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chiliyue-archived · 1 year ago

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cause i love to love, to love, to love you

↬ in which you have him all lovesick and smiles

includes; dazai, chūya, atsushi, fyodor

notes; i am gonna pretend i didn’t disappear for 2-3 months. this has been in my drafts for so long :( i tried to clean it up as much as i could but it’s really old jfjdks

DAZAI

dazai appears happy. present tense.

his typical inquiries for double suicides came to lessen to conscious degree, substituting in drinking sake together when the sun cowers, nothing but a string of nonsensical chatter proceeding each sip.

he was sticky like that: unannounced visits, impromptu phone calls, sudden changes in his schedule to accommodate yours. in any case, he isn’t one to shy from stooping as low as whining if it rewards him with your familiar face.

( his windpipes splinter before he could mutter it out loud, but the solitude that’s wedged deep in his bones for so long felt lighter when you were near. he questions how long such benevolence would last before becoming sullied by his hand… ).

…and yet all things considered, it hasn’t deterred him from courting you nonetheless. at times he can’t help but think he’s taken a bite of his own medicine when he’s the one skipping around like a helpless maiden.

and yet again in spite of it all, his brazenness remains perpetually untouched as ever. he entertains different approaches if only to coax out a new reaction from you and he’s not bashful in the slightest. so much so, he remains unruffled even under the scrutiny of your coworkers.

. . .

“ this is highly unprofessional.”

“ don’t be so mean, bella. don’t you know how much i missed you?”

your eyes flit down to the man currently using your lap as a headrest, the rest of his body stretching over the expanse of the couch. he was shameless, that much was certain, but his ability to remain unperturbed whilst in his lovey dovey state was impressive. you cocked a brow, sighing.

“ osamu.” his lips visually twitched at the call of his name; it’s a word warm on your tongue but leaves the hairs on his nape at your mercy anyway. " you saw me fifteen minutes ago—”

“ twenty.” he corrected, cheeky (and quite frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled that number out his ass). “ but it was the longest twenty minutes of my life.”

he was unrepentant as ever, experimentally positioning his head to rest on the plush on your thighs. by muscle memory, he began to absently draw shapes wherever he could reach, a crude rendition of stars decorating over the bend of your knee.

he smiles innocently when you squint at him, the gleam in his eyes unwavering. “ only a couple more minutes and i would have been yours,” you mutter out, your voice not as sturdy as you hoped. “ at home.”

dazai almost turns pouty at that. almost. “ but my love, i’ve missed you like crazy. twenty minutes is too long, how can i possibly manage?” the words come out through a breathy exhale and you watch as his lashes kiss his cheeks when he flutters them closed. “ all i could think about is you. and now i have you right here.” he hopes his words carry as much truth as the way his heart does, scurrying away the cold that's mocked him for so long. “ can’t we just stay like this a little longer? pretty please?”

resigned to your fate, you could only clamor your palms over your features— if only to salvage your waning dignity from your coworkers.

unfortunate though… that in doing so you miss the blissful smile curling on his lips as he peeks at you from below. and atsushi notes(after throughly grimacing, not expecting him to be so blunt), it reaches his eyes too.

CHŪYA

" chūya-"

" you can't flirt with me. i have a partner."

terse, stubborn and slurred. if the groggy voice wasn’t enough to confirm your suspicions, the shit-face look belonging to your boyfriend did. he was drunk. wasted if you were to speak bluntly.

in truth, it really doesn’t come off as much of a surprise; his ability to hold his liquor was nothing to brag of (despite what he may profusely argue) and you’re half-convinced he’s already forgotten his own name.

still, you don’t loosen your grip on his sleeve even under the figurative holes he’s burned with his stare. “ chūya. i am your partner.”

“you—! wha-!” his voice erupts into a sudden warble, eyes akin to saucers. " you… you are??"

he takes what’s left of his thinning rationality to study you proper; the style of your hair, your clothing, the smell of perfume/cologne, the familiar quirk of your lips—

oh, he thinks as you push back the loose bangs veiling his face. he doesn’t make any attempts to move, feet stalled and eyes blinking, evidently stunned.

you decide to press on. “ do i look familiar now…?” the lilit of your voice grazes against his ear, plucking out a faint memory tucked somewhere in the crevice of his fuzzy head.

oh. he thinks twice, the stern look bruising his face thawing.

without realizing it, he squares his shoulders in any attempt to remedy his current disheveled appearance, slumped posture pulled taut in— what he hopes— was a more put together frame. conversely, he wobbles on his feet when you continue to eat away at the distance, the ghost of your touch pushing pinpricks into his skin.

“ you’re- you’re really all mine…?” he cringes as soon as it leaves his mouth, coming off eager and hopeful. something like a laugh escapes you and he can’t tell if that’s what made his stomach turn or the alcohol. perhaps both.

“ that’s what i’ve been trying to tell you. you’re so stubborn when you’re drunk.” you punctuate the words with a kiss to his cheek, now warm with revelation. chūya, exhausting the last bits of his energy, shrinks beneath it, a gloved hand clutching his reddened face defensively.

“ why haven’t i made you my spouse yet?” he remarks it so suddenly, you nearly choke on air. he can’t even comprehend what you say thereafter or register the look beginning to contort your features, nothing but liquid courage keeping him afloat.

but- well, if there’s anything the haze trotting his head and his thinning cognition could agree on, it’s that your ring finger appears a little too barren for his liking.

( but not for much longer, he hopes )

ATSUSHI

the sudden change in atsushi’s behavior was a notable observation within the ADA, many of whom watched as the weretiger became stupefied by a face belonging to you. it wasn’t long before concluding it was all the result of a crush; the culprit of which being atsushi himself who played his hand poorly at discretion.

the lovesick chatter would leave his mouth without much rationality, waxing of "[name] this" or "[name] that," and effectively becoming on the receiving end of his praises. it was almost a routine of sorts, occupied by stutters, belated responses and his fidgety footfalls. by the end of it, he fruitlessly attempts to steady his rabbiting heart— if only to stop his blush from staining beyond his cheeks.

even now as he silhouettes by the agency door, the rattle of rain is deafened by the rush of blood to his ears. he anxiously worries the handle of the umbrella in his palms, bouncing from one sole of his feet to the other. should he just ask you? maybe he should wait… now that he thinks about it would be more appropriate to just leav—

“ damn it.” he perks at your sound of displeasure, his heart spiking. “ so much for leaving in a hurry…” you stiffen, realizing you have nothing but a coat protect you from the weather. the flimsy jacket you hurriedly plucked from your wardrobe only added flavor to your disappointment.

atsushi doesn’t miss the opportunity; his feet carries him to you before the unpleasant voice lurking deep in his subconscious bullies him otherwise. “ we can share,” he gestures to his own, silently praying his voice was leveled. it wobbles anyway and by now his knuckles are sheen white as a product of his nerves.

with the organ jumping around in his chest, he almost doesn’t register your ‘thank you,’ only that his fingers were quickly undoing the straps of the umbrella before you could change your mind ( he impulsively bought it earlier that day— his previous pair worned out and far too tiny for two people. but when you thank him with a kind smile, hands slightly brushing with each step, he argues it was the best 800 yen he’s ever spent ).

… that said, a more appropriate question is how you managed to remain naive to all his pining for so long— he’s become despairingly obvious against his own good and yet he can’t find it in himself to change himself, a perpetual lovesick look copy and pasted whenever you entered his proximity.

the same can't be said to everyone else however and he wasn’t particularly pleased when he caught wind of the bets exchanged among his treacherous colleagues. he fears it's only a matter of time before one of them blabs their tongue to you. at this rate, perhaps one of them should.

. . .

" y'know atsushi," ranpo once said, offering his companion a gleaming simper. " you reallllyyy talk about [name] a lot."

"oh.”

his heart flutters, eyes slowly blinking.

" yeah,” he smiles. “ i guess i do.”

FYODOR

" you've been awfully quiet, my dear." fyodor’s voice was just loud enough over the sound of clashing cutlery, fixing you a gaze of genuine interest. " is the meal not to your liking?"

you feel your lips twist into a frown. for being attentive, he (for once) falsely saunters pass the source of your displeasure, failing to recognize the extent of your internal woes. " no- no-" you fidget with your fingers, ignoring the way your propped elbows skidded against the table. the behaviour doesn't go unnoticed by the former, who takes it upon himself to hook his index fingers with yours. “ there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask of you. a… request of sorts.”

“ what is it? i’ll have it shipped to you by the end of the week,” he offers generously though it quickly fades into a confused hum when you shake your head at the proposition.

" it isn’t something you can buy…” you drop your gaze from him to the scantly poked portions of cuisine on your plate. fearing he may misinterpret your words and assume it to be unattainable - perhaps gifting you something ludicrous as a piece of land - you amended quickly. " it’s not what you assume to be either.”

at that, he bums questioningly. “ then what displeases you, my darling?” he provides a faint squeeze to your hand, igniting something warm and paradoxical to his thin layer of frigid skin. “ what can i offer to rid you that frown?”

" just your company.”

" my company?"

" yes." perplexed, he cocks his head; an invitation. willing an inhale to your lungs, you took a moment to gather possession of your words. “ these days you've been rather occupied. i was hoping for perhaps… if we may spend some time together?"

fyodor appears vaguely surprised by that, something unfamiliar fortifying around him. requesting his time felt like a hefty expenditure just in itself and it wasn’t too far fetched to assume he’ll disregard it in favor of some plot embellishing deep within his brain. but a swift refusal never comes.

“ i see,” he finally says after a brief pause. his voice was so soft you wondered if it was meant for you to hear.

it's grows quiet before he speaks again, the fingers curled around your hand withdrawing but not before providing the tips a delicate squeeze. " i can arrange some time tomorrow for you,” he proffers. “ will that satisfy your request, myshka?"

hardly anything can catch fyodor off guard, but something had to be said in the way you brightened at the suggestion, a deep curve coasting over your lips. how pleasant you are.

" yes," you hastily replied, dipping your head slightly. " more than perfect. thank you."

the way your lineaments crossed into a smile was always enduring to observe — exasperated, but one he wouldn’t mind seeing tomorrow knowing he was the cause for such elation.

( idly, he wonders what he can do to see it again ).

A/N !

i’ve been meaning to post this for months but it’s so old & i never quite (and still kinda don’t) liked it :(( fyodor’s is bit ooc jfjdkskla

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yepmimix · 26 days ago

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they make me sickkkkk

#qsmp #pissa #deathduo #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #philza #missasinfonia #lil bit of fluff on this fine morning cus its what they deserve #just the two of them enjoying each others company being all lovey dovey and whatnot

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musingsofahufflepuff · 1 month ago

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Just to Stop the Feeling

bi!Theodore Nott x m!reader; angst & fluff

summary: in the wake of his mother’s death and his father’s ever increasing expectations of him, Theodore finds love in a place he never would have expected

a/n: a year in the making and this might be the gayest thing i’ve ever written. big shout out to @suugarbabe for listening to me yap about this for weeks, the anon who requested this, and everyone who’s been supporting me the past year. here's 6.2k words of bi awakening, enjoy ♡

The Great Hall was loud, too loud if you asked Theodore. The Sytherin was sat at his house table, head propped up on one hand as his friends chattered around him. The sorting ceremony had just wrapped up which meant everyone in the Hall was catching up about their summers. Theo thought back to just a couple days ago, the oppressive silence that haunted the Nott Manor in stark contrast to just how lively and crowded it was now. His father was rarely in common spaces nowadays, thank Merlin, but that left Theo to stalk around the Manor much like the ghosts floating above him now. If only it was as interesting an existence as Sir Nicholas or even Peeves. Not even a poorly rolled cigarette in the garden brought much enjoyment to him these days.

“Theo! Are you with us mate?”

His eyes drag up to meet the inquisitive look on Enzo’s face. He hums in acknowledgement.

“We’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” Theo takes the cue to look around and see the group looking at him, some in amusement and some—Mattheo specifically, though he tries to hide it—with concern.

He slips on his signature lazy half smirk with minimal effort, rehearsed and perfected. “Tired from the train, what did I miss?”

Enzo perks up and launches them back into conversation, Mattheo visibly relaxing in his peripheral. Arm still supporting his head, he jokes and laughs and nods along to everyone recapping their summer breaks, feeling hollow.

The Slytherin common room wasn’t cozy in the traditional sense, with its cool lighting and excess of stone architecture, but Theo found it comforting nonetheless. He was sitting on one of the leather couches in front of the fireplace, this time only in the company of Mattheo and Draco.

Cool leather against his skin contrasted nicely with the heat of the fire, the familiar voices of his friends putting his soul at ease for the first time in months. He loosely kept up with what they were talking about, his mind simultaneously wandering to thoughts about the new term. Evidently, Draco and Mattheo were on the same wavelength as the topic shifted to Hogwarts and—much to Theo’s dismay—girls. “So Nott, got your eye on anyone this year?”

Theo rolled his head against the back of the couch to face Draco, that smirk back on his face. “Eh, hadn’t thought about it too much. I know Pansy has hers on you, Malfoy.”

The blond scoffs, “as if I wasn’t aware.”

“Like a predator on prey,” Mattheo cracks, smile evident in his voice. Theo allows himself to chuckle as Draco looks at them helplessly. Theo feels Matt’s elbow nudge at his side. “Too bad it isn’t Granger looking at him that way.”

A pillow flies past Theo’s head and smacks the boy next to him square in the face. Mattheo dramatically falls back onto the couch before erupting into laughter.

“Too bad you aren’t a beater, huh Malfoy?” Theo quips, quickly putting up his hands to potentially block another projectile pillow.

Draco just groans, “I’m going to bed.”

The first month of classes flies by fairly quickly, everyone falling into their usual rhythm. Quidditch practices a few times a week, late nights smoking in the astronomy tower and the odd party here and there. Theo is itching to get off the castle grounds.

That’s why he jumped at the opportunity to go when Enzo asked the group for company on his shopping trip that Saturday morning. Theodore loved Hogsmeade in the fall. The shops would put up festive decorations and the entire atmosphere of the small village grew extra cozy.

With a Slytherin scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and Butterbeer on the brain, he met his group of friends at the beginning of the path to Hogsmeade.

The breeze was comfortable as they walked through the village, stopping every couple of shops to peruse the new inventory. They finally make their way to the Three Broomsticks, finding a table for the group.

Theo groans as he gets voted to go up to the bar for drinks. Sitting at one of the stools is a guy in scarf showing off a badger emblem. As he gets closer, he realizes he vaguely recognizes the Hufflepuff. Theo settles himself down on the stool next to him, causing the guy to look over.

He has a quizzical expression on his face, eyes lighting up as he figures out who he’s looking at, “You’re Nott, right? I think we have a couple classes together.”

His heart thumps a little harder at his name on the boy’s lips. The boy in front of him tilts his head when Theo doesn’t respond, reminding him to give a quick nod.

The Hufflepuff’s lips tug up into a small smile as he offers up his name.

Theo blinks a couple times and stammers out something about seeing the guy around sometime before he’s speed walking back to the table, no drinks in hand.

“Whoa, who got Nott blushing?”

Theo furrows his brows together in confusion, a hand coming up to his face. And sure enough, heat was radiating off his cheeks.

“Never mind that, Theo! Where’s the butterbeer?”

Monday morning Theo is sitting in History of Magic before class starts, getting ready for an hour of boredom, when books hitting the desk with a thud catches his attention. He’s startled to see you, the Hufflepuff boy from the Three Broomsticks, standing there already looking at him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Theo nods, feeling like an idiot. Why was this Hufflepuff boy able to completely shut off his ability to speak, let alone think?

That bright smile is back on your face as you take the seat next to him. And his heart flutters.

“So glad this is the last year of having to put up with Binns and his masterclass story telling,” he can practically feel the sarcasm dripping from your voice and finds himself cracking a smile. An actual smile, not the smirk he usually puts on.

“I know, it’s a wonder anyone manages to stay awake.”

You gesture to the travel mug in your hands, “gotta keep at least a bit of caffeine on me for emergencies. One of my muggle-born friends gave me something called an energy drink? It’s…a lot, to be quite honest.”

Theo huffs a laugh, “energy drink? You’d be better off with some espresso than whatever muggles put in those things.”

You give a contemplative nod, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before he can figure out something else to say, to keep existing in the surprising warmth of conversation with you, Binns is starting up his monotone ramble. Theo feels his heart sink as you look away from him to at least make an attempt to pay attention. He silently looks through his textbook, trying to ignore the weird sensation in his chest.

“Hey Theo, wanna come to the Astronomy Tower tonight?” Mattheo’s voice comes from behind where he’s sat in the common room the next evening after dinner.

He pulls his nose out of the book he was buried in as he thinks it over. It had been a while since he’d had a proper smoke with the lads, and he didn’t need to ask to know that’s what Mattheo had in mind. It doesn’t take long for him to set his book down on the table with a nod, “yeah, sure.”

As he turns around to face him, he sees Enzo right behind the other boy, grinning with a thumbs up. The look on his face makes Theo debate changing his mind, but he walks out of the common room with the pair anyway.

The walk up to the Astronomy Tower is long and filled with so many stairs that Theo is very quickly reminded why he doesn’t bother coming up here as often as he thinks he’d like to. Enzo and Mattheo walk slightly in front of him, talking about something Theo doesn’t really bother to listen in on, Quidditch perhaps? How those two don’t run out of things to talk about, he’ll never know. He’s so lost in thought he barely notices the last two flights of stairs to the top and he’s suddenly hit with the cool air of early fall. He’s also suddenly aware that Mattheo and Enzo are no longer talking, but instead looking at him. He blinks.

“Huh?”

“Told ya he’s just been on a different planet lately,” Enzo quips, nudging Mattheo with his elbow. Mattheo nods in agreement but doesn’t comment on it, instead repeating his question, “I said do ya got your own smokes or are you taking one off me? Cause if you are, we’re fucked. I’m out.”

Theo isn’t surprised in the slightest, “is that why you invited me? Free cigs?” Nonetheless, he pulls a pack out of his pocket and holds it out for him.

Matt grins as he swipes one, “nah, but it doesn’t hurt. You’ve always got nicer ones than me.” Enzo immediately scoffs.

“It’s cause you’re broke Matty—”

“Shut up, no I’m not!”

“Then explain why you keep mooching off of me—” they continue to bicker before Theo cuts them off. “Matt, got a light?”

Mattheo shuts up and holds out a lighter, flicking it to life with practiced ease. Enzo swoops in with his joint before Theo can even pull a cigarette out of his pack, rolling his eyes at his friend. Mattheo raises an eyebrow quizzically, “weed? Seriously?”

Enzo just shrugs nonchalantly, cocky little smirk on his face. “Not my fault neither of you know how to have fun—hold on, is that my fucking lighter?!” Mattheo gives him a shrug, moving it away from where Enzo’s leaning in to get a better look.

Theo sighs, “I think he meant on a school night—”

“Who are you? My mum? Didn’t think you cared about actually attending lessons, Teddy—” Theo immediately scowls at the nickname, making Enzo raise his hands in surrender, smirk still planted on his face. Merlin, he could be insufferable.

Theo returns the shrug, trying to play it off, “just figured with OWLs coming up—”

He’s cut off once again, this time by Mattheo, “don’t tell me, you wanna make sure you don’t miss sitting by that Hufflepuff.” Damn his ability to see straight through him. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you two sitting together yesterday in Binns’ class.”

“Well, I didn’t…” Enzo interjects but is ignored by Mattheo other than an exasperated eye roll.

“You seemed pretty chatty; wasn’t that the same guy at the Three Broomsticks last Saturday?”

Theo quickly lights the cigarette on Mattheo’s still flickering flame and shoves it between his lips. He receives an unimpressed look at his attempt to avoid the question, but to his credit, Matt refrains from pressing further. The same cannot be said for Enzo.

“So what, you’re fraternizing with Hufflepuffs now, are ya mate? Never thought I’d see the day—” his teasing is abruptly ended by Mattheo whacking him upside the head.

Mattheo lights his own cigarette before putting the lighter away, taking a deep drag from it. There’s a beat of silence between them. A gentle breeze passes through the tower as Theo looks out at the Scottish Highlands bathed in the light of the moon.

“He’s just…nice, I guess. Doesn’t seem to mind I’m a Slytherin,” Theo finally answers, releasing a stream of smoke.

Enzo chuckles, rubbing the back of his head where he was whacked. “Fair enough. I feel like usually only girls that want a little fun are willing to break that barrier.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively as he takes a drag as well. Mattheo snorts with a nod. “At least it's not a Gryffindor.” Theo’s nose subconsciously scrunches.

“Yeah, remember that Gryffindor Enz was all over end of last term because word was going around he had a good pot stash?” Now it’s Mattheo getting shoved, but he barely reacts besides a huff of a laugh.

“Didn’t even have the goods,” Enzo pouts petulantly, “wasted a whole 2 weeks for nothing.”

“I think you’ll live, mate.”

Theo leans back against the railing, cigarette between his lips as he watches his best mates as their bickering shifts into them laughing and joking like it always does. He adds a couple quips here and there, mind wandering to the Hufflepuff boy periodically as the cigarette slowly dwindles. Once it’s reached the end of its life, he snuffs it out, pushing himself off the floor where they’d ended up sitting for the past hour. “I think I’m heading back down to the dorms, it’s getting late.”

Mattheo shares a look with Enzo. With a smirk, Enzo wolf whistles, “gotta get your beauty sleep for your little badger, eh Nott?”

Theo just flips him the middle finger as he crosses the tower to the first of many, many stairs. As his descending footsteps echo through the stairwell, Enzo turns to Mattheo, “poor fucker is whipped.”

Mattheo nods, “and down right oblivious…how many galleons are we betting for how long it takes him to figure it out?”

There’s a mischievous smirk on the other boy’s face. “How much you got?”

The next morning, Theo is once again startled by the Hufflepuff boy dropping his books on the table with that same dramatic thud. If Theo didn’t know any better, he would start to think it was intentionally to get his attention. This time, he speaks first.

“Morning.”

There’s that bright smile again and Theo’s chest feels…odd.

“Morning!” you chirp as you slide into the seat. “I took your advice and got some espresso, much better than that muggle concoction. Figured since it was your suggestion, I’d bring you some. Mum got some beans from a cafe in London when I wrote her about it.”

Once again a warm sensation floods Theo as a second mug is set on the table and slid his direction. He carefully picks it up and takes off the lid, finding a double shot inside. It’s still hot from what he assumes is a temperature charm on the mug and the warm sensation in his chest gets stronger.

He raises the cup to his nose, inhaling the comforting aroma of coffee before taking a sip. It’s not quite the taste of home, but it’s close. He nods appreciatively.

Then before he can stop himself he’s making an offer, accent a hint thicker than he typically tries to control, “I’ll have to make you a cup the way I had growing up sometime. This is good though.”

Theo doesn’t have time to backtrack or change his mind before your smile is turning softer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

To hide the flushing of his cheeks, he quickly downs the rest of the liquid and hands the mug back. For maybe the first time ever he’s glad Binns decides now is the perfect time to begin the monotonous period.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you put the mug back in your bag, soft smile still on your face. And maybe Theo doesn’t hate this class as much as he thought he did.

Over the following weeks, Theodore does the unthinkable: he looks forward to bloody History of Magic, just for the opportunity to chat with you before class.

His friends share looks at breakfast as he starts leaving earlier and earlier each Monday and Wednesday, hoping to get even just a bit of extra time with you. Because he’s too nervous to ask you to hang out. And he cannot for the life of him figure out why.

He’s Theodore Nott. The stoic, level headed and lusted after Slytherin. Right? He makes people nervous. He flusters pretty girls. So what the bloody hell is going on?

He’s never, not once in his 5 years at Hogwarts, ever considered the possibility that someone could do this to him. Let alone a stupid, pretty Hufflepuff boy with a gentle, excited smile that’s way too eager to mingle with a snake. But somewhere in his gut Theo knows he’d be devastated if the other boy stopped.

And that terrifies him.

One morning after several weeks of sitting together, you once again drop your books onto the desk with the theatrics Theo’s come to expect from you. He subconsciously finds himself perking up at the sound just before you start chattering away, something he’s also grown almost fond of. He likes that you tend to fill the space he’d otherwise find awkward or tedious in conversation, seemingly undeterred by his often quiet nature. And he’s more than happy to just listen to you and bask in your welcoming presence.

This time you’re talking about the History of Magic exam coming up in a couple weeks and your lack of a study partner, something that instantaneously catches Theo’s attention.

“Yeah, my usual study buddy bailed on me, the nerve,” you laugh. “So now I’m on the hunt for a new one…”

Theo’s heart rate picks up as you trail off, there’s no way you’re going to say what he’s hoping you will. Right? There’s no way he’s that lucky. Hell, there’s no way someone like you would want to be around him outside sitting next to each other in the worst class offered at Hogwarts. He’s pretty sure you have less controversial friends to ask than a brooding Slytherin whose best mate is the son of Voldemort, for fucks sake—

His internal pity party is cut short by you looking at him almost… nervously?

“Would you maybe be free to, I dunno, study together some time next week? It’s cool if you’re not, I just thought—well, I’m not sure what I thought—other than that I would offer,” your question starts to shift into a ramble and your cheeks flush as you seem to realize it. Meanwhile, Theo’s heart has stopped and his breath catches in his throat. He has to hold himself back from shouting a thrilled “Yes!”

He clears his throat, desperately clinging to his composure. “Yeah, sure, I could make that work. When did you have in mind?”

Theo feels nearly sick with nerves as he sits at the Central Hall fountain outside of the library waiting for you. He was at least 15 minutes early, mostly because Enzo said he would hex him if he kept pacing around the dorm room like he had been for the prior half hour. His foot taps anxiously in a way he is not used to. He's no stranger to stress, but this is on a different level. All he's going to be doing is go over the most boring aspects of wizarding history with you for a couple hours and here he is, worried he's going to end up in the Hospital Wing with heart palpitations. He takes a deep, shaky breath as he looks up at the snoring dragon mural above the library. Just breathe you idiot!

“Hey Theo, sorry I'm late. My dormmate would not shut up.” He hears your voice before he sees you, his head turning to follow the sound. And he tries to keep the surprise off his face at hearing you call him Theo instead of Nott like you had been since that afternoon in the Three Broomsticks. “You ready for the most exciting next couple hours of your life?” Oh, and what he wouldn't do to see that teasing little grin on your face more—

“Ready,” he stands from the fountain bench, following behind you through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

He walks half a step behind you as you weave your way through the tables and shelves, finding a relatively remote spot in the already quiet space. For maybe the first time in—your friendship? Theo hopes that's what you two are at least—the entire time he's known you, your set your books down without the slam.

You must have noticed the look he was giving you because you smirk. “I don't just go throwing books when you're not around. And close your jaw, you'll catch lacewing flies.”

Theo lightly bites on his lip as he sits next to you at the table, your shoulders almost touching. You flip the massive textbook open and pull a couple quills and parchment from your bag as you settle in to go over the material.

There’s a feeling of familiarity with you that Theo wasn’t anticipating. Conversation comes more naturally than when he’s spoken with you before class and he realizes he really, really likes spending time with you. There’s no bickering like there is with Matt and Enzo, no snarky comments thrown around for laughs. It’s peaceful and warm.

He feels like that around you a lot, he realizes, warm. Comfortable. His arm brushes against yours.

Theo and you spend the next couple hours working through the exam material, interspersed with getting to know each other. He listens to you ramble about your favorite classes this term, your friends—anything you’re willing to tell him, he wants to drink it all in.

Neither of you seem to notice how close you’ve gotten to each other until he can feel your breath on his face and that warmth that seems to radiate off of you. Then, you’re getting closer.

There in the back of the library, Theo’s world comes to a standstill as you gently press your lips against his, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. It takes him a couple seconds to regain his senses before moving his lips back against yours, losing himself in the kiss.

He notices you taste like earl grey which blends with the woody scent of your cologne in an intoxicating mixture. Much too soon for his liking you’re pulling back and he has to stop himself from whining at the loss of contact.

His eyes flutter open to find you haven’t gone far. In the silence he thinks about how pretty your eyes are and maybe—no, definitely—that’s his new favorite color.

“Was that okay?” your voice is just above a whisper.

Theo just leans forward and recaptures your lips in another kiss. First his mind swirls with this is what kissing is supposed to feel like. He’s dumbfounded that it really can feel like fireworks and it’s not just some sappy bullshit made for the romance novels Pansy and Daphne read.

Then it all comes crashing down.

The next thing he feels is dread. Overwhelming, overpowering dread. He can’t quite place why, but it’s there. And suddenly he’s pulling away from your lips like he’s been burned.

He sees the shock on your face, but before he starts to apologize or explain, his father’s voice is itching in the back of his mind. He steps back.

Your voice saying his name is muffled by the ringing in his ears and your concerned expression is taken over by that all too familiar disappointed look in his father’s eyes. He runs away, feeling more like a coward than he’s ever felt in his life.

And the worst part is he knows he’s leaving you alone, confused and hurt. But he does it anyway.

After wandering the corridors of the castle for the better part of 10 minutes, lost in thought, he finds himself in front of the music room. Like his body instinctively knew where he needed to be. He pushes the door open, relieved to find it empty. The wooden stairs creak as he walks up. He sits on the rug by the piano, hugging his knees to his chest.

Theo is alone in the music room not 20 minutes before Mattheo finds him. A bloodhound that boy. Or maybe he just knows Theo too well.

“Your little badger sent me.” Mattheo eases down onto the rug next to him, close enough for his knee to lightly graze Theo’s thigh. “He was freaking out like the world was ending or he kicked your cat or something. Didn’t know where to find you, but he did find Berk and I in the Astronomy tower. So I said I’d take care of it, you’re welcome.”

Theo just hums in acknowledgment.

“So…did he actually kick your cat or what?”

Theo shakes his head.

“Well it must have been pretty bad since you came here. Haven’t seen you hiding out here since, well—” his mum died. Mattheo doesn’t have to finish his sentence, they both know.

A long breath he didn’t realize he was holding breaks out in a sigh as his eyes shut. The soft enchanted piano music is the only sound for a moment as he wills away the emotions threatening to surface. “I don’t know, maybe the world is ending.”

A couple more beats of quiet. “Wanna talk about it?” He knows deep down it’s a question Matt will respect the answer to. And he briefly debates turning him down, but something compels him to slowly nod.

“He—we kissed.”

“Was it bad?”

“No.”

Mattheo nods as he considers the response he was given. “So the problem was that it was good?”

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“That’s kinda dodging the question, mate.”

Theo groans, “I don’t know, okay?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I just— cazzo! This is wrong, isn’t it? Feeling like this?”

“Theo—”

“I can’t feel this way for another guy. My father would disown me and it’d ruin my life. I’m supposed to marry a pureblood witch and produce an heir and—”

Before Theo has time to stop him or even process what’s happening, Mattheo is grabbing him by the face and pressing their lips together, and that same fluttering sensation is back. It’s not as strong and thrilling as kissing you, Theo’s not sure that’s even replicable, but it still feels nice in a way none of his previous kisses have been. Where he was going through the motions for some reason even he didn’t understand. But no, once again he can understand why people would want to do this.

Then as quick as he was pulled in, his best friend is pulling away, silently observing him for a moment.

“Did the world end?”

“…No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

They sit staring at each other as Theo’s brain struggles to formulate a response.

“Matty, I—” he hesitates like this is going to be what destroys their friendship, “I don’t think I’m…straight.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

And something about the way he says it makes Theo feel better. Like he’s not being judged or ridiculed for feeling this way. Like it’s something natural. A no-brainer, boring fact of life. Theo thinks he might cry.

Instead he leans forward and connects their lips again, just briefly. And part of him knows Mattheo can feel the underlying sadness and fear in it. But when they pull apart once again, neither of them comment on it. A weight feels like it's been lifted off him.

“I think,” Theo pauses as he debates speaking about this out loud for the first time, like it will make it real. “I think I haven’t really felt like myself since my mum...y'know?” He says it like it’s a question, but they both know the truth. “I know it’s been 2 years, I should be fine. But I’m not.”

Mattheo, who had been quietly listening, speaks. “I don’t know Theo…I’ve barely heard you talk about her since you came back to school third year. Have you talked about it to anyone? Hell, have you let yourself grieve?”

“I…I don’t know how. My father stopped mentioning her after the funeral and—he barely acknowledged she was even gone.” He pulls his knees back up to his chest. “I miss her.”

He feels the comforting warmth of Matt’s hand on his shoulder blade. And the gentle touch of his thumb across his cheek, wiping a tear away is the first indication that he’s started to cry. He quickly sniffles in an attempt to stop the tears, but it doesn't work. If anything, it just makes them fall faster. He tucks his head down, forehead against his knees. Mattheo's hand gently rubs his back as they sit in silence as he cries. He's grateful Matt doesn't try to help by speaking, the gentle piano filling his ears like a warm hug after being lost in the cold for days with no reprieve.

The silent sobs eventually slow, his body no longer shaking from the force of them. And weirdly, he feels better. He’s spent his whole life being told that men don’t cry, especially pureblood wizards of their status, so when the weight comes off his chest he’s shocked at how easy it is to just breathe.

He pulls his head up to look at Matt, who isn’t looking directly at him but keeps his hand on Theo’s back. A soft murmured, “thanks,” passes his lips and causes the curly haired boy to return his attention to him. Mattheo doesn’t comment on how red and tear-stained his eyes are, much to Theo’s relief.

“You good, mate?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Mattheo hesitates before speaking again, “you don’t have to listen to me, cause what do I know, but I think you should talk to him.” Theo thinks back to you, how lost and hurt you looked when he ran from the library and he sighs.

“When did you get so wise?”

Mattheo shrugs, “we’ve all had to grow up pretty fast…you’re my best mate Theo. It sucks seeing you like this, y'know?” He lightly nudges Theo’s shoulder, “kinda ruins the vibe.”

Theo can’t help but chuckle, “you’re an idiot.”

“And here I thought I was wise.”

“I was wrong, you’re fully a dumbass.”

“Nah, that’s Enz. But seriously, talk to him. We’re all tired of you pretending this isn’t something you want, whether you realize it or not.”

Theodore reluctantly nods, “fine. Fine, you’re right. I think I like my, what did you call him? Little badger?”

Mattheo grins and shifts away from Theo, looking a bit too happy for a man that just watched his friend cry over a crush.

“What are you so cheery about?” Theo raises an eyebrow as Mattheo gets up to return to the Astronomy Tower.

Mattheo throws a smirk over his shoulder as he lingers at the top of the stairs, “Enzo owes me a hundred galleons.”

“Wait! You two idioti bet on this?!”

Despite feeling somewhat better after his talk with Matt, Theo avoids you for the rest of the week. Come Wednesday morning, he’s sliding into the seat next to Mattheo in History of Magic, ignoring Enzo’s annoyed “Hey!” in protest and Mattheo’s side-eye.

He doesn’t turn around to see the disappointed look on your face as your books softly thunk on the desk behind him where you two usually sat. But he doesn’t miss the lack of usual flair the sound has. His heart aches.

“Riddle said you’d be in here.”

Your voice breaks through Theodore’s thoughts, pulling his eyes toward you walking up the steps and over to him.

He'd been finding himself coming back to the music room over and over again since he started avoiding you. He wasn't entirely sure why, maybe he just wanted to stop the dull ache of loneliness in the absence of you. He pushes the thought out of his mind.

You settle down on the rug next to him, jarringly similar to the position he'd been in with Mattheo a week ago. Only you were further away, and while he couldn't blame you, he hated it.

“Sorry for kissing you so suddenly, I just—I’d been wanting to for like a month and I guess I was hoping you wanted it too. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

He quickly shakes his head, “no, don’t apologize, it was—I liked it. I’m sorry for running off like that. I think I got…overwhelmed. I didn’t exactly know I was, y’know, into guys before…you.” He forces it out despite his embarrassment, cheeks a light shade of pink.

You look at him with a small, somewhat sad smile, “it’s fine. Kinda reminds me of that day we properly met in Hogsmeade. You ran then too.” You pause briefly before adding, “and don’t worry about it, this is new for me too.”

Theo flushes more intensely at the memory as you turn your head to look around the music room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before. Riddle had to give me directions...Why here?”

His mouth goes dry as he stares at you. “My, uh, my mum used to play the piano. She tried to teach me, but I couldn’t fully get it before…” he trails off for a moment before pushing past it, “I come here to feel close to her.”

A look of realization passes over your face, “oh, I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

A hesitant hand reaches out to rest on his knee. He didn’t even realize he’d relaxed his legs down from his chest.

“We don’t have to talk about it, Teddy—”

He gasps at the nickname, soft and filled with raw emotion. “I want to.”

“She was… the only person I felt truly got me, before Mattheo at least. And she uh, she used to call me Teddy. So since she—” he hesitates, the finality of it all hitting him at once like it’s the first time he heard the news all over again, “since she died, I haven’t let anyone call me that.”

He sees the way your eyes soften further, but it’s not from pity, like he’d come to expect from the topic, no, it’s deeper than that. It’s empathy. “I didn’t know,” your voice is quiet, like you’re about to apologize, but truthfully that’s the last thing he wants. So he keeps speaking.

“She would have loved you.” His hand shifts to rest over yours, still on his leg. “She would have loved how…happy you make me. So, I want you to call me Teddy, please.” It comes out a bit more desperate than he intended, but when did anything ever go as planned when it came to you?

But you don’t run. You don’t look at him in disgust for showing emotion. You just nod with a soft, “okay Teddy.”

And god, that fluttering sensation is back. A small smile tugs on his lips; before he knows it he’s leaning forward, needing to be closer, as close as you’ll possibly let him. And this time, without any guilt or shame or fear, he kisses you.

And he feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in your lips, in your scent, in you. Like water filling his lungs, it burns so sweet. Surrender to the unknown, letting his lingering heartache and worries about his father’s expectations go until all that’s left is you.

It’s pure bliss.

As your lips move together in sync, his body heats up and he finds himself craving more. He’s just received a taste, but he can already tell he’s going to be insatiable; the need to devour you, to become one with your very essence, is overwhelming. But he doesn’t run away. He pushes deeper.

He feels your hand cupping his face, almost to steady yourself from falling over as his tongue brushes against your lips, begging, pleading for mercy. Like he’ll fall apart if you don’t let him explore every inch of you. Your lips part.

Tongues dancing together, he pushes you down until your back hits the rug, his torso hovering over yours as his hands on either side of you hold him up. Your fingers caress his cheek, touch featherlight.

The kiss lasts until neither of you can breathe, parting only to gasp and pant, inches from each other’s face. You suddenly laugh, a sweet sound that rivals the room’s quiet piano in its beauty.

“You’re still here,” your eyes search his, like you’re trying to find doubt in them, but there is none. He wants to kiss you like that for the rest of his life.

“I don’t think I’m scared anymore.”

Your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and pull him back into another kiss catches him off guard, but he melts into it like his body was made to meld with yours. It’s soft and sweet and feels like home.

The next morning at breakfast, you’re sitting next to him like you belong at the Slytherin table, at his side and getting acquainted with his friends. Enzo’s in the middle of asking you for details on which Hufflepuffs have the best weed when Draco comes over and sits down, an apprehensive look on his face. “I suppose this is something you just expect us to get used to?”

“Yes.” It’s Mattheo who speaks, grabbing a bit of toast off Draco’s plate and taking a bite. “He makes Theo happy, he’s one of us now as far as I’m concerned.”

Enzo pipes up from beside him, “I’ll do anything to never have to listen to Theo hopelessly pine like that ever again.”

Draco huffs and as Theo’s about to say something, he hears you laugh softly next to him as your hand gently squeezes his thigh. “Just gonna have to live with some yellow brightening your mornings, Malfoy.” The other two boys snicker at the defeated look on Draco’s face and start to tease him that he’s just jealous Nott grew a pair and managed to ask someone out. But Theo barely notices.

He presses a kiss to your temple, heart fluttering as you grin up at him and for the first time in a long time, he’s happy.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x male reader #theo nott x male reader #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #x male reader #mattheo riddle x theodore nott #a lil bit of #mattheo riddle x enzo berkshire #if you squint #bisexual #gay #theo nott x reader fluff #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #mykie fics

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lightseoul · 2 months ago

Note

Congratulations!!! 🎉🎊 How about #5? 🫣

thank you, love! tagging also @tsunderelover07; thank you for playing <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

warnings. includes themes concerning depression; negative affect in general. read at your own risk.

5. "I'M NOT LEAVING SO GET USED TO ME." (1.3k)

ever since who-knows-when, the goal has always been simple.

pain alleviation.

at least, in theory, it sounds simple. when you think about it, it’s nothing like the seemingly insurmountable task of getting a master’s degree, neither is it as grandiose as finally finding a partner and settling down.

but for someone like you?

well, it’s the best you can muster on most if not all, days, really.

and today’s a textbook example of that.

you squint at the small text displayed on your phone screen, the blue light hurting your eyes in the darkness that’s enveloping the entirety of your studio unit. the clock reads 6:08 PM, but the lack of light cannot be credited to the sun’s waning presence—your black-out curtains have been drawn since, what… yesterday?

the past few days have gone by in a complete blur, you’ve lost track of which day it is.

you’re about to put your phone down in favor of stewing in your bed and debating whether or not you have the energy to order yourself some dinner when your phone chimes its familiar ringtone, indicating a text message.

picking it up, you recognize the id right away.

(6:09 PM) katsuki💥: Omw. Want me to pick anything up by the store?

shit.

now you know it’s a friday.

mustering the little strength you have left, you type out a reply as quickly as you can. before you can think twice about what you just wrote down, you hit send.

(6:10 PM) you: actually, can i take a rain check? i don’t think i’m the best company rn.

sighing, you finally place your device beside you, opting to stare at the off-white ceiling.

you hope bakugou actually listens to you for once and doesn’t press like he usually does. when you first met him in the same agency you both interned for three years ago, you instantly caught wind of how mind-bogglingly stubborn the guy is. but it wasn’t until you became great friends, strangely enough, that you realized the extent of his tenacity. you never thought you’d end up being best friends with the budding hero you found yourself disliking since day—

your train of thought is rudely interrupted by your stomach growling, and you decide then and there that the one thing you can do to alleviate your pain for today is to feed yourself.

you repress the urge to groan in pain as you slowly sit up and move to shimmy your feet into your slippers.

but you don’t even get to reach your kitchen when the telltale sound of your lock clicking echoes through your foyer, almost instantly followed by the door bursting wide open.

you know you should be alarmed, but there’s only one person who can and has the audacity to use your sole spare key without your explicit permission.

still, you don’t fight the frown that takes over your face as you haul yourself to the doorway, watching the man closely as he toes off his trainers and puts them neatly beside your everyday sandals, nonchalant as ever.

“i thought i told you i’m taking a rain check,” you immediately cringe at how rough your voice sounds from unuse.

bakugou stands upright, placing what looks like a bag of groceries on top of your kitchen counter before rounding you and approaching the windows like he owns the place.

“you asked me if you can,” he shoots back as he opens your curtains. “the answer is no.”

a familiar surge of anger pulses through your body. you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself—you know from experience that mouthing off on your best friend would do nothing to lessen your pain even if it seems oh-so appealing at the moment.

“…well, don’t expect me to host you. i actually had other plans tonight.”

“is that so?” comes his signature snarky reply, the man turning to regard you. “does your plan include starving yourself ‘til you fall asleep?”

your frown deepens. “i was just about to order dinner before you showed up.” you debate for a second whether you should say the next thing, ultimately deciding fuck it. “now i don’t have an appetite anymore.”

that was a blatant lie. you’re famished, but he doesn’t need to know that. you just needed to be alone right now.

bakugou’s face hardens at your retort. his jaw clenches ever so slightly, in a way that tells you he’s trying to be patient but is getting frustrated.

when he doesn’t say anything, you shuffle back to your bed and sit on the edge of it, ready to wait him out on his exit.

but bakugou katsuki isn’t anything if not stubborn.

“i heard from mina you called in sick again today,” comes his gruff voice.

damn your closest girl friend turned co-worker and her running mouth.

“so?”

bakugou sighs from where he’s now standing in front of and looking at you. “how many leaves do you have left?”

at the mention of it, your stomach drops in dread. an all-too-familiar pulse of anxiety also shoots through your veins. “…two.”

two sick leaves left, and it’s only motherfucking july.

silence befalls the two of you, but it’s not the comfortable kind that usually lulls you both whenever you’re alone in each other’s presence. no, this quiet is borderline irritating, and you can practically hear the gears turning in the man’s head as he processes the fact you’ve been trying to grapple with yourself for the last few weeks now.

the fact that you’re absolutely fucked.

before he can comment on your situation or say anything uselessly placating, you pipe up. “but don’t worry about me. i know you have a lot on your plate right now.”

at that, bakugou scoffs, and your features instinctively contort in annoyance at the sound.

you’re trying to be nice, for god’s sake. something that takes so much of you lately when it used to come naturally your whole life.

you purse your lips in a tight line. “look, if you’re just gonna keep on being an asshole, it’s better if you just leave.”

instead of turning a 180 and giving you your solitude, however, bakugou crouches down on his knees until you’re face to face.

you suddenly become acutely aware of the fact that you haven’t washed your face nor brushed your teeth since yesterday. despite your exasperation with the guy, you hope he doesn’t notice.

if he is noticing, though, he doesn’t mention it. instead, he reaches out and uncharacteristically gently brushes out a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“i’m not leaving, so get used to me.”

with that, he moves to stand up and maybe make his way to the kitchen to cook you dinner, but your reflexes work fast enough for you to grab his wrist before he's out of reach.

bakugou freezes in his tracks, eyes drifting from the grip you have on him to your face, a confused expression etched on his features.

“…just leave, kats,” you barely manage to get out, unable to meet his gaze. “i’m really not the best company right now.”

you brace yourself for another scoff over which you were absolutely going to smack him, but it doesn’t come. instead, bakugou merely coaxes his wrist from your hold before clasping your hands together.

you look up at your best friend, stunned at the rare gesture.

his face is solemn and grip firm when he replies. “don’t i get to be the judge of that?”

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peppertoastuniverse · 3 months ago

Text

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 7: congee

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru & reader, ieri shoko & reader, extreme friendship, swearing, fluff, gojo being really whiny this chapter, gojo calls you babe.

summary: a healthy satoru gojo was already annoying, but a sick satoru gojo is almost unbearable. shoko comes up with a plan, while you and gojo learn about the things that you have in common.

wc: 5.2k

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

“oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head. “cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay, you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

ieri shrugs off her covers in a huff, irritation oozing from her restless body as her phone dings yet again. groaning as she got up, she snatches her phone from her desk, the brightness from the phone making her squint. she mashes the call button with disproportional aggression – it was way too early for gojo’s bullshit, even for her. “what the fuck do you want? do you know what time it is?” she spits out, hearing gojo’s familiar huff on the line. “’was just textin’ you, boo! you didn’t have to call, that was your choice!” ieri rolls her eyes at this audacity, noting that his usual baritone sounded strange. “i cant sleep when all I hear is constant dinging, dude!” ieri deadpans, she hears gojo sneeze, her eyebrows raise. “why do you sound like that, satoru?”

“uhh, like what? handsome? hot? attracti–“ “no, you sound sick.” “no im not, I never get sick.” he snaps, “if you just wanted to hear my voice, shoko –“

a mischievous smile full of realization stretches across ieri’s face, “oh shit – you’re sick aren’t you?” “don’t be an idiot, i’m not sick – i don’t get sick.” he grumbles. “is a little cold knocking out the gojo satoru?” ieri teases, sitting back down on the side of her bed. “i swear, you’ve been hanging out with me and suguru too much – “ “heh, were you up all night thinkin’ about your cute babe? is that why you got sick – ” her voice lights up with glee at the prospect of teasing gojo. “hey!” gojo nearly shouts irritatingly, “you know that isn’t true, sto–“

“oh man so it is true, I fucking cant wait to tell suguru –”

“shokooooo!! just shut up and listen! i’m just tired is al–“ gojo interrupts himself with a coughing fit, in time with ieri’s snickering.

“okay, don’t come to class, gojo. you’re actually sick I can already tell.” ieri grimaces.

“aw, are you worried about lil ol’me?” he answers voice hoarse, sounding more and more congested by the minute. she scoffs, “ugh gross, no. I just don’t want to get sick. stay away from me.” ieri hangs up before gojo could whine. she lies back into bed with a heavy sigh, a healthy satoru gojo was annoying, but a sick satoru gojo was diabolical. he was going to make this everyone’s problem.

gojo satoru: ur so rude to me, u need to fix that ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) (5:11am)

ieri shoko: wow bitch after I was going to get you soup later? (5:12am)

gojo satoru: ( ˶°ㅁ°) ! nvm u r my fav don’t tell sugu ily <3 <3 <3 (5:12am)

ieri shoko: see that’s what I thought go sleep now srsly (5:13am)

gojo satoru: (⸝⸝⸝･ᯅ･⸝⸝⸝)◞♥︎ (5:14am)

ieri takes a screen shot of the text message, glow illuminating her tired face – oh this will come in handy someday. diving back into her plush mattress, ieri’s thoughts move back to gojo, confident that he was pouting miserably in his room. she shuts her eyes with an amused scoff at gojo’s dramatic antics. rolling over into a more comfortable position, she quickly conjures up a wicked plan before falling back to sleep with a grin on her face.

“really, suguru?” you moan as you watch him take some of the bok choy from his own bowl before placing it into yours. “I said that I was okay!” shooting geto a pout. “stop being such a fucking–“

“hey, you literally just ate one piece.” he judgementally comments as he meets your challenging eyes, silently encouraging you eat more.

“I can serve myself!” you huff as you lean your chin on your closed fist.

“yeah, how are you gonna kick his ass tomorrow if you don’t eat enough?” ieri teases, eyes on her phone.

“I can pin him without it!” you mumble, catching geto’s amused head shake. you easily take a bite of the vegetable courtesy of the big mother hen seated next to you, playfully knocking your knee to his.

geto really worries too much.

as you swallow the last bite of your bok choy, you look around the table, eyes settling briefly at gojo’s empty chair.

“satoru still feeling like shit?” geto asks catching your loaded gaze, to which ieri groans as she puts her phone down with a clatter. “idiot has a fever but doesn’t want to rest,” ieri says between a mouthful of rice, “he fucking woke me up at 5AM today!” while suguru sighs, mumbling “yeah sounds like him. when I brought him medicine a few hours ago, he was just playing games on his phone.” geto rolls his eyes. “ah shit – that reminds me, i actually should go pick him up some soup or something after this.” ieri sighs, drumming her nails on the kitchen table, “ughhhh yaga wants me at the morgue in 40 minutes though.” you wrinkles your nose, “I never know how you can eat and then go straight to doing… what you do.”

shoko shrugs nonchalantly, taking a bite of the sauteed pork. “mhm, you get used to it.”

“you’re still eating, though – I can go pick it up? I have to grab something from the combini anyway.” you suggest.

“mhm? you sure?” ieri mumbles, still focused on her meal. “if you wait a couple of minutes I can go with you?” geto suggests. “nah suguru it’s fine, you’re still eating anyway and you have a mission in like 2 hours.” you say quickly taking out your phone to check the time. “what were you going to get for him, ieri?”

“oi! how many times do I have to tell you, it’s shoko!” she throws her crumpled napkin at you, earning her a sheepish smile from you.

old habits are hard to break. and you were stubborn.

though you haven’t been close to her for a long time, you liked ieri. she was outwardly straightforward, smart and determined. ieri had a bluntness to her that you found refreshing albeit a bit harsh at times. often balancing gojo’s playfulness with an iron fist, she would steamroll him and geto when their mischief got too far or more often than not, encourage it when she thought it would be entertaining to watch. like that last week where gojo and geto tried to steal all the clocks at the school, but ieri suggested instead that they turn back all the clocks in the school 2 hours back because she wanted to get more sleep. unsurprisingly she got what she wanted.

but inwardly, you knew ieri as being understanding with a kind forcefulness that you found charming. recently she got into the habit of pushing you to hang out with everyone when all you wanted to do was rot in bed. she’d complain that you were being a “boring old man” and that you should “start acting your age with them,” recently she would even arrive at your door with takoyaki and magazines promising a night new founded laughter.

her friendship was coarser than geto’s, encouraging you to make mistakes with the background promise of helping you pick up the pieces while berating you for your stupidity. she was the type of person that would have your back but would yell at you if you were making a stupid decision– she fought for you even if that meant fighting against the moronic version of your past self. friendship was generally a new thing that you were getting used to, but with ieri’s friendship you felt lighter.

“the congee with ginger and chicken broth or something. it’s good for his congestion.” she answers as you take out your phone to type in a note. ieri’s eye catches the silvery gleam of your phone charm dangling from your hands, a knowing smile reaches her lips.

“y’sure? I won’t be that much long – “ geto starts before shutting up immediately as ieri’s foot violently wacks into his shin under the table, earning a repressed grunt.

“... you good, suguru?” you ask, settling your phone down on the kitchen table. you meet his violet eyes, eyebrow cocked.

“he’s fine!” ieri answers sweetly. geto’s eyes narrow at ieri before she meets his questioning gaze in exasperation. oh my god, suguru – look at the charm! large light brown eyes directing his annoyed gaze to the table. looking at your phone adorned with a familiar silver star, his sly mouth hides the beginning of a shit eating grin, understanding immediately colouring his features. ah, I see.

stretching your neck to the left, you get up with a huff. the chair behind you slightly screeching as you move to collect your dirty dishes and wash them in sink.

“alright, I’ll see you guys later then.” you add brightly, whiping your hands before glancing down your phone screen opened gojo’s contact. quickly slapping your phone closed.

“be safe later, suguru,” you say patting his shoulder, catching his reassuring grin before walking out of the room.

“shoko, that fucking hurt.” geto hisses dramatically after ensuring that you’ve left. his chair moving back with a screech as he rubs his shin, shooting ieri a questioning look. “do you keep rocks in your shoes or something, god.”

ieri sighs. “you know what’s more painful? watching those two idiots! ugh, they need to figure their shit out.” ieri groans reaching across the table to steal a sauteed carrot out of geto’s bowl.

he chuckles, a warm sound reverberating around the corners of the room. “knowing them though, they probably don’t fully know it themselves.”

“yeah, fucking six eyes my ass.” shoko grumbles, taking an aggressive bite out of some broccoli. geto picks out some of the vegetables from of his bowl, chopsticks moving them easily into ieri’s. “give them some time.” ieri takes out her phone to type out a quick message to gojo.

ieri shoko: you can thank me later (5:43pm) gojo satoru: for what? ( •̀ - •́ ) FOR WHAT? ???? shokoooooooooo (5:45pm)

you shrug your long scarf off with a sigh, juggling the bulging plastic bag in hand. your rosy cheeks sting from the cold, you huff to keep your hair out of your face. you sigh before knocking on gojo’s door gently. “gojo?” you call out, knocking louder. foot now tapping impatiently, rolling your eyes “gojo! dude, I brought you foo– you know what, i’m coming in,“ turning the handle, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

gojo was sprawled out diagonally on his bed, limbs falling in different directions like he had just fallen from the sky. his dark blue comforter half on him, an arm propped up cover half his face, dark glasses discarded somewhere, offending eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunched up sadly. the cold sunlight outside, streaming in from his half-opened window illuminates gojo’s white hair, the messiest you’ve ever seen it. he looked like pathetic fallen mop.

“gojo?” you whisper, moving deeper into his room, his foot twitches at his name. placing your scarf and plastic bag on his messy desk filled with volumes of manga, stray pens, packs of opened digimon cards and this week’s half finished homework. if you looked closer you saw that he had some rather impressive doodles of curse -hybrid yaga on it and what you thought was a fox version of geto. on the corner of the desk was a small bottle of cold medicine and a box of tissues, probably evidence of geto’s visit earlier in the day.

“gojo..? hey?” you hesitantly move closer to his still figure, the rise and fall of his chest catches your eye. you hated the break the peace, but he had to eat so you gently shook his shoulder.

“mhmmm, hey babe…” he mumbles voice deep and scratchy, blue eyes squinting at you, still tinged in sleep.

“i brought you something to eat, have some before it’s gets cold.” he rolls over onto his front with a groan, speaking into the pillow. you sigh, ill prepared for an even whinier gojo. “I cant understand you when you’re mumbling.” “mmprfff don’t wanna. s’too bright, hurts my head.”

you move across the room to close the window and shut his blinds, “yeah dumbass, the blind are open,” you scoff. moving back to his desk, you rustle through the plastic bag of food, pleased to see that the congee was still hot. retrieving a spoon, a bottle of hot green tea and some napkins as you approach gojo’s bed with purpose.

“don’t be mean to me – im dying.” he hoarsely whines, sniffing. “you’re not dying, don’t be a drama queen.”

he sneezes loudly, shaking his frame. “alright, can just sit up? you’ll feel so much better after you eat...”

“m’not hungry.” he plops back into bed, turning his back to you, shrugging his comforter over himself to counter his slight shivering.

you sigh heavily, small hands rubbing your eyes, “i’m not feeding you, c’mon.”

he mumbles noncommittally – a strangled noise between a whine and a grunt– he dramatically adjusts his thick comforter around his strong shoulders. you narrowed your eyes to take in gojo’s appearance - he really didn’t look so good. he was paler than usual, his usual rosey cheeks void of colour, his messy hair, slightly sticking to his clammy forehead.

“gojo, please?” you ask, voice tilting up. “you have to help yourself too, y’know?” you add quietly, a strange softness in your tone that he barely recognizes. turning his head he meets your eyes and for a second you see his eyes shine a little brighter.

he sighs, moving up to lean his back against the headboard, legs crossed, pouting up at you, his hair ruffled like a sad cockatiel. you turn around quickly to hide your giggle at his childish expression and helpless state, instead busying your hands with the plastic bag.

“careful,” you mumble as you place the plastic bowl of congee into his clammy hands, dipping the spoon into it. “it’s hot.” he murmurs his thanks with a sniffle, allowing the warmth of the plastic bowl to ease his discomfort in his body. the fact that you were here – in his room – was a big comfort that he couldn’t deny.

after you watch him carefully swallow a few spoonfuls in approval, you look at him with a frown on your face. “you know why you got sick? because you didn’t wear a warm enough coat in sapporo.” you nag.

he weakly grins “yeah, because I was warming you up on the floor, maybe next time it should be the other way around, eh?” you breathe in sharply, cheeks burning at the memory of you how woke up next to gojo in your hotel room in sapporo last week. his soft breathing comforting you, his right arm was out stretched welcoming your smaller frame as you settled comfortably by his side. he was warm but your cheeks burned even hotter when you remembered gojo’s yelp as you accidentally smacked in the face in surprise as you struggled to create some distance. Gojo was too close for your liking. you sighed in relief as your alarm you had set on your phone went off, a loud disturbance snapping you back to reality and saving yourself from the awkward discussion. you had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up again. “i’d rather swallow a curse.” you deadpan, shuffling your feet, crossing your arms across your chest.

“even like that super ugly one that suguru swallowed?”

“i’d swallow the ugliest curse.” you retort immediately. gojo whines your name as he shoots you a dirty look in exchange for your too proud grin. “really, babe? that’s so rude. …what about that slimy one last week?” “you mean that gross slug thing that ieri said looked like you?” you snicker. he huffs, “it did not look like me! that thing had like 6 weird humps.”

“those weird humps were probably the reason why suguru threw up for like 2 days after.” “heh, he said it was one of the worst tasting. ‘member how he complained that it tasted so bad for only a second grade? then he ate all my melon gummies after.” you laugh at the memory of geto ferally tearing open the gummies and pouring them into his mouth to gojo’s incredulous’ gawking. “hey,” he sniffs. gojo pats the to the side of his bed, a silent invitation to sit. “you’re making me nervous just standing there, grumps.” he croaks.

you hesitate, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I swear gojo.. if you get me sick – “

“i wont!” he whines. “god, babe. cut me some slack.” gojo pouts. usually gojo’s dramatic pouts had no effect on you, you’ve seen them time and time again, his pouts almost a permeant fixture on his face. it’s efficiency fading with it’s increasing frequency. but this time coupled with his low energy and his pale face emphasizing the dark rings around his eyes - you have the decency to feel a little bad.

you gingerly sit on the side of his bed, careful to not jostle his dinner too much. you watch gojo grab the spoon and gently blows on the rice porridge before bringing it to his lips.

“… thanks.” he says meeting your eyes as he stirs around the congee with his spoon.

“hm?”

“for this,” he motions at his bowl of still hot soup.

“s’okay. im only here because ier – uh shoko asked.”

he drops the spoon dramatically. “what, so you’re saying that you don’t care about me?” he coughs, tone sharp and wounded. “oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head.

“cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay, you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

you weren’t used to gojo asking you for things so sincerely. he must feel terrible to be this open with you. you study his face, perhaps you would be merciful today.

“you don’t really shut up, even when youre sick, eh?” you grumble.

gojo visibly brightens when you flop back down beside him onto his bed, lying on your back stretching out slightly with a groan. “nah not really, even when I was a kid.” he coughs.

“…did your servants take care of you when you got sick?” you mention casually, picking at your nails. “mhm yeah, but I never really got sick that often.” he says thoughtfully. “they made sure I was always healthy, I had to take those shitty vitamins all the time. something about how important it was to train and fully harness the gifts given to you blah blah blah…”

“yeah but when you did I bet everyone knew about it.” “what can I say? i’m kind of a big deal.”

“more like a big pain in the ass.” he scoffs, placing his half full bowl of soup on his beside table. blinking slowly.

“heh, I know you like this as–“

“hey. finish your food. i walked in the cold to get that for you!” craning your neck to see how much he’s eaten.

“m’full.” “gojo. ive seen you eat like 6 burgers in one sitting, you can’t possibly be full.” “don’t want it. i feel bad.” he whines softly, laboured breath, the mattress jostling as he lies down beside you.

you prod his shoulder, sighing. “at least take your medicine.” “don’t want it. tastes gross.” he mumbles turning his back on you one more, shrugging his head into his shoulders as if to hide from you.

“just a few more bites –“ “nuh uh.” he buries himself in his comforter, moving it over top of his head.

you palm your forehead. you had to be patient. gojo was sick, he couldn’t help it, right?

“if you take it… I’ll give you a surprise.” you try, lips slightly moving up in approval as the blankets shift, his ears perking up. “… a surprise?”

“mhm. a good one.” gojo’s imagination runs rampant. he was never one for material objects, he got whatever he wanted when he was young. whatever he asked for - even mentioned in passing - it would magically appear the next day. but this was different. this was something from you. something with him in mind, whatever it was he knew that he would cherish it, pin it up on his wall so he could look at it every day if he could. gojo knew you were thoughtful, he’d see the way you listened to ieri offhandedly mention her coffee order at break only for you to arrive to class with her perfectly made coffee the next week. gojo had recalled the time geto had mentioned that you had packed some of geto’s favourite homemade umeboshi onigiri for a mission with the excuse of “you always forget to pack lunch on early missions and I already had the ingredients.” gojo didn’t even know that geto liked umeboshi onigri. you were a deadly combination of quietly thoughtful and observant, but he noticed that you strangely went out of your way to refuse anything in return. perhaps his surprise would be a slice of cake or, maybe a pack of digimon cards! or maybe a promise to accompany him to jinbocho get some manga with him, something he’s been nagging you to do for weeks. but if he was being honest, he fostered a silly fragile hope that the surprise could maybe, just possibly be a soft brush of your lips on his cheek - “take it or leave it. it’s a really good one, i promise.” promise? those are big words coming from you. you were never one threw around words so carelessly.

sensing victory in his hesitation, you move to get the medicine on his messy desk that geto had left there. shaking the pills playful, you glance at his hopeful face. sighing, he sticks out his hands as you cheekily deposit 2 pills into his large palm. he swallows the offending antidote, while you hand him the bottle of green tea to wash it down.

“now, where’s my surprise?” he says as you lie back into his messy bed. “stick out your hand.”

obediently, he quickly reaches his hand out.

you smack you’re palms against his, in a shitty high five. you laugh in gojo’s face of betrayal. “ah, aren’t you the luckiest guy in japan, not everyone gets one of those from me.” but satoru gojo was a sore loser, he was always going to force your hand. he easily loops his fingers through yours, hands settling on top of the covers. your eyes widening ever so slightly at the sudden movement.

“so stingy with me, babe.” he comments under his breath. still holding your hand gently, his thumb moving back and forth on the back of your hand. he was warm, warmer than usual – maybe his fever was returning.

almost instantly you snatch your hand back, your senses coming back to you, mumbling something about how he was infected. in the warm lighting of his room, he relishes in the slight blush decorating your cheeks, his hazy grin shining the brightest of all. you frown lightly as gojo usual’s soft triumphant laugher came out as wheezy huffs. he sounded like he was getting worse.

crossing your arms across your chest, you turn slightly away of him as you take in your surroundings, trying to focus anywhere but the irritating boy beside you. it was your first time in gojo’s room. it was neater than you had expected albeit your expectations weren’t high. he had a shelf full of volumes of mostly shonen manga – but your eyes catch a few familiar romance manga titles pushed to the very edge of the shelf – spines bent and well read. he had a comfortable looking chair piled with spare uniforms and that light blue hoodie you remembered he wore in sapporo. he had a small tv in the corner hooked up to a game cube, multiple game covers stacked in a pile, probably where him and geto spent most of their time. despite all of the gojo’s little toys, his room was almost bare of any personal touches, no letters from home or photographs of the gojo estate or with his parents.

“was this taken at the beginning of the year?” you ask, eyes landing on a the sole photograph in his room: a photo of shoko, geto and gojo haphazardly pinned above his desk. “yeah, I think maybe 4 months before ya arrived? we really need to do an updated version with you in it too.” he murmurs, voice muffled by his arm covering his closed eyes. humming you take in the photograph, your eyes dart to geto to the left, his sleek eyes closed with a soft grin on his face, head tilted towards a much shorter ieri. you almost laugh as you see that part of gojo’s head was cut off due to his height and probably fact that ieri was taking the photo, her smile bright, brown eyes sparkling. on the left gojo had his arms around geto while his right-hand flashes a peace sign as his wild smile echoes his slightly longer messy white hair blowing in the gentle breeze, his dark glasses perched on his face. this was probably taken around early summer last year judging by the lush green trees in the background. they looked so happy despite knowing each other for only a few months. it was strange to you how they could be so close in such a short amount of time. “…it’s weird isn’t it?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“hm? what is?” “having friends.”

it was almost irritating at how easily gojo could catch you off guard, always two steps in front of you. his reputation as the strongest shining true. you turn your head to meet his tired half opened eyes. “.. yeah, it – it is.” “I had to get used to it too, but it’s fun though, right?” he grins at you, “suguru hated me in the beginning.” “suguru?” you laugh incredulously. “yeah he was so fucking particular about the stupidest shit. i got along better with shoko initially – she was more straightforward and she let me have her pineapple buns in the morning.”

“it’s probably because you’re cocky and annoying,” his eyes full openly your scalding comments.

“hey, I’m not an–“ “ – and you always get him in trouble.” you add thoughtfully.

“me?! he’s the one who comes up with half of the plans! laxatives in yaga’s coffee? suguru! the random evacuation last week because of flooding on the second floor? not me - suguru!” he starts to chuckle but it turns into a cough, he settles into lie on his side to see your face better. “gotta admit, those were good though.”

“‘member when ya first arrived and no one was allowed to be left alone of the cursed weapons shed? yeah, exactly. not me! baby’s not so innocent, he definitely has some evil ideas, babe.” he sniffs, adjusting the covers to cover himself better.

you snicker, that sounded right to you. you could see geto’s chaotic streak when he sparred with you, often yelling out random things to catch you off guard and annoyingly they worked. while geto was sly about his mischief, quietly fostering chaotic ideas and plans, gojo was boisterous about his chaos, wearing it proudly on his chest – they really did compliment each other well.

“sure, gojo – but you’re the one who encourages his ideas.”

he pouts, but before he could retort he feels you shift closer to him to creep your hand onto his forehead, the gesture causing gojo’s heart to beat erratically.

“you’re really warm, dude.” gojo has to quickly swallow the purr that threatens to escape his tongue, as your hands brush his bangs out of the way, sweeping his scalp gently. with your soft skin tingling on his, he finds that he’s disappointed that your touch retreats too quickly.

“yeah, you look like shit,” you tilt your head back to get a better look at his flushing face, “you’re really red, are you feeling okay? ” you say, eyebrows furrowed, “do you want me to get you more tea or something?” propping yourself up on your elbow. with his eyes half closed he shakes his head softly, “nah, m’okay.” “then fully close your eyes, dude. try and get some rest. your body clearly needs it.” “don’t wanna. s’too boring.” you tsk at his at his stubbornness, noting that he was already drifting off.

he's so fucking stubborn.

he falls asleep gently and then all at once. if you were held at gunpoint and you had to choose your favourite version of gojo it would be of the current one lying in bed. in the daytime, gojo was constantly vibrating with excitement, a never-ending flow of energy overflowing from his over the top presence. you could sense his cursed energy if he was within a 10-foot radius. it was blinding and overwhelming, easily engulfing you, it’s strength powerful and overbearing – just like him. gojo. but here in his room, he was quiet and free from his cocky smile and smart tongue. in this light he was bathed in a gentleness that seemed entirely out of place with the honoured one. you thought it was almost selfish that you preferred him this way, softer, unguarded – weak. even gods have an off day, you suppose. but lying on his bed while he felt so unwell, you couldn’t help but see him for what he really was – just a boy. a teenager who chattered about his favourite foods, complained about homework and wanted to hang out with his friends. satoru. this realization felt heavy, being with him in this moment, there was an unfamiliar pull you didn’t understand. Lying beside him drowning in his scent as you see his unguarded slow breathing, you’re more aware of his memories surrounding you, enclosing you in this space. to distract yourself, you decide to tidy up his room.

careful not to wake him for a second time today, you roll off his bed. collecting his container his half eaten food, you place the barely touched bottle of green tea on his bedside table beside the bottle of pills. finding his glasses on the floor you place them on his desk as you plug his phone in to charge, softly playing with the silver beads of his phone charm. after clearing his desk, you turn to adjust his comforter softly. gently you raise his blanket to tuck him into bed, ensuring that all his gangly limbs were covered. your eye catches gojo’s soft sleeping face, he way his lip juts out slightly in his slumber mouth slightly open, his fair eyebrows scrunching like he was thinking about something. did he dream? you wondered what he could possibly dream of when he had the world at his fingertips. you hoped that if he did dream, they were peaceful ones. you hesitantly reach out to touch his cheek, convincing yourself that you were just checking his fever. you were relieved that he wasn’t as warm as he was did before, silently enjoying the way his cheek felt on your palm. “get better soon, gojo.” you whisper, watching his face relaxing at your touch. sighing, you quickly retreat your disobedient hand as you move to turn off his lamp. quiet strides to move across his room before shutting his door gently. you were already halfway into your room when you laugh softly in realization: you did care about satoru gojo. when did that happen?

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: all hail queen shoko!!! i'm so glad to finally get to write her. this chapter had some intense friendship moments that were fun to write. hope ya'll enjoyed this thick juicy chapter - head image credit: Toradora! dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

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yncoreee · 3 months ago

Text

JERSEY. Click!

You purposely arrived at the game in someone else’s jersey number just to pull a light prank on you girlfriend Kazuha.

Carefully, you made your way over to the bleachers waiting for the game to start.

Of course Kazuha didn’t notice your arrival because she was too busy practicing for the game.

The blow of the whistle signaled the beginning of the game.

The game went on perfectly. Kazuha scored a few shots, looking back at you with a smile.

She did it for a few times until her eyes roamed over to your body taking note of the jersey. Her smile fell turning into a frown.

After the game, you felt the need to visit the ladies.

You felt Kazuha’s eyes boring holes into your back from behind as she tried her best to concentrate on the award celebration since her team had just won.

—

“Ah” you sighed in relief coming out of the toilet to walk over to the sink.

As you were about to leave, someone grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to them. Of course it was Kazuha.

Her eyes roamed over the jersey once again but this time with a more judging and jealous stare. After eyeing your outfit up and down she finally spoke up. “Why are you in someone else’s jersey?” She asked coldly.

You tried to stifle in your laughter. “It’s because they’re my favorite on the team duh” you rolled your eyes.

“Take it off…before I do it myself” she threatened with a glare.

“And what if I don’t want to?” You asked smugly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Do it. Don’t make me do—“

“Okay okay I’ll take it off. Jeez” you heard Kazuha sing in relief and joy.

“look away!” You commanded pausing your previous action.

“Oh please. I’ve seen it all” Kazuha rolled her eyes playfully smacking you in your arm.

“Still tho look away” you mumbled.

“Good” she nodded satisfied. “Now wear mine” she instructed taking off her jersey. Leaving her in only a top bra and her shorts.

“Woah—“ you spoke in amazement eyeing her abs.

“You look so much better. But you know what would look so much better?” She asked with a teasing grin.

“What?”

“Your lips on mine dummy” she giggled not wasting a spare second and pulled you closer by placing her hands on your hips with her lips on yours.

#lil bit rushed #lesserafim #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim fluff #lesserafim kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #🌸 — 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑

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riaki · 1 year ago

Text

after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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heresan · 1 year ago

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At the sound of your soft wince as you sustain a paper cut from flipping through the pages of your book, Wriothesley is immediately on you. The scratching of his pen comes to a stop, paperwork soon forgotten, his chair grinding backwards and he approaches your comfortable form lounging on the couch. He's bending down on one knee before you as he gently brings the small wound in question into his view.

"Sweetheart, you need to be more careful. Let me see it." You can make out the anxious furrow in his brows, as he firmly yet gently takes your wrist and unfurls your fingers to examine the damage. You tell him it's really not a huge deal and you're fine but he asserts that he wouldn't tolerate you receiving even the tiniest scratch on his watch. After a moment, he sighs softly and a relieved smile appears on his face. "Well, it's not as bad as I feared. Just hang on tight while I go grab a medical kit."

Wriothesley quickly head towards his desk and shuffles through the drawers to retrieve the first aid that he keeps on hand for times he doesn't want Sigewinne making a fuss and lecturing him. He returns back to your side and gets to work, cleaning the new wound with a cotton wool and an antiseptic solution before applying a topical ointment and bandaging your finger. You could feel him gently patting your hand before he smiles warmly at you, "There, that's better."

"Thank you, my love. You really didn't have to do that. But I suppose it's only fair I accept your help in treating my paper cut after all those times I'd walk into your office to a new injury on your face or body." You say with a teasing lilt in your voice, your eyes darting from your treated finger to your lover with the corners of your mouth upturned.

"I'm only fulfilling my duties as your boyfriend to take care of you, sweetheart." He then chuckles, recalling back to those memories where he'd brush off your worries and reassures you it's nothing serious, and he just had a little "chat" with one of those prisoners who got a little too uppity. But he allows you to tend to him anyway because he secretly loves the attention. "I could never forget about how concerned you were over a simple bruise I once had."

At this feeling of tenderness, Wriothesley interlace your fingers together and press a kiss to your knuckles. His thumb caressing your skin in a sweet gesture of affection. "We both just care about each other a little too much, don't we?"

You want to respond with something clever but soften in the same breath as you do. "I'd argue it's a reasonable and perfectly normal amount of caring... But yeah, I suppose we do."

#a lil self indulgent since I'm a bit clumsy at times #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley

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omgbilly · 3 months ago

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☆ no peeking ☆

18+ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ʟɪʟ ғʟᴜғғ ᴀɴɢsᴛ ᴍᴀsʜ-ᴜᴘ. ᴄʜᴇᴇʀs, xᴏ. ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ɴᴜᴅɪᴛʏ (ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴇ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ). ᴅɪsᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇᴅ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.3ᴋ

It was finally quiet, save for the sound of the shower running in this outdated, dirty bathroom. You peeled the sticky, blood-soaked clothing off your body—piece by piece. The heavy iron stench of the crimson substance would’ve made you wretch just months ago, had this not become your new normal. You stood in front of the vanity in the tiny basement bathroom, hands braced on the sink for the support you so desperately needed in this moment, as you gazed at the stranger returning your solemn look in the mirror. Sure, you were covered in someone’s blood and your hair was a tangled mess, but it was more than that. Your cheeks had sunken in slightly; the bags under your eyes had bags, and you had that thousand-yard stare that you had only ever seen described in novels.

It’s days like today when you miss who you were; before the Boys, before this whole “take down Vought and burn everything to the ground in the process” initiative that they were after. That Butcher was after. Butcher was…something else entirely, a true enigma—in your humble opinion. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he pulled a 180. He was good looking, incredibly attractive, but you never saw him entertain any potential love interests. You had, however, caught the isolated glance your way once or twice. The occasional brushing of hands that lingered longer than that should have…

A gentle knock sounded at the door, prompting you away from your thoughts before they went too far down the forbidden path that is Billy Butcher. You were brought back to the current moment in time; one in which you looked like a feral animal, blood splattered across your face. You were too quickly reminded of the harshness of your reality, and it sent you into a vicious spiral.

“Yeah?” you sniffled, trying your best to conceal the sound of your hyperventilating. It wasn’t like it would be weird that you were on the verge of a complete and total breakdown. Virtually every one of you has had a full-fledged “they’re coming to take me away” moment or two. And it’s honestly expected given your newfound line of work in…what’d you tell that cute guy at the bar the other day? Extermination? Waste management?

“It’s, uh, it’s Hughie,” a soft voice emanated from the other side of the cheap, thin door. “We’re going to grab something to eat. Need us to bring some food back?”

You instinctively placed your grimy hand on your bare stomach. You hadn’t eaten a proper meal in what felt like weeks, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could reasonably keep this up. Your hand moved towards your chest, resting firmly above your heart in an attempt to settle down. Breathing deeply and clearing your throat, you replied, “um, yes, actually. Thank you, Hughie, I’m…famished, honestly.”

You could almost hear the relief in his voice as he gave you a brief farewell before you finally built up the strength to move towards the shower. You gently stepped over the wall of the yellowed porcelain tub, instantly enveloped in the hot water. Under any other circumstance, the heat of the water would have been too much to bear but you knew only water from the depths of the fiery inferno that is your hellish life would be able to fully cleanse your body of today’s events.

After what felt like hours, and the struggle of bringing yourself to actively wash your hair, face, and body instead of just lying on the floor of the shower and crying, you turned off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower. You grabbed the nearest towel, scratchy and worn, and wrapped yourself in it. Your feet slowly padded towards the door, pulling it open. Somehow thinking about nothing and everything all at once, you were in your own world as you rounded the corner out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel when you collided into the chest of a much larger person. You let out a startled yelp, hands raised to push against the wall of a human that you had, quite literally, run into.

“‘Ello, dove,” Butcher grinned, his eyes shimmering with amusement as he wrapped his arms around you to keep you from toppling over.

“W-what are you doing here? I thought, I mean, Hughie said that you guys were…” you stuttered, fumbling over what to say.

“You thought you had this whole place to yerself and could parade that pretty arse around like y’owned the damn place?” he chuckled, hands migrating lower down your back before pulling you closer to press firmly against him.

His accent was absolutely delectable and it, coupled with the sensation of his large, rough hands on your bare skin, sent shivers down your spine. Your body had a surprisingly visceral reaction to both with goosebumps erupting all over your body. Staring up at him, you couldn’t help admiring his rugged features. You had always thought his deep-set eyes were black, but up-close they were a beautiful dark brown that housed his trademark intensity. He had small scars, barely noticeable, peppered across his prominent cheekbones. His thick dark hair was longer than you typically would prefer in a man but the slightly tousled appearance only added to his tough, masculine exterior. You felt your arousal stirring deep in your belly, yearning with a desperate, uncomfortable desire for him to move his hands to another part of you. You weren’t sure if it was his touch or the sudden chill you felt that had your whole body on edge.

“Bit nippy in here, yea?”

You tensed, becoming keenly aware of the feeling of his clothes against your naked figure. You looked down in horror, mortified, to see the tattered excuse of a towel you once donned was in a heap on the floor. You instantly felt heat spread rapidly across your face, undoubtedly apparent to the rugged Brit before you. Your heart was beating out of your chest. God, strike you down now—save you from the embarrassment.

“Butcher, oh my God, I—”

“Relax, love, I ain’t looking. Here,” he interrupted, removing his hands from the small of your back agonizingly slow. The gentle trace of his fingertips as he pulled away left a trail of fire in their wake. He didn’t break contact with your pleading doe eyes, as he waved one hand and placed it over his eyes as a show of good faith and took a—small—step back.

You cleared your throat, expectantly. “You better not peek.”

He let out his low grumble of a laugh, acknowledging your unspoken request with a small shake of his head and a breathy sigh before turning around. You immediately bent down, scooping up your towel and scrambling to wrap it around you as quickly as you could. Your trembling fingers eventually were able to secure it around your bust after dropping the corner twice, exposing your breasts. You glanced up, thanking the big fella upstairs that Butcher was turned around and unable to see you pathetically take a full minute to hide your shivering body.

“You’re fine, Butcher, I’ve got my towel,” you voice quietly, stepping to the side as you begin to scurry past him to your room.

I’m never gonna hear the end of this, you think to yourself, your face still flushed. You all but sprinted the few remaining feet of the small, cramped space when you caught a glint of light in a large vanity mirror hung on the wall at the end of the hallway. You stopped in your tracks. The mirror offered a perfect view of the hallway but more, specifically, the exact spot of where you previously stood, naked and fumbling with your towel. In the same mirror, you saw Butcher’s devilish smile appear from the shadow of his dark beard accompanied by a mischievous wink before turning on his heel of his boot and disappearing around the corner of the opposite end of the hall.

#billy butcher #the boys #billy butcher x reader #fluff #angst #whatever shall it be #my flight got cancelled and I wanted to write a lil bit #literally my first published fic ever #love y'all

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n0cturna1-m3 · 2 years ago

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Midnight Chatting | Bruce Wayne x Male Reader | Fluff

Fem/Minors DNI

Request; Too god damn long to put in. Here's the link.

Warnings; Bruce is a mediocre father, mention of anxiety attack, Damian Wayne and Bruce Wayne have autism (confirmed 😐🤞), insecurities, minor hurt/full comfort.

A/N; Slowly gettin through reqs... probably gonna do a few fluff/angst ones until I'm feelin up to doin a smut fic 😋

Synopsis; Some people have a knack for breaking through the hearts of cold people. Bruce is lucky enough to be in a committed relationship with one of these people.

1.9k words

It had been almost a year since Bruce had begun dating Y/N, a young man he met by coincidence. He worked at a coffee shop that Bruce frequented, and eventually, Y/N made the first move and asked him out on a date. It was likely one of the longest romantic relationships he had ever been in, and everything was moving smoothly.

Sure, the couple would bicker every once in a while, usually because of Bruce coming home bruised and battered, but they always managed to reconcile before it became heated.

Y/N started living with Bruce later in their relationship. It was a tedious process, mostly because Y/N had to be informed of Bruce’s vigilante duties. He was hesitant to believe Bruce, but his eyes gave away nothing but the truth. Y/N often worried for him, but Bruce managed to reassure him even after the most dangerous nights.

Bruce’s adopted children were cold towards him at first, save for Dick who was fond of him immediately and Jason whom he still hasn’t met. They would give him stern eyes, but eventually, they began warming up to the man.

Tim was the first to cave. He was frustrated with Bruce for leaving him out of a mission he had found a massive amount of information on, and he was angry about it. Tim sat in his room, sulking with his arms crossed over his chest in bed.

He wanted to ignore the knock on his door, telling the person to “leave him alone,” but Y/N pushed the door open anyway and sat on his bed. Tim glared at him and turned his head away.

“I know how it feels,” he said. Tim perked up, glancing at the man sitting at the end of his bed.

“How would you know?” he scoffed. But his mind was whirring with anticipation. He wanted to know how Y/N could possibly understand how he felt.

“What, you think Bruce hasn’t left me behind before? He’s a selfish little man child,” Y/N said, laughing slightly. Tim smiled but covered it up quickly. “It sucks to be left out when you work hard for something. I know it does.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not out fighting crime like you guys, but I am an adult and I have experienced this. What you’re feeling right now.”

“What am I feeling then?” Tim asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He wanted Y/N to stop patronising him. He was treating him like a child.

“You feel hurt, and left behind,” he said, looking into Tim’s eyes. “You feel abandoned.”

Tim’s throat tightened and he hung his head.

“It’s not fair that he gets to call all the shots,” Tim said, sniffling. He wiped his eyes before he could cry.

“No, it’s not.” Y/N moved up the bed to sit next to Tim and nudged his shoulder with his own. “But you can always come to me when you’re upset with him. He pisses me off too.”

Tim sniffled and looked up at Y/N with teary eyes.

“He does?”

“Of course!” Y/N laughed. “But I love him. He cares about me, and he cares about you, too. That’s what I like about him.”

Tim eyed Y/N before resting his head on Y/N’s chest and hugging him. Y/N held him close and squeezed him, stroking his hair with one hand.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered.

Damian was a more difficult task. He hated Bruce, he hated his brothers, and he hated Y/N. It seemed like he hated the world. Y/N could understand. The cards he had been dealt were unfortunate.

The straw that broke the camel's back, or Damian’s resolve for his burning hatred of Y/N, was something he hadn’t even expected.

Damian had been awake for too many hours, staring at the screen in front of him and sipping on coffee while trying to find any sort of evidence. Bruce was doing similarly beside him. Damian’s head ached, his eyes burned, and his patience was running thin.

Eventually that thinness broke. It snapped and Damien slammed his fists on the table, startling Bruce. Damian could practically feel everything around him in excruciating detail. Every sound, every smell, everything that touched his skin, it caused him pain.

He stood up and anxiously pushed his hair out of his face, desperately trying to get it off of his skin. Bruce stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what to do. Y/N rushed into the room after hearing the commotion and sighed at the sight.

“Damian,” he said softly. Damian turned to him and glared, hands still in his hair and pulling. “Come here, kid.”

Damian didn't know what to do. He felt an overwhelming emotion that he didn't understand, so he followed Y/N, who took one of his hands in his and held it.

He felt embarrassed. He felt like a toddler having a tantrum. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and his ears burned with anxiety. Y/N walked him to his room and opened the door.

“Sit down.”

Damian walked to his bed and sat on the edge, acutely aware of every step that Y/N took as he walked to the window and drew the curtains, causing the room to go black. Y/N grabbed a throw blanket that was laid messily on the floor. Damian always kicked it and the loose sheet off of his bed. He didn’t like how it rested on his body over his comforter. Y/N wrapped the blanket around him and crouched down to be eye level with him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly.

Y/N left the room, closing the door behind him quietly, and left Damian alone. The silence was pleasant, the lack of light was appreciated, and when Y/N returned with a wet cloth that he placed over his eyes, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He flopped back on the bed, Y/N readjusted the blanket and cloth again.

“I’ll come back in half an hour,” Y/N whispered before leaving Damian again.

He had never experienced this kind of treatment and care before, perhaps only from Alfred. But this was different. He felt like he had a real parent.

Sure, he had Bruce, but he wasn’t much of a father. Y/N cared for him deeply, he could tell. Maybe he was too hard on him, Damian thought as he sunk into the bed. He practically turned into goo with how limp he went.

When Y/N returned, Damian thanked him. Y/N smiled and told him that he was happy to help.

After that, both Tim and Damian would spend time with Y/N frequently. They would watch movies together, gossip about Bruce, eat together.

It was only when Damian asked Y/N to come with him to put him to bed after dinner that Bruce noticed. He followed the two and watched Y/N tuck him in and crouch by the side of his bed, speaking with him softly. It was too quiet for Bruce to hear, but from the smile on Damian’s face, he could tell that whatever it was made him happy.

Y/N stood up and turned off the light before leaving, giving Bruce a smile when he saw him.

“How the hell did you do that?” Bruce asked. Bruce rarely saw Damian smile. He was stern, like him.

“Do what?” Y/N asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me,” he said with a small grin. Y/N laughed and ignored him, instead getting ready for bed.

The couple changed into their sleepwear, or lack thereof in one of their cases, and crawled into bed. Y/N assumed his position as the big spoon, wrapping one arm around Bruce with the other under his head.

Y/N fell asleep quickly. Bruce felt his warm breath on his neck and the calm beat of his heart against his back. He was almost asleep when he thought of Damian.

He was suddenly aware of the time that Tim and Damian would spend with Y/N and how happy they were in the past few months. It was Y/N that caused it. A small gesture that went far to make his boys open up to him. He was suddenly overwhelmed with adoration for his partner. He was getting along with his family. Although he hadn’t yet met Jason, Bruce was sure that Jason would like him, despite his disdain for Bruce.

Pride filled his chest, though it suddenly washed away. Y/N was perfect. He was too perfect. He was too good of a man to be living with a man like Bruce, someone so cold and oblivious. He wasn’t a good person. Y/N was a good person. He was an amazing person.

Bruce didn’t know that he had begun crying until Y/N kissed his neck and hugged him tighter.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked groggily. Bruce could still hear the sleep in his voice.

He wiped his eyes and took a shaky breath before saying, “It’s nothing.”

Y/N scoffed and sat up, pushing Bruce onto his back and looking down at him while holding his face in his hands. He leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“You don’t have to be ashamed to cry.”

Bruce’s pupils dilated, his blue eyes turning crystal as tears streamed down his face. Y/N pulled him up into a hug and held him tightly while combing his fingers through his jet black hair and murmuring ‘It’s okay’ into his ear.

Eventually Bruce calmed enough to talk to Y/N about it. He sat back against the headboard, Y/N doing the same beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Do you wanna talk to me about it?” he asked. Bruce took a deep breath.

“I think you’re too good for me,” Bruce said, turning his head to meet Y/N’s eyes. “You’re so kind, and you’re an amazing person, and you're so good with Tim and Damian, I just-” Bruce hiccuped and covered his eyes, rubbing them with a deep frown and furrowed eyebrows. “I feel like you should be with someone better.”

Y/N said nothing. He just pulled Bruce into his chest and kissed his hair while rubbing his back and holding the back of his neck.

“I know what I want, Bruce,” he said. Bruce listened keenly. “I love you, and I want you, and there's nothing more that I could ask other than to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Bruce looked up at him and huffed. Y/N smiled.

“I would come back to you a million lifetimes over.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bruce said. Y/N kissed his forehead and then his lips before wiping Bruce’s face with his hand.

“Can you sleep?” Y/N asked. Bruce nodded.

Y/N laid down again and Bruce faced him this time. He wrapped his legs around one of Y/N’s thighs and held on to him, burying his face in his neck and breathing in deeply. Y/N gently let his fingernails scratch Bruce’s back until he fell asleep, then letting his hand rest on his lower back.

His breaths were slow, and his heartbeat matched Y/N’s as they slotted together like puzzle pieces.

#bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x male reader #batman x reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #fluff #lil bit o angst #not really tho

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kotoku · 10 months ago

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Hello! Could I request Aventurine with a musician and singer reader? I'm just imagining them singing to him while he rests.

ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ & ꜱɪɴɢᴇʀ! ꜱ/ᴏ

pairings - aventurine x musician and singer! reader

content - a couple headcanons before the small oneshot at the end, pre-relationship to established relationship, mainly fluff but there is some angst i sprinkled in, aventurine having nightmares about his past/trauma, reader comforting him to sleep, gender-neutral reader, comfort fic (?) for aventurine lol

warnings - none, besides some slight angst

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ Aventurine’s first encounter with you would be an event that is taking place in a casino that he frequents

↺ You know how bars have those karaoke nights where people can come up and sing? Something like that

↻ When he first saw you performing, he could recognize some of the songs that he overheard from his subordinates and coworkers

↺ They seemed to be fangirling over whoever the singer was, gushing about their appearance and music to each other before noticing Aventurine and skittering off to their work

↺ He didn’t question what they were listening to, returning back to whatever he was doing in the first place

↻ When you started singing on stage, he was enamored with your voice, the lighting of the casino complimenting your looks and making you appear ethereal

↺ Aventurine couldn’t focus on his gambles for the rest of the night and days to come, distracted by your performances

↻ He started going to the casino on days that you were performing, making sure to get a seat near you to be able to have a closer look

↻ Aventurine often times finds himself daydreaming, lost in the movements of your hands as they played to the tune of your voice

↺ He was lovestruck, but he would never admit that to anyone, maybe not even you…

↻ Unbeknownst to Aventurine, you had noticed his frequent appearances during your appearances and were delighted to have someone of his position enjoy your performances

↺ You’d catch his lingering gazes, the flustered look on his face when he caught himself staring for too long, his stuttered movements when he returned to whoever he was milking money from

↺ You decided to wait a little longer, wanting to see just how long it would take for Aventurine to make his move before you do

↻ Honestly, you would have never guessed that you’d bump into Aventurine after one of your performances, spotting him waiting near the back entrance to where you had some of your equipment stored (it seems you needn’t wait longer for your encounter with him)

↺ He was the first to approach you, clapping his hands and giving you a sly smile

↺ “What a performance. You always know how to put on a show.”

↻ From there on, he’d catch you after you had finished your act for the night, striking up a conversation that could last for hours

↺ You’d end up sitting by the bar with him, talking and laughing the night away as the two of you grew closer and learned more about each other

↺ It wasn’t long until Aventurine asked you out to dinner, a much more romantic setting compared to late-night bar trips

↻ Aventurine, despite his cunning attitude and sly looks, had a much softer and clingier side to him, you discovered further down the line

↻ When the two of you started sharing the same bed, cuddling and holding the other close, you learned of the frequent nightmares he often experienced

↺ He hated to admit it, in fact, he never wanted you to find out about the nightmares he faced each night

↺ Those unforgiving and relentless nightmares that opened wounds of the past, were never meant to be shown to you but alas, it was only a matter of time before you found out

-----

It was another night that Aventurine had grown accustomed to. Those unforgiving nights when his past had come back to haunt him in the form of nightmares, in which he woke up in a cold sweat and felt his heart beating out of his chest. Invisible hands seemed to tighten around his throat, the fading heat on that damned mark on his neck lingering for a second too long. It almost made him want to scream and cry, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Not when you were lying peacefully beside him.

The steady rise and fall of your chest, your incoherent mumbles, and your body heat reassured him that you were there and that you wouldn’t leave his side anytime soon. Yet the shackles of his past still persisted, dragging him into the depths of his own loneliness and despair.

Aventurine had quietly shuffled off the bed, sitting on the edge while feeling the cool night air filter through the window. He glanced over at a nearby clock and found it to be 1:24 AM, nowhere near daybreak. His shaky hands ran through his hair, eyes shut closed as he tried to stabilize his breathing.

To his dismay, he felt you move in your sleep, a groggy voice calling out to him from behind.

“…Aventurine..? Are you okay?”

Aventurine reluctantly looked over his shoulder, plastering that same smile he gave you when the two of you first met.

“Of course, I just needed to use the bathroom.” He lied, yet he knew that you would see through him as you always did. That was the most damning part about you, your ability to read people’s emotions despite any obstacles.

“…Aventurine, did you have another nightmare?” He heard you speak, your figure moving to sit beside him. He felt your hand gently touch his shoulder, moving to rub comforting circles on his shoulder blades. Aventurine relaxed at your touch.

“I—..sigh… Yes..I did.” Aventurine admitted, his gaze never meeting your own. “It’s the same damn nightmare, nothing special…”

When his body turned to face yours, you saw the dark circles that began to form from the countless nights he found himself having trouble falling asleep. Your face softened at his disheveled appearance, hands moving to cup his face which he leaned into.

“Oh Aven, you can always tell me when something is bothering you but I’ll never pressure you.” You hummed, fixing his loose strands of hair. “I’ll never leave you to face your troubles alone.”

Aventurine could feel his eyes start to water, but he blinked them away, turning his face to kiss the palm of your hand.

“Thank you, my love.”

“Of course.”

There was a brief silence between the both of you but it wasn’t an awkward one. You had moved to let Aventurine lay down, spooning him in your arms which held him close and played with his hair. Although he’d complain about being the little spoon, he would always sink further into your embrace despite his protests. This time, however, he didn’t say a word.

Aventurine could hear you start to hum a small song, one which he recognized as the song you first performed at the casino. It was a slow and comforting one. Its tunes melted away his previous stress and allowed him to grow lax in your arms.

Your humming combined with the faint sound of your beating heart slowly lulled him to sleep. His eyes started to grow heavy and his breathing had evened. The light strokes of his hair had him leaning towards your touch.

Aventurine could feel himself slipping into the realm of dreams, which would now be filled with scenarios of you.

At last, his eyes have closed and your humming never ceased, following him into his slumber.

“My thoughts will follow you into your dreams and soothe your worries. Rest well, my dear.”

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - did you guys get the reference at the end? ( ❛ ͜ʖ ❛ )

#writing➠#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #fluff #musician & singer reader #comfort fic #aventurine having nightmares #lil bit of angst

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