#pls bless my fingers they are dying

[zhench]

he likes his new hat

[weedlieweedlie]

Crappy Jax drawing

[assriels]

take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express. 

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child. 

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him. 

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment. 

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps. 

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight. 

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.” 

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time. 

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.” 

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body. 

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully. 

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart. 

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. 

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to. 

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by. 

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders. 

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed. 

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest. 

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours. 

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue. 

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water. 

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful. 

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.) 

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples. 

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure. 

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath. 

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers. 

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts. 

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came. 

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub. 

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form. 

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom. 

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought. 

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back. 

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit. 

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections. 

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over. 

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head. 

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted. 

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips. 

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart. 

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin. 

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice. 

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage. 

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear. 

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way. 

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment. 

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck. 

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her. 

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration. 

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed. 

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it. 

[mickyschumacher]

hi love!! Could you write something about Charles x actress!reader where he gets jealous of one of readers ex boyfriend who’s famous and maybe leads to smut?

(i really hope it makes sense, english is not my first language 😭😭)

thank you !!🩷🩷

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jealousy is a disease. and it's latest victim is your boyfriend, charles leclerc.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors DNI), jealousy obviously, zayn is kind of a dick bless him 😭, unprotected sex (wrap your tippy pls), praise, blowjob, fingering, oral sex, p in v, orgasm denial, mutual orgasms, cumming inside, mentioning power couple tomdaya ♡︎, sucky media as per usual :/

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x famous actress!fem!reader, ex!zayn malik x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k+

𝐀/𝐍: if i don't get to see charles and zayn in one room irl, i'll just write them in one room if that’s okay :( on another note, i hope this was what you wanted anon! and your english is fine, love. sorry for the wait ♡︎ // questionably written and proof-read on a jetlagged mind

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

There were many things Charles understood well. Family, racing, the politics of racing... but one thing he would never truly understand was how he got you.

The Y/N L/N. An Oscar-winning, multitalented, down-to-earth, and gorgeous actress who had entirely won the public's hearts along with Charles'. The actress who had managed to rule the industry that most were born into.

How on earth had he gotten so lucky?

Charles couldn't deny that he was Ferrari's golden boy nor that he had become a fame athlete. But got you were on another level.

For what it was worth, Charles was a confident man. He thought he cleaned up quite well, he knew his mother raised him right, he knew that charisma itself was scared of him.

Yet, all that confidence came crashing down when it came to your ex.

Zayn Malik.

If Charles could ignore him, he would. But Zayn was everywhere. On his Twitter, on his TikTok, on his Instagram... his fans and your fans especially loved him. Why wouldn't they? He was a literal Greek, well South Asian, god part of arguably one of the best boy band's in history with a voice that had been blessed by Heaven's angels themselves.

When fans questioned why you and Zayn had broken up and you had moved on with an F1 driver, Charles found himself quietly agreeing.

But then he realised that by his side was you. You weren't next to Zayn or anyone else. You were with Charles because you loved him and he loved you. And that was more than enough.

That being said, Charles couldn't help feel a bit maddened at headline he had woken up to this morning.

You let out a small yawn. Sunday mornings were the most calm for you. Especially when you had managed to snag Charles for the week. You turned to your awoken boyfriend with a smile before frowning. "What's on that screen that made you look like this, amour (love)?" You queried, rubbing a finger over the crease between his eyebrows.

Charles looked up from his phone, smiling at the sight of your face. "Nothing, mon amour (my love)," the Monégasque dismissed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you close to him.

Naturally you would've snuggled yourself into him but you could tell he was upset. "No, Cha. Tell me what's wrong. What can I do to turn that frown upside down? Hmm?" You softly asked, peeking up at him while you rested your head on his chest.

You could feel Charles' body convulse as he let a gentle chuckle pass his lips. "I can never hide anything from you, hmm? It's really nothing, Y/N. Just a stupid headline."

You mended your brows, taking his phone from his hand. If you knew anything about headlines, most of them were never good. Your eyes had captured the photo of your ex first, making you deflate a little. You continued to read the headline that made you and Zayn sound like you were still together and then went to the little summary below it.

"They're 'dying to know what happens?'," You huffed, closing his phone. You pursed your lips and peered over Charles. "I swear I didn't know he was coming, Cha. I promise. We can totally skip if you don't want the drama. I'm okay with that. We can lounge in the house and do nothing," You offered.

Charles smiled softly at your words. You were always thinking of everyone but yourself. "Thank you but I wouldn't miss you winning these awards for the world, ma belle (my beautiful). You deserve to win these awards and I'm going to watch you do it. Nothing could ruin tomorrow for me."

━━━━━━━━━━━

A few hours into the Oscars, after parading the red carpet and gushing over you with interviewers, Charles was quite sure he was right. Nothing could ruin tonight because, god, were you a sight to behold.

You had captured everyone's eyes. Talking to your stylist months ago, you had accomplished your two wishes about your appearance at the Oscars: simplicity and red.

Red on a red carpet was always a bold choice but this year's carpet was a light grey. Dressed in a custom red ball gown, a matching silk shawl and a simple necklace, you had blown everyone away.

The amount of people that had solely come to your table to compliment you was surreal. But Charles couldn't argue with them. You were surreal. When he first saw you come out of the dressing room, he could've sworn his heart had stopped and for a moment, he seriously considered your offer yesterday morning.

The most beautiful person in the world loved him. Nothing could ruin the storm whirling in his stomach. The same storm he had felt when he was trying to muster the courage to talk to you when you first met at a tennis match in Monaco.

As you two conversed with your manager about the after party activities you were considering attending, Charles and you heard a voice that was all but too familiar.

"Y/N," The voice greeted.

You knew it was Zayn. You also knew how Charles felt. So you turned around with what you thought was enough confidence and greeted him. "Zayn," You breathed out with a small smile.

"It's been a while. You look out of this world. Beautiful as always," Zayn grabbed your hand and left a small kiss.

Oh good lord.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Charles tense. You cleared your throat. "Thank you. You look.. uh, amazing as always too," You complimented awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but his face.

Before Zayn could fill the upcoming silence with any unnecessary compliments, you linked your hand through Charles' arm. "This is Charles. My boyfriend," You smiled proudly.

Charles' could feel his heart speed up. He gave a kind smile to the singer, jutting out his hand for him to shake.

Zayn poked his tongue against the inners of his cheek, eyeing Charles' hand before returning the gesture. He locked eyes with the Monégasque, tilting his head to the side. "Right. The driver, right?"

Jesus. For a second you had forgotten why you broke up with him.

"Yeah... the racing driver," Charles responded with a tight voice and slightly narrowed eyes.

A nervous laugh fell from your lips. "O-Okay. I think we're gonna head over to Tom and Zendaya. Uh, see you around, Zayn, hmm?"

Zayn moved his eyes from Charles to you. He gave his usual charming smile. Putting his hand on your shoulder, he said, "Yeah, sure. I'm always around as you know."

Charles felt his jaw lock as he watched Zayn's hand fall from your shoulder and trail loosely down your arm before he left. "See you, Y/N. Goodbye Charlie."

━━━━━━━━━━━

The after parties were a no go. For the first time in your life you couldn't tell what Charles was thinking. The silence after Zayn left and the car ride home was unbearable. You tried to comfort him by putting your hand over his and assuring him that Zayn was just a classified dick, but nothing came from Charles.

What you did know was that Charles was pissed. The tight grip on the steering wheel, his flexed jaw, the hardened eyes... all signs of an angry Charles.

Arriving home, you both entered your bedroom after taking your shoes off. You looked over to Charles. God the silence was unnerving. "Charles? Amour, are you okay?" You asked once again.

Charles sat on the bed, looking at you stand in front of him. His mind was going as fast as the cars he drove. 'Out of this world?' All Charles could think was that he was going to fuck you out of this world. He wasn't angry about the snide remarks. He was angry that he was even jealous of such a pathetic human being. Moreover, he was furious over those small touches of his.

"Chérie (Sweetheart), come here. Let me help you change," Charles smiled, his hand beckoning for you to come towards him.

You sighed, walking over to him. You could see his hands aching to grab you but instead you stretched out your hand to touch his hair. Charles closed his eyes at the feeling. "Cha... I'm sorry about him. He's an asshole," You apologised, now rubbing his cheek gently.

Charles leaned into your caress, fluttering his eyes open so you could see those soft baby blues you had completely fallen head over heels for. "It's not your fault, chérie. I think he's regretting leaving the most smartest and beautiful woman in the world. You have nothing to apologise for."

You chuckled softly, trying to disguise how touched you felt. Charles complimented you like this all the time and it never got easier. No one had treated you like this before and especially not Zayn.

"Now come on," Charles stood up from the bed and turned you around, "Let's get this off." A small kiss was planted on the side of your cheek as Charles' eyes twinkled through the mirror across you.

You smiled warmly at him and nodded. You watched him take the red straps off of your shoulders, leaving a trail of warm kisses on either side. You sighed calmly. His hands trailed to the zip of the dress, pulling it down, he explored the smooth of your back, placing a kiss on the back of your neck. Charles gently pushed down the red gown, letting it pool at your bare feet.

You reached to the back of your neck to take off the gorgeous silver necklace you had worn but Charles stopped you by grabbing your wrists. "Leave it," He whispered, grazing your arms with his touch.

An involuntary shiver came over you at his voice and from the air rushing against your bare skin.

You could feel Charles' lips quiver at the side of your face. "Cold? Let me warm you up, mon amour."

You drew a quiet, sharp breath as you felt him move your chin so you could properly see him in your mirror. His ring-adorned hand travelled from your neck and down the valley of your breasts, ensuring to make the extra effort to glide over your nipples with the metal band.

Your breath hitched as one hand began to rub your hardened nipple while the other continued to travel down your stomach. "Charles..." You sighed out, feeling a familiar burn spark in the pits of your stomach.

Charles hummed in response, meeting your eyes in the mirror with lust and a tint of smugness. The corner of his lips quirked up, feeling you tense as he neared your pussy. Through the thickness of his own clothes, he could feel your skin begin to burn.

His cock hardened at your reaction. He had barely even done anything and his name was already falling from your lips.

His fingers continued to creep down your stomach, feeling the heat from your core radiate. A sigh of pleasure fell from his mouth as he pressed his two fingers into your folds. He could feel your arousal encompassing his fingers.

"So wet, ma chérie," Charles moaned in your ear, making you return the sinful sound back. "All for me, hmm? No one else gets you this wet, do they, chérie?"

You squirmed against him as Charles' fingers moved from the soft lips of your pussy and ghosted your clit so damn slowly. Your hips bucked involuntarily with the crave of more.

Suddenly, his juice-ridden fingers were pressed up against your bundle of nerves while his other hand tugged at your lip, waiting for your answer.

"Shit, no. No one. Only you make me this wet, Cha," You whimpered, grinding your hips up against his fingers for more pressure.

Charles smiled in satisfaction. "Let's sit, hmm?" He said, tapping your clit.

You jolted at the action, feeling his hands wrap around your waist, seating you on his lap as he sat down on your bed. Your pussy throbbed at the loss of touch but ached for the hardness pressed up against you.

"Feel that, amour? That's what you do to me," Charles grunted, feeling an obscene high come over him when you started to grind down on his cock. God did you have him under your spell. Only you could put your bare pussy down on his cock and make him want to cum in seconds.

But how could you not. In the mirror you could see a sex-hazed Charles, skin flushed at your actions. It turned you on to see him lose control.

"Fuck," Charles moaned, stilling your hips from moving any further. Ignoring your whines, he pushed opened your legs, taking in the glistening view from the mirror. Bringing his two fingers to your mouth, you opened your lips and lapped at your arousal on his fingers.

"Merde," He sighed out, moving his lubed fingers to your pussy. He teasingly rubbed his fingers fully up and down, make you gasp at the coldness of his ring. Shit.

"Charles, please. I want your fingers," You groaned in frustration, thighs taking his fingers into a tight grip.

Charles chuckled, "Anything for you, princesse." He pushed his to fingers into the soft walls of your pussy.

The both of you moaned in unison, your head falling back on his shoulders. He watched eagerly as you enveloped his fingers entirely as if it was a magic trick of some sorts. The lewd sheen of you glimmered over his fingers while he thrusted them in and out.

"Look at you, chérie. Making a mess all over me," Charles smiled against your cheek as he looked down at his black trousers which now sported a darker stain.

Your warm walls clenched around his fingers, sending Charles on a journey to find that right spot both he and you craved so much. Charles could tell by the sudden parting of your lips and the jerk of your hips that he had reached it. His eyes flickered over to your face, bringing a small smug smirk to his mouth.

Your eyes brows were creased in the middle, laden with trickles of sweat building up while your mouth remained in a constant state of opening, letting those beautiful moans fall out as your chest heaved, craving more and more of him.

The trembles, the moans, the pure state of bliss you were in... it was all because of him. And Charles loved it.

Charles brought his thumb to your bundle of nerves, rubbing you in slow circles as he continued to push his digits in and out. He whispered softly, lips dancing against the curve of your ear, "You don't know how beautiful you looked tonight, mon amour. So many eyes on you. I bet they all thought the same thing... that you looked like a goddess. Sometimes I wish they could see what I'm seeing right now. This gorgeous body, your wet pussy trembling all over me, your swollen lips.... hear those pretty little moans of yours. Then they would realise... you are perfection. Unfortunately for them, they aren't the luckiest man alive. I am."

All of a sudden, all your emotions were rushing towards you. Hearing Charles' thick voice while his fingers fucked you sent you overboard. The ache of your core was climbing higher and higher, hips convulsing. "Fuck, Charles, I'm going to cum," You murmured with staggered pants, eyes fluttering shut.

Charles smiled softly, cock throbbing at the sight of you reaching your climax. But as much as Charles loved it, he needed his cock in your warm walls.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt Charles remove his fingers from your pussy, leaving his thumb circling your clit aggravatingly slow. Your walls clenched around nothing in the effort to grab the last sliver of euphoria that Charles had brought. "Charles," You whispered, almost with a sob, eyes shaking in both annoyance and lust.

Charles brought his lips to yours, softly hushing your cries. "I'm sorry, chérie, I need you." His baby blues bored into yours, taking you in.

Looking at Charles when he had said that, given how the night had played out, the tone of his voice told you everything you needed to know. "I know, amour. I need you too," You whispered back, giving him a long peck.

You sat up from his lap, turning to undo the buckle of his belt. The clangs echoed throughout the room as the tension between the both of you became heavier and desperate. Your hands raced to take off the strap while Charles itched to take off his stained pants, cock aching to come out.

Charles let out a low groan, feeling your warm breath on his bare cock as your removed his boxers. His Adam’s apple hitched as he felt your tongue take a long wet stripe of his cock.

His fingers itched to move you away and fuck you like he initially intended to, but the moment he felt your mouth sink down his shaft, his hand naturally fell into your hair. His cock fit perfectly in your mouth as if they were made for each other.

Charles' teeth sunk down on his bottom lip, baby blues eagerly watching you on your knees for him. His hand tightened around your hair as you hollowed your throat. With your eyes flickering to him as your teeth just grazed his cock, sending a tremor down his spine, he let out a series of soft moans. "Just like that, amour," He encouraged while you sucked him up and down.

Taking long licks at the shaft of his pulsing cock, you removed your lips briefly, resting them on his tip. "Only for you, Cha," You reminded him.

Charles held your gaze, feeling another shudder rip through his body. Jesus. Speechlessly he watched you bring your swollen lips back down his cock, hand gently reaching out towards his balls. Charles' hip jerked up at the sudden action, pushing his cock further down your throat.

The rasp of his grunt made you clench your thighs, feeling your pussy drip with arousal. You could feel his cock begin to move with Charles' control, high on the pleasure. Your throat fought to keep itself open, wanting every inch of him in your mouth.

Charles' pace began to speed as the sheer euphoria began to climb up. He averted his eyes to your face, feeling himself tighten further in your throat as seeing you take his cock was a different high on it's own. Your eyes were glassy, brimming with tears of brought of lust and arousal; saliva and sweat painted your skin with a glow he cherished. But what did it for him was the small bulge in your throat; all of him just in your throat.

God, did he just want to thrust himself harder till he came. He needed to cum... but not in your throat.

"Mon amour," Charles grunted, tapping the underside of your chin.

You moved your mouth from his cock, feeling his hand gently lift your chin as you stood from your knees. No words were needed as your eyes searched his.

Bringing your lips to his, Charles wrapped his arm around your waist, flushing your burning body to his unfairly clothed chest. Yet, you could feel the heat pouring off of him. You could barely breathe as you kissed Charles; the fervent need for each other was almost overwhelming.

You could feel his puffy lips slowly detach from yours, eyes staring into yours as he positioned his cock to your wet folds.

Something about this moment felt nostalgic, reminding you of your first time with Charles. The slow and careful movements, the way Charles looked at you as if he had the whole world in his eyes... as if everything was okay as long as you were by his side.

Fuck Zayn. Fuck everyone else.

All he needed was you and he had you... entirely.

You whimpered loudly, feeling his cock drive into you, filling you entirely. "Merde," you heard Charles cuss as he flung his hands onto your bare hips. The air that was once full of your pants and the obscene sounds of your lips sucking his cock was now full of your lewd moans and the sounds of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as Charles thrusted into you, losing himself in the feeling of your warm folds enveloping his cock, acting as some sort of siphon that he couldn't escape while he watched your breasts bounce. No... he was under your spell.

Those same thoughts wandered into his head as he rutted into you. How had he gotten so lucky? All he knew was that he must've been a good soul in every past life of his in order to get someone like you.

"Fuck," You cursed, back arching as your body welcomed each hit of euphoria. You burned with desire, humming with approval; cheeks aflame and moans slurred. Your pussy tightly wrapped around his cock began to clench as Charles' fingers had found their way to your clit.

A shiver shoots down Charles' spine as he watched your breasts come on full display. He bent his head down, hot tongue swiping over your nipple. He moaned against your now flushed breast. You were driving him insane. He couldn't think, he could barely speak. You had taken over any stability he once had.

"Charles," You rasped, feeling the coil at the bottom of your stomach tighten.

Charles softly smiled against your breast, detaching his mouth and increasing the pace of his hips against yours. His eyes flickered down to where his cock met your folds, falling into an entrance while he watched your arousal coat his cock.

"Cum for me, chérie," Charles encouraged, feeling your hands travel up his back, pressing into the fabric of his shirt, leaving no inch of his skin missed by you.

"Charles, Charles, Charles," You moaned his name; your favourite song. Your body trembled, melting against him as he tightened his grip on your hips, steadying you as a white light ripped past your eyes, hips bucking involuntarily to fully grasp the high of your climax.

Charles takes his turn at own favourite song; your name slipping from his lips, stuck on repeat. Your folds act as a vice, gripping him tightly. His cock throbbed, the heat of his skin rising. His pants turned higher and irregular, hips coming to a falter as he felt the hot white stripes of his cum coat your warm walls.

Charles' head fell back against the bed, slowly removing his softening cock from your pussy.

You let out a small sigh, almost collapsing against Charles if he hadn't wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you close to him. His blues eyes skimmed over your face, a small smile playing on his lips while he brushed your sweat ridden hair back; his fingers trailed over your swollen lips, tracing the trails of red lipstick that had escaped it's confines.

"You're coming to Monaco, right?" Charles asked softly.

You smiled at him, running your hand through those soft brown locks of his, trailing down his face and ending at his small dimple. Rubbing the spot in small circles, you earnestly whispered, "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Cha."

Charles' eyes softened, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead. "I'm sorry about tonight, amour," He apologised, feeling a slight bit childish and guilty over his reaction.

You chuckled, shaking your head, moving to rub the familiar crease between his eyebrows. "He's an asshole, Cha. I don't know if I tell you enough, but you're the man that I love... forever. There's no one else for me."

"So cheesy," Charles jested even though you could tell what you had said meant a lot to him, especially given that he had tightened his grip around you.

"Only for you, Charles," You rolled your eyes before holding his gaze. "Only for you."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[uwuheeseungie]

my strawberry love

synopsis: you love your boyfriend's new hair color, like really love.

pairing: l.h x f!reader

genre: fluff

note: based off of blessed-cursed hee era 😩

wc: 220

warnings: a bit sugguestive(?), y/n likes to run her fingers through hee's hair b/c it's so soft, use of "i love you" lemme know what i missed <3

"wow," you gasp softly as you run your hand through your boyfriend's hair for the umpteenth time tonight, but he lets you. he likes the feeling of your fingers slightly gripping his locks and scratching his scalp with your fingernails ever so delicately. heeseung had dyed his hair a very nice shade of pink, you might add. it reminds you of strawberries.

he looks at you with nothing but hearts in his eyes. he sighs faintly with a small smile plastered on his face, you seem to notice. you stop momentarily to ask what's he smiling about.

"what's up? what's with the smile?"

"nothing," he sighs happily. "continue with what you were doing, it's kinda rocking me to sleep," he smiles sleepily. he yawns a bit.

you giggle, complying with his small request. "gosh, your hair is so so soft," admiring his hair more. he bends down to lie on your legs.

your little comment makes his smile once again against your soft skin, he rubs his cheek into your leg, him yawning loudly this time.

he stretches his long limbs around your frame, eyes already closed as you look down at him, smiling tenderly. you can hear him snoring softly beside you.

you bend down this time to place a small kiss on his temple, whispering "i love you,"

a/n: how did you like this? it's not the best ending, i know :( but i hope you enjoyed it, please send me feedback. it is most appreciated! also please be nice to me and each other <3 pls like/reblog, thank you!

© uwuheeseungie | please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my fics without consent anywhere, thank you!

[sungbeam]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐒 — teaser

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

your sister's dead, but apparently that's not the most shocking news. maybe she wasn't killed on accident, maybe ji changmin isn't really human, and maybe the monsters were never under the bed but all around you...

▷ genre, teaser warnings. strangers 2 reluctant friends/allies 2 lovers, slow burn, demon/supernatural creature au, forced proximity trope, murder mystery, suspense; mention of a weapon, one allusion to god (im not religious and this fic does not elaborate on religion), mention of food, mention of blood

▷ est. wc. 30-40k (isn't that range funny 💀)

▷ projected release date. sometime in november? as long as i like it lol FIND IT HERE

▷ comment/send an ask to be added to the taglist! those on my permanent taglist will automatically be tagged.

TEASER BELOW THE CUT (APPROX. 300 WORDS)

The thought had you waving a fry at him. "The switchblade," you began, drawing his attention and pancake-stuffed cheeks, "what was it? It definitely wasn't something human-made."

Changmin swallowed his bite. "It was an angel blade."

"You're kidding," you drawled in disbelief.

He challenged your stare. "Believe it or not, it was. Forged up there." He lifted the prongs of his fork up toward the ceiling, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.

Your jaw dropped. "So the Big Man Upstairs does exist?"

"I mean, I don't really know. I've never met him if he does. I just know the angels are ruled by the Seraphim," he told you. "Lots of hierarchical bullshit I didn't care to pay attention to."

He impaled another piece of pancake. "Angel blades are one of the few things that can kill a creature like that."

"A demon?" You asked.

"Yes. Lower level demons are easier to kill, especially with a blade like the one I gave you." He shoved the bite into his cheek to continue, "That's why I was able to take on multiple at once."

You made a noise of indignation. "So you're telling me you're a higher level demon?"

His shoulders fell in a half-hearted shrug.

"Helpful," you muttered as you washed your meal down with bittersweet coffee. You paused for a moment, cleaning your fingers off with a napkin. "The… the licking thing."

Changmin's eyes could not meet yours. "Mhm."

"Do you… do you do that often?"

"No," he said curtly. "That party trick only works on humans and I don't really enjoy the taste of blood."

You pursed your lips at his rather clipped response. "Oh." You recalled the sound he'd made as he cleaned your blood up with his tongue at the motel… maybe it was something out of disgust. You suddenly felt out of place, like you had made his shoulders tense up and the air crackle. You racked your brain. "I—thanks, by the way."

With a cough, he murmured, "Welcome. Couldn't have you dying on me."

You nursed your coffee cup, reaching up to absentmindedly fondle the pendant under your shirt. "Yeah."

a/n: this is currently my pride and joy, pls do not tear it apart </3 i thought this genre would be a nice challenge, but instead, it became something like a passion project ksnfksnf

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @kflixnet

[seitosokusha]

Hi! I recently got into reading some of your fanfics via Ao3 and ff.net. I instantly fell in love with Ayame and her chaotic nature. I was wondering if it would be possible if we could get a overview on her and her many abilities. If possible of course, Pls and thank you!

ANON YOU HAVE MADE MY *DAY*

I'm always down to talk about Ayame!

As a character, Ayame has basically 2 rules.

Nothing is impossible for her*

She's stronger and smarter than anyone else.

*There are things that she won't do and thus will lie to your face and say it's impossible. If it's truly impossible, then it's like... "shatter reality if it's done" type possible and then survival > "it's possible" wins.

Because I toss her into multiple fandoms, she always scales a little with said fandom. And as I discovered with the KNY fic with her, putting her in fandom where the balance is off makes for a boring fic.

Ayame (Tier and Asher too) whole concept is to be the most OP, curbstomping, there's nothing they can't do, type characters. They have their strengths and weakness of course. Tier and Asher essentially fill in the gaps in Ayame and vice versa. There's no limit, except perhaps some logical limits.

For example, it's not impossible for Ayame to build a time machine, but if you need a time machine RIGHT THIS INSTANT, she can't just snap her fingers and have on made instantly. She might come up with the design right away, but between testing and physically having to build one, it'll take days. (Or a day at least)

Abilities

Ayame's base kit includes

Sight

Onmyodo

Portals

Sight, despite it's name, is not reliant on sight only. wwbtf is the only fic I wrote that really goes into it, but essentially just like how shrimp can see colors we can't, Ayame's view on the world is a little more skewed than others. She sees/hears/feels/senses/tastes/smells things we can't. Goes from anything from ghosts to fate strings to seeing the future and past to dreams to aura and more.

Onmyodo, Ayame grew up on a shrine. Her father was a powerful priest. So she's got all the normal rituals, basic purification and blessings and more down.

Portals, Ayame has the ability to anywhere she wants to be.

That's it. No, seriously. That's it.

Ayame's OPness comes from the fact that the "power system" from her world is highly flexible and compatible AND Ayame understands the truth of the system on top of being a genius.

FFXV calls it magic, KHR calls it Dying Will Flames, at the end of the day, to Ayame, it's a type of energy that you produce from your soul and since she produces that type of energy, she can use any technique you use with higher efficiency and more power and better understanding probably.

And when it comes to raw output of that same energy, she got more than anyone else in the entire universe.

But what about the gravity power she always uses in fics?

That's Engetsu's power :D

And her weapon?

:D

[sophiria]

could I request a gojo x fem reader pls? where she can't touch people (and people can't touch her too) due to her cursed technique. it's like she has gojo's infinity, but unlike him, she can't turn it off. the technique disappears when she dies and it's literally the only time satoru gets to touch her for the first time ever :(((

Thank you for the request, lovely anon. I hope you enjoy my take on it <3

Kiss me hard before you go

Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader

Warnings and tags: heavy angst with a hopeful ending, character death with a twist, kissing, references to wounds, injuries, violence and death but nothing graphic, references to amnesia

Word count: 1,400

As Gojo held your body tightly to himself, his tears of despair soaked the crown of your head. He was bent over in grief, his hands clutching at your upper body as your back rested against his chest. He had dreamed for so long of holding you between his arms, breaking through the walls of your Infinity, which for you was more of a curse than a blessing. But not like this—never like this, with the fight leaving your body as you slowly succumbed to the wounds provoked by a Special Grade Cursed Tool.

“Baby,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fell over your hair, “Okkotsu Yuta is going to be here soon, okay?”

A faint smile appeared on your lips as tiredness weighed your frame, now barely feeling the pain of your injuries as you focused on the warmth of his embrace. “Satoru…” you whimpered as your breathing was growing shallow and your head hazy, “my Infinity can be breached only when I’m dying. You know that.”

He immediately shook his head at your words. “Don’t—” he choked out as his body trembled, inwardly berating himself for not being able to use the Reverse Cursed Technique, “just don’t. You know that Yuta is gonna save you.”

You weakly squeezed his hands as his fingers intertwined with yours. “At least I can finally feel you, Satoru.”

He gently pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “And you will feel me again,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “once you’re healed, I’m going to find a way for you to control Infinity like my family and I do.”

You slowly close your eyes, allowing yourself to imagine the blissful possibility for a few moments. Then, you took a shaky breath as you tried to push down what you knew would remain just a dream you could never realize in this life. Still, you wanted to indulge him.

“That sounds amazing, Satoru,” you whispered as his lips found your temple, planting a kiss on it, “I’m sure that if there’s one person who can find a solution to my everlasting Infinity, it is you.”

A shaky smile appeared on his lips at your words. “That’s right, baby,” he said, swallowing hard, “anything for you.”

Despite the exhaustion of your body and the sorrow in your mind, you smiled to yourself. You had spent a long time thinking that the affection you felt towards Gojo was unrequited, but then he had confessed his feelings to you just a few days before the mission that doomed your fate. What terrible timing, and yet, subdued bubbles of joy made your now feeble heart flutter as you thought about it.

“I love you,” Gojo said while your vision was blurred with bittersweet tears and a small gasp left your lips, “I love you and I’ll keep loving you.”

You slightly tilted your head, placing your ear over his pounding heart. “I love you too, Satoru,” you breathed, “I always did.”

Gojo grasped your chin, tilting it up. His turquoise eyes were bloodshot, and his hair disheveled as tears doused his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed you, pouring fondness and despair into it as your lips parted and you slowly reciprocated, locking your lips with him.

His eyes welled up with tears once again as your breathing slowed down, and he cupped your cheeks, whimpering into your mouth as you went unresponsive and your kisses stopped. Anguish chewed at his gut while a dull ache filled his heart, and he clung to your body as he wailed, placing his dampened cheek against your cold one.

A hot rage swelled within himself as he thought about who dared lay a hand on you, and he was able to do something he had never done before—unleashing the most destructive of his Extension Techniques, the Hollow Purple, without even moving a finger. 

Purple waves of cosmic power were released outside the warehouse you were in, destroying anything in their path, both devilish curses and innocent bystanders.

Unbeknownst to his Six Eyes, there was someone who had witnessed everything but had chosen not to intervene.

Not yet.

And as Gojo’s destructive force of grief and wrath was devastating the land around your location, the shadow of a Cursed Spirit began to walk among the ruins with the intent of revealing himself to the anguished white-haired sorcerer.

Consumed by the overwhelming emotions, Satoru initially didn’t notice a silhouette coming towards him as he held your body between his arms.

“Human emotions are genuinely horrifying, aren’t they?”

Gojo anchored his tearful, enraged gaze on the source of the voice, and his eyes narrowed. “Sukuna!” he growled, activating his Infinity to shield the both of you, “don’t take another step.”

The King of Curses tilted his head, his inquisitive stare studying your inanimate frame. “Her soul is not gone yet,” he told the white-haired sorcerer, “she’s still with you, floating between life and death.”

Gojo ground his teeth. “Don’t you dare speak about her!” he hissed, “and give the control of that body back to Yuji.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Or what?” he challenged, “will you blast me away like you did with this town, or...” he leaned forward as Satoru tensed, pulling your body even closer to his chest, “...will you listen to me and let me do something to bring her back to you?”

Gojo scowled, clenching his fists. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he snarled.

Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh. “Usually, I would try and annihilate you without a second thought...but today I’m here to help you.”

Gojo clenched his jaw and then shook his head. “Someone like you would never do that without a price.”

The King of Curses hummed in approval. “That’s correct,” he conceded, “but this time, luck would have it that I’m feeling generous. And your sweet sorcerer is too valuable to perish.”

Satoru gave Sukuna an unreadable stare before focusing his attention on your face for a minute. 

“I’m going to bring you back, baby,” he mumbled, his fingers delicately tracing your cheeks, “very soon.”

Gojo stood up with you in his arms and then anchored his cool gaze on the Cursed Spirit inhabiting Yuji’s body. 

“Tell me what to do in order to bring her back to me.”

Sukuna grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I just need to touch her soul and transfer some of my cursed energy into it,” he explained to Gojo, “so that she can come out of the limbo she’s currently in and rejoin the land of the living once more.”

Satoru gave him a slight nod. “If you hurt her or try using a Binding Vow,” he began, his voice as glacial as the deepest winter, “there won’t be anything left of you, Sukuna.”

Sukuna raised his eyebrows. “If I wanted to hurt your sweet sorcerer, I would have done it by now,” he stated flatly. “Besides, I already have one Binding Vow with the brat, and that’s enough for me.”

The Cursed Spirit then took a step forward and closed the distance between your bodies. “I must warn you though—when she comes back, she could be different.”

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “The last time I did this, that person came back without their Cursed Energy.”

Gojo clenched his teeth. He could work with that, as long as you were okay and in his arms. “As long as no harm comes to her, do what you have to do.”

Sukuna quickly grasped your arm, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes. His Cursed Energy began to flow from his body to yours, and your figure shed a glow of purple with red and black hues.

Gojo’s nerves hummed with anticipation as apprehension clouded his features. Then, he heard your breathing and heartbeat picking up, and his heart palpitated with euphoria.

The Strongest Sorcerer held his breath, forgetting about Sukuna being nearby, and he tenderly called out your name as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

You blinked as you heard a voice uttering your name with fondness. You angled your head towards one side as you realized you were in someone’s arms, and your gaze landed on an angelic face.

“Baby,” he gulped and then took a deep breath, “how do you feel?”

You brought your hand to his cheek, and the tip of your fingers traced his features. “I feel good,” you murmured as his eyes lit up, “your face looks familiar to me,“ you trailed off as his eyes widened, “what is your name?“

[vendetta-if]

Hello! I just found ur game today and i finished reading the demo <3 I LOVE IT AAAAAA here's the list of things i like:

1) Ash. ????? He's so sweet help?!?!?! I LOVE HIM. Dear ash u have successfully own my heart, u have them wrapped in ur pretty fingers the second page u appear

2) Dad, I love you w/ all my cold dead heart<3 DAD?! DAD!!! DON'T DIE PLS DAAAAAD NOOOOOOO tHE ANGST HELP ME I'm so sad now :( pls i need a snippet w/ happy moments to heal from this trauma :')

3) Uncle Luka strides across the lobby as if he owns the place. Oh wait, he does.

AHAHAHHAHAHA I'M DYING uncle i love you too :'D

4) Mom, respectfully, 🖕🏻

5) Also, mr. Takashi u r freaking me out a lil bit...... you're uh.... A little bit uhh... creepy...?

6) Well, actually, he has the bad habit of blinking in near someone without any warning and scaring the shit out of them.

😂Uncle u r my soulmate

7) oh no, there's rin!..... and they stole my heart too! What do i do?!??...... haaaaaaaaaa

8) oh god the fighting scenes are so cool!!?! perfercto<3 oh mc is so cool. I'm so glad we can be cool<3 hehe

9) awww yeah my first kill! Scratch that, it's five!!! I killed five people yall!

10) oh my god please stop flirting right in front of us! You guys r cute, really but gods,

Alright, that's already too much detail about your uncle's sex life for tonight.

Not for tonight yo, for ever.

11) #the reason why i killed 5 ppl bcz i rlly rlly don't want to disappoint uncle & grandpa help #cuz mc is morally dubious/grey character, yay? yay!

.... Hmmmmmmmm oh lastly!!!!!

Thank you so much for creating this

glorious✨

Magnificent, beautiful, absolutely trophy worthy game! I love it so much mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmh! I i love all the characters (oh they have so much life!) I love the fighting scenes (superpower badass?! Count me in!) I love how we can choose revenge as our main goal (f u distorted voice person. I will hunt u down to the ends of the earth. And I'll take everything u ever hold value, then let you live, cause life can be ur greatest blessing or ur cruelest nightmare, and I'll make sure you'll never have a peaceful dream for the rest of your counting days.), i love the family dynamics <3, i love how ur game can make me feel (oh the moral dilemma.... i almost almost let the cop live... but what abot uncle+grandpa disappointment?!?! I-i can't live with that! So off with ur head lil hypocrite police officer man!)

....sorry that's another paragraph......... I'll uh I'll stop now.... heheh... Sorry again if this bothers you, i won't send it again if it is.... :')

Okay! Have a good day/night/life dear author <3! Here have a 🍰🍩🎠 to light up ur time! Adios~

Aww thank you so much for the kind words 🥰 And don’t worry! I love reading these little snippets of comments on sections of the demo! 😁

Ash is only sweet for MC and Luka for now, of course ☺️ They’re mostly prickly and abrasive towards other people 😆

And yes 😭 Viktor… He’s such a good and loving dad 🥺 In case you haven’t read it yet, I recently released one of the Patreon side stories for public in celebration of hitting the 2K followers here! Here’s the link to the story! It’s a wholesome and fluffy side story, so hopefully it’ll help you recover from the angst 😆 I also have another 2-part side story from Viktor’s POV on my Patreon 😄

Please forgive Takashi, he’s just still a bit heartbroken about Viktor 😔 He’s usually a (pretty deadly and ruthless) himbo 😄 And glad you’re loving Luka as well 😂 He sometimes takes too much liberty with his teleporting/blinking ability 😆

It is indeed hard to not get charmed by Rin 😩 You might not have to choose between Ash and Rin 😉 (And yes guys, Ash and Rin poly is currently planned although might not get implemented right away yet since I’ll need some additional planning to accommodate it).

And yes, gotta make MC fight with style, you know? 😂 Gotta be cool and all, like Luka. Also, I’m a bit touched that your MC agreed to kill 5 people to make Grandpa and Luka proud 🥺 They would most certainly be happy to hear about it later on 😉

🤣 Luka agrees with your sentiment that it’s enough detail about his sex life for the entirety of MC’s life 😆

Ooh this is the second time I’ve seen someone wanting to let the killer live but not out of compassion and forgiveness, but to make them suffer even more 🤔 Interesting…

And wholesome family dynamics is just my weakness 😭 I have to include it in my first ever IF.

MC’s close bonds with Luka and Ash and Grandpa might be one of the little things left that MC really holds on to after the death of their dad, their mother figure (Cara), and their grandma. And loyalty to their remaining family is one of the core cornerstones that all MCs will share with one another no matter what.

I’ve always seen close family bonds between the Morozovs to be one of their most defining characteristics and strengths (and also weakness at the same time).

It’s the reason that Viktor couldn’t cleanly leave his past behind and sever Luka and Cara completely out of his (and MC’s) life after he ran away.

But at the same time, it’s also the reason MC survives the attack and is able to grow up to become the person they are today, loved, cared for, sheltered, and protected from the harsh underground world by combined efforts from Grandpa, Luka, and Ash.

This will also be the reason that Vigilante and Superhero MC won’t be able to turn against their own family. And the reason Luka and Grandpa and Ash wouldn’t leave MC behind and abandon them even when they chose those paths for themself.

[ellitx]

[Preview] Acquiescence | Venti x Reader

“Are you mad?” He whispered.

“What do you think, my Lord? Leaving everyone alone for generations, not even once appearing in front of his own devotees, or maybe you just don’t care. After all, what are measly mortals to a god? We forget so quickly, don’t we.”

His silence allowed you to continue to speak and put your thoughts.

“You have long since abandoned us. All of your “followers” worship an entity who simply flicked the switch to humanity, who left once the beginnings had been set in motion.” Your hands turned into fists, clutching the sides of your dress so tightly as you refrain yourself from lashing to the Anemo Archon who’s standing right before your very own presence.

“Yet they continue to pray, to worship, to adore you. And this God we vow ourselves to,” you laughed pitifully, “A god. Long gone.”

heavily inspired by @cinnamonest​‘s asks (one & two) and the ask i got from my inbox!

fem!reader

full version (pls dm me for the password to access the blog) [warning: contains noncon and religious elements in the full ver]

artist: NatyraArt

word count: 700; full fic (13.4k)

The Favonius Church once said that Mondstadt was once an ancient kingdom ruled by the former Anemo Archon who was a tyrant. But after the downfall of the tyrant, it was Barbatos who took his place and shared freedom with his people.

But what did the Anemo Archon look like? Did it have arms and legs, or eyes like humans? Or was he more like a spirit that can be found among the depths of the forests?

It’s only normal to worship your own god inside the church to get answers to these questions as you praise and ask for the graces to be received from them.

Yet the words “praise” and “worship” weren’t fitting for his image. A god who had long abandoned his people for centuries and let the bloodshed go on while they pleaded for their Lord and Savior Barbatos to protect them and his nation, it was only the last minute he came to save them.

For years with the conflict against the Lawrence clan and the invasion of the Dark Dragon, why is it he arrived late when his people were so desperate? Why didn’t he come sooner when his people were already dying and losing blood as each second passed?

And then after the war what happened to him? Just went missing in action and called it a day? 

Why does he have the title of God of Freedom? 

The church bell rang loudly signifying the end of the ritual commemoration. Men and ladies, young and old, bowed their heads as the priest gave his blessings onto them and used aspergillum to sprinkle holy water. 

You took a step back and dug your fingers on the skin of your wrist. You never wanted to receive the blessing. 

Your eyes shifted onto a tall lady with maroon hair who was standing beside you, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and boredom etched all over her visage. The curious, scrutinizing gaze made her look back at you but you were quick to divert your vision back to the altar.

“My child, why are you here? Have you not received the blessings yet?”

The familiar voice had the hairs on your arms stood up and out of habit you stood up properly and smiled at the elderly woman who approached you.

“Mother Maria,” you muttered, trying not to distract the followers from their prayers. “I wasn’t able to get there on time.” You sheepishly chuckled. Even without looking you already know the disappointment on her wrinkled face was about to appear.

Mother Maria sighed. Every time the priest is about to shower blessings to the children, you often distance yourself or skip it in which she notices through the weekly masses held by the church.

She knows you’re a good child and perhaps you’re simply having trouble understanding your faith. The old lady caressed your head and you looked up at her with an apologetic gaze.

“I’m sorry, Mother… But I promise I’ll receive it next time with Nora and Anna.” 

Oh, she can’t bring herself to scold you when you have such a precious innocent smile. “There’s no need to apologize, dear. You may come to join us with Sister Barbara and Sister Victoria for the vigil later this evening.”

You bowed your head in gratitude at her invitation. You don’t want her to worry so the only thing you can do is accept it.

“I will.”

Mother Maria smiled then looked at the woman who was standing next to you. You followed to where she was looking and saw the same risqué-dressed woman was still here.

Maria cleared her throat to capture her attention, “You may join as well Sister Rosaria but be sure not to skip any of the choir practices and your compulsory classes.”

Rosaria?

The tall lady huffed and fixed her coif. She never showed so much a hint of anxiety or panic being scolded by the Mother. She was the complete opposite of you.

You wished you had the same confidence as her not being reprimanded by your doubts about the existence of the Freedom of God.

And it is that you wonder why the Church insists on worshiping a god who never reveals his presence to his people for centuries. 

[yuria1]

Ok i think i have ascended to new levels of simp with this guy, i have never simped as hard for anyone than i do for this toxic ratman like pls even him killing me will be a blessing at this point

Ughh smoke into my mouth . Blow a ring and i'll suck it up istg😩👌

Like why is everything he does so fucking suave like pls even him looking in my general direction will bring me to my knees

Omg i cant even- i would literally beg him to fuck me right then and there i dont care if he brought me there for business, as punishment for not paying up for something, or whatever it is. If i see him i'm gone. My brain is mush. He could very well kill me afterwards for the audacity of what i'm asking but i'd still ask. Let him kill me, at least he looked at me like this i'd die happy.

He'd be so done with me but if i somehow got under his employment like fuck it i'd try to compliment him whenever i can on whatever i can. He holdin a sigarette? Compliment his pretty, long fingers. Looking to the right? Compliment his side profile. I'd compliment his arms, wrists, legs, shoulders, scar(obviously), eyes (either or both), hecc even his ass (and if by some miracle i haven't been killed yet i probably would then lmao) and i'd love every second of it.

He'd probably (and hopefully) take notice of me not kidding very fast and if he hasn't killed me i assume either doesn't mind or is into it as well and either would be fine tbh.. but the last is preferred ofc~

Alskd but me being the simp i am i would definetly jump in front of him before any danger could befall him during fights or scuffles and if he got even a little attached to me he'd berate me for it (which i'd love) like yes for you i'd be anything lmao

Thats probably also why i'd ask again at that point with him hopefully saying yes XD although he'd definetly look at me weird. Like "seriously? Is this woman still going on about that?" Has she seen my eye?

Alskdk but look at him you cannot not want to idk what he's going on about but i actually prefer him without the concealer and i'd tell him as such.

Like ugh even when chocked he is way too hot 😩✋ whats wrong with me. If this wasn't a trauma point for him i'd choke him very lovingly any day.. hecc maybe i still will if he somehow turned the trauma into a weird form of kink

But silco dying though, i would not let that happen at all. Like i'd probably find a way to bring him to a doctor or something and try and save his life lmao..

And my brain still refuses to believe this scene happened at all btw XD. Like in my head jinx just went back, found that her bullets didn't leave him that wounded, just knocked tf out from bloodloss, but still alive. And she'd just rush him to singed's like he'd done for her once. . Yeah i'm in denial and i can't get up. But what can u do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyhow that was my weirdly long TED-talk on how much i simp for silco. Thank you for listening and i'm sorry for anyone actually reading this far lmao i've made this way too long

[claudemblems]

OMG requests are open?? I feel blessed friend☺ I have never requested something from any blog but I feel safe in yours so I figured why not☺ i'm sorry if I mess up this request😔 I'm new to the requesting thing. Can I get Armin, Jean and Eren kissing headcanons pls? Like the Levi ones you did? Thank you☺ I send you my love💖

You guys better stop hitting my heart with these kind words outta nowhere! I can’t take it 🥺 But please always feel free to send a request when they’re open or an ask about whatever you want. I know it’s kind of nerve-wracking when you’re sending things to other people, but honestly your messages make my day and give me a lot of motivation to keep writing! Anyways, here are your headcanons as requested (I really loved writing Armin’s hehe).

Notes:  //tw for a brief mention of self harm in armin’s//

Kissing Headcanons with Armin, Jean, and Eren

Armin Arlert

Armin is a shy little bean :3

It took a long time into your relationship before you and Armin kissed. Partly because you didn’t necessarily want to yet, and partly because the both of you were too shy to even bring it up oops.

Your first kiss with Armin is short and sweet and leaves you both flustered messes afterwards. Armin replays your kiss over and over in his head that night and buries his face into his pillow because his poor heart can’t handle it.

Most of your first kisses with Armin are fleeting but loving. They’re shared when no one is looking and are an unspoken way of saying I love you. Good morning kisses, see you later kisses, maybe even forehead kisses when Armin’s feeling particularly sentimental.

It takes time, but eventually he learns to kiss you with more fervor and passion (though he makes sure you’re okay with trying something new)! He realizes how short life is and he wants to cherish every moment with you, remember how your lips feel against his, how you taste, the way your fingers slot perfectly into his. He’s so in love <3

He loves surprise kisses! Sometimes when you’re hard at work he’ll sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. Extra points if he manages to catch you off guard. Seeing you all flustered because of him gives him a lot more confidence and incentive to be bolder around you ;)

Definitely not the type to get into heated kisses with you (at least, not very often), but one time he got so lost in the moment because he hadn’t seen you in weeks and then Eren walked in and Armin wished he could have just disappeared into thin air right then and there.

Bonus: if you have scars from battle or even possibly from self-injury, Armin will gently kiss each one, whispering things he loves about you and reminding you just how special you are to him.

Jean Kirstein

Jean is a fun one ;)

It does not matter where you are, Jean won’t keep his hands (or lips) off of you.

He’s just very physically affectionate and wants to make you feel loved 24/7. He cares about you more than anyone else in the world, and he believes it’s part of his responsibility to see you happy. If you ever need reassuring, Jean will gladly hold you in his arms and kiss all your worries away one by one.

While Jean is very doting and sweet, you might get a little caught off guard by his forwardness sometimes. There are more than a few occasions where you’ll find his hands in your hair, cornering you against the wall and barely giving you a few seconds to catch your breath.

Doesn’t get that flustered if you get caught, but if caught by Eren, he totally rubs it in his face. 

You don’t have a girlfriend because Mikasa is too busy saving your ass from dying. And Historia is right about you being a crybaby. You’re too much for any girl to handle! But at least I have one ;) 

He just likes to one-up Eren in everything; just ignore it.

Jean doesn’t try to tease you that much, but he can’t help but feel a sense of pride when you start blushing from his advances. You may not realize it, but you’ve given him a lot more confidence. Even when he feels like he’s no one special or he has too many flaws to name, he remembers that you chose to love him of all people, and his insecurities quickly dissipate. 

If you’re someone who likes whipping up meals, that’s just a bonus for him. He absolutely loves to wrap his arms around your waist while you cook and press kisses to your skin, showering you in compliments. He finds himself imagining a domestic future with you: cooking meals together, smiling fondly as your children run about the house, hands adorned with wedding rings.

He just absolutely adores you and will use every opportunity to make sure you don’t have a single doubt in your mind of it.

Eren Yeager

Eren’s kisses are loving and full of passion—he devotes himself wholly to the things and people he cares about the most, so you can expect Eren to shower you with every ounce of love he has in his body.

His favorite thing is when he kisses you sweetly out of nowhere and you stand there in shock, cheeks growing pink. It leaves a wide grin on his face every time.

At the start of the relationship, Eren prefers to give you chaste kisses—to your cheek, to your forehead, even to the back of your hand. He enjoys taking it slow and cherishing the newness of it all.

However, if he’s going to be leaving on an expedition, he’ll pull you to somewhere private and give you one last, passionate kiss before his departure.

If you welcome him back home by running into his arms and kissing him without any thought of anyone else in the world, he’ll want to marry you.

Loves receiving affection as much as he loves giving it! Especially when he’s feeling down, he likes to lay his head in your lap as you card your fingers through his hair and press kisses to his temples. He becomes absolute putty in your hands (and he definitely gets teased for it)!

Later on in the relationship when his time is running out, you notice that he becomes much bolder, kissing you feverishly and clutching tightly onto you as if he fears that he may leave you at any waking moment. It’s also his way of letting you know that he loves you before he pushes you away. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt…

If you refuse to play his games and buy his change in attitude, instead choosing to take his hand and promise that you’ll never leave his side, you’ll restore some peace in his heart and mind, knowing that at least one person loved him and understood him before his time finally ran out.

[2-cute-4-school]

NCT Dream reaction : another member scares you

Tw : near drowning scare, lots of bugs??

Mark Lee

donghyuck loves teasing mark

you’re mark’s s/o

results : donghyuck loves bullying you

congrats you get a free pass to cry with me cuz donghyuck is ruthless

but you learnt to live with it so it’s okay most of the time

until his friendly teasing involved a quite deep pool and your unprepared form being swung violently into it

so when you submerged underwater and didn’t come back up, mark forgot everything else and dove head first into the pool

his spiderman senses kicked in thank god

donghyuck saw his life flash before his eyes ⊙△⊙

when mark dragged you to the surface and hoisted you out of the water with donghyuck’s help, you took your sweet time before coughing violently

you gotta suck the life out of that dramatic effect ya know

mark coddled you the entire day, embracing your trembling form and keeping hyuck away despite his attempts to apologize to you :<

this man would spend an entire lifetime just taking care of you and smothering you with no complaints i swear cause you became like the centre of the universe for him ಥ_ಥ

writing music? thinks of you ; eating watermelon? y/n would like it ; showering? we could have some fun

but once he tucked you safely into bed and made sure you comfortably fell asleep after a scare that shortened both your lives by 10 years

WWIII commenced （ノ♯｀△´）ノ~’┻━┻

markhyuck summer fight pt.2

Huang Renjun

there’s ONE(1) thing you and renjun totally agree on

scary movies can suck your di- └( ͡° ︿ °͡ )┘

but the other devil spawns ( read dreamies ) decided you deserve suffering their enjoyment blame them

so you’re settled on the couch between china line with renjun trying to keep his macho man facade give up jun we know you’re babie (♥ω♥*)

but still feeling you tremble like a leaf beside him melted his lil heart :((((

so he kept a hand on your knee the entire time, rubbing random patterns on your leg in an attempt to soothe your nerves

the atmosphere became so tense, any hint of conversation dying once everyone was immersed in the movies, an eerie silence enveloping you

but when dear angel chenle decided to shriek in your ears and dig his fingers in you sides let me tell you gals

you jumped out of your skin

and spoiler alert : didn’t land back on the couch

cue dolphin noises

but when you looked up at renjun, a deep pout settled on your lips and glassy puppy eyes ( つ᷄.̯σ̣̥᷅ ) he saw red before his eyes

“YAH ZHONG CHENLE YOU WANTED SCARY MOVIES?!? I’LL GIVE YOU A SCARE ENOUGH FOR YOUR ENTIRE LIFE, YOU RASCAL !!!1!1!!”

no one dares to scare/hurt his baby and escapes unharmed no exceptions sorry

after he taught chenle the lesson of his life, it’s cuddle time!!! (۶* ‘ꆚ’)۶”

he spoons you protectively and smothers you in a TON of kithes until he’s content with hearing your giggles  :>

Lee Jeno

you made it your personal mission to find a way to eradicate all bugs

no cap

and jeno just nodded along to your endless rambling about your strong dislike towards them

let’s be honest here, he was internally gushing at your cuteness like your biggest supporter (　◠ ◡ ◠　)

so when renjun dangerously nears you without a common garden bug  he found during your picnic with the dreamies in between his fingers and sticks it in your face with the hugest shit eating grin (ര̀ᴗര́)و ̑̑

you let out the loudest screech and scramble to throw yourself in jeno’s arm who acted like your comfort blanket by now i’m so soft for jeno can you tell????

and he just 「(°ヘ°)

‘my baby?? scared?? the nerve of some people?? gotta!!!show!!them!!no one!!!NO ONE!!!messes with my baby!!!’ (｀Д´)

so he just pats you head lovingly and rubs your back until you calm down enough to let go of him

and then he leaves the cutest *smooch* on your forehead and gets up

he walks calmly towards renjun who was pretending to occupy himself with smoothing down a blanket and just...cracks his knuckles kaneki style

jeno just grabs the biggest bug he was able to find and grips the hem of renjun’s sweats harshly

wanna know what this gangsta beach does?? he frickin throws the bug down poor renjun’s pants

and then just leaves his unfortunate victim thrashing and shrieking for his life and retreats back in your arms like the terrifying baby he is

don’t mistake his softness for you as weakness!!1! he becomes ruthless when it comes to you :<

Lee Donghyuck

he’s already ruthless enough

so please PLEASE for the love of God don’t give him a reason to become even more of a devil spawn

but poor jisung didn’t get the gist bless his pure soul 🐣

you weren’t even that scared when you opened your phone to an remarkably ugly image of a cockroach (basically the same prank that was done to fetus jisung some time ago)

but you still let out a shriek loud enough to alert haechan

and while haechan seemed silent while he smothered you, his mind was going highwire which is NEVER good  (￣ェ￣;)

*time skip to the next day*

3 times

3 TIMES DID JISUNG SEE HIS LIFE FLASH BEFORE HIS EYES IN A SINGLE DAMNED DAY and he’s never been the same since

so when he barges in the living room where sweet innocent hyuck is seated on the couch with you cradled in his lap while feeding both you and himself and watching netflix 

jisung has a fit it was damn time baby chick

“you put cockroaches in the shower, in my cup AND on my pillow, do you want me to die young??!!?”

“they’re fake tho”

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WHEN I ALMOST HAD A HEART ATTACK”       ⊙﹏☉

eventually jisung retreated to put some shoes on and leave the dorm for a breath of fresh air after the near-death experience he encountered

“i feel bad for him” you took pity on the kid alright

“don’t worry your pretty head”

and he just kithes the heck out of you and automatically deleted all your worries once immersed in his sweet lips who could resist him tho

until another scream echoes

“IN MY SHOES TOO?!? YOU KNOW WHAT, I MIGHT JUST MOVE OUT”

Na Jaemin

we all know jaemin enjoys photography

and you’d be a fool to believe his camera roll is not ABSOLUTELY FULL of pictures of you both candid and not

he always insisted he takes photos of things he loves or are beautiful and you’re both and even more ✿♥‿♥✿

that’s how some of your hangouts turn into mini photoshoots whenever jaemin was in the mood

and that’s how you found yourself modeling for jaemin while the other dreamies were lunging around

“i’m frying over here, can you hurry up?”

“not my fault my baby is the prettiest unlike you gremlins, hyuck”

“what’d you say?!!?!?!!” lowkey ready to swing

jaemin doesn’t spare him a second glance, he can only focus on you :>

“hey honey can you climb on that ledge for me?”

he helps you like the gentleman he is to climb the stone ledge, one hand clutching yours and the other gripping your waist softly (๑°꒵°๑)･*♡

so you’re posing, focusing on the camera when you feel a hand tightly clasp over your ankle

and jeez do you scream so loud hyuck was left fried, insulted and deaf

and you can’t even step away from the ledge before jaemin envelops you in his arms and clutches you tightly to his chest

“aigoo aigoo~ my baby it’s okay, nana is here”  in the softest voice possible (๑´ω`๑)

he smooths down your hair, petting it affectionately and as he leans down to smooch your forehead he meets eyes with a sheepish jeno who peeks over from behind the ledge

and jaemin just stares him down with that disappointed mom look 

and jeno just knows he won’t be getting any dinner tonight

but jaemin’s head is full of you you you did i mention you? so he can only coo at you and smother your entire face in little kithes :<

“you’re the absolute cutest and all mine, my cute baby” *bursting uwus* *fake gagging noises in the background from hyuck*

“so candidate no. 2 without dinner tonight huh?” hyuck: “wait no pls”

Zhong Chenle

power napping is your favorite kind of date with chenle

just curling up against each other wherever you two could fit and spooning or just cuddling or even just holding hands if the weather was too hot

okay but just imagine chenle holding someone’s hand while he sleeps i’m ded just imagining it x.x

so it’s already understood that you’re a sleep lover who isn’t tho

and while you fell asleep, chenle still had to wash the dishes after a meal with the dreamies

jaemin being the affectionate person he is cooed over your cuteness and couldn’t help himself from throwing himself beside you on the bed and jumping on it while screaming your name (basically the same thing he did to chenle :)))) )

but unfortunately you were a quite light sleeper and easily startled when woken up suddenly and not so gently  ( ͠° ͟ʖ °͠ )

so you let out a chocked noise that immediately alerted chenle who returned to see you staring at jaemin like a deer caught in headlights 

“ah hyung why would you do that? you scared them like that”

chenle whined as he pushed jaemin away who retreated with slumped shoulders and a pout don’t worry jaems we love you

and chenle just slips under the blanket and brings you closer to lay down together and soothes you ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶

and he just embraces you, tangling your legs together and hiding your face in the crook of his neck while he runs his fingers through your hair comfortingly chenle would make the best cuddle buddy no take-backs

“shh it’s alright, just go back to sleep, i’ll stay with you” (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

with chenle’s assurance and tight grip on your body to bring you as close as humanly possible, you fall back asleep as chenle stares fondly at you

and that’s how chenle escaped washing dishes *ha suck it losers*

Park Jisung

jisung blames mark

mark is his oldest hyung and the supposedly most responsible debatable among them

so how could his leader scare you to tears and then dump your shaking figure for him, the baby, to take care of (ノ-_-)ノ ~┻━┻

jisung could only stare at you as he hovered above your curled up form

“y-y/n, come on, there’s nothing to cry about, hyung didn’t mean it”

*mark facepalms* *sm building facepalms* *the white house facepalms*

mark just motions aggressively to jisung to rub your back 

and jisung pales as if mark suggested going to a haunted house *sigh* jisung you absolute clueless baby

he SUPER HESITATINGLY pats your back awkwardly, but you only curl up into yourself even more

mark pushes jisung to sit down beside you and prompts him to comfort you properly and jisung gulps

“sooo, how are you feeling?”

*well done jisung take a guess you sharp tool* (－‸ლ)

mark is just boiling with worry you might just dump jisung after his worryingly poor attempt when your small voice cuts through

“can you please hug me, sung?” (●´^｀●)

jisung.exe has shut down please retry in a moment

“s-sure, yeah, just-”

but you just slot yourself in his lap and bury your face in his shoulder 

jisung.exe is overwhelmed by your cuteness pls spare him

but he eventually wraps his arms around you too and just rubs up and down, occasionally massaging the nape of your neck gently

“this is actually nice, can we stay like this please?” (⺣◡⺣)♡*

you just tighten your grip on him in response

and jisung rests his head on top of your head to hide his reddening face away but also to hold you even closer because despite his shy demeanor he cherishes you so so much so please have patience with this baby

mark just shakes his head from the doorway with a fond smile knowing that you’re just right for each other (︶ω︶)

[sukiglycerin]

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby​‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T  there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english. 

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan). 

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it." 

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you. 

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving. 

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist. 

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan. 

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough. 

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all. 

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given. 

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone. 

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale. 

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?” 

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly. 

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended. 

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you. 

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing. 

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou. 

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent? 

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone. 

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler. 

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner. 

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her. 

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button. 

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room. 

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece. 

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now? 

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't. 

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it. 

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously. 

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time." 

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?" 

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too? 

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand. 

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though. 

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin. 

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most. 

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage. 

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?" 

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count." 

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him. 

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted. 

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time. 

“you win competitions to play more.” 

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it. 

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind. 

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried. 

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static. 

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing. 

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place. 

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that. 

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital. 

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin). 

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away. 

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel? 

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. 

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.  

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily. 

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well. 

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance. 

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to? 

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece! 

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

[alolowrites]

Midnight Fantasies

Summary: Shinsou reminds you why you’ll always love him. 

Song Inspiration: “Repeat After Me” by The Weeknd

Author Note: *gasp* Did I actually post a new story and it’s NSFW?!? Crazy, I know. I’m honestly surprised it’s not Bakugou doing the honors LMAO. It’s my first attempt writing a NSFW fic, so I am nErVoUs ahsdksjd. I really like how it turned out; y’all can thank The Weeknd for this.

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. PLS. 

Warnings: Aged-Up Characters; Fem!Reader; Oral Sex (Female receiving); some basic, vanilla, sex tbh (baby steps y’all). Unprotected sex (whoops); Slight angst?? I’m sorry, I had to. Not sure if im missing something else....

Word Count: 1.6K+

3:16am

A tiny flame burns quietly on your bedside table, casting a glow on your whimpering face. You sink further into the silky pillows and close your eyes—his sinful touches are heavenly. They are the cure to the madness that was eating you alive the last few nights. But tonight, oh, tonight is different as strong hands roam along your body, treasuring each curve like a precious gift sent from above.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling on the soft covers that probably won’t survive once the morning sun rises. But you don’t care as you feel his lips explore every inch of your bare shoulder. He moves toward your lovely neck and nips it softly, making you whine. A deep chuckle tickles by your ear as he hovers over you.

His left knee wedges in between your legs and grazes the dangerously wet panties. You moan, your hand clinging on his sculpted back muscles like a koala. He then grinds himself down on you, and your fingers dig into his thick skin. Oh, how he enjoys riling you up like this. You roll your hips to satisfy the pleasure burning inside your core.

“Fuck, Hitoshi…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hot breath blowing against your heated skin. Shinsou gives you a chaste kiss, whispering, “Just relax. Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shudder runs down your spine—you yearned for this.

Shinsou listens to your body very carefully. He lets all the desperate squirms, the excited jolts, the heavy pants guide him on this long, sensual journey. You arch your back as Shinsou moves down, his lips leaving behind a blazing trail of kisses.

Breathy moans fill the room as the hemline of your satin nightdress rises up, exposing your ass. One of Shinsou’s palms greedily gropes it, amazed at how soft and delectable it feels. You pant harder as the hand travels south, the pace so agonizingly slow that your body is on fire. He stops and grips the thin fabric of your panties. You gaze at him, heart pounding when lustful eyes stare back at you.

They are like dark storm clouds ready to ravage the world—or in this case, you. A devious smile graces his lips as the panties slide off your legs and are tossed away, never to be seen again. You yelp when he pulls you closer to him, his face disappearing in between your legs. The anticipation grows as you feel him leave ghostly kisses along your inner thighs, waiting for those deadly lips to—

“S-shit,” you cry quietly, eyes shutting for a moment.

Shinsou’s tongue gives a teasing flick on your clit. He grins and licks around the swollen area, peppering it with kisses as well. You squirm on the bed and release another shaky breath. Shinsou wastes no time sucking your wet cunt, his mouth savoring the sweet taste dripping out your quivering hole.

A broken gasp rips through the air when his thumb circles on your clit. It moves at a steady rhythm, and you ride along with it, panting heavily the quicker he goes. You don’t want it to stop—not when the pleasure is so damn addicting, making your toes curl. Shinsou then sucks on the sweet spot, hard, and you moan louder.

“Oh, god, yes,” you chant like a broken record. One hand grips his messy hair, and you shiver when he grunts. Your hand has a mind of its own, pushing his face deeper to keep that friction going. “Fuck, more.”

And Shinsou obliges, devouring your throbbing pussy like a starved man. You simply buck your hips against his mouth and dig your fingers on his scalp until it bleeds. Shinsou holds you in place, the filthy sounds of his tongue pushing you over the edge. You keep hanging until it’s all too much and cry out in pure ecstasy, the waves rippling down your body.

Shinsou finally comes up for air, his chin dripping with that sweet cum of yours. He wastes no precious time capturing your lips that are dying for his attention. You fully surrender to him without hesitation, letting the man’s tongue dance inside your mouth. The blended taste of your honeyed cum and his saliva—an intense, rich flavor of ripe raspberries—overwhelms all of your senses.

You pull back when Shinsou grinds himself against you once more. That’s when you feel his large cock bulging through his boxers, teasing you to no end. He shifts a little, and the bed groans. Through half-lidded eyes, you whimper at the sight of Shinsou pumping his hard rock shaft, a bit of pre-cum dripping from the head. It playfully brushes your wet folds, but you can’t wait any longer.

You just can’t.

“Please, Hitoshi,” you beg, not bothering to hide the desperation cracking in your voice. “Please, I—hngh.”

Shinsou squeezes your hips, almost encouraging you to say it. “Tell me.”

“I-I need you,” you quiver. “P-Please, I—”

Your mouth parts with a silent cry when Shinsou sinks his cock. He hisses a bit, feeling the spongy warm walls stretch around him. You mewl as he fills you up, slowly and with great care. The sensation is new yet oddly familiar and satisfies that intense hunger you had the past few nights. You shut your eyes and bite your lip—Shinsou feels amazing, the thick girth of his twitching inside your pussy.

Shinsou’s thumb caresses across your cheek, and you look at him. With a slight nod, Shinsou begins rocking you, the bed creaking with each move. His hips roll like the gentle ocean waves under a clear night sky. There’s no rush, no hurry; Shinsou wants to cherish every single second inside you, and he relishes your lovely moans filling the air.

You wrap one leg around his waist, and he holds onto it with a vice grip. Shinsou soon crashes his entire weight on you as his forearm rests near your face. He groans when your pussy clenches tightly on him.

“That’s right,” Shinsou grunts near your ear, giving you a firm thrust for good measure. “You don’t love him. Not when you’re thinking of me, kitten. Not when I’m fucking you.”

“M’fuck, Toshi!” You cling to him as Shinsou continues to rock you deeper and deeper, his pace pounding you into oblivion. “Oh god, yes…yes…”

He’s hitting you just right, over and over again, with no sign of stopping. You drown yourself in the sea of immense desire. Suddenly you’re captivated with everything Shinsou does to you. It’s his ragged breaths that scorch your skin like a raging wildfire. It’s his massive muscles that mercilessly crushes you into the mattress, trapping you there with no hope of escape. It’s his fingers—rough and enormous—that selfishly claim your skin, reminding you that you belong to him.

At least for tonight.  

You gaze into his eyes, raging with lust.

“Repeat after me,” Shinsou rasps in between each breath. “You don’t love him.”

“I...I don’t love him.”

“You love me.”

You nod, mouth trembling. “I love you, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou lets out a feral growl at your final words—words of affirmation that you both know to be true. They make him go wild, each of his thrusts more maddening than the last. You cry harder and dig into his tensed shoulders as Shinsou ravages you like no tomorrow. Yet, he holds onto his promise, and that is satisfying you tonight.

The pleasure builds rapidly throughout your body. You can feel it bubbling inside you, thrashing like waves during a stormy sea. Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens wide, singing incoherent praises to Shinsou as he rides you through your orgasm. He holds you with all his strength when his own fervid release hits you seconds later.

Shinsou heaves loudly above you, sweat beads rolling down his forehead. His eyes never waver away from yours, admiring your flushed face. It’s beautiful, perfect even. You forgot how much Shinsou looks at you with such devotion that you break down crying.

“Hey,” he says, whispering your name. His thumb wipes a few tears from your cheek, and you flutter your gaze at him again. “It’s okay. You don’t have to cry.”

“I miss you, Hitoshi,” you croak, the tears raining down your face. “Fuck, I miss you so much.”

A faint smile barely reaches his eyes.

“I miss you, too,” he confesses, and you hear the regret flowing through his voice. Still, Shinsou fights through and swears: “But, I promise you will always be mine, okay? You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Okay,” you sniffle and gaze into his eyes.

You believe him with all your heart.

Shinsou reaches down and captures your lips once last time. The kiss holds a wistful longing for the old days of your enthralling relationship—the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the absolute blessings and worst mistakes imaginable, it all meshed perfectly together to create this messy mosaic called love. And Shinsou burns this into the depths of your soul where you feel it.

You absolutely feel it.

Shinsou buries his head into the crook of your neck, and you hold him, afraid to let him go. You wish to remain like this forever, sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. So you close your eyes and pray he won’t disappear.

But nothing stays forever. Shinsou’s familiar warmth and crushing weight slip through your grasp, becoming more like faded memories that float inside your head. You open your eyes and release a deep sigh—you’re alone again. All tired, sweaty, and wet, especially as you remove your fingers from your soaked pussy.

No other man could satisfy you; Shinsou made sure of that. He reminds you every single night, haunting your fantasies whether you’re getting off on your own or fucking with the new guy who wormed his way into your life. And you, as always, scream for Shinsou—discreetly or without shame.

Because you’ll always think of him. You’ll always fuck him. And you’ll always love him, repeating those words with your last dying breath.

Love is complicated, y’all. And yes, I couldn’t resist doing a little ~twist~ for the ending HA! 

Thanks for reading!! 

[blossom-hwa]

Jisung + soulmate au, for the drabble game pls

Thank you for requesting!

Stray Kids drabble game: send me a Stray Kids member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and  I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Painless

Pairing: Jisung x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 984

Triggers: mentions of car crashes, death, cancer

~

If Jisung were any other person, he might enjoy coming to this party tonight. It doesn’t look like it’ll get too out of hand, given it’s at Chan’s place, and the drinks are... acceptable. Unless Minho starts mixing them. 

That’s when everyone has to start worrying, because Minho does not have a soul.

But Jisung isn’t any person, so it’s only at the literal forcing of his roommate, Felix, that he’s standing at Chan’s doorstep, knocking on the door while Felix giggles to his soulmate just behind him. Lucky bastard - all they had were matching tattoos on the sides of their necks. A little painful when they formed, but nothing more than that. 

Jisung looks down at the thin gloves over his hands, the ones he never takes off in public if he can help it. A bit of temporary pain is preferable to seeing everyone else’s worst memory with a brush of his fingertips. 

Chan opens the door before Jisung can spiral further, greeting them with a wide smile. He doesn’t ask Jisung if he wants to remove his gloves, only giving his hands a sympathetic glance as he ushers them into the the small living room. Already people are there and already Jisung feels claustrophobic, so he peels off into the kitchen, where thankfully only Seungmin and Jeongin are present. 

The night passes. Jisung refuses one of Minho’s concoctions, dances a little, drinks a bit more, all the while keeping the gloves tightly on his fingers until someone spills their drink all over him and he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

The bathroom is bright, too bright, especially compared to the dark lighting of the party he left behind. He washes his hands and rinses off the gloves too, grimacing as he squeezes out as much excess water as he can. Wet gloves suck, but better anything than accidentally touching someone with his tainted hands - 

Jisung stares at the pale skin of his fingers, the lines criss-crossing his palms. They don’t look harmful. They just look like hands. Normal hands, like Felix’s. Just maybe a little bigger. 

And yet these hands hold his soulmate link, one of the most torturous Jisung has ever known to exist.

Just behind him, the door opens. Jisung spins around in surprise - didn’t he lock it? - to see you, staring back in equal confusion. 

“Oh my -” You back away, hands up. “I’m so sorry. I - the door was unlocked -”

“I thought I locked it,” Jisung mumbles, cheeks burning. “Sorry, I’m done. I’ll get out of here.”

He picks up the still wet gloves, ready to pull them over his fingers as he brushes past. But then someone trips - even later, Jisung won’t be able to tell whether it was you or him - and his bare hand is gripping yours and in a flash, Jisung knows what he’s about to see. A car crash, maybe, or some act of violence splashed across your memory. He closes his eyes against the onslaught - 

But it never comes. Instead, sunshine washes across Jisung’s vision, warm and bright on a field of green grass. A small child runs, laughing, as two parents chase them around, smiling with the utmost joy on their faces. 

The child turns around, eyes crinkled in a grin. Jisung’s breath catches. It’s you - he can’t ignore the resemblance. 

The memory fades away and Jisung blinks his eyes open on the cold floor of the bathroom. Panting gasps fill his ears and he turns around to see you next to him, a hand over your chest as your eyes blink rapidly, a tear rolling down your cheek. 

Slowly, as Jisung stares, the pieces begin coming together. He didn’t witness your worst memory - he witnessed your favorite one, a memory of sunshine and childhood bliss. But if he saw your favorite recollection...

You saw his worst. 

Jisung swallows hard as you raise your head to meet his eyes. “How did you do it?” you whisper, wiping away the tear. “Oh my God - you’ve been seeing worst memories for all these years?”

“I -” He looks down at your hands, still linked. “What did you see?”

“I... I saw...” You take a deep breath. “I saw when you first saw someone else’s worst memory. Your... father?”

Ah. That was a bad day. Fifteenth birthday, a day that was supposed to be a celebration of adulthood, and what he saw first was his grandma dying of cancer in the hospital, but from his father’s eyes. Fun.

“You see people’s favorite memories,” Jisung says. It isn’t a question.

You nod. “Yeah. I’m just - I’m sorry you had to...” Swallowing, you give him a shaky smile. “If it’s any solace, now that we’ve met, neither of us will be able to see memories again, besides our own. Or so my mother says. She’s a soulmate expert.”

Now that we’ve met? Jisung frowns. Then - 

“Oh my God, we’re soulmates.”

You blink. “... Yeah?”

Hysterical laughter bubbles up Jisung’s chest but he swallows it down. Probably best not to act like a maniac in front of someone he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. “Sorry. I’m a little slow. Um...”

Silence falls for several seconds until you stick out an uncertain hand. “Y/N L/N,” you say, smiling shakily. “Your soulmate, apparently.”

When Jisung’s hand brushes yours, warm against his, he flinches on autopilot, expecting a horrible memory even though he knows it won’t come. But there’s blessed silence, blessed nothing, and Jisung finds a smile creeping across his trembling lips as he grips your fingers tight between his. God, he hasn’t known what it’s like to touch bare skin with the tips of his fingers for so long. 

“Han Jisung,” he says, voice almost cracking with relief. “Thank you for taking away the pain.”