth but the solemn, eternal claim of an Archon who has witnessed millennia. To him, you are no mere mortal; you are an artifact of immeasurable value, something to be preserved and guarded with the ferocity of a dragon.

The world he creates for you is gilded, opulent, and suffocating. The room he keeps you in is not a prison at first glance—it’s a sanctuary, filled with treasures and comforts that most could only dream of. The air carries the faint scent of incense, rich and intoxicating, lulling you into a false sense of security. But the longer you stay, the more you notice the details: the impenetrable walls, the locks on the doors that click softly but firmly behind you, the way every window seems to frame the same unchanging landscape.

The jewelry he adorns you with is exquisite, every piece a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Gold cuffs around your wrists, delicate yet unyielding; a collar around your neck, encrusted with amber that seems to glow in the light. He drapes you in finery not to celebrate your beauty, but to mark you as his possession. Each piece is a reminder that you belong to him, that his touch lingers on your very skin.

“You are a treasure beyond mortal comprehension,” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone that reverberates in your chest. His golden eyes, warm and commanding, hold an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “And treasures must be protected. The world would destroy you with its greed. Only I can preserve your perfection.”

When someone dares to approach you with intent that Zhongli deems improper, the earth itself seems to revolt against them. Their screams echo through the mountains, raw and unrelenting, as the ground splits and swallows them whole. He doesn’t act in haste—his punishments are deliberate, poetic in their cruelty. He encases them in stone, their faces frozen in terror, their bodies turned into monuments to his wrath.

He brings you to see them, not out of malice but necessity. His explanation is calm, almost tender, as he gestures to the stone effigies lining the mountainside. “This is what becomes of those who fail to understand their place. Do not mourn them, my love—they were nothing but dust, unworthy of your light.”

In intimacy, Zhongli is an overwhelming force. His touch is unhurried but suffused with a quiet dominance that leaves you breathless. Every gesture, every kiss, is deliberate, as though he’s carving his presence into your very being. His hands glide over your skin like sculptor's tools, firm yet reverent, shaping you into something only he can claim.

“You are mine,” he whispers against your ear, his breath warm and steady. His voice carries the weight of an oath, a declaration that transcends mortal comprehension. “The stars may fall, the earth may crumble, but you will remain at my side. You will see eternity through my eyes.”

Even his affection feels like a trap, his love as unyielding as stone. There is no escape, no corner of the world where his reach cannot find you. He doesn’t need to shackle you with chains—his power, his presence, is enough to bind you to him. His jealousy is not a fire that burns hot and fast but an eternal petrification, turning you into a piece of his world, preserved forever within his grasp.

────────────

♡ Dainsleif – The Eternal Hunter.

“You think you can hide from me? You forget, little one—I was forged in the abyss. There is no shadow I cannot find you in.”

Dainsleif’s jealousy is a force older than time itself, a chilling void that consumes everything in its path. It is not fiery or chaotic but cold and relentless, like the creeping frost that settles over a dying world. His love is not the kind that comforts or soothes—it isolates, suffocates, and ensnares, binding you to him in a cycle of obsession and despair.

You only begin to understand the depth of his control when it’s far too late. Every path you walk, every whispered conversation, every fleeting thought of freedom—it all leads back to him. The world feels smaller with each passing day, the shadows deeper, and his presence inescapable. He is always there, watching, waiting, a hunter biding his time.

When he appears, it’s always when you least expect, stepping from the darkness as though he is the shadow itself. His eyes glow faintly, a piercing luminescence that chills you to the bone. Tonight, he drags behind him the lifeless body of the one who dared to think you could be theirs. Blood drips steadily onto the floor, pooling like spilled ink, staining the silence of the room.

“You thought I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of centuries. His expression is calm, unnervingly so, but his eyes burn with quiet fury. “Did you think they could take you from me? That anyone could?” He steps closer, his shadow engulfing yours, his presence as suffocating as it is magnetic. “Not the gods. Not even death itself. You are mine, little one. And nothing can change that.”

Dainsleif does not rage or scream; his fury is measured, deliberate, and terrifyingly methodical. The evidence of his jealousy is etched into the world around you—a ruined village, a bloodstained battlefield, a silence that feels too heavy. He ensures you see it, ensures you know the lengths he will go to preserve his claim on you.

And when his hands touch you, they are impossibly gentle, the contrast as cruel as it is deliberate. He traces the scars he’s left on your skin—some visible, others invisible, etched into the deepest corners of your soul. Each mark is a story, a vow, a declaration of his ownership. His touch lingers, reverent and obsessive, as though you are a relic of his own design.

“You see these marks?” he whispers, his voice a mixture of awe and menace. His fingertips graze the lines on your skin, the memories of his possessive love. “They tell the story of what you are to me. They are the proof of eternity, of something no one else will ever touch.”

There is a madness in his devotion, one born not of fleeting passion but of centuries of suffering and longing. You are his anchor, the one thing that grounds him in a cursed existence, and he clings to you with the desperation of a drowning man. Yet, his love feels like a weight, an unyielding chain that drags you into the abyss alongside him.

“Do you feel it, little one?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear as he holds you in an unbreakable embrace. “The weight of eternity? That is my love for you—boundless, inescapable, unending. You cannot run from it, and you cannot escape me. I will follow you through every shadow, every lifetime, until nothing remains but us.”

Even in intimacy, Dainsleif is overwhelming. His touch is both a promise and a warning, every caress laden with a sense of inevitability. He moves with a precision that leaves you trembling, as though every moment is calculated to remind you of his dominance. His kisses are slow but consuming, pulling you under like a tide, his words soft yet chilling as they thread through your mind.

“You can fight me, but it’s useless,” he breathes against your lips, his tone almost tender but laced with quiet menace. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And the moment you tried to run, you sealed your fate.”

In Dainsleif’s arms, you are both cherished and caged, his love a prison of cold eternity. No matter how far you go, no matter how deep you hide, he will always find you, his shadow stretching across the expanse of time itself. You are his, and there is no escape.

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If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

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arminsumi · 1 year ago

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THE SPRING I MET YOU

GOJO さとる

He hates spring because of "allergies"; he blames his sniffly nose and red eyes on the season.

Warnings : angst (heartbreak)

Playme : First Love/Late Spring

SPRING 2006

You had met Gojo Satoru through a common friend — Geto Suguru.

Oh how many times had you heard him say, like a broken record;

"You really have to meet this guy, you're gonna click with him I just know it. You're like the same person."

You're like the same person.

Suguru'd nag you to meet Satoru ever since he entered Jujutsu High, because he thought he was... you know, just the kinda guy you'd fall in love with. And he hated to see you moping around, lonely and hopelessly seeking a lover that was certainly not "coming to you on a summer breeze" like your mother insisted.

So you met Satoru, by Suguru's demand.

And your first impression of him was: oh no; he's an idiot.

A loud-mouthed, obnoxious idiot. Inappropriate. Overconfident. Irresponsible.

And his first impression of you was: eh, she's too shy.

A put-together, attractive woman. Too proper. Too shy. Too responsible.

If you and him were words, then you were antonyms to each other.

But that didn't matter, it was just the peripheral view you had of each other; something still drew you into each other. Like the universe was drawing up a constellation especially for you and him.

What did you have in common? Nothing. What did you like about his personality? Nothing. But Satoru was always nobody but himself and you liked that. That's the thing about him that saved you from viewing him as an unworthy madman.

And you? He thought you were always trying too hard to be somebody else, someone you were not, someone you could never be — and he wanted to change that. To see what was beneath the diffidence, beneath the plastic sheet that you covered over the image of your self.

He wanted to provoke you more than anyone else, not for the purpose of eliciting a cheap reaction and feeling fleeting amusement, but because he wanted to get you out of your shell.

His heart was on his sleeve, and yours was wrapped up in winter layers even though it was a warm spring. Satoru peeled off the layers one by one, until finally he found his gold; your sweet, tender, loving heart. And once he found it he grabbed it in a way that showed he intended for no one else to steal it from him; his love, all his.

It was just beautiful from then on. You and him. Satoru and you. The two stars in the constellation that the universe specifically designed just for you and him. Only you and him.

How did the first date happen? It just happened. How did the first kiss happen? It just happened. How did the first slow dance happen? It just happened. How did the boyfriend girlfriend thing happen? It just happened.

Everything between you and him always just happened. Like Tetris blocks falling perfectly into place. Like puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. Like clockwork.

No friction, no tediousness, no miscommunication between your stars. You and him shared your minds, bodies and souls with each other.

Like you were the same person.

SPRING 2009

Satoru's face trembled and nose reddened as tiny tears rolled out of his eyes.

This was the first time he had cried in three years. And it was a first for having an emotional breakdown in public, in the middle of a busy train station.

"Satoru, I'm sorry." you said to him. "I have to start my life."

"But we've already started a life here, together!" he yelled with a broken voice, in the middle of that busy train station. People looked.

It was Spring of 2009; you were breaking up with a 20 yr old Gojo Satoru as sensibly and sensitively as you could, but he still acted like a child.

When you and him had gotten together in 2006, both of you were just simple-minded, carefree teenagers who had yet to be shaped by the hurt of life.

Oh him and his prismatic feelings, they spill out the edge at the right angle and show a display of everything you never thought he felt.

"Things have changed. I've changed, and so have you. We have to move on from each other." you said, and he shook his head and looked at you like he was falling to pieces.

"I haven't changed! I'm still your boy. C-can't we talk about this at the cafe—

"—Satoru, my train is here."

SPRING 2018

"—Sensei, the train is here!"

He was interrupted back then just like he's been interrupted now from his daydream of you.

"What's the matter?"

Gojo-sensei's blindfold soaks up his tears, but it can't muffle his sniffling or reddened cheeks and ears. His nose wrinkles up and wiggles to the side as he sniffles and runs the back of his hand under his nostrils.

"Allergies. This is why I hate spring." he chuckles.

"Aw, get allergy medicine."

"Yeah yeah, I will. You rascals catch your train before it runs off without you." Gojo

「じゃあ！」 Yuji raises a hand of goodbye to his teacher and boards the train with Megumi and Nobara.

He waves goodbye to his students, lifting his blindfold to catch a peek before the train carries them out of sight. His smile drops when they can no longer see him at all.

He stares for a long moment at the place where you once stood, and remembers two memories;

One late spring you were on your tip-toes kisssing him for the first time.

And one late spring you were waiting for your train, breaking his heart with goodbye.

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#tw: angst #angst #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo angst #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x fem reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x fem reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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justblades · 7 months ago

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⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure."

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

#hsr sunday #hsr smut #sunday x reader #sunday x reader smut #hsr sunday smut #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday x reader smut #tw blasphemy

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cleoluvrr · 2 months ago

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black magnolias III - rafe cameron x reader

i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it

WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail

masterlist

series masterlist

you let yourself fall into a routine of work and studying for your finals, ready for summer to come and take away at least some of your worries. your job would be full of tourons ready to blow their vacation money on whatever they could fit in their hands and you’d have more hours to be available.

the pogues had been blowing up your phone since you left that day, begging you to come back so you guys could work it out. all of their numbers were muted until further notice, and jj was blocked. it was for the best, you thought. if they wanted to work it out that bad, they knew where to come find you.

your job was amazing; a boutique on figure eight where both locals and tourists frequented. magnolias was owned by a sweet, older black woman, miss josephine, who grew up in the cut just like you, working as a tailor alongside her mother. her mother long dreamed of having a store of her own to sell her designs, though it never a possibility back then. however, when the opportunity presented itself, miss josephine bought the boutique just for her mother. it was the first black owned business on this side of the island, and the story always brought a smile to everyone’s faces.

“you remind me a lot of my younger self, y’know.” she would always say. it made your heart swell for her to see herself in you, for her to talk about how much potential you had.

you’d known her since you were a girl, always walking by her store and staring into the window on the way home from school. the employees on the other side of the glass wearing handmade uniforms, the fifties aesthetic enchanting to your young mind. the blush pinks and whites caught your eye, the vintage look of the clothes inside tugging at your soul in a way that made you think it was your destiny to work at this store.

so, when the opportunity presented itself, you took it. it was going on your fourth year at the store and you had no plans on leaving anytime soon. magnolia’s was the reason you decided to stay close by for school, choosing something only an hour’s drive away so that you could still work there.

miss josephine had been more of a mother to you than the woman that gave birth to you, at least in recent years. she was more understanding and less judgemental than your mom could ever be. instead of drugs or partying, the store was your escape.

as you tidied up a table that had been picked at by customers throughout the day, the sound of the bell at the door chiming caught your attention.

“hi, welcome to magnolias!” your customer service voice was chipper and sweet as you greeted whoever entered the shop behind you. rnb music played from the speakers above, the soft music filling what would be awkward silence throughout the store.

heavy footsteps approached, hard-bottomed shoes clicking against the wooden floor with each step. the smell hit you first; the expensive cologne giving away your guest before their mouth even opened to speak. you froze mid-fold, fingers stiff around the fabric in your hands.

“so,” rafe said. “you do still work here.”

slowly you turned to meet his face, a million thoughts racing through the fog your brain produced anytime he got too close.

the khaki slacks he wore fit nicely, the material showing off the muscles of his toned thighs. his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt as his arms crossed in front of his chest. the man had a golden tan, the late spring sun serving his skin well the past few weeks. it was clear that he’d had a haircut not too long ago, the cropped hair shorter than it was the last time you saw him at the beach. you wanted to reach out and run your hands over it like you used to. you wanted–

jesus, forgive me.

the thought was fleeting as you stopped yourself from letting your mind travel any further.

“what are you doing here?” you tried your best to keep a smile on your face, not wanting to raise an alarm to your coworkers.

rafe tilted his head at you, a lopsided, mischievous grin gracing his lips.

“am i not welcome here?”

“i didn’t say that.” the words came out of your mouth faster than you could form them. you didn’t want your boss to overhear you, the woman always lurking around where you couldn’t see her.

His brows raised, waiting patiently to hear your explanation.

“it’s just…you’ve never been in here.” your voice was soft, only loud enough for him to hear. “and this is a women’s clothing store.”

he shrugged. the tall man’s eyes fell from your face, the icy-hot feeling of them taking in your uniform-clad body giving you chills.

“nice dress.”

“it's my uniform.” the response came out harsher than you meant but you didn’t feel the need to correct it. “is there something i can help you with? or are you just here to bother me?”

the music substituted his words for a response as you were met with silence from the blonde, his eyes still traveling the length of your figure. your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly, the sound of saliva traveling down your esophagus echoing in your head.

rafe took two steps forward and you took one step back, the second one blocked by the table behind you bumping into the back of your legs. his eyes landed back on yours, something hidden behind the familiar blues.

“rafe–”

“why don’t you show me around?” his head swiveled around to glance at the front of the shop where you stood before focusing on the hall in the distance that led deeper into the store. “what’s back there?” he nodded in that direction.

“clothes.” you smiled curtly, trying your best to look like you were giving your best customer service.

some of your coworkers had now started sneaking glances towards you and rafe, a few of them lingering just within earshot to listen in on the conversation.

letting out a breathy chuckle and extending his arm, he directed you away from the table.

“why don’t you show me?”

the two of you stood there in a silent standoff for a few moments, the muscle in your chest pumping blood at a pace you weren’t sure it could handle for much longer. you finally gave in after a long thirty seconds, eyes rolling as you slid past him to walk down through the decorated hallway.

rafe asked you so many questions. every display you passed he would stop to stare at the mannequins like the two of you were at the smithsonian museum, the man treating you like a tour guide and making you explain everything to him.

people were giving you puzzled looks, the sight of rafe cameron sifting through frilly pink skirts leaving them just as confused as you were. you lost track of time at some point; so much so that when you finally glanced at your watch you gasped at what was displayed.

your shift was over.

“well,” you cleared your throat to capture his attention. “it’s time for me to go, so…if you plan on buying anything just let one of my coworkers know.”

rafe didn’t get the chance to protest before you left him on his own in the depths of the store. it was rude, sure, but you had to get away from him.

you felt like you were suffocating.

much to your surprise, and dismay, rafe had not departed after you announced the end of your shift. you nearly stumbled over your shoes when you stepped outside and found him leaning against the side of his truck. he smiled at you, arms uncrossing as he pushed off the vehicle and stepped towards your frozen frame.

“why are you here?”

“you sure ask that a lot, y’know?” his nimble fingers reached up to freshly shaven face. he wore a ghost of a smile as he looked down at you, still dressed in your uniform.

you gripped the sides of your dress, the skirt wrinkling under the force of your hands.

“need a ride?”

that was the absolute last thing you were expecting to come out of his mouth. brows shooting up in surprise, you eyed him suspiciously. your tongue ran over the front of your teeth as you looked him up and down. it was his turn to go under inspection.

“why would i get in a car with you?”

he opened the passenger side door, presumably for you to take a seat inside. you didn’t budge.

“cause you need a ride.”

“i can find a ride…actually,” you loosened the grip on your skirts, palms opening to smooth out the lines left behind. “i would rather walk–”

“get in the car, y/n.” the smile was gone now, his voice sharper as he urged you to take his offer. he was never truly asking if you wanted a ride, he was giving the illusion of a choice.

a scoff rose from your throat. the audacity of him was almost funny to you.

“i’m not getting in a car with-”

there was hardly time to react before he was on you, a stong hand wrapped around your forearm as he roughly guided you to his truck. your instinct to fight against him was smothered by the shock of his manhandling, the sound of a car door slamming snapping you out of your disoriented state.

your jaw dropped as you watched rafe come around the front of the vehicle and enter the drivers side. there was no time to open the door before rafe was speeding off from the front of magnolia’s, the revving of his engine making the seat vibrate beneath you.

“rafe!” you said after you gathered the words from your jumbled up mind. “you can’t do that! that’s like…th-that’s kidnapping!”

the older man laughed dryly, head thrown back dramatically before landing back on the road.

“i’m giving you a ride home-”

“you manhandled me!” you interrupted. was he being serious? “and i said ‘no.’ that’s the definition of kidnapping.”

he cooly looked at you, the expression on his face completely different from the one he had just a few minutes ago when he forced you into his car.

“you’re being dramatic.”

exasperation was all you felt, the emotion filling you the brim as you stared at him with wide eyes. you pulled out your phone and clicked on a green icon, fingers ready to type out three numbers that would likely do you no good, but it was worth the try.

“i’m calling the police.”

before you could press enter the device was snatched from your hands. you watched rafe shove it into his pocket furthest from you, head shaking side to side as he denied you any contact to the outside world for the remainder of your time with him.

“no you’re not.” he stopped at a red light and took the opportunity to look at you once again. his eyes were piercing and sparked a feeling of intimidation in the deepest pit of your stomach. “we’re gonna talk.”

you knew that you guys would have to have a conversation eventually, you just never thought it would be so soon.

honestly, you hoped that you could avoid it at all costs, but that wasn’t realistic. kildare was a small island and you were bound to run into each other eventually. it was surprising that you were able to circumvent him for as long as you did, but you knew there was always a risk stepping into figure eight. seeing him at the beach was unexpected, and you never thought that he would show up at your job like that.

you folded your arms across your body snugly, still feeling unsure about being in such close proximity to him.

“you, uh, y-you really did me wrong, y/n.” it was obvious that the thought of what transpired all those months ago still angered him deep down, but he held on to whatever was bubbling up inside of him.

you gulped, afraid of what he would say next.

“it’s hard for me to–to trust people…you know that.” rafe continued, head turning briefly to confirm he had your ear. “i trusted you.” he sniffed instinctively, fingers coming up to wipe his nostrils. it had become a habit of his; even after giving up the blow.

you hummed in response, unsure of what to say.

“i trusted you and y-you…you broke that. you broke my trust for those pogues–”

“those pogues are my friends.” your eyes were sharp as razor blades as you stared him down from your place in the car. “i’m a pogue, rafe.”

“see–i’m trying…i-i’m trying to talk to you and you’re just..you’re just snapping at me.” he said. your lip curled up in disgust but you went quiet once again, reluctantly allowing him to finish.

rafe took a long pause before he continued his speech, jaw ticking in annoyance from you reminding him of your social status.

you hated how he talked about pogues, especially since you were one yourself. he could pretend you were different as much as he wanted, but you both knew the truth.

“but i can admit that i’ve done you wrong, too.” the words sounded painful, but he got them all out without stopping or stuttering. “i can admit that i wasn’t there for you when i should’ve been, so it’s my fault that this happened in the first place. at least–a little bit.”

you tore your eyes away from the window to face him, the flesh of your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you worried it. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

this was the most accountability he’s ever taken in the time that you’ve known him–it was the only time he’s ever taken accountability, actually.

“i’m trying to be better–i want to be better.” rafe looked at you and you could see that he was being genuine. “so–so you don’t have to forgive me; not right now. but i…i forgive you.”

still unsure of what to say to him, you blinked. you released your bottom lip from the wrath of your teeth, flesh swollen and pink from the abuse.

rafe’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, drawing in a deep breath before forcing himself to keep them on the road. your own gaze followed his and you were shocked to see your house at the end of the cul-de-sac, rafe slowing to a stop outside of it. your mother was home, her white sedan parked in the gravel driveway.

“i was serious when i said you can always come back.” he turned off the car, letting the engine die before turning his body to face you fully. he looked strangely soft, something he rarely let himself be around you in the later years of your crumbling relationship.

“what is there to come back to, rafe?” you finally spoke after letting him sit in silence for a few minutes. the sun was beginning to set behind your hours, the golden light dimmed by the tinted windows of rafe’s truck. still it reflected into the man’s eyes, the color enhanced by the star’s shine.

he blinked at you, long lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks. you sighed and reached a hand up to scratch at the nape of your neck.

“my friends would hate me. i can’t just ignore the stuff you’ve done to them.”

“what have they ever done for you?”

“they were there for me when you weren’t rafe!” you snapped at him. “you were never there when i needed you.”

he palmed over his buzzed hair frustratedly, head shaking side to side in…confusion? denial? you weren’t sure.

“and i’m sorry for that, really, i am. i’m here now, though. alright?” rafe extended an arm over the divider to place a hand on yours, his fingers squeezing in a way that was supposed to be reassuring.

you released a heavy breath from your nose, head leaning back against the window as you stared at your ex-boyfriend across from you. you didn’t remove your hand from his; the warmth was comforting in a way that made you feel guilty.

“where are they anyway? your ‘friends’?”

“we aren’t talking right now,” your voice was barely audible. “not that it’s any of your business…”

he tsked at you, disapproval clear from his demeanor.

you moved to open the car door, free hand pulling on the handle. rafe held you back with the hand still in his grip. his eyes were deep and serious as they swallowed you whole.

“you still have my number?” you nodded hesitantly, not wishing to admit it. his head moved up in down in tandem with yours. “i’ll always pick up the phone. you come to my house; i’ll always open the door. okay?”

slowly he released your hand, taking your silence as understanding.

you watched from your porch as the dark truck pulled off from your home, the vehicle turning into a dot the further away it got. the phone in the pocket of your dress was heavy with the weight of a ten-digit number that had been collecting dust for almost a year. it weighed heavy with the unanswered messages of the friends that you hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

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saetoru · 2 years ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。EASY — KAVEH.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, slight hints to kaveh’s past (but no details), a word vomit of what i think it is to date kaveh bc he has stolen my whole heart soul and mind :,)

“good morning, sleepy head.” you press a soft kiss to the forehead on your chest, moving messy strands of hair with careful fingers. “we really should get up, you know.”

“no.”

“kaveh.”

“no,” comes his protest. he’s stubborn, doesn’t give in even when you pry the sheets off his bare back, feeling him shiver at the cool air as it meets his skin. and yet, you can’t help but soften your gaze as you stare down at him, cheek pressed against you as he sighs before drifting off again.

kaveh is easy to fall for.

he’s a gentle lover, sensitive and delicate around the corners. you find him in the warmth that coats your skin from the sun every morning, in the honey you taste on your lips when tea is ready on the counter before you leave, in the soft sheets that are always freshly washed and ready to lay on when you come back after a long day.

“we have lots to do—”

he groans, tightens his arms around you stubbornly. “it’s not time to wake up yet,” he huffs, digging his head deeper into you and making you giggle.

“maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up so late doing that project,” you poke the tip of his nose, watching as it crinkles at your touch.

and then you trace the apples of his cheeks, feel the familiar indents of his bones through the soft skin, familiarize yourself with every piece of him. kaveh is easy love, and difficult to forget. he’s the quiet voice tucked into your shoulder at night, the pair of shoes you know not to trip over at the door, the mess of tools that are still assorted in their own way on the table that you dare not touch, the pillow on the left side of the bed because that’s the side he prefers, the random sketches in corners of every paper around your home.

kaveh is easy to love, and you find him in every corner, look for him at every turn.

“i had a stroke of artistic inspiration,” he sniffs petulantly, “you wouldn’t understand.”

“oh, i see,” you nod seriously. he opens an eye, raises a brow unimpressed at your faux seriousness. “then of course, please disregard your sleep and health. all for the sake of inspiration.”

“hmph.” it’s indignant, the sound of defiance he makes, it makes you chuckle as your weave your fingers through his locks and scratch gently at his scalp. “i can sleep just fine if you’re not persistently ringing in my ear about waking up.”

“but i want breakfast,” you pout. “wake up.”

“breakfast can wait.” you feel his nose dig into your neck, and then the soft press of lips against your skin makes you melt against the sheets.

perhaps if it’s kaveh who requests, you’re inclined to relent.

“if you ever say i don’t favor you, i’ll burn your sketchbook,” you mumble. and still, even despite the slight grumble against your shoulder, you can’t help but smile brightly, turning your head and planting a kiss to the side of his head.

“how can you favor me if you interfere with my livelihood,” he mutters bitterly—but there’s really no bite to his words.

it’s endearing, the way he’s devoted to his career. it’s the first thing you learn about kaveh when you meet him one night—you watch in awed amusement as he rambles at the tavern about the lacking interior design in his drunken stupor. and then he’s there the next day too, drinking just as heavily as the night before—it makes you quirk a brow as you sit beside him.

drinking this often is not a good habit, you say to him. he glances at you, blinks a moment before he huffs.

well you would too if you had a roommate like mine, he starts—and you’re sure the entirety of the tavern can hear him as he spills his woes to you without even realizing.

kaveh is hard to miss from then on. you see him at the fresh fruit stands when you walk through the market, at the akademiya requesting (demanding) funding from the acting grand sage, at the fields smiling with the children as they play and he ruffles their hair.

he’s nervous when he asks you on your first date, stumbles over his words and rubs the back of his neck, but his smile is earnest and his eyes are kind. he’s clumsy as he takes you to dinner, trips over his own feet as he scrambles to hold the door open. he’s a few mora short, blushing and mortified as he pats his pockets for more, mumbling how he’s sure he’d had enough when you giggle and complete the bill. he’s talkative through the night, rambles about his job and his projects, tells you details you don’t understand but can’t help but catch every word. he’s a bit shy when you hold his hand as you walk home, coughs a bit too loud to hide the hitched breath in his throat. he’s inexperienced when he leans in to kiss you, missing your lips for the corner of your mouth instead and stuttering over his words as he tries to explain he’s never done this before.

and when he takes a deep breath, cupping your cheeks with both hands and looking at you with conviction like he’s now made his life’s purpose to kiss you properly, you know you love kaveh.

you know you love him—somewhere during the first date. maybe the first meet. definitely the first kiss.

because kaveh is easy to love, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

he’s easy to love through soft kisses under the sheets, easy to love through gleaming eyes and animated hands as he speaks, easy to love through those moments of doubt and festering guilt of the past, easy to love through that innocence that wants to see the world for all that’s good and never for what’s bad.

kaveh is easy to love. so you love him. unconditionally so, from when the sun meets the moon and over again. continuing the cycle, holding him in your arms and pressing your lips to the soft skin of his forehead. and maybe, one day, if you continue to love him as easily as you do, he’ll learn to love himself too, to see the way he deserves the tenderness you show him.

“—and just so you know, inspiration isn’t something you can elect to ignore. some artists go months, if not years without an ounce of—”

“i love you,” you interrupt his rambling, voice soft and breathless and seeping with affection that he’s not felt in so long, he pauses with wide eyes.

it’s not the first time you’ve said it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’ll never feel quite like this time.

“yeah,” he says shakily, clutching you tighter, “i love you too.”

and maybe one day, he hopes if he loves you hard enough himself, you’ll know you’re just as easy to love too.

your honor he’s my everything 🥹 please i would steal the moon and stars for him 🥹

#i was supposed to post this last night but i got too sleepy to finish it #take the core of my heart in text form bc he is all that’s left of me #teepods.writings #drabbles.#kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #kaveh fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you

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instantdoodlez · 2 months ago

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Jashtober days 1-20

Alright, it's a while later than I was hoping to post it, but here it is. Same deal as the warmups, moving my art and commentary over from Twitter, because that site sucks ass <3

Day 1: Single. Didn't realize it meant like.. a music single until the day of, so it's pretty basic. Got a Mr Jash Like ™️ though, so that was a strong start to the project.

Day 2, Astral. Space themed Soul drawing. Soul is the Stars in my hc (the way that Mind is the sun and Heart is the moon in canon), so I figured it would fit well enough.

Day 4, Light. Nothing to really say on this one. (skipped day 3 since it was a duplicate prompt, 'power hour')

Day 5, Angel. My best try at what the angel at the gates in Chonny's inferno looks like. Biblically accurate because it's just cooler. Meant to add a normal-ass clipboard in their hand for the funny, but I forgot.

Day 6, Forest. Dear god, the background on this one killed me. Took many layers and overuse of the blend tool. On another note Mr Jash liked the post on twitter and that, yet again, jumpscared me (This is a pattern /lh)

Day 7, Moss. The little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Didn't know I would ever call fungi cute, but the little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Proud of this one overall. And it got Jash liked as well, so! 🎉

Day 8, Tidal. Jesus, did all my ship of theseus drawings do relatively bad in the algorithm. Anyways, this one was based on the fifth ship of theseus. Very pretty color pallete, cool colors.

Day 9, Cruisin'. This one was posted late because I couldn't get the shading right and just left it for the next day. Looks much better now.

Day 11, 8-bit. Dug out my old pixilart account to make this one. (Skipped day 10 because "apathy, haha funny". Also to help stave off burnout)

Day 12, Haiku. Heart coming up with his magnum opus (that line from Haiku/lh). This one's background took forever. Many different layers.

Day 13, Encore. Drew The Announcer, everyone's favorite eldritch horror story narrator. Props to GW for making me actually like Monster Mash, I don't even mind the original one now. Mr Jash liked this one too, so that's nice :]

Day 14, Reflection. Whole with a scribbled out face… cool design, and pretty visually interesting. Happy with this one. It also got jash liked.

Day 15, Momento. Had a hard time drafting this one before I realized "oh.. momento.. like.. momento mori.. I am very dumb". Regardless, very happy with this one. It's probably my favorite out of all the jashtober drawings I've done.

Day 17, Theseus. Based on the first Ship of Theseus song, a drawing of the shipmaker. (Skipped day 16 because it was another repeat prompt, Hindsight)

Day 18, Sunset. Based on the lines "When I woke it was daylight, and the clouds were pink / The sun was coming up or going down, I think" from Drink to Death.

Day 19, Savages. The crowd sure does love an upset.

Day 20, Crowned. Mind. Wanted to add a nightlight in the shape of the sun but the composition got too crowded, so I compromised with the lamp chain.

And, that's it! All 17 prompts I've done so far. I'll continue posting the rest of the Jashtober prompts one by one on here. Have a good day/night, and thank you for reading this far if you have!

#Chonny jash #Jashtober2024 #Jashtober #Digitalart #cj thdph #gwotnlh #cj gw #cj hms #cj heart #cj mind #cj soul #heart chonny jash #mind chonny jash #soul chonny jash #whole chonny jash

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raven-cincaide · 3 months ago

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Pumpkin Carving Contest

Summary: You enter a pumpkin carving contest without knowing what to carve. In panic you settle for one of Megumi’s shikigami, without much thought behind the choice. In fact, you don’t think much of it…. until your Ex shows up, wanting to know what the hell you thought you were doing.

Pairing: Fem! Reader x (ex) Megumi Fushuguro Sweetober prompt 3: Pumpkin carving contest WC: 3.1 K Warnings: Cursing, hurt/comfort, hint at Megumi’s trauma,

Think of something scary

You stared at the unusually shaped pumpkin in front of you, your head rested in the palm of your hand while the second free hand nervously flickered through the drawings in your sketchbook. You had given up on trying to design something new and were desperately seeing if any of your previous ideas or sketches could be adapted to fit the pumpkin, which was significantly less jack-o-lantern round than what you were used to. No, it was relatively flat, and oval shaped like a cabbage with a long, thick stem.

When you signed up for the carving competition and picked out your pumpkin, there were only a handful of pumpkins left to pick from. All the perfectly round pumpkins and even the more classic, slightly dented ones were taken, leaving behind either abnormally large or significantly deformed ones. In sheer panic, you picked the first pumpkin you saw and stuck with that choice even as the competition administrator checked with you three times to see if he understood you currently. Knowing you were fucked either way, you stuck with your choice.

This led you to the predicament you were in, sitting on the picnic bench at the event, silently staring at your notebook with the same cheap plastic carving tools that everyone else had. Yours however were untouched, while all around you laid the same tools in various shapes of destroyed. The sound of cracking pumpkins, curses and scraping of insides filled the space all around you. Most of the other competitors were well on the way with their creatuons and would surely be done within the designated three hours. You hadn’t even set on the design, let alone started carving. You may as well count your losses, although you weren’t ready to give up completely.

What’s even scary to people?

Three years ago that question would have an obvious answer to you. After being hunted by curses, dating Megumi and being around his Shinigami, the answer was less clear. What was a ghost or a spider in comparison to a house-sized snarling monster? What were bloody handprints when you had seen Megumi’s almost cut off fingers, and claw-sized chunks of missing flesh out of him? What were fake vampires when you had run in with s real soul sucker and lived!?

You cut off your trail of thoughts as your eyes landed on a competitor's pumpkin that was chiselled out of human-like teeth to accompany the perfectly round Jack-o-Lantern eyes. You didn’t necessarily find it scary, a bit unnerving as your thoughts drifted to the impossible possibility of the pumpkin coming to life. Would it be scary then, or are just the human-like teeth.. Scary?

Instantly, your mind brought up an image of a creature you had only ever seen once over a year ago. Large owl-like body with dirty orange feathers, huge talons that could carry or shred and a pair of wings. The face was a white mask with eerie human features and human-like teeth. Megumi had called the shinigami ‘Nue’ when he taught you how to make shadow puppets one late afternoon. You had been so excited to learn, doing your best to wiggle your fingers to mimic the shapes he was doing like second nature—dog, bunny and then bird. And even if you’d never be able to summon the magnificent creatures he could, the simple thing made you feel closer to Megumi. More connected. And you’d always make the sign for the ‘dog’ whenever you felt lonely. The memory brought a stab of pain to your heart, and you shook your head, desperate to chase away the pleasant-unpleasant reminders of your ex. Instead you forced your focus back to the pumpkin in front of you

Was Nue scary?

You tried to think back to what you felt when the owl-like beast had appeared. Was it fear you felt? Or just pure excitement as you got to ruffle its huge feathers all you wanted. Yet as time ticked away- and with no better alternative at hand- you sketched the design of the shinigami from memory and began to chisel away at your pumpkin. Using the pumpkin's naturally flattened shape as a guide for Nue’s wings, you carved them to stretch behind its main face, as though the shikigami was in mid-flight. The central focus was the face; the large eyes and the toothy mask clasped, teeth bared so every single one of them was visible. You also split the thick stem of the pumpkin and tried to shape it and hack at it to make Nue’s signature ruffle feathers at the top of his head. You didn’t think it would save your creation, but maybe you would get a little above zero points,

Maybe even a participation trophy AND creativity trophy.

Those were your thoughts as you submitted the pumpkin and your number to the contestant before going to wash up and then purposefully forgetting all about it, Nue, Megumi and the competition entirely. There was no point in walking around stressing about a sure loss and questioning whether you had picked the right subject for the right category. Nue wasn’t scary, and even if you tried to make him malicious, you doubted he would stand a chance against seasoned pumpkin carvers. Besides the winner would be announced a week later, at the end of the fall festival giving people, both locals and those from larger towns around, ample time to vote and photograph the dozens of pumpkins.

The unmistakable highlight of the local newspaper. After all a pumpkin carving contest was the most exciting thing that happened in a small town over an hour from the capital.

By the time Sunday the following week rolled around, you had completely forgotten that you had used Nue as the subject for your pumpkin. You pushed back the memories of carving the creature into the orangy flesh, and the sentimental feelings that wanted to spill to the surface while you carved. You were the same as the way you had been since your and Megumi’s break up; controlled, collected, unbothered.

Moved on.

It was a lie, internally you were a total fucking mess who still couldn’t understand why after five years together Megumi decided to call it off. Even being months apart didn’t make it any clearer to you. And it certainly didn’t make it any clearer, or easier, when you saw Megumi standing by the podium where the three winning pumpkins were placed on stands of different heights. His hands in his pockets, face angled up towards the carved creations, eyes focused on the winner: the unmistakable carving of Nue taking flight.

You must have been imagining things, and your cruel mind was playing tricks on you. He wasn’t there, and you hadn’t won the entire competition- had you? Yet as you stumbled closer and closer, you came to the unmistakable realization that both of those things were true. You won. The honour, a set of carving knives and a small cash price were yours to collect before the end of the day. You won, with Nue, and Megumi was here, staring at the same carving of Nue that you were. He didn’t turn around and leave the second you appeared like he had done whenever he ran into you post-breakup. He stood rooted in place, and so did you, staring at the same damn pumpkin as the rest of the world faded into the background.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Megumi’s voice sounded tired and frustrated as if you had done the stupidest thing in the world. It was the same tone he had used with you whenever a date turned into a mission and you threw a rock at a cursed spirit to give Megumi enough time to summon his demon dogs.

“What?” You snapped back, your voice holding nothing but pure anger. Three months apart, and this was the greeting he gave you, after five years together? Although it served to enrage you, the tiny part of you that still loved this man beyond all words rang warning bells. Plus the annoying bells in your mind told you that something didn’t quite add up.

“Don’t ‘what’ me” Megumi turned to face you, pure fury in his expression. “You have no idea the kind of danger you put yourself in by announcing your connection to me, and after everything-” He cut himself off and shook his head as if it wasn’t worth explaining what he meant and settle for a tamer “- you pull this type of stunt!”

You faced him, your mouth set into a straight line so hard your lips were pale while you clutched your fists tightly to prevent yourself from snapping or slapping him for telling you how to lead your life, especially while he still talked in riddles. A deep breath, inhale in- exhale out. You did your best to stay calm, your mind completely focused on that annoying ringing voice that demanded answers, “‘This stunt’ What the hell is your issue anyway? We’re not a couple, I can do and carve whoever I want now” Your voice came out huffier and more bitter than you intended. Megumi narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t be an idiot, especially after all the hoops and sacrifices I made to keep you safe-?” “-You made?-” Megumi ignored your outburst and kept talking: “- and instead of quietly going on to live your best life, you’re practically screaming to the entire jujutsu society that you’re involved in our world, with me. You’re putting a target on your back, and I can’t keep you safe.” Megumi took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, a desperate attempt to distract you and anyone who looked at him from the obviously embarrassed blush on his face.

You were quiet for a long moment, processing both what he was saying and everything he wasn’t saying, the subtitles that Megumi bore, which he didn’t want you to know about. The things that were part of his world, his reality and which he refused to let you enter even after dating for five years. Although to your advantage, five years was a long time to get to know someone, even as close off and aloof as Megumi. You wouldn’t say you read him like an open book, but you were as close as anyone to being able to read Megumi like an open book.

“Then get stronger, ” you said it so casually that it was Megumi’s turn to snort. But now it's you who’s not letting him get a word in; “Let’s face it, Yuji’s just proposed to his girlfriend who can’t even see curses or cursed energy-”

“ -It’s different” Megumi snapped, his tone grew louder and more frustrated- loud enough to silence you mid-sentence. Again he ran his hand through his hair as if it could calm his rage. “Yuji doesn’t have one of the three most powerful jujutsu clans demanding him to be their next clan head.”

You raised an eyebrow at his excuse, your expression unconvinced. “You also don’t want to be part of Zenin”, you shot back instantly.

Megumi didn’t look at you. “It’s not that easy. If I leave, they’ll target you...” he trailed off unsure how to continue.

It took you all of three minutes to gather yourself, your fingers moving from crossed arms to pressing against your temple in a more subtle facepalm - slash - combatting -the -oncoming -headache look.

“So let me get this straight Megumi,” You utter the words slowly, making it clear you were trying to follow his not-so-logical trail of thoughts. “You broke up with me because what? Yuji proposed to his girlfriend of 2 years, and it made you feel less of a man-” Megumi shot you a dark glare which you promptly ignored “- because for you to do the same, you’d need to break things off with Zenin clan which might take years, you think they’ll target me and think I will betray you-”

-” I don’t think you will betray me”, he added hastily, and you threw your hands up in the air in surrender.

“Then what, Megumi? Why did you throw five years out of the window? Then chastise me for carving Nue into a pumpkin. Make it make sense, please!”

You were desperate now.

You were desperate to understand his reasoning because his behaviour was the definition of contradictions and illogical. To push you away and coldly break up with you, yet so obviously still care about you and your safety.

No, the Megumi that stood in front of you at that moment, frustrated and embarrassed, was the polar opposite of the aloof and composed, slightly awkward yet always well-prepared Megumi you’ve come to know and love. You needed to understand why. But he didn’t give you an answer, not verbally, at least. Instead, his eyes flickered down to your stomach, and lingered there for a long moment before they returned to your face. Your mind registered the action and tried to process it step by step. You weren’t pregnant; you two had never even talked about children until he suddenly hinted at it. So why would he suddenly fixate himself with that?

A look of shame crossed his features; Megumi licked his dry lips, his fists shaking in his pockets. The penny dropped as you realised it wasn’t logic speaking but trauma, an irrational fear that if you were to settle down and get pregnant, then, you, who would automatically get primary childcare- if not by being a mother, then certainly with his long absences as a sorcerer-, would be swayed by Zenin the same way his own father had been.

Megumi worried you’d sell your future children to the godforsaken clan while he would be helpless to stop it, tying him right back to the Zenin’s. A repeat of what he’d been through.

“You’re afraid.” it felt weird to say it aloud. Megumi has always been strong and always denied being afraid of anything, but now you knew he was afraid; afraid that his clan would somehow turn his and your life into a misfortune, a repeat of his father, Toji’s, life. A pain for you, a horror for him and a torture for whatever offsprings you two made.

“I don’t want to waste your prime” Megumi’s voice was quiet now, rendered with guilt and the inevitable comparison he was making between your relationship and Yuji and his fiancee. The pair who was already settling down two years into their relationship, while you and Megumi had broken up at the five-year mark. Broke up over a hypothetical ‘getting more involved with each other’ and even more hypothetical children and what would happen if Zenin got involved in your lives.

“This is so stupid” You breathed, pressing the backs of your hands against your eyes. You didn’t know whether you wanted to burst out crying or laughing. It was like a bad comedy sketch. “First, would you say it’d be a waste of ‘our prime’ if we can’t have children?” You look up from your hands to see Megumi staring at you with a deadpan expression. “No, I’m serious, just consider for a moment that we follow the supposed plan ‘we should be doing’, you know, get married before 7 years together have passed, then try for children only to find out one of us is infertile. Would that be a waste of 7 years for you?”

He looked lost. You weren’t done yet. “Second, our timeline and relationship are different from Yuji’s relationship. If they want to get married within a year, that’s up to them. In the same way, it wouldn’t make a difference between us if Nobara were to get a shotgun wedding tomorrow. We’re only in our twenties, Megumi. And unlike some, I am not ready to put my career on hold for household duties and changing diapers.” Your voice grew quiet, and the tears you had been pushing back all this time threatened to spill down your cheeks in angry streams.

There was so much more you wanted to tell him, you wanted to tell him how this was a conversation you two should have had together. You wanted to tell him that a future together, a tomorrow, wasn’t guaranteed. In the same way, his mother had been suddenly ripped away from his father, he could die in battle, or you could be hit by a car tomorrow and perish.

A day, week or a year wasn’t promised to either of you; life owed you nothing but that very moment.

You wanted him to know that so it was pointless to make these huge plans for the future that would most likely not work out. Even more foolish was comparing your relationship with someone else's. To wait five, or ten years to get married might be a curse for one person- but a blessing for another. But you couldn’t voice any of that; you don’t know how, so you settle for a much simpler; “ You’re an idiot, Megumi. A big mean dummy”

Megumi looked embarrassed, guilty and awkward and turned away from you, back to face the ‘scary’ pumpkins, which judged you from their stands. The blush on his face matched the crimson of his ears. And just like that, you were back from your little emotional bubble and in the real world, suddenly aware of the little audience of curious passers-by who watched your intimate exchange.

Your own face flushed red, and you looked down, unsure of what to say.

“You know.. You really hurt Nue’s feelings, carving him as the theme for ‘scary, creepy and nightmarish’ ¨

You realized the olive branch when you saw it, and although you are the one who should be angry and mean, telling him to fuck off, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny that little peace offering. It was hard to throw five years together, primarily because of trauma wrapped in communication issues. The fact of the matter was Megumi broke up with you out of fear and care, not out of spite. Somehow, that fact made him feel more human to you, more relatable in a way. Not so perfect.

So you just stretched your hand towards him; “Then let me apologise to Nue, in person.”

Megumi took your hand without hesitation, tugging it into his jacket pocket to keep warm against the chilly October weather before he began heading to a more private spot to summon your muse.

This conversation was far from over, and things were in no way back to the way they were before the breakup. But at least you both had talked and came to the mutual realisation that you wanted to fix this, to make it work, and you were sure the rest would sort itself… one way or another.

Author note: In my opinion there are just not enough Megumi fics where you've gone past the initial stage of the relationship, moved past the 'getting comfortable together' but before happy hubby stage. You know the uncertain period where you don't know when to propose or even if you should. The no-longer-girlfriend but not yet wife stage. This was me trying to rectify.

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All fics are unique works by ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

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answer2jeff · 1 year ago

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ready for another lie?

// carmen berzatto x reader

song: Diet Mountain Dew.

pairings: nyc chef!carmen x journalist!reader

mdni!! i'm not responsible for your media consumption.

warnings: smutty smut, VERY DETAILED, fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), porn with plot, drinking, cursing, kinda subby carmy, praise kink, alludes to piv but it doesn't happen, complete and utter filth, i'm giving the people what they want don't look at me!!!

essentially a prequel, 1 year before the start of season 1 of The Bear.

"Fuck youuuuu! It's Friday, loosen up!" A groggy voice yelled from across the bar, cursing you for declining another drink.

You watched your friends flirt with the bartender over the course of 2 rounds of shots; causing harmless fuckery with the several guys who tried flattering them. You were actually bored for once. It made you sick.

You waited for something, anything else to impress you. You tried convincing yourself you didn't have to leave, that your friends wanted you here, and that nights like these were "good for your soul," but there seemed to be no hope.

"Just two vodka tonics. Oh, and a white Negroni. Uh, yes— yes, thank you." You caught a blonde curl from the stool next to you in the corner of your peripheral vision, and you dared to turn your head. You were met by the sight of an oddly familiar guy—and then it hit you like a semi truck.

The man you wrote your final thesis on "the senses creating art," about. Food & Wines best new chef, as of late.

You'd spent an entire year and a half traveling the world (after finally making a name for yourself as a journalist, and snagging a place in Food & Wines top writers) and interviewing the faces of all forms of modern art, representing one of each of the 5 senses.

Casey French, a fragrance designer as the face of "smell." Christopher Knowles, a fashion designer who specialized in optical wear as the face of "sight."

The list went on, until it ended at Carmen Berzatto, on "taste," just 6 months ago. It was September now, and you almost forgot about the 2 and a half hours you took from your day to sit down and talk to him in that studio. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt the pores in your palms release a nervous sweat.

You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were really seeing him— out of all the other Friday nights, when he could've visited all the other bars. But he chose this Friday, at this bar, next to you. You needed to say something.

"I'll take a Negroni too, actually. And you can just close out my tab for tonight." You handed the bartender your card after you anxiously fished it out of your wallet, trying to seem completely oblivious to Carmen's stare. Carmen clenched his teeth, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he kept his gaze focused on you.

"Holy shit! Is that—" A slightly younger man nearly yelped while he inappropriately pointed at you, quickly being shut down by his peer, and being told to "shut the fuck up," but Carmen stayed silent. He was dumbfounded at the sight of you.

"Uh, hi. Funny seeing you here," you croaked, swallowing hard when you realized how much of a horrible excuse of a "hello," that was. Carmen didn't seem to mind, dragging his head out of the clouds and smiling back at you as he received his glass.

"Oh my god, yeah. Wow, I— it's good to see you."

Carmen glanced down at your drink, watching you trace your fingertip around the rim of the short glass. He gazed at your fresh manicure, the beautifully layered rings on your fingers, the diamonds on your wrists, the black dress with a slit that exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh. Carmen always thought you looked nice, only being used to your blazers and gorgeous vintage pants that he was a little jealous of, but this was different.

And as if you weren't already anxious enough, Carmen's "friends" immediately arose from their stools and made their way to an empty table, leaving the two of you alone again. Just looking at him and his clean suit and tie made you nervous, especially with the ink on his hands still visible.

"Good to see you too, Carmen," you smiled, cheeks aching as you tried desperately to hide your excitement. Admittedly, you admired him. That wasn't new. But that feeling in your stomach, that aching, yearning feeling was.

"I don't usually do these things," Carmen mumbled, taking a sip from his glass and licking his lips.

"Me neither. It's kinda— I don't know, icky."

You knew Carmen avoided big gatherings like this, but they were usually tolerable thanks to people who "knew him" enough to let him hang around their groups in silence while they practically screamed at each other. But his free time just never seemed to align with anyone else worth talking to... until tonight.

"Icky. Couldn't have worded it better," Carmen tried not to laugh at your expense, keeping his tongue between his teeth as both of you fought back a smile.

"You get it! God, anyway—how've you been?" You inched closer to him, resting your chin in your palm as your elbows were propped up on the counter. You made sure to keep your stare on him and only him, glancing from his nose, to his lips, and back into his eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was too late to stop now.

Carmen paused, his mouth gaping open slightly as he thought of what he could possibly say to convey that he could be doing better, without completely ruining the mood. He sucked his teeth as he took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the floor until he finally looked at you again.

"Alright, I guess. Managing. How're you?"

"Managing. But really though. Like, has anything changed?"

Carmen thought about your question, realizing how much he seemed to relax tonight—while simultaneously being the most nervous he'd ever been outside of work in the last year. Was it being out and public after a long week? Was it the fact that he still felt so stupid for not getting your actual number, and instead only having access to your business email which was provided by your agent? Was it the smell of your perfume? Was it just you?

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess some things have changed."

He couldn't help but awe at the way you did your hair and your makeup that night, appreciating the tiny details your jewelry and purse of choice added to the look. He hardly ever thought twice about the attractive women he'd run into; making small talk and watching them get bored with his interests.

But now you were here; his fantasies, his desires were here, right next to him; wearing a dress that flattered your cleavage and cinched you at the waist, black heels that tapped against the footrest of the barstool. It made his head foggy, and he couldn't even wrap his head around the encounter.

After finishing your Negroni's over the course of 3 separate conversations that left you with a cramp in your side and your cheeks hurting from smiling—basically hitting it off like you were actual friends, you decided to pull the classic...

"You wanna get out of here?"

Two successful, somewhat well known adults in their lines of work were allowed to be human, right? They were allowed to share deep belly laughs with someone they didn't originally plan to see outside of a work setting, right?

Wrong. It was unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted: everything you promised you'd never be around him.

Carmen knew this.

But he was eye-fucking you in that goddamn interview. His tattooed hands rubbing against his thighs as he sat in front of you in the white light of that studio, his gentle voice contradicting his large, almost intimidating arms—it was all you could think about when you wrote your thesis. And now you were gonna be alone with him.

And despite his worries, despite the nervous sweat beading on his forehead, despite his growing anticipation when he admired your figure like a horny teenager, Carmen agreed. The smirk on your face and your manicured nails in between your pearly white teeth was convincing enough. He knew it was risky, given the fact that you still wrote for Food & Wine every couple of months: being more than capable of ruining his career with one wrong, but so right move.

"Yeah, actually."

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Fuck it.

Carmen closed his tab, gently helping you down from the barstool by your hand. You held your purse close to you while waving a shy goodbye to your friends, who were drunkenly squealing in excitement for you. Carmen's peers seemed to be out of sight; therefore, out of mind. You felt your cheeks go hot, every part of your body tingling. Neither of you knew where you were going. Just not here, and not with everyone else.

He couldn't even think about the fact that he would be back in the glowing white light of the kitchen that following Monday, and you completely forgot about the paper you had to start by Sunday night. And it was way too late to care about any of that now.

You decided your apartment was best.

"Fuck.." Carmen grunted under his breath, his eyes hooded while he felt his pants tighten against his throbbing length. He spread his legs wider as you palmed him, trying to ease some of his tension. You hovered over him as he lied down, sprawled out on your leather couch. His hands were clawing at anything he could reach; your hair, your thighs, the straps of your dress until he pulled it down to your hips, and finally the clasp of your bra.

His bare chest heaved, red and covered in sweat. His dress shirt, tie, and jacket were somewhere in the mess of your apartment. He was honestly too desperate to care.

"You okay with me takin' this off?" Carmen whispered as he cupped your cheek, keeping his fingers prepared to unclip your bra with your permission. He admired every inch of your flushed face as he waited for answer.

"Mhm," you soothed him as your hand moved up and unbuttoned his pants the second your lips moved onto his. Saliva pooled in your mouths with every kiss, turning into a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. Carmen struggled, but eventually tossed your bra onto the living room floor, his mouth just centimeters away from yours as he exhaled heavy breaths.

You sat up straight, pulling Carmen up by his shoulders and smashing your lips back into his. He pulled sway to breathe, taking it upon himself to peel the rest of your dress off. His tattooed hands gently caressed your plush thighs, his calloused fingers sliding under the hem of your lace underwear. He practically worshiped you like this, planting open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

Carmen needed to hear you, feel you, taste you.

"I wanna taste you, if–if that's alright," he placed one last kiss of gratitude on collarbone before he looked up at you through lust-blown, half-lid eyes.

Your entire body began to heat up again, and Carmen's words went straight to your needy cunt. You could feel yourself dripping through your panties while you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment, nodding frantically.

"Please," you begged, a mixture of a moan and a silent cry escaping. Carmen's hands detached from your thighs, your hips writhing up from the loss of contact. Without another word, he nodded his head, letting his hands travel down your hips as he got down on his knees in front of you.

Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing from your pleading eyes and back down to your bottom half. He hesitated, choosing to plant one more line of kisses from your tits down to your navel before giving you one last look for permission. He put his hand between your inner thighs, asking you to spread further. You blinked slowly while he peeled your panties off of you, wondering if he would notice how wet you already were.

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Carmen licked his lips, admiring the sight of your puffy slit in hesitation. With your body sprawled out in front of him, your pretty face looking down at him...how could he not eat you out right on that leather couch?

"I've got you, baby," Carmen cooed, his eyes wide as he nearly drooled over the glossy puddle in your underwear. He gently placed your calves over his shoulders, his calloused hands scooping the underside of your thighs.

Carmens wet tongue licked a bold stripe from your hole up to your soaked clit, not a drop of your arousal going to waste. You grew impatient, the kitten licks he gave your sensitive bundle of nerves driving you mad.

"C'mon, Carmy, I—" You whined, pleading that he'd pick up the pace. Carmen decided not to hold back, giving your throbbing clit aggressive sucks that he'd later soothe with slow, flat-tongued licks.

You bit down on your hand while the other entangled in his hair to muffle the sinful noises you made. Carmen felt his stomach turn at the sound of his name falling from your gaping mouth.

Carmen took note of how much you loved his tongue diving into your weeping hole, earning whimpers and cries of "please," and "oh, fuck, Carmen." He groaned into your pussy when you caught a grip on his hair, placing his head even deeper between your thighs. He moved his hands from your thighs and up to your waist—forcing your jerky hips down on the couch. He wanted to make sure you didn't miss a single bit of pleasure.

"Can I.. uh, can I try something?" He stammered, picking his head up with his chin shiny with your liquids as his hand crept back down, prying between your folds. Carmen needed to keep every part of him busy so he wouldn't have to focus on the aching bulge, already leaking precum in his boxers. He felt his thighs clench as he fucking whimpered beneath you.

"S–sure.." You nodded frantically again, tossing your head back as Carmen carefully inserted a digit into your core. You whimpered in slight discomfort as he stretched you out, which he immediately reassured softly.

"Shhh... you're alright. Jus–just relax f'me, yeah?"

Carmen waited until you whined again; his fingers started at an agonizingly slow pace until he heard your moans getting a little too quiet for his liking. He picked his pace up, sliding another thick finger into your hole and ramming into your g-spot. He hesitated, afraid to hurt you—but you quickly dismissed his worries when you urged him that you needed more. Carmen aligned his tongue back with your pussy, sucking hard before comforting your desire with lapping at your clit.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, your grip in his hair tightening while your moans grew louder and louder. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear you through the thin walls of your apartment. You didn't even think about what this would look like the morning after—because none of it mattered. Not with Carmen's head between your thighs.

Carmen could tell you were close, prioritizing your pleasure before he could even register how badly he wanted to cum into his boxers. He couldn't help but buck his hips forward, begging for friction while every noise you made just inched him closer to his release... but he needed this to last.

"You close? Let me take care 'f you," he mumbled, breathing heavily against your pussy while he tried his best to stay still. It sent shockwaves through your body, and you tried desperately not to scream his name.

"So... so close.. Fuck, it's too much," your useless protest was cut short by a loud moan, muffled by the sweaty palm of your hand. Your heart pounded in your head as your walls clenched around Carmen's fingers. You weren't used to anything feeling this good in months.

"C'mon baby, you can handle it. You're alright. You're doing so good. Takin' my fingers so fuckin' good," Carmen's raspy voice comforted you. His tongue finally came back to relieve you, his fingers slowing down so as to not overstimulate you, as much as he wanted to.

"Carmy!" Your eyes screwed shut as your thighs shook. You chased your high, practically grinding into his face as his nose bumped your clit while his fingers remained at work.

—

"Jesus..." You panted, grunting in disappointment when you felt Carmen slide his fingers out of you. He licked them clean while your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to recollect yourself. Carmen planted a kiss on your temple the second he sat back up onto the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. You felt his erection against your crotch, his already sticky mess combining with your wetness yet again.

"You okay?" Carmen cupped your cheek, pushing any sweaty strands of hair out of your face. And just when he thought he couldn't have felt more proud of you, he melted into the feeling of your lips against his.

You didn't know if you'd ever see him again, you didn't know if this night would magically become niche hot gossip within your respective groups; all you knew was that you wanted him. His lust blown eyes on you, his hands gripping your waist as he bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you dumb, the sound of sex echoing through your apartment.

Maybe some other Friday night.

#AHHHH i'm screaming #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #i need him biblically #hope u guys like this it took way too long #nyc chef!carmen #he's such a cutie #i need him to eat me #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #the bear x reader

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iwas-princess · 2 years ago

Text

iwaizumi hajime • wedding bells

“wait- what’s that?”

the question was seemingly harmless, just a simple ask of misunderstanding and curiosity. but to you, it made your heart stop momentarily and you swore that you felt your soul dying and leaving your body to die.

“um, what? what’s what?” you asked, acting as if he wasn’t pointing right at the very obviously titled pinterest board of yours.

you both were snooping through each other’s phones, giggling about dumb photos or apps you both had and creating teasing inside jokes that would become meaningful in your relationship, when suddenly, he found the one thing that slipped your mind when you handed him your open phone— the wedding pinterest board.

you created it the moment you knew you loved him, hand selecting every detail that you desired your big day to include, even going as far as pinning lingerie that you wanted underneath your dress for him to rip off of you at the end of your reception.

it wasn’t unusual for women to go this, you’ve heard of it being a very common interest that most have when in love, so you’ve never felt insecure when showing your female friends or looking at whenever he sent you a text that had your heart bursting late at night— but you knew that men didn’t feel the same.

you’ve seen girls all over social media venting about their boyfriends calling them weird or obsessive when they discovered the ceremony plans, making a reaction of disgust and shattering their romantic girl’s dreams. you were utterly terrified of hajime reacting that way, for your relationship was practically perfect and you didn’t want something so… trivial to get in the way of that.

“this, baby. what’s ‘me n iwa’s wedding’?” a smirk quirked on his lips as he read the title out to you, his chest feeling full and stomach leaping with butterflies as he realized how much you loved him.

the cover photos were of floral arrangements on a long table outdoors, most were shades of both of your favorited colors and beautifully organized set tables. interested, he clicked on the board, ignoring all of your meme collections and driving his attention to your romantic interests.

“nothing!” you defensively answered, snatching your phone out of his hands but he was quick to grab it back.

“baby, c’mon, let me see.” he chuckled, his eyes flicking to your stunned and embarrassed face before retorting back to your phone.

you whined, nervous and humiliated as he carefully inspected each photo, taking in your preferences and custom selections.

most didn’t surprise him, having already known that you would favor certain colors and styles when it came to designs, but some were so gorgeous that he couldn’t believe they existed. your hopes for your wedding were high, leaving impression that he was who you were happy to tell stories of you both to your future grandchildren.

the ceremony matched every photo that was meant for it, proof that you had your little heart set on one idea. it was beautiful, he thought, and just your taste. but what really caught his eye, was the dress.

he could picture it all now, you walking down the isle in your dream dress, holding the bouquet you had already picked out with a smile on your face as he stood at the alter, teary eyed as he watched you make your way to seal forever with a kiss. your throughly thought out wedding was the setting, every detail he just discovered being in his vision.

“iwa, come on. stop it, i’m already embarrassed.” you whined before finally forcefully yanking your phone out of his hand.

he snapped out of his imagination as soon as your phone left his hands, the dress his eyes were trained on disappearing into only your eye sight.

he blinked for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts on what exactly just occurred within a few minutes time.

a blush spread across your cheeks as you watched in horror his stuned expression. this was it, he was going to say something heart wrenching and left you crippled in your bed for days after at his denial.

instead, a smirk spread across his face as he turned to you.

“so, you wanna marry me huh?”

you rolled your eyes, although very embarrassed that the words flew so recklessly in the air. as if it was some big secret that you wanted your long term relationship to turn into a marriage.

“no, i wanna marry your hunky arms.”

he laughed, a genuine rawr of laughter as he crossed his bulky arms over his large chest.

you would be lying if you say that you weren’t looking at the way they bulged out of his hoodie.

“oh, princess. always so obsessed with my arms, aren’t you?” he teased, but his voice was airy and sweet, as if he adored you.

“sure.” you mumbled as you tried not to boost his massive ego too much in one hour.

you both were silent after, you contemplating whether you not you should delete the wedding board or not, while he stared at the floor smiling faint as he thought about how lovely that vision was.

you thought for sure that his silence meant something awful, that he wasn’t as flattered as he seemed to be or that was all he felt of it, flattery. he couldn’t have taken it as serious as you did, you were positive of that. no man did, not even your loving hajime.

the silence was killing you, the uncertainty of what his real reaction was eat you up with each passing moment until you finally couldn’t shut up anymore.

“i know it’s weird, and seems obsessive that i already sort of planned out our wedding. i mean, you haven’t even proposed and we never really spoke about marriage, i don’t why i put as much thought into it as i have been. i’m sorry you found out about it, i’ll delete-“

“i’m gonna marry you.” he disrupted your nervous ramble, although his attention seemed to be on anything but you.

you blinked for a moment, soaking in what exactly he just said.

“i will.” he said, “i’m going to marry you, y/n. and it’s going to look just like that, maybe even better.”

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom that this was the result of your teasing evening.

“and i’ll propose soon enough, don’t worry your pretty head about that.” he nodded, eyes still trained on the carpet. “but, we will get married eventually. this i promise you, my princess.”

tears welled in your wideded eyes, both shocked and utterly love struck at his confession.

“i-iwa-“ you whispered, emotions advent in your voice before he cut you off once more.

“don’t delete it. keep it. we’re gonna need it in the future. it’s not obsessive or weird, i promise. it’s so fucking adorable and i don’t think i’ve ever been anymore in love with you then i am now. stumbling across that will be the highlight of my whole life until it happens, and even then not even the birth of our possible children would top that.” he was looking at you now, starring kindly at you as tears started to fall down your emotion-ridden face.

he was quick to lean over and place his hands on both sided of your cheeks and wipe the tears away, smiling at you.

“don’t cry, baby.” he cooed. “i love you, and this is everything i want too. you’ll marry my biceps soon, and you’ll never have to worry about going without them.” he teased, sealing it with a wink.

you laughed breathlessly through tears.

“i love you so much, hajime.”

“i love you too, princess, now kiss me.”

#iwaizumi 🌷#iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader fluff #iwaizumi x chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu fluff

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sgiandubh · 11 months ago

Note

What happened with Barbour ?

Dear Barbour Anon,

My favorite kind of Anon, even if I know the question has recently been asked again and not in this corner. Never mind, I think it's time to talk about it, too.

I bought my first Barbour (entry-level, so olive) Bedale wax jacket 25 years ago, from their (long gone, now) shop on Boulevard Raspail, in Paris. It was a mandatory clothing item to own if you wanted to properly mingle with the law school crowd (it still is) and it ended up being one of my most prized possessions, possibly a part of me. I still have it somewhere, back home. Two more followed, along with a fetishist array of shirts, scarves, beanies and even one of those sturdy crossbody bags you can fit half a house in. So you can imagine my absolute thrill when I found out, very very late, that S had had a rather substantial collaboration with them, from 2016 and until 2019.

I am very bad with timelines, as you probably know and possibly even cackle about, but still: S was appointed as the company's first ever Global Brand Ambassador on July 16, 2016. His mission statement was very precisely defined by the brand and for some reason we'll analyze a bit later, this is important:

(Source, heh: https://www.astonbourne.co.uk/is-barbour-a-luxury-brand-unraveling-the-mystique-of-classic-outerwear/).

A shirt and vest signature collection followed in 2017 and 2018, with the contract being renewed. Advertisement was absolutely gorgeous and designed to shape a very positive image, both for S and the brand. Last autumn's SS Gin promo retained some of that irresistible aesthetic DNA and I discussed it at length.

See for yourself, Anon. The fandom endlessly discussed the first long clip (with the chocolate labrador), but I have no idea if these two have been seen, let alone debated. If they did, let that be my nostalgic mistake.

Spring/Summer 2018:

youtube

Fall 2018:

youtube

And then disaster stroke, with S's trip to Ha-wa-wee 1.0, in the spring of 2019. A short reel, featuring a rather agglomerated boat trip, was posted on socials. Unfortunately for S, it also featured an allegedly horrifying scene involving the 'traditional' bludgeoning to death of a tuna fish. Emotions ensued and as it often happens here, they spun out of control. Many people, including some of the most vocal S haters, tagged Barbour in their diatribes, filled with environmentalist indignation. They suggested this guy (who did not participate to the savagery and I would be even unsure he realized what was going on) was, by no reasonable means, a proper 'embodiment of the brand's identity, values and aspirations' (remember that mission statement?).

Tone deaf as ever in the midst of a serious PR crisis, S put friendship above anything else, and publicly praised the boat's owner, calling him 'the heart and soul of the island', if I remember well. I still would like to think he has no idea what the hell exactly happened. And then, when somebody finally (August 2019) asked Barbour on Insta about their collaboration with S, they got this politely dry, but clear answer:

"We don't have any plans for a collaboration with SH in the near future" means, in my book and to my understanding, "we are never going to work with this guy again". Truly, some people in here who dare to give morality lessons to others, should be proud of themselves: they did it knowingly and in a very organized way, using multiple sock accounts, to give the impression of a collective retching reflex. To cut the story short, the dread of any ad campaign on this planet.

The effort was genuine. The result of that collaboration was very good. Take, for example, this somewhat heartbreaking customer review by an American guy who has no idea who SRH is and who bought one of those jackets from a Barbour factory warehouse, in 2021, with a hefty rebate (70% off). Clearly something Barbour wanted to get rid of at all costs - what a pity and really what a SHAME on all those hypocrites who will never admit to a public assassination by the book:

youtube

This time, I am absolutely not sorry for the length, Anon. This is something that still makes me boil. Unfairness and cheap nastiness simply disgust me.

(Thank you, sweetheart, for the screenshot, always. You know who you are 😘😘😘).

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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what-have-i-unleashed · 1 month ago

Text

your hand-grenade heart

gift for lovely moot @qin-qin16. happy early birthday!! (better early than late lol) hope you don't mind lovers-to-enemies (... or is it) crossdust :3

2k+ words of sadness. no warnings applied... i think.

cross isn't sure what part of the multiverse he has stumbled into. it was a stupid decision he made on the fly, opening his own portal inside of nightmare's own to prevent the guardian of negativity from dragging him back to the hell he knows nightmare would love to put him through again. the sudden time-space disruption caused a small implosion to happen, flinging cross across the dimensional stream until he landed face-first into the hard surface of lava-surrounded rocks.

and now, he's here in this barren universe, this empty underground, walking all the way to the lab to figure out where he is. the dead silence is messing with him quite a bit - an unfortunate aftereffect after living in a white space with virtually no one else (apart from xchara) for who knows how long. he takes a deep breath in and marches forward, resolutely ignoring the deluge of frantic thoughts starting to bubble up in his mind.

when he finally arrives at his destination, the first thing he does is checking the security footage on the computer in the lab, which dates back at least two years as he can see. he skims through the footage - no soul pops up on the monitor at all. this place has been dead for a long time, which is... unsettling. is this a pacifist timeline where monsterkind has all moved to the surface? or is this a failed genocide timeline that the human refused to properly delete for some reason? either way, he has to get out of here as fast as possible.

the thing is, his multiverse travel token has been broken since his fall into this universe. without xchara's powers, cross is essentially out of luck. he doesn't think he's knowledgeable enough about the mechanics behind travel tokens to fix his own.

which means he's basically a sitting duck for anyone coming across him right now. nightmare will find him before dream can, judging by how hard cross is sweating right now.

happy thoughts, cross! he thinks to himself. happy thoughts!

easier said than done, honestly. being stuck in an angel-damned universe with no obvious dimensional travel technology is a terrible situation.

... wait. he just remembers something. killer and dust often commented on how the machine in the basement under the snowdin's house is probably designed for time-space shenanigans. it might be broken, as it is usually is in most universes, but maybe its magic signature is similar enough to that of a travel token for him to charge the token up again.

it is a farfetched idea, but he has to try regardless.

his trip to snowdin is less nerve-wracking than he thought. there's something both soothing and frightening about the white snowy landscape. there's a familiar scent in the air, an electrifying taste in the snowfall that makes cross stop in his tracks.

... it can't be, right?

cross opens the door to the house at the end of snowdin, and-

-and dust greeted him with a tired mumble from the couch. cross grinned and stole a quick peck on dust's forehead, making the hooded skeleton blink in surprise at him.

"rough day?" cross asked, to which dust nodded, quieter than he usually was. an especially tough day then.

cross hummed, joining his boyfriend on the couch. he snuggled into dust's slightly larger frame, and dust made a half-indignant half-pleased purr in his throat. cross purred back, stretching himself so that his cheek was pressed on dust's collarbones. he saw, from the corner of his eyes, dust clenching and unclenching his hands by his sides, as if he was conflicted on whether to hold cross in his arms or not. dust's body was cold, but cross didn't mind that. he waited for his body heat to gradually trickle to dust, his layered uniform keeping him warm enough in this forever-snowy weather.

as time went by, dust hesitantly wrapped his arms around cross and pulled him closer. both of them stayed there on the couch, indulging in each other's closeness. cross let out a satisfied rattle deep inside his bones. he wished this idyllic scene could go on forever and ever and-

-and he feels like he has been blasted back to the past. the couch is still the same, or maybe it has gotten even dustier. it doesn't surprise him - he was the tidier between them two after all. what surprises him is that the house is not destroyed. everything is the same as it was, as if stuck in time, a photograph of a memory left untouched in a house of still lingering ghosts. cross traces his hands on the coffee table. his hand picks up a fine layer of dust.

his feet lead him to the kitchen next, where he sees the first sign of difference: a bunch of wine bottles discarded on the floor that no one has bothered to clean up. the fridge is not closed, emitting another breeze of coldness into the atmosphere. cross sits at the dining table, as if he's in a trance, as if he's dreaming. it's been so long, and yet everything is the same.

he doesn't know what to think. he doesn't know what to feel. he puts his shaky hands on the table and-

-and waited for dust to put his plate on the table. it was a bit embarrassing, being shooed off the kitchen because he didn't know how to cook anything else but soldier rations. dust was kind enough to ban him to the dining table and order him to stay still so he could fix the surprise, now fire hazard, that cross had intended for his boyfriend.

when dust placed the dish in front of cross, the soldier didn't know what to do but hang his head in shame. dust took the seat across from him and started eating.

"dig in," dust told him, and cross reluctantly picked up his spoon and slowly ate through it.

"uhm, look..." cross stammered, embarrassed. "i'm sorry about the fire. i didn't know the stove would do that..."

"it's fine," dust said, flippantly. "it wasn't a big fire anyway."

"yeah, but still..."

"i think it's quite cute of you to try to cook a surprise meal for me, cross," dust interrupted what cross had to say, and cross flushed.

"oh! uh..." cross scratched his head, laughing nervously. "it's our one-year anniversary. i just wanted to make you something nice..."

dust looked at him, a smile in his white eyelights. "like i said, it's cute. i appreciate it." he looked down at his plate. "no one has given me a nice gift in a long time."

cross felt his face get even hotter. he placed his spoon on the table, ready to say the words he'd been putting off for a while, and-

-and he resists the urge to flip it. is it anger singing in his veins, or frustration? or something else? he can't tell. all the memories here are suffocating in its sweetness, as if taunting him with a past that is no more.

it's dangerous to feel this way towards an enemy. it's his job now to protect other people from nightmare and his gang. penance for what he has done.

and yet, he can't help walking up the stairs. he can't help opening the door to their bedroom. he can't help staring at the untouched state of it. his - or more like dust's now - little plushies are still on his corner of the bed they have picked and put in the room. his shelf of comics are still there next to dust's shelf full of fiction novels. the crudely molded little ceramic rabbit he has made for dust still sits on the table, facing the window. everything is the same as it was. the same as the day he left dust behind.

*creaaak*

he doesn't know how long he has stood there at the doorway, but when he hears a click at the front door, his panic skyrockets. he quickly dashes inside the closet (where he briefly finds his monochrome clothes are still there) and holds his breath as he hears creaking footsteps coming upstairs and into the room.

peeking through the gap of the doors, he sees him. dust. his ex-lover. sitting silently on the bed, unmoving, staring outside of the window with his dull white eyelights. it's usually unsettling to see a silent dust on the battlefield, but in the domestic atmosphere of the house, dust's silence reads more as melancholic than dangerous. cross hasn't seen him like this in a long time. so still. so tranquil. so... pitiful. gone is the ferocious cannon of nightmare - what's left here is a broken vestige of a lonely being, trapping himself inside a house stuck in the past. he looks unhealthy, as if one breeze can take him down easily.

cross moves to see his former flame better, but then he accidentally steps on a coat hanger. a loud sound echoes in the silent space. and the figure on the bed twitches.

"who's there?" a murmur comes out of the hooded skeleton. cross doesn't dare breathe. dust continues, "come on. i know you're there. show your face."

cross doesn't obey. he stays still in the closet as dust walks around the place, his voice gradually getting louder.

"killer, i swear to asgore's beard, if i found you in here... i told you to get the fuck out of this universe!" a little mutter. "... yeah, yeah, you're right, paps. killer doesn't disobey nightmare, does he? must be someone else..."

cross can hear his soul beating frantically. dust walks back into the room, looking around and continuing to mumble to himself.

"might be that prissy error... though he wouldn't be stupid to destroy this universe... but that freak is crazy..."

dust swivels his head to the closet that cross is hiding in, his eyes a blazing red and blue. in a soul-stopping second, cross doesn't care that he doesn't know this place well enough anymore to do a shortcut, but he does anyway, teleporting himself to the middle of the living room. he stumbles upon crashing on the coffee table, and runs out of the front door once he hears the loud demented cackle from dust.

"i knew you're there!" he hears dust shout in delight.

cross runs and runs, uncaring of his injuries. his mind is a jumbled mess and his shallow breath is fogging up his already blurred vision.

he's gonna kill me, his inner voice yells at him. he's gonna kill me for sure. he never forgives me.

a bone attack sprouts from the ground and punctures his leg. with a pained yelp, cross collapses just as a heavy weight appears on top of him, one hand holding on his sternum.

"you fucking rat, i caught you!" he hears dust crow. "you think you can run from m-" the voice suddenly stops. "... cross?"

the grip on his sternum momentarily falters, and cross doesn't hesitate jabbing his smaller daggers right at dust's stunned face. the hooded skeleton falls back, and cross grabbed at dust's travel token, which he always keeps under his shirt, and yanks.

cross kicks at dust, hard, and wobbles on his feet again and runs. as if awaken from a nap, dust shouts, "wait! cross, wait!"

cross doesn't listen. he tries to keep as much distance as possible from dust, haphazardly teleporting through the snowy forest, all the while calibrating the co-ordinations of the token. his pain is at the back of his mind as he forces his body to power through the adrenaline.

"darling, please! don't run away!"

cross punches the co-ordinations he wants to go and pours his magic into the token. he sees it light up and breathes out a sigh of relief.

"cross!" he looks back and sees dust a few feet from him. "cross, i-"

he doesn't hear the next words coming out of dust's mouth. light envelops him as his body fractures into tiny particles traveling through the in-between of the multiverse. the last thing his eyes see before disappearing is the strange emotion on the face of his ex-lover, frozen in an anguished expression with red tears running down his cheeks. it doesn't look like dust at all.

huh. what a silly mirage he encounters.

dividers here by @\cafekitsune

#weewoo on the sad train we go #i love doomed yaoi :3 #i write #cross sans #dust sans #murder sans #crossdust #xcutioner #utmv #undertale au #sanshipping #sanscest

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cottagecheese1 · 1 year ago

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Helo could do part two of Surprised, Tony Stark x little sister reader wherein the reader couldn't take anymore pain and the cancer is strong it means the reader is dying to make her is being comfortable. She has wishes and tony and Avengers were determined to make it true. Also the reader seems dead by the end. Of it and make the avengers and tony sad and devastated especially tony who practically raise her

Nice surprise (part two)

a/n: This is part two for however wanted it! you can find part one right here

Everything seemed to be going great a few months after the avengers came to visit you, or that's what Tony thought at least. He had decided to visit you today just because you were his only little sister and he thought you might wanna see someone, Tony couldn’t bear the thought of you just sitting in that bed all alone and rotting in that damn hospital with no company, but even though he was sure you were used to it, since you’ve been sick for your pretty much your whole life.

As Tony walked through the hospital doors and did the routine check in and signed the visitor sheet, then proceeded to walk to your known hospital room, he opened the door to stick his head in expecting to see you, but you were nowhere to be found. While Tony stood in front of the door pondering where you may have gone, he only seemed to be thinking the worst, one thing Tony did know is that you didn’t deserve this. You were the sweetest living soul and you just happened to get the worst of it.

Tony's worries seemed to be interrupted when he heard a deep voice behind him speaking

“Mr. Stark, may I have a word with you in private..it’s about your sister”, Tony looked at him with confusion then that feeling quickly turned to fear but he didn’t want to believe what he was thinking.

“Is something wrong? I thought you said she was okay.”, Tony stated with an exasperated tremble in his voice.

The doctor looked at him with a sympathetic frown, “Mr. Stark..I’m afraid she won’t make it much longer, she is in a great deal of pain and unfortunately it is just too late to go forward with any other treatments.”

Tony looked down at his feet and clenched his eyes shut, he could feel his heart drop to his stomach and tears began to swell in his eyes, “I..can I atleast see her”, Tony responded with a noticeable tremble in his voice, the doctor frowned at him and nodded his head, “Yes, follow me this way, Mr. Stark”.

As soon as Tony stood in front of your room, he quickly went inside and placed himself right next to your bed, where he peered down at you and saw how tired you were from fighting. Tired of being in pain. At this point the doctor made himself out of the designated room to give you both some alone time.

There seemed to be a pregnant pause in the air as Tony took both of your hands in his own and cried, Tony couldn’t hold down any of the emotions that he attempted to keep down. He wanted to be strong for you, but the thought of losing you just put him in a harrowing state of mind. You looked at him with tears in your eyes as you managed to croak out, “I don’t wanna die Tony..please help me, it hurts so much..I..I just want you to help me”.

Tony shook his head “I’m sorry..I..I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, I love you and I want you to know that more than anything in the world.”

“I’m going to die aren’t I? And I’ll never get to see the things I wanted to see..because I’ll be gone, and nobody will remember me..I’ll just be gone” you cried out

As Tony lifted your hand off the bed and shook his head in denial, “No, don’t talk that way, everyone will remember you..a..and I’ll make sure of it okay? Hang in there okay, please don’t leave me yet..please don’t” Tony’s voice trembled as he stroked your head, attempting to calm you down.

“Can I ask for a favor Tony?..please”

Tony nodded his head quickly “Y-yes, anything”.

“I wanna go outside and see the world..just one last time before I leave, please”

“Yes, absolutely..I’ll make sure that happens today, if it’s the last thing I ever do”

You gave a half hearted smile and closed your eyes, tears silently running down your cheeks. You never told Tony how you were feeling or how you were actually doing, in your mind your brother was a busy man, and you were sure he didn’t need anymore stress on his plate then he probably already had, so you kept your mouth shut for the greater good.

After Tony spent a few more hours with you, he jogged out to the hall and quickly made his way outside through the automatic sliding doors. He felt like if he didn’t get the team to help him with your last wish, the world might come spiraling in on him. As quick as he got into his black BMW the quicker he got to the compound to make an emergency meeting.

As soon as everybody made themselves into the conference room, Tony quickly started to speak, too fast. Natasha hesitantly interrupts Tony in the middle of his tirade, “Hey hey, slow down, what's wrong? We're here to help you” the rest of the team silently agrees and looks at Tony as he takes a deep breath and rubs his temples.

“I..I’m sorry, it’s just my little sister doesn’t have much time left, and I want her last wishes to be perfect..while she’s still here, and I really need your guys help. It would mean the world to me.”

Everyone looked at Tony sympathetically, while Bruce got up to try and hug him, which quickly led to Tony pushing him away with a “Don’t touch me” Bruce silently nodded and awkwardly put his hands in his pockets, everyone let out a laugh at Bruce's embarrassment until Steve smiled “of course we’ll help you Tony, what kind of friends would we if we didn’t”, Tony smiled at them thankfully and gave a quick thank you.

When the team and Tony of course finally got you out of the hospital for the day, after piles of paperwork. The first destination that you wanted to go to was the ice cream parlor, then go eat at the park. Which of course Tony happily obliged with your request. You happily got your mint chocolate chip ice cream and made your way to the park, with Bucky pushing your wheelchair by the bench. You thought it was a wonderful day outside, sunny warmth radiating off your skin and the sight of children playing on the playground, which made you a little sad since you couldn’t do that, you never could since you were always sick. Tony sensed your discomfort and quickly moved you under some shade.

“So what would you like to do next? Remember that today is about you.” Tony sternly but softly spoke as you got the last phrase.

You pondered and quickly spoke “Hmmm..Oh! How about we go to the zoo!”

Tony chuckled and patted your back lovingly “like I said, Anything you want”.

After you made it back to the bland hospital, that you were disappointed to return to. But you had one more request, “Tony?” he looked at you inquisitively then responded “yes?”

“can you stay with me tonight? Just for tonight..I-I promise”

“Of course, let me check in first, alright?”

You smiled at him brightly then nodded happily. Waiting patiently for Tony to come back, you felt a throbbing pain in your chest, and you knew that wasn’t good. Tony came back starting a sentence but stopping when he saw you clenching your chest and your face twisting in agonizing pain. He ran out your room and grabbed the nearest doctor by the shoulder and attempted to drag them to your room. If one word could describe how he felt right now it would be panic, just panic.

The doctor led Tony out of your room and into the lobby where he was made to sit, with anxiety pouring down on him.

As hours and hours went by, Tony’s worries were yet to cease, until a doctor came into the lobby and called his name. He popped up out of his seat, following the doctor into the mostly vacant hallway.

The man began to speak “Mr. Stark..I am so sorry to inform you that your sister is deceased, we tried everything but..there was nothing we could do to help her, it is very unfortunate you had to find out like this Mr. Stark..but you may go see her for the last time”

At that moment in time, Tony’s world came crashing down on him. And that was only because you were his world. The reason he still had that glimmer of hope, that maybe the world wasn’t all that bad, but apparently it was. He was wrong, but more importantly you were gone and there was nothing in the world he could do about it.

#x reader #avengers x reader #iron man #tony stark #tony stark x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x stark!reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x you #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man x you #iron man x y/n #tony stark imagine #tony stark drabble #avengers x platonic reader #tony stark x teen!reader #avengers x child reader #x child reader

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disruptivevoib · 9 months ago

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Incase the lot of you thought the homestuck au thing was a joke and also dead no. and no. !! Explanation here is that Soul makes troll version dolls of heart and mind, then a doll of himself as a human. He gives Heart and Mind each the codes of the opposite (Heart gets the mind doll code, and vice versa) (or he ships them to them somehow? idk. stuffs rough lol) and they make those and throw them into their sprites at behest of Soul. And also because they don't really realize they are dolls of troll versions of the other until its.. a little late.

Both sprites, M1ND5PR1T3 and <3sprite are over-exagerrated and bastardized versions of the other.

M1ND5PR1T3 speaks in all caps, <3sprite all lowercase.

Soulsprite facilitates between two extremes of "I want to die" and "I have had at least ten monster energy's in the last 12 hours and im going!!!!!! CRAZY!!"

When M1ND5PR1T3 and <3sprite meet, they are basically built to hate one another- and thusly do. M1ND5PR1T3 or <3sprite attempt to punch the other and... well, second prototype each other.

Soulsprite will get mixed in later.

@calamarispiderart made the <3sprite and M1ND5PR1T3 designs and is also responsible for a lot of their characterization stuff!!!

#homestuck au I GUESS #homestuck au #ccccstuck?? lol #hate this but its so funny and unserious and silly #fanvoids #cj heart #cj mind #cj soul #chonnys charming chaos compendium #homestuck #cw noose #forgot those tags for filtering oops

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starcrossedreaders · 2 years ago

Text

Grossly Dependent

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst with fluff at the end, self doubt, injury

Authors note: YOU GUYS MATTER! Don’t let anyone else convince you other wise. There will always be someone out there that loves you. <3

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

I never meant to get myself in this situation. Being noisy had it’s perks till it didn’t, and currently I was suffering from the down fall of Fae hearing.

“Honestly, my condolences go out to whoever her mate is, it must be hard to be putting up with such a dependent mate.” Hushed voices turned into giggles that escaped their lips.

I never knew my co-workers to be so cruel. Was I really that dependent on Azriel? Does he hate it? He never seemed to hate it, but he isn’t the shadow master for no reason.

My mind was processing 100 thoughts at once, like waves coming up and washing away any self respect I had. I let out a sadden sigh, threw up the wall to the bond and got to shelving books.

I had worked longer tonight in hopes to clear my mind before I face my mate but all attempts had failed miserably. If anything, it made it worse. I thought to every time I had needed his help and how he reacted, this only resulted in me to drop the books in my arms, or almost fall off of the stool I needed to use to reach the highest shelves. Maybe they were right. Azriel had been the soul reason I left my bed when the sun rose. The reason I had worked so hard to make a better life for myself, the reason I was living not just existing. But maybe, just maybe I’m only living because of he has helped me every step of the way, from wrapping my hand when I burned it, to holding me through the late hours of the night when I was having a hard day.

As I was getting ready to close the bookstore a notably handsome male walked through the doors. Tall, somewhat well built with blond hair that swept his face and blue eyes. Nothing he has would beat Azriel and all of his artistry. I often found myself comparing my mate to the art we would see on our dates, nothing can beat him; the art was as close as one could get.

“Hi welcome in, may I help you find anything?” I smile at him as he walks up to register. As I walked up he eyed me up and down taking in my figure, creep.

“Well of course, do you guys have any history books?” He tilted his head to the side taking more time to observe me.

“Right this way. Are you looking for a certain book?” I started walking towards the designated section as he stated the title of his book.

When we made it to the spot I scanned the binds of the books to, of course to find the book to be on the top shelf. As I go to reach it on the tips of my toes my fingers nearly grazing the thick bind, I lost balance. As I began to tip backwards and tripping on my own feet the male behind me braced me by the waist. I clenched my eyes shut hoping to hide from my embarrassment. After a few heart beats I began to back away only for the male to strengthen his grip of me.

“You can let go now,” I looked up to him giving him a deadpanned look. He looked back at me grinning slightly.

“No ‘thank you’ for saving you?” His arrogant manner was starting to get on my nerves.

“Thanks. You can let go now,” I tried to push his hands off of me. Everything about his hands on me gave my stomach a twist. It’s not my mate, in no way shape or form.

He tried to pull me closer until shadows swept pass us going straight towards my ankles and arms to protect me.

Azriel.

“She said to let go. You have 3 seconds to let go or your hands are mine.” His cold voice sent shivers up my spine.

The male growled, ripped his hands from my waist and angerly walked out.

He had saved me once again, I was truly and utterly defenseless. Being oh so dependent on my mate, once again. The chills from my spine soon felt like hot lava pouring down on my spine. Anger, blind rage and anger surged through me.

“Are you okay my love? Did he hurt you?” His protective, yet warming words reached my ears.

“I’m fine.” I curled my fists and walked past him to close the store. I know I shouldn’t be so cold towards my mate, especially after he saved me. But my co-workers words kept repeating in my mind.

Dependent.

“Are you sure? You seem kind of upset,”

“I said I’m fine Az, let me close the store and then we can go home.” I left no room for him to try again as I began my closing duties. Azriel just sent a warm loving feeling down the bond that I embraced. I sagged my shoulders as I counted the money.

As my mates feet touched the ground I was off to the kitchen to start dinner. I didn’t really want to talk about today, or how I was feeling for that matter. I went to occupy my mind again in hopes to better myself for my mate.

Starting dinner took a lot of work and restraint to not just go fall into our bed and sleep for the rest of my immortal life. I truly don’t know why I was feeling this way, Azriel was the best mate I could have ever asked for, even if he was little overbearing and protective. He can’t help it, working for the High Lord is never easy and his work brings a lot of threats around but still. Nesta and Feyre are never this dependent on their mates, in fact most of the time they were the ones to wear the pants in the relationship. Rhys gave Feyre time and knows she can handle herself. Cassian knows how Nesta is and respects that she is as independent as they come. Azriel...

Before I could finish my thought a sharp wave of pin surged through my hand. Lost in my thoughts I hadn’t realized that the knife was so close to my finger and I sliced it open. It took a minute to fully understand what happened and then the strong copper sent wafted up in the air. The shadow Az left to make sure I was okay was gone before I could blink and Az was booming down the stairs after I opened my eyes.

I stood up straight and faced my back towards him as I began to rinse out the wound.

“Y/N, are you okay, is the cut deep, what happened?” So, so, many questions

dependent.

The words rattled throughout my skull.

“I’m fine, I can handle it on my own. You don’t have to be protecting me all the time Az. Nothing is going to happen to me if you look away for one second. S-So just go finish your work or whatever you were doing, I can do this myself.” The words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and soon after the air become still.

“Love...” Love rushed down the bond as he face turned from concerned to hurt. I couldn’t handle that look.

I go to walk past him but he flung his wing out stopping me in my tracks.

“Talk to me, Love. Why do you feel this way,” His shadows left to get the first aid-kit leaving us to each other. His beautiful hazel eyes bored into me. My bottom lip began to quiver as tears rose to my eyes and my throat burned. Az was quick to bring his hand to my cheek, wiping the running tears away. I place my hand on top of his and leaned into his touch. He connected his forehead to mine in hopes that my thoughts would pour into his mind.

“Talk to me.” He whispered hot breath ran down my face as he slide his thumb back and forth on my cheek.

“Every day, all I hear is how reliant I am on you. For the longest time I refused to listen to their words. I thought you enjoyed being there for me as much as I do for you but then, you introduced your friends to me. Gods they looked so happy with their mates. Both sisters being strong and independent, if anything their mates needed them. Sometimes I wonder if you want something like that, a person to lean on.... not a burden,” I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. How did I just confess that to my mate...

Az pulled back letting out a sigh and he began to work on bandaging my finger.

“My mate, my lovely mate. How could you ever be a burden, I don’t think you realize how much you lift me up as much I lift you up. We help each other in different aspects of our lives. You helped me with my insecurities, my hands, self destructive thoughts, showing that I do deserve your love. Remember when we first met?” He lets out a small life and I grinned a little.

“Yea, I do,”

“You tripped on cauldron knows what with a coffee in one hand and books in the other. You just so happened to be graced by my chivalrous acts and I saved you. That day I knew, just knew you were my mate. Even if you fall hundred times over I would never change you for the world. Mother has blessed me with you and I could never thank her enough. You are enough, you are wanted, and you are most certainly not. a. burden. So get those thoughts out of your head,” Az finished wrapping my finger as he placed a soft kiss on the cut.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel angst

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