#so if you met him in two different lives he would feel familiar yet still a stranger

[wishwandrers]

thycius' first life of him being some wealthy, snooty guy who only wore the finest furs with his fingers decorated in rings not even bothering to look commoners in the eye vs his final life of him of being a sacrifical bride to a god who cursed him to live for eternity* only to be freed with the power of love ans friendship

*cursed to die and be reborn while forgetting he's cursed every time he starts a new life

[milkbobatyun]

anyone but you

pairing: wanderer/scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: everyone else had abandoned him, but you always stuck true to him.

word count: 1k

a/n: proud to be a scaramouche simp AND wanderer haver !! dont question the lore aspect of this fic, idk myself asw LMAO

the two of you were but mere pipsqueaks when you met. 

your older brother, morax, had just ascended to godhood and was too busy with the affairs of his new nation to be able to carefully look after his baby sister. likewise, ei was too caught up in her pursuit for eternity to care for her newly made puppet. 

so, what better option was there for them than to let the two of you fend for yourselves together? being lumped together from a young age, and being innocent and naive meant that the two of you relied on each other, the two of you against the world.

you were there when his mother, no, creator, had discarded him. he had no strength, only a pure soul, one that had not yet been tainted by the cruelty of the world. his tender heart had been broken.

like a pet thrown out onto the street, kunikuzushi found himself always making his way back home, tracing the familiar steps to the shrine, sitting outside, pitifully waiting in the rain.

beside him, you sat quietly, offering him silent company. despite the bone-chilling cold, you offered him a hug, the warmth of your love engulfing him, a shield against the uncaring world.

as the both of you awaited for some sliver of hope to shine in the dark clouds of despair, you would pet his head and sing quiet lullabies as it lay on your lap, salty tears leaking from his eyes. he didn’t know puppets could cry. 

hope never came. the almighty shogun had abandoned her creation forever, condemning him to live among mortals, whose short lives meant death, a premature one when compared to his immortal lifespan. 

the bitterness of betrayal consumed a portion of his heart.

kunikuzushi had trusted him. his friend, katsuragi. 

they had promised to be family, a happy little family. tiny kuni, katsuragi and small [name].

so why? why did he tremble in fear now, when he saw kunikuzushi approach him?

it used to be cheers of happiness.

“little kuni!” he would greet, waving his arm in greeting, looking like a comical sight. a wide grin would mirror onto kunikuzushi’s face. someone had finally accepted him and [name] for who they were, looking past the non-human features and seeing their fragile hearts and souls.

katsuragi didn’t hate him for his porcelain skin and ball joints. he didn’t hate [name] for her strange, draconic horns. they were loved, remembered, as the blacksmith and his friends presented them with a beautifully decorated cake.

“to commemorate our year of memories together.” he had declared.

how cruel. how heartless of him, to take the hearts they had trustingly bestowed upon him, crushing it in his grip.

the crystalline pieces fractured, shards of a puzzle that could never be pieced together again.

his betrayal had taken a toll on kunikuzushi’s soul. tears rained down onto the ground as he clutched at your clothing with tight fists.

with warm words and soothing lullabies, your gentle touch and the feeling of home lulled the worn out puppet into sleep.

kunikuzushi was heartbroken. he was scared of this ugly nature of humans. no. he wasn’t scared. he was angry. angry at this cruel world.

he was falling into a dark abyss. curse this wretched world, for carelessly throwing his heart around.

the little boy. oh how naive and innocent he was, a fledgling chick, learning to fly.

kunikuzushi and [name] had found the sickly boy sheltering in your small, rundown, forgotten house on one of the many islands of inazuma. he was plagued with illness, not even your knowledge of medicine could cure him.

yet, you still pressed on, nourishing the little boy with lavender melons and a banquet of dishes. kuni often volunteered to go forage for different fruits, proudly bringing back the herbs he had picked in the wilderness.

once, you were even lucky enough to buy a small doll that resembled kuni.

that day had been the little boy’s birthday. you were on your daily trip to the local market when you caught sight of it. with care, you nestled the doll between the ingredients you had bought for the cake.

as the little boy blew out the candles on the sad, slightly lopsided birthday cake, he wished that he could stay with the two of you.

“we’re family now.” he had grinned at you, his two missing front teeth all the more prominent. “we’re going to be together forever and ever.”

how naive and innocent you were.

in the night, you tried to ignore the bone-chilling, hacking coughs that resonated in the empty manor. the worsening coughs that raked through his body, leaving him pale and shaking.

every night, you questioned the gods. if they were so benevolent and kind, why? why rip this young fledgling from his nest and toss him into the harsh world? what twisted sense of joy did it bring?

once again, the two of you foolishly bared your newly-mended hearts to humans, only for it to be crushed underfoot.

humans can’t be trusted. it took three betrayals before you finally understood.

a soft, porcelain heart, in this unjust world would only lead to pain and suffering. only by hardening his heart into stone, could the puppet withstand the test of human nature.

“you can’t leave me like him, [name],” kuni’s hoarse voice pleaded, gripping you as though you would disappear. “promise me.”

a link of your pinkies and you promised him, but a flicker of hesitation flitted through your eyes.

from that day on, scaramouche clung tight to you, you were his lifeline in this ugly world. the only thing pure and deserving of his love. he cast away his vulnerable and foolish younger self, burying his heart with his own two hands.

good riddance to the rest of the world, the world that he would curse at and denounce. but you, you would always have to stay by his side, in life and in death.

he would do anything to keep you near him. chain you, shackle you beside him, go to hell and back, anything so you wouldn’t abandon him, like all the others did.

his heart was cold and black, impenetrable like rock. but even a stone could retire under the erosion of time, becoming pure like the most exquisite of gems.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs | 2

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You attempt to move on from Terry and explore a new relationship, but Terry discovers this and refuses to let you go.

warning: ANGST, a little fluff, emotions, heartache, new character, pleading, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: thank you so much for the love on the first part. This might be a little mini-series; I have a whole lot to write. <3

series masterlist

It's been three months, and you were doing much better than before, but a sense of loss and longing remained in your heart.

Terry has respected your wishes, kept his distance, and is cordial with you when Jasmine is around.

You wish things were different between you and him, but it aren't, so you need to move on.

You've been on multiple dates with a few guys, but unfortunately, none have sparked your interest.

Jasmine asked about these dates and wondered what happened with you and Terry.

She hoped you two would finally get togather since Terry wasn't seeing Olivia anymore.

Yet, she noticed a difference in the way you two behaved towards each other.

You attempted to explain the situation to her as clearly as possible, but it only made her feel sadder.

Jasmine expressed her true feelings on the matter, leaving you feeling disappointed for making your daughter feel that way.

Because of that, you almost abandoned the idea of dating again until your friend Bri convinced you to go on a date with her brother.

His name was Marcus, and you've met him once or twice, and he was always sweet.

So there you stood, next to him, in a sexy, form-fitting black dress that highlighted your curves.

Your hair was styled in a slicked-back ponytail, and your makeup was subtle.

This had to be your fifth date with Marcus, and it's been going pretty great so far.

Marcus was a tall, slender man with a deep brown complexion and brown hooded eyes.

He was not only handsome and sweet, but he also dedicated his life to saving lives as a firefighter.

Marcus radiated an irresistible charm and sweet bliss that truly captivated you.

You might say he was the perfect guy, but you longed for someone else, and that was Terry.

Maybe you could settle for Marcus, and down the line, you fall in love with him.

"Hey, you good? " He asked, cutting you out of your thoughts with his husky voice.

Marcus smirked when you made eye contact, shuffling and coming closer to you.

You nodded "Yeah...."

"Do ya want to get out of here?" His voice dripped with a lustful tone that sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you intrigued.

"And go where?" you replied. Maybe you could also have fun with him first, but you had to be careful.

Marcus rested his hands on your lower back, and his lips drew closer to your ears.

You could feel the warmth of his breath trailing on you, straightening your back a little.

"Somewhere private. What do ya say, beautiful?" Marcus whispered, moving away to gaze into your eyes.

That night ended with you two having hot, wild, rough sex, which you really needed.

You, of course, used protection and were totally satisfied; Marcus knew how to dick a girl down.

The sudden ringing of your phone disrupted the peace, prompting a groan out of you.

You reached for your phone, checked the time, and noticed it was almost noon.

You answer the call.

"Hello?" You spoke in a low, indistinct voice, and there was a brief silence before the sound of a familiar voice reached your ears.

"Hey, baby girl," Terry answered.

"Uh, hey, Terry," You said, clearing your throat. You sat up slowly so as not to wake Marcus up.

"I was just calling to see if you were alright. And are you still coming to pick up Jazzy,"

"Shit...uh, yeah," You replied, gently releasing yourself from Marcus's hold before rising from the bed to make your way to the bathroom.

"Hey, beautiful, come back to bed!" Marcus mumbled in a drowsy state; you gestured for him to lower his voice.

He winked at you with a lazy smirk, and in response, you rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your phone.

"Who the hell was that? Are-are you seeing someone?" Terry asked in a tone filled with aggravation and panic.

"It's none of your business, Terry. I'll be over there to pick up Jazzy. Okay?" You uttered coldly and abruptly hung up the phone before he could respond.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror; your makeup was messy, and your hair was frizzy and wild, but nothing you couldn't fix.

You began your morning routine while Marcus was still sleeping in your bed.

Once you walk out of the bathroom fully dressed. You sighed, seeing him still asleep.

You wake him up, and he groans and turns over his side to look at you.

"Time to go?" Marcus asked, a slight smirk on his face while sitting on his back.

"Yeah, I have to pick my daughter I'm sor-" You started, and he cut you off.

"No, no, it's fine. I was just hoping to have lunch with you, but I get it," He says with a playful smirk, then gets out of bed to get dressed.

You waited for him downstairs. As he walked towards you, you turned and gazed at him, and he greeted you with a smile.

You laced your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to your face; his hands found your sides.

"Marcus, you're a great guy, and I like you, and I want something out of this than just sex, if that makes sense."

"Hey, it's okay. I want something more, too, sugar," He says before leaning in and kissing your cheek.

"For real?" You asked with a slight smile, which made him grow a much bigger one.

"For real, beautiful," he said with a nod. You smiled and kissed him passionately.

-

Meanwhile, Terry felt his heart sink as he realized you might be with another man.

Terry couldn't shake the thought from his mind: "You were with another man." 

The words echoed in his head until he flinched out of it when he heard the voice of his daughter calling him.

"Daddy, are you okay?" she asked, confused while gazing at him from where she stood.

"Yeah, princess. Shouldn't you be getting ready?; your mom will be here soon," he said, quickly putting his phone down and tucking it away.

"Daddy, I can tell when you're lying. I know something happened between you and Mommy; she's been going on dates," she said, sighing.

Her eyes filled with concern as she sat beside him on the couch. Terry heaved a sigh, the weight of his mistakes.

"Yeah, figure that. I messed up really bad, Jazzy; she's upset with me and probably hates my guts."

"She doesn't, Daddy. You can fix it, and you can make her happy again. You both need each other; I need you together, I-I" she stopped, looking down at her hands.

"What is it, Jazzy?" Terry asked, gently placing his hand on her tiny shoulder, conveying his worry and care for her.

"I don't like going back and forth between houses. I wish we could all be together and live as a family—I told mommy...that's all the kids at my school have. I always wanted that. I don't like you and Mommy not talking and being happy like you used to," she explains.

Terry felt a deep pang of sorrow as he listened to his daughter's words.

He tenderly drew her into his embrace, comforting her as she shed a few tears.

"It's okay, baby. I'm so sorry; we've tried to make this work as best as possible."

"You can try harder, Daddy. Fix it with Mommy. Don't you love her?" She asked, looking up at him with her light eyes that matched his.

At that moment, Terry found himself wrestling with a tangle of emotions.

He was in love with you, but his fear and foolishness prevented him from acknowledging his true feelings.

The idea of you being with another man was too much for him to handle.

"I do, princess. I love her so much." Terry felt a profound sense of relief as he finally confessed his feelings.

There was something incredibly liberating about sharing this with his daughter.

"You have to tell her then; I'm sure she'll find it in her heart to forgive you…She loves you; she always has," she says, her eyes sparkling with hope as she smiles.

"Okay, Jazzy. I'll try," Terry said softly, with a warm smile. She nodded with an even more radiant smile.

-

You arrived at Terry's apartment door and were about to knock when it swung open, revealing your daughter, Jasmine.

"Mommy, can we please stay for dinner with Daddy? He made pasta and garlic bread," Jasmine begged without saying hello to you.

"Wow, no, hi, hello, mommy. I missed you, nothing?" you asked in a playful tone.

"Sorry," She giggled joyfully and wrapped her arms tightly around your waist.

"Hi, Mommy. I missed you so much," she exclaimed with genuine warmth.

"That's more like it, and I missed you too, baby. Were you good for your dad?" You asked with a slight chuckle.

You both enter Terry's apartment, greeted by the aroma of a home-cooked meal.

"Yeah, I was good. So...Is that a yes?" Jasmine asked, crossing her fingers with a hopeful smile.

You briefly looked down at her, then shifted your gaze to the big window, lost in thought for a moment.

"I don't know, Jazzy. Did you ask your dad if it was ok?" You asked, looking back at her.

"No need. I would love for you two to stay for dinner, only if you want to," Terry says, adding to the conversation.

His intense gaze met yours as he stood before you, clad in a snug gray T-shirt and jeans accentuating his muscular form.

"Just do it for Jazzy," you repeat these words, reassuring yourself that everything will be okay.

"I guess we can stay for dinner," You said with a small smile, shifting your gaze to your daughter, who looked so joyful.

"YAYYY!!! Thank you, Mommy," Jasmine yelled joyfully and enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around your waist once more.

You reciprocated her hug with a warm chuckle, and said, "You're welcome, baby."

"Come on," With a gentle tug, she beckons you into the quaint dining room while Terry quietly follows suit and graciously pulls out your chair.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a bit shy, and he nodded in response.

Terry proceeded to carry the steaming, appetizing food to the table. The dish looked and smelled absolutely delightful.

"That looks good, Daddy," Jasmine smiles, getting garlic bread with her pasta on her plate.

You nodded in agreement with Jasmine, expressing your approval to Terry.

"Yeah, Terry, this dish looks really appetizing. I'm sure it's going to taste amazing."

"Thanks, girls, I really appreciate both of you," Terry says warmly, flashing a charming smile.

Terry blessed the food, and you all began to eat and engage in light, casual conversation.

"Mommy, can we stay and watch TV?" Jasmine asked, her eyes filled with hope.

"No, Jazzy. You only asked to stay for dinner, and I'm pretty sure your dad has company coming over," you said, rolling your eyes.

"He doesn't, mommy. I promise...It's gonna just be three of us, right, Daddy?" Jasmine asked with a little grin.

You were keenly aware of her intentions, and you were certain her little plan would not work.

You shot a quick look at Terry, who had a slightly nervous expression on his face.

"Yeah, come on, baby girl. Just one show, and that's it," Terry says with a small smile.

You just gave him a hesitant look, and then there was a knock on the door.

Terry sighed and politely excused himself, reaching the door to answer it.

Once he disappeared from view, you turned your attention to Jasmine.

"Okay, Jazzy. What's going on?" You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest and looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean, Mommy? " she asked, looking at you innocently and shrugging shortly.

"You know what I'm talking about, little girl. We talked about this," you told her, uncrossing your arms.

"Just wait and see, Mommy," Jasmine says sassily. You look at her shock and wonder where she got that from. *you silly*

Terry returned with a large bouquet containing a mixture of your three favorite flowers.

"Woah, Daddy! Who are those for?" Jasmine asked with a giggle as she watched the expression on your face.

The delicate beauty of flowers always captivated you, and receiving them never failed to fill you with an indescribable sense of joy and warmth.

"These are for your mother. It looks like she's got a secret admirer," Terry said, giving you the flowers.

You took the flowers from Terry's hands, feeling his fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat and moved away, giving Terry and Jasmine both a look before smelling the flower.

"Hmm, I guess we can stay and watch a show," you said with a shrug while rolling your eyes.

You three were cozied up on the couch, engrossed in an episode of Family Feud.

Jasmine gradually drifted into a peaceful slumber as the show progressed, finding comfort in Terry's embrace.

Terry took her to the other room, and when he came, you two discussed watching another episode.

"Oh shit, is it really three pounds?" You inquired, glancing over at Terry, who was chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

"I am unsure," he says nonchalantly, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders in a casual shrug.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name a salad dressing that you see at a salad bar.

Both you and Terry simultaneously exclaimed, "Ranch," but then you quickly added, "I said it first."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," you playfully remarked, jabbing your finger into his chest, teasingly referring to him as "applehead."

Terry chuckled as he gestured toward the TV screen. "Well, even if you did, they've already said 'Ranch,' he remarked.

"Mmm, whatever," you said, playfully rolling your eyes at him with a hint of amusement.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name something that happens in April.

The phrase "April Fools" echoed in unison from both of you once more.

A brief moment of shared laughter passed as you exchanged glances before refocusing on the television.

"I guess you can say I won," you said, rising from the plush couch, gracefully bowed and waved, silently mouthing "thank you" with a grateful smile.

"I didn't know it was a competition, baby girl." Terry lets out a hearty laugh as he rises to his feet and positions himself before you.

"Well, it was, so I won! What you gotta say to that, applehead," You said with a giggle, moving closer to him.

"You betta stop calling that," he said gently, tickling you, making you laugh.

Terry's heart couldn't help but flutter joyfully as your laughter filled the air.

You abruptly ceased laughing, feeling captivated as you shifted your gaze back and forth between his pretty eyes and his luscious, plump lips.

Terry leaned in, and you gave in to the kiss despite wanting to stop him.

The electric sensation you felt during the kiss, the comforting strength of his embrace, you shake your head before pulling away.

"Um...thanks for dinner, Terry. I know It means a lot to Jasmine. It's time to go. Yeah, it's time," You were about to leave, but Terry quickly intervened and stopped you."

"Hey, you can't just walk away after that," Terry's voice trembled with emotion as he reached out to hold both of your hands.

"Terry-" You began speaking, but he silenced you with a gentle touch on your lips.

"Please just listen. I'm sorry for a lot of shit I put you through; you never deserved it. You've been the best thing ever to me, and I've taken you for granted. I want to right my wrongs; I want to fix them. I'm tired of this tension between you and me. I want us to move past this and become like we used to be but different; I want us to be a family, for real this time." Terry said, a few tears streaming down his face as he continued.

"You love me, I know you do, and I love you, and I always have; I know it may be hard to believe, but I do love you, baby girl. I'm in love with you and don't want to lose you to someone else; give me a chance, baby. I know actions speak louder than words, but I just....need you to tell me it's okay," Terry said, his eyes searching yours for hope.

His words were sincere and borne the weight of his emotions, and you longed to hear that from him.

Though your simmering anger and stubborn pride obstructed your way, you didn't know if you could let go of the hurt.

"You must think I'm a damn fool, huh? You had plenty of opportunities to tell me how you felt, but you waited until Imma trying to move on to confess your feelings, huh? No, Terry." You said, shaking your head.

"No...I don't. I'm the damn fool, really...I know, I know. Come on...baby girl, you don't even want to try to give me a chance. Let me fix it; let's try to fix it. I want you, and only you, baby girl; I fucking love you, please," Terry pleaded, dropping down on both knees.

"Terry, stop. Please get up." You said, tightly gripped his shirt and yanked him upward, but he clutched onto your legs, pleading with you.

"Please," He whispered lowly. You are getting a little overwhelmed with emotions.

"I can't, I just can't," you said, harshly pushing him away before rushing to get Jasmine from the other room. "She can, but she is afraid."

You gently awakened her, whispering that it was time to say bye and go home.

As you gathered her belongings and prepared the car, you waited patiently for her to join you.

"Bye, Daddy," She said, kissing his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Bye, princess. See you next week," Terry said in a low voice, desperately trying to hold back his emotions to shield his daughter from noticing his heartache.

[halarealmadridd]

your touch

pairing. jude bellingham x reader genre. angst to fluff warnings. fighting, cursing request. Hii i love ur work, can you write something about jude and you getting into a really really big argument, it's about him letting other fans/or girls kiss his cheek or something for a photo and him doing nothing about it, And so you two dont talk for 2-3 days, and you guys live in the same house, he didnt even try to apologise and he thinks hes right, But after a week or smth he noticed he missed your touch and other things so he apologized by writing a big big letter for when you wake up, since he has practice early in the morning and you still sleep author’s note. this request is so good! thank you sm lovely i hope you enjoy 🩵

you had no problem with jude giving out hugs, handshakes or something along the lines of those, but kissing is where you drew the line. you couldn’t stand someone else kissing your man, and him doing nothing about it. unfortunately, that was the reality you had to face today.

chilling in your bed, you scrolled through tiktok, until you found a video with a fan kissing jude’s cheek for a picture. the worst thing happened when you checked the comments. they were full of people saying that they shared the same experience, jude kissing their cheek. you were already fuming, but the attitude of those girls was your last straw.

storming out of the room, you were met with a confused boyfriend stating at you with adorable puppy eyes. they almost make you give in, but you refused.

“jude, what the fuck is this” you angrily exclaimed, while shoving the phone in his face to make sure he sees the video.

“that’s just what they asked for, no feelings involved” jude explained, gobbling down a tube of cookie dough ice cream.

“no feelings involved? do you think i give a fuck about that? you let astral stranger kiss you?” you roared, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“baby calm down, this is nothing serious”

“nothing serious? we have talked about this earlier, i said i don’t want anyone kissing you in any form” you shouted, tears brimming your eyes.

the audacity jude had to just laugh at you and continue eating the ice cream made you furious.

you rushed to the bedroom, covering yourself in blankets, curling into a ball, sobbing your heart out. you thought that when jude heard you cry, he would come looking for you, but no, he stayed there, sitting on the couch, eating the last piece of his ice cream.

you ended up crying yourself to sleep. the next morning you woke up to an empty cold bed. you figured jude was sleeping on the couch.

the next few days went over with neither of you speaking to each other, because apparently in jude’s mind, he was in the right. jude could be a silly person sometimes, but this was just a whole different level of silliness that he had never shown yet.

finally jude came back to his senses and decided to write a full A4 page letter, apologising for his actions. he also placed a bouquet of flowers and candies beside it, in hopes to cheer you up. eventually he left for training, leaving you in the house alone.

when you woke up, you made a bee-line towards the kitchen to make breakfast, but instead of thinking about breakfast, big letter caught your eye.

tears rolled down your face while reading the letter due to the sincerity of it. you wiped your tears and waited for jude to come home.

after a good wait, you heard the familiar sound of the door unlocking. you raced to the door, and jumped into jude’s arms. his face had a tint of confusion painted on it, but it later turned into a big grin.

“whoa, i missed you too” jude whispered into your hair, letting you down.

you placed a kiss onto jude’s lips, and guided him to the kitchen, where you had prepared some pancakes for him.

after gobbling down the pancakes, you and jude popped down onto the couch and started watching your favourite show. however, the show was long forgotten, as you guys ended up just cuddling each other to sleep.

[nanamis-bigtie]

Neighboring Whispers

Character: Higuruma Hiromi Reader: female (cis) CW: explicit nsfw content, pre-relationship, neighbors next door, attraction at the first sight, mutual pinning, hair fetish, hair pulling, blowjob, fingers in mouth, spitting in mouth, praise kink & pet names (good girl and variations), fingering & vaginal sex, spanking, creampie, reader has long, non-curly hair and tattoos (yes, it's plot relevant) Word Count: 9k Synopsis: By a pressing accident you were left without water in your apartment, and you were forced to beg your neighbor, Higuruma, for letting you to take a shower in his bathroom. Dazed after a sleepless night, he obliged to your request. The consequences of his spontaneous decision had been haunting him ever since... A/N: little birds chirped @lale-txt wanted a sexy lawyer under her christmas tree and since we were already doing a server exchange... ;) merry a little late christmas, Lale, I hope you will enjoy this absolute monster of a one shot! ❤ jjk masterlist // ao3 version

The first ring was like an irritating fly, bouncing off the walls of his exhausted concentration, its dull buzzing drilling into his ears.

The second jolted him from head to toes, the first move in a prominently long time, aching and tingling in stiff joints and drowsy muscles.

The third finally made him peel eyes off the screen, his sight blurry and invisible sand grazing under his eyelids. 

Higuruma hid face behind the soothing shadow of his hands, plastered tight to his skin, and groaned, almost cursed. He was tired, so deadly tired he would swore he could feel the dark circles under his eyes. The dizziness was comparable to one after an unsuccessful power nap—yet, he knew he wasn't asleep even for a second. He couldn't, not when at work, at that damned work he swore he would touch only for an hour, two at the absolute maximum, and then go to bed, to finally grab proper rest for the rare free day to come. 

For how long was he stuck by the kitchen table, the place he had chosen to avoid the focus? Higuruma feared to peel hands off his eyes, but he still did so. The light, sipping through wide open blinds, was already bright and dazzling. The microwave clock was even more merciless: it showed a few minutes past eight.

Fuck.

The fourth ring was the longest, desperate and inappropriate for such an early hour. Under other circumstances Higuruma wouldn't welcome the intruder with open arms but at that moment he felt somewhat grateful for snapping him out of trance. 

"Coming." He announced, more to himself than to the person behind the door. Legs bent and swayed under him at first, he had to lean against the table for a moment, cursing his workaholism and age, but he forced himself to stand straight, then to walk. By the time he reached the door he was almost back to state befitting a man in his thirties, not a senior he got turned into by a sleepless, work-full night.

Higuruma didn't look through the peephole first, just opened, catching you already turning back. A whirl of long hair caught his attention faster than your face, not that it helped him much when he finally met it with his exhausted—yet still attentive—gaze. He could roughly pinpoint it as familiar but couldn't bring any name nor other particularly useful information to it. 

He knew you lived on the same floor. He knew you were often doing groceries in the same shop as him. He knew you both were sometimes taking the same train in the morning—but he had never caught which was your stop.

That's all.

"How can I help you, miss—" Higuruma's voice faltered; he was still trying to squeeze your name out of his memory, but his focus was already taking a different direction. There was something eerie about you, something concerning not as a danger for him but as a sign something must had happened, to you or to the whole surrounding. He wouldn't put it past himself to miss an emergency; when he was working, he could have easily overlooked a whole apocalypse. 

You were a mess. Possibly worse than his own. Uncombed hair, falling over your shoulders in tangled strands, greasy face, visibly home-only oversized tracksuit, blowzily thrown over your shoulders, a tote bag, overfull, squeezed tight to your chest… He wasn't a detective, but he could easily tell you left your place in a hurry.

"Y/N." You relieved Higuruma of his main concern. "I live at number 33."

You took a sharp turn, nodding to your door, but Higuruma's eyes barely followed, yet again swallowed by the sheer waterfall of your hair. 

"Alright, this is gonna be…awkward." You took a deep breath, as if adding yourself power to wade through whatever pressed on your soul. "Please. I beg. I need a shower."

"Pardon?" Higuruma almost choked on breath, shocked less by the sudden request, just rapidly pulled out of chaotic thoughts buzzing at the back of his head. Thoughts full of your hair and its flow, the suffocating and entrancing vortex. 

"I have no water." You nearly sobbed. "There's a renovation up there, I forgot… The whole plumb line is turned off on my side. I don't know when— Fuck, I have a meeting in three hours. I don't have time to run to a bathhouse, even if they would let me in…"

He must have made an exceptionally stupid expression because you stumbled out of your panicked trance and hurried to explain what he hadn't even deemed as needing any explanation. Hugging the tote with one arm, you rolled the sleeve of the other and revealed a tattoo running up the forearm towards the elbow.

He nodded with understanding.

 "Please, sir, no one else answers the door…" Your gaze flicked at him with such pleading that his already crumbling resolve immediately backed off, leaving him unarmed against you and your illegally beautiful hair. "I'll pay for the—"

"I charge only for legal advice, shower is a free service." Higuruma tried to squeeze a joke out of himself but with his exhausted expression he could as well recite a random sentence out of the case he was chewing through for the whole night. "First door to the left. Ah, and sorry for the…mess."

It was a massive overestimation, he realized a few of your steps into his apartment too late. His place needed a thorough tidying like fresh water. It wasn't dirty, at least that—but everything screamed "single, overworked, and too done to bother" at anyone who paid a minimum of attention. Dust, empty mugs and beer cans, takeout boxes piled into a temporary dumpster, any flat surface littered with books, files, loose notes, newspapers… Hey, he wasn't that bad usually, but you caught him in the worst moment, right before the day booked for being a responsible adult

Hell, he should have at the very least do something about his bathroom before he let you in. But you pounced at the door faster than his thought and he had to chew on his shame with the noise of his own shower filling the awkward silence around him. 

When was the last time someone barged into his life like this? The last relationship Higuruma could call a serious one had lasted before he finished his apprenticeship. With time slipping through his hands and wallet filling with money he had eventually stopped inviting his flings to his place. And in the past few years he had extinguished even this fragile flame that kept pushing him into love hotels with equally tired participants of seminars, coworkers, and random lays he had stumbled upon in bars and never bothered to remember their names. 

He couldn't see nor hear you, nothing over the hum of water, and yet, your presence was mercilessly crawling under his skin. He felt your breath at the back of his neck as he was tidying the space around in hurry. Maybe it wouldn't have been so palpable if you were a man… But a woman in his kingdom of the mid-thirty loneliness? Something about this fact cut a good half on his year count—and not to his advantage. He never pegged himself as shy nor crude to be bothered by a fact of a woman simply existing in his proximity, but…

It had been long, too long. And you were exactly in his type.

Exhaustion played a huge role at that, he was sure of it. Exhaustion paired with neglected libido and long-forgotten fetish perking their traitorous heads up at the slightest trace of your presence. You dropped something and shivers ran up his spine so hard he almost dropped his laptop too. A faint smell of fruity cosmetics reached his nose, and he couldn't remember anymore where he should put the papers he held. The hum of the shower finally stilled, and panic bubbled under his skin, cutting him short on sight and breath for a split second—split but long enough to mess with his balance.

You caught him like this, still bent over the table, at first glance nonchalantly checking something on the phone, in fact—fighting for the last scrap of dignity left in him. 

Higuruma observed you with the corner of his eye, tense like a string. It was easier to look at you now, with your hair meticulously tucked under a towel tied around your head, so he took that risk. Little did it help. The sight of you casually standing in the middle of his apartment, bare feet, damp shirt plastered to your sides, churned his insides with yearning that had nothing to do with lewd ideas. 

Yes, it definitely had been too long since he was touched with this level of intimacy.

"Sorry for the mess," he repeated himself, his voice feeling dry at his throat. 

Your laughter suited the sharp yet sweet scent of your shower gel, filling his apartment for hours to come, "I won't look a gift shower in the plumbing. Thank you, mister—"

"Higuruma," he quickly cut in before awkwardness managed to drag you into his misery.

"Higuruma," you repeated, mimicking his accent almost to perfection. 

He loved the way his last name rolled on your tongue. He loved it so much he had to turn away for a moment and bite on his own. Thoughts dancing in his head pressed too much to his lips. But he wasn't that much of a creep to let them do as they please. Just the fact they existed was putting him into embarrassment. 

Did you notice? Most likely not, too busy balancing on one foot to pull a sock, then shoe, on the other. With a tote tugged under your armpit and in a hurry, you clearly struggled, but Higuruma didn't move from his place, mindful of his sins and the situation overall. If you needed help, you would ask, until then it would be better, if he kept this distance. 

"I know you said no money but any chance I could return a favor in any other way?" You pulled him instead into conversation, much to the panic of his tongue, tying into clumsy knots at the slightest thought of speaking.

"It's nothing." Higuruma let the dream scenario fly over his head. He wasn't sure if you were flirting or just hated the idea of being in debt and in front of uncertainty, he preferred to stand his stubborn ground.

"You let a stranger use your shower." You didn't give up. You had the ball and you insisted on rolling it despite hurry pressing at your back, it seemed.

"My impossibly cluttered shower." Years in court made him more patient than a saint, even in front of a person crumbling his resolve into dust with a single flick of eyelashes. "I'd feel bad if I asked for something in exchange for such conditions."

"And what about me? I already feel bad for cluttering your space with myself."

"If I ever find myself without water, I'll know where to go."

You rolled your eyes and laughed again, your voice sharper this time. Higuruma wasn't especially sensitive with sounds but the change of yours immediately caught his attention and craved itself into his memory.

Oh, it was bad.

Dumbfounded, he didn't react when you pounced towards his abandoned workplace and snatched a piece of paper and a pen.

"I don't have much time left so—" You scribbled fast, digging deep into the surface, and yet clear enough for him to read with ease. "I'm a regular here. Come anytime and tell them Y/N sent you. The lunch is on me."

If not for the paper on the table and scent you left all over the apartment, Higuruma would classify you as a fever dream of an all-nighter the moment you sprinted out, apologizing and saying goodbyes all at the same time. He followed almost blindly, ready to shut the door as soon as you crossed the threshold (and cut you out before any weird new thought would haunt him). He already planned to air the whole place and scrub the bathroom out of your presence

He would, no hesitation, return to his cozy loneliness if not for a draft finally crushing the fragile construction on top of your head. Cascade of hair tore the knot apart, the towel slid down your shoulders straight into his hand as he reached for it without thinking twice and before it managed to untangle fully from the wet strands. They brushed his fingers, for a split time he felt their soft texture and weight, and his heart throbbed so hard he lost a good ounce of breath right there, over the threshold. 

"Sorry and thank you! Take care, Higuruma!" The door of your apartment clicked closed before the echo of your voice disappeared. He stood there even longer, pulse beating in his ears like a drum and his cheeks burning. It felt like hours before he finally forced himself back into his place, barricaded into illusive safety, hand pressed tight to his face, to muffle a loud groan.

His skin was still slightly wet and smelled of your shampoo.

Oh, he was so done for.

He should have trashed that note.

It glared at him right from where you had left it. Higuruma hadn't dared to move it any way, himself not sure why, but instead of blending into the environment, as he was hoping, it stood out like a huge, bloody stain of shame. A reminder of what he had been praying for to be just a dream born out of exhaustion and sleepless night.

He was doing his best to not look at it. It attracted his eyes like a magnet.

In no time he knew the name and address by heart. His excellent memory, so helpful in his career, became his curse. One look in note's direction and his mind was already mapping the route. Of course, it had to be conveniently located, in the area he knew well, relatively close to his workplace, in distance perfect for a lunch break.  

If only he trashed this piece of damned paper!

Maybe then his mind wouldn't be plagued with ideas and temptation. Maybe he wouldn't have to sneak in and out of his own apartment like a thief, jerking at the slightest sound behind his back. He was leaving earlier, returning later, changing routes and shopping in a different 7-Eleven. Everything to not run into you—just to return to your scent still somehow lingering in the air. 

Higuruma was ready to swear you had somehow cursed him. Was it humanly possible to influence his life with only showering in his bathroom? The sharp and fruity scent grew stronger near the cabin, shaped in his mind like a vortex of your hair. Warm water falling on his head felt like your laughter, droplets traced down his chest and stomach like signs you wrote on the note, elegant and pronounced. 

Your name tasted sweet and heavy on his tongue. Higuruma didn't dare to say it aloud, but it lingered, a sweet aftertaste of a candy he couldn't bring himself to ask for. He still tried to weigh it, right at the tip of his tongue, slick as a feel of your wet hair slipping through his fingertips. 

Only once, he tried to put it into life, but it barely danced at the edge of his teeth and died with a miserable groan as he couldn't hold himself back any longer and spent the rest of his morning shower on furiously fucking his fist.

He should have trashed— No, burnt this note and thrown the ashes in the wind.

By the time his legs finally carried him, still against his will, to the address, Higuruma had already abandoned the idea of avoiding the problem. He wasn't quite there with an ultimate decision, but the desperation reached the level where he had to simmer it down. Giving in to temptation of seeing you again was only a reasonable decision; with some luck he would not find you there and, with a now clean conscience, he would finally get rid of the paper of shame.

Seeing the signboard took him aback. Higuruma didn't ponder over the location to expect anything, but he still froze in place, hand clenched stupid at the handle as he took a step back to look at the name again. 

It sounded like one of those modern, instagram-catered places for a quick lunch in a break from rushing through the city. It was nowhere close to what, in fact, the place was: a cat cafe, in its whole camp and overfly fluffy glory. 

Higuruma looked at the signboard, then took a peek through the window again. A fat tabby cat, loafing on a table by the sill, peeked back at him and slowly blinked. He took it as an order.

One deeper breath later he finally entered. Right by the threshold he was attacked by the suffocating, sweet scent, dangerously reminding him of the cosmetics you used in his bathroom. Panic roared at the back of his head but before he could listen and withdraw, he grabbed eye contact with a barista who had perked her head over the coffee machine.

"Good afternoon, sir." She smiled at him, as full of enthusiasm as professionalism allowed. "A table in a regular room or in a cat—"

"I have received a capias issued for a certain gentleman I found resting in your property." He said dryly, maybe a little too much as the woman's friendly expression tensed into a mix of stress and confusion. "Just joking. I'm not arresting anyone. I had this place recommended by an acquaintance of mine."

When he said your name, she immediately smiled (not without a breath of relief, he noticed) and dropped the mask of a perfect employee. He was stared at curiously now, from the tips of leather shoes to neatly composed hairstyle. Oh, he definitely was the main subject of workplace gossip—and would jump back into fashion once he left this place, no doubt in this matter. 

"My apologies, sir, Y/N mentioned you would show up but hasn't notified us when." She flashed him with a genuine smile. "You're in luck, she's stopped for a lunch today, she's in the cat room right now. Shall I—"

"I'll find my way." Higuruma quickly cut in. He wouldn't mind adding spice to the gossip, even if just to ease his own stress, but…somehow, the thought of being observed during an inevitably awkward moment churned his stomach in a very not good way. "I would like—"

He studied the menu at the blackboard. Most of the names reminded him of absolutely nothing. "Something… decadent and viral, how kids call it. Surprise me, please."

"Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you."

He was ordered to strip from his jacket and scarf and asked to keep his briefcase as close as possible. Barista took her sweet time to study him as she walked him to the cat room, on her way explaining in detail what was allowed and what not. Higuruma let the words fly over his head: he had no interest in tormenting poor animals (who and for what would want to pull them by their tails?), but even if he had, his plans would be undeniably ruined by your presence. He already felt his throat clenching—not in fear or panic but in the same kind of embarrassment he felt whenever his thoughts about you slipped into the direction, he'd been avoiding at all costs. All of his thoughts were decent at that moment, yet he was tense and flushed regardless. Something, from the depths of his intuition, was whispering that, no matter what he does and says, he would reveal everything that happened, in his mind and not, since the day he had seen you barefoot and with wet hair in the middle of his apartment.

It would straight up make him come across as a creep.

He didn't want to come across as a creep.

"And no apprehensions." Barista finished her lecture with a smooth joke and pulled at the door to the cat paradise.

The main part of the cafe was calm—but the cat room was even calmer and silent, no music, none of the steady hum of working machines. It was almost empty too but a small group of teenage girls, flocking around the table by a huge cat tree, and you, of course, in a cozy corner, leaning over a book. Higuruma's heart almost flipped in his chest at the sight and fluttered just harder and faster when you pulled a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. The move was slow, smooth and so sensual one would think you were doing it deliberately. 

But you were lost in thought, unaware of your surroundings and Higuruma's gaze taking in the view voraciously, straight up swallowing every inch of yours. From your face, beautiful in your calm focus, to the tips of your fingers, still tangled in the strands behind your ear—and down your back, together with the flow of loosely tied hair. 

His mouth was dry and full of saliva at the same time. A smooth starter he had prepared in a case of wonderfully bad luck just died, leaving him with tight, uncomfortable silence and head empty of thoughts, full just of the feel of the same hair against his hand. 

He hoped too that seeing you in a more presentable state would crush the intimate, inappropriate for your level of familiarity, appearance of yours he had coded. And eventually relieve him of the yearning that had nothing and everything to do with sex, all at once.

Fool, idiot, a hundred times a naive kid. Seeing you like this only made everything worse.

"Y/N! Your neighbor with a sexy nose is finally here." The barista chirped over his shoulder and bolted before neither of you both could react.

If the block in his throat was difficult to swallow before, now Higuruma could as well just suffocate and die on point.

"Higuruma!" You tried to feign a cheerful attitude, but flustered expression and sudden flap of both hands betrayed you. One of them was still tangled in your hair; you yanked it free from the ponytail and sent your ornate hair clip flying. It fell right by his feet with a little metallic thud.

"You seem to lose your head at my sight." Higuruma saw the opportunity to avoid your gaze and snatched it so fast he almost hit his head against the table. "Or I should rather say: things from your head."

His hand trembled under the weight of the little trinket. It seemed alright except for three zirconias that fell out straight into his palm, "Towel at least took it better."

You muttered a simple thanks and took the hair clip before he climbed up from his knee. Your hands met for a split moment and a sharp shock snapped up and down Higuruma's spine. 

He hoped he managed to feign his calm better than you.

The silence that followed was heavy but not awkward for a change. Higuruma found himself a new excuse to look away, subtle and polite, just right to give you space for collecting thoughts: the decor of the cat room was truly entertaining to observe. Higuruma never had a cat; he was very pleased to notice that the furniture he took at first for clutter was in fact a developed playground. Little creatures, intrigued or concerned by the noise, moved from their spots. Shelves, ottomans and line bridges fluttered with elegant steps and soft tapping of little paws.

Even the fat tabby turned its head and gave Higuruma a look full of pity.

"It doesn't click right," you finally broke the much needed pause, pulling his attention back to you. "Oh well. I really liked it."

"It is a pity." He agreed, somehow keeping voice in check. The last thing he wanted was to suddenly screech at you. Fate knows how much his throat tried to, though. "It really suited your hair."

He didn't get a good look at it but after so many thoughts recalling your hair in detail, Higuruma could easily imagine it from every angle. His cheeks filled with traitorous, familiar heat. At least he wasn't prone to blushing.

By the gleam in your eyes, he could tell you were about to pick up the flirting, but you were interrupted by the barista. Looks were exchanged over his head, a slight tick at the corner of your lips betrayed their nature, but his attention was instead pulled by a piece of latte art put in front of him.

They really took his request to their hearts. Milk foam on top of his coffee was piled into a chubby cat face. They went as far as adding eyes, nose, whiskers and a little cunning smile. Three stripes at the top of its head must have been made with coffee as a paint. He had to admit the dedication to detail was truly endearing.

"Oh. That's surprising." You hummed, more to yourself, but continued louder prompted by his furrowing eyebrows. "You don't look like someone who would order a cute latte."

"Oh? And how do I look?"

"Black coffee. No sugar."

"I like it very sweet, actually." Higuruma finally felt more at ease, tension melting down his shoulders so visibly he could swear it was happening literally. "With a dash of milk."

The first few sentences were always the worst, in law and flirting alike. Once he got a good grip of the situation, he could finally focus on the exchange only. You were a cunning conversation partner, fast to catch his jokes, smooth to follow the thread and bounce the ball back at him. You had quite a gamut of shared topics and he just kept growing more interested—no, fascinated. 

Your mind and soul were fitting his type even more accurate than your appearance.

And yet, Higuruma's thoughts kept bouncing back to the fateful morning, to the perfection of your body in its messy glory. He couldn't help but to compare all the time. A strip of your tattoo peeked from under your sleeve—and he knew how far it, in fact, reached. A contour of your bra was visible under your shirt—in almost the same place where wet spots had pressed since you had dried yourself in a rush. Your hair fell smooth over your shoulders, in heavy strands he was dying for to caress—because he remembered the sensation of their ends touching his skin. 

Over and over again, his flesh was taking over his mind. And it was…infuriating.

When something touched his calf, Higuruma nearly jolted. He managed to forget a little how tense he still was, illusion destroyed fast by a friendly tail, wrapping around his leg. 

The indifferent stare and chunky posture were already familiar.

"Oh, someone likes you." You cooed with a bright smile. "It's rare for Haru to come to a new client."

"She's being picky?" The lawyer leaned down, let the curious cat sniff his fingers before he gently caressed its head.

"He. He's a little fussy diva. Wait, maybe I'll encourage him a little—" 

You leaned to the side and behind to reach for a toy, move quite fast, and your hair repeated the vortex he had seen even before he had taken a look at your face. The almost painful churning in Higuruma's stomach rushed dangerously low; he coughed into fist to give a reason for leaning forwards. Haru snapped his head back at the noise, but instead of running away he leaped into the lawyer's lap, fitting tight the space between his torso and thighs. And successfully hiding the area that could become problematic at any moment.

"Thanks, buddy," Higuruma whispered and scratched him behind the ear.

"He really likes you." You laughed, by no means offended for your sneaky plan to fail before it had started. "You're so natural with cats."

"It's only one of my talents." He flicked his gaze at you, his hand resting full on the cat's head, deliberately swept along the line of its spine. "Been always told I'm good with my hands."

The risk was exceptionally calculated, even for him. But it paid off with sparks of interest flickering in your eyes and fast, so easy to miss, bite at the side of your bottom lip.

The note had been replaced by a hair clip.

Higuruma hadn't even thought twice when he had sprinted out of work straight to a jeweler. His mind and soul had been in a different place, entranced by your number freshly saved on his phone, and hadn't perked up even at the significant amount of money he had spent on a golden clip. 

The coincidence had been too good to be just a wink of fate: the design was almost identical to your old one.

Complications had appeared after he had come back and grabbed much deserved sleep. Fresh brain had pushed the old scruples back to the surface, and the would-be gift had ended on the kitchen table, leering at Higuruma as he was sneaking by, in shame and trying to look away.

Since the cat cafe date, you had met at least five times. All meetings had been rather non-committal and platonic, and the closest he got to fulfilling his fantasies had been a gentle kiss on his cheek he had earned after a movie. Yet, Higuruma knew there was a prominent spark of interest on your side. So far you had answered all of his advances with eagerness if not straight forward had been playing with him as if he was a cat on the other end of a teasing wand.

He was still feeling ashamed of himself but didn't intend to let such an opportunity slip through his hands. All he needed was that last step…but he couldn't quite grow spine to finally make it.

So the hair clip kept glaring at him, and he kept ignoring it, as much as he could at least before he was caving in to all those temptations leading him to late night shower fantasies.

By the time he heard you ringing to his door he even managed to forget about it a little. Well, he was deep in work again, his mind finally free of all red-hot thoughts and quandaries—until said sound pierced him like a stray bullet. He knew immediately it was you; he couldn't explain why and how but he knew. The rush of blood thudding in his ears for once had nothing to do with anxiety—this time it was a genuine excitement, hope even, if he dared to somewhat name the vortex of his thoughts. This was but just a little change; it meant nothing for heat building in his cheek nor for trembling of hands he barely tamed on his way to the door.

Before he opened, he had to take a deep, hopefully calming breath.

"This is gonna be awkward again." You admitted with a shy smile. "There's no heating at my place. And no warm water. "

Your appearance was a stunning middle ground between the scrupulously crafted look you donned for your little dates and the casual home-only mess Higuruma had learnt the day you got to talk for the first time. You were still dressed neatly but disarray had already sneaked with crumpled fabric, rolled up sleeves and the mess of your hair, barely tamed with a hair band. 

A loose strand fell out of it, and you tugged it behind your ear, with the same smooth, sensual move he had learnt by heart. Higuruma swallowed, a bit too audibly for his comfort.

"I can offer warm tea and warm company," he moved to the side and gestured towards the apartment. At least this time the mess was more tamed; since he had been caught red-handed, he paid more attention to the state of his surroundings. 

It couldn't possibly be a more obvious excuse, but Higuruma's thoughts were speeding too fast to do something more than taking a mental note. He intended to guide you towards the living room, but you took your guest rights to the fullest and chose a seat by the table in the kitchen from where you were piercing him with a curious gaze. In a calmer state Higuruma would pay more attention and take note how strategic your move was—but he was too busy masking his stress by preparing the tea and snacks. Before the doorbell, at least a shadow of the hair clip had existed at the back of his head. Now the whole trace was gone, replaced by all his dreams and worries packed into a single vortex of inner and somewhat controlled panic.

Why was he so nervous? He had no reason to delve into his thoughts anymore. All that was left was one of you finally tugging the rope to their side. You were right there, behind his back, twisting a strand of your hair around your finger, legs crossed just right to roll your dress up your thighs a little. Part of him was itching to turn and pull you into his arms, to bury his face into the back of your neck, to trace your tattoos and check how far they really reach. The other kept spraying the horny demon in him with cold water—and by far winning at that time.

If only you gave him a little more prominent sign…

"A hair clip?" As if reading his mind, you sprung forwards. "It looks like mine… Where did you get it?"

Higuruma almost dropped the cups with tea.

"Oh. That." He had never been blessed his experience with stress-taming than he did now. He needed only a single breath to look presentable again. "Well… Now it's my turn at the awkward merry-go-round. Was supposed to be a gift."

He set your cup in front of you, his hand almost free of trembling. Your gaze grazed over it for a second before it flicked back to the accessory, by "chance" placed right within your sight but out of reach, "Gift?"

"Replacement for the one I broke." Higuruma had no choice but to grab it himself and offer it to you on open palm. "I plead guilty and have already paid a fine."

You said nothing but he could read from your face his choice was simply perfect. You gently traced its edge, almost took it, but at the last time you withdrew, your eyes full of sultry gleam. "Thank you. It's so pretty. But you shouldn't have—"

"Oh, I should. And I loved it." Higuruma already knew where it was going. He felt sweat pearling at his temples, a single droplet traced down the side of his face. "It's but a pleasure to offer beautiful things to a beautiful woman."

You traced the clip again, with more prominent pressure this time, such a perfectly feigned hesitation. 

"Then…" Your gaze wandered up and locked with his. "Would you like to clip it in?"

Higuruma's knees nearly gave up under him when you, no longer waiting for his answer, let your hair flow free. With a single shake of your head, you spilled it all over your shoulders for him to gather it again, smile dancing at the corners of your lips a shameless proof you knew exactly what you were doing. 

Were his thoughts that obvious? Were his sinful dreams written all over his face? Was he being pulled into a trap from the very beginning? 

As if entranced, Higuruma approached you from behind. Even with explicit permission he was more than gentle when he caressed your hair from the crown of your head to its tips. It was smooth like velvet, far more than he had imagined it to be after the brief contact. 

The flame inside him churned and roared, pulse thudding in his ears muffled down all the other sounds. Hands shaking, he started gathering your hair to the back, into a single, thick thread he tried to hold firmly for the clip. He feared to tug too much; if he slipped once, he knew he wouldn't stop, the loose yet so heavy knot around his fingers just waiting to be tightened.

In the wildest fantasies flowing through his dreams Higuruma hadn't considered it to feel so good, almost too good to be real.

He couldn't hold it for longer, he let go, watched your hair spill again in awe, his throat dry and clenched. Threading fingers through it, he reached deeper, brushing at your scalp, and noting, pleased, a low, purr-like sound you made. Entrancing smoothness pulled him yet again, though, and he combed the strands to their tips, and returned to the crown of your head, over and over and one more time, and more—

"You don't have to be so gentle," you hummed, arching into his touch with no trace of shame. "I quite like it pulled."

Higuruma swallowed the hook together with the rod.

He gathered your hair into his fist, wrapped it around, and slowly—but with prominent power—pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck to himself. You mewled, following the move without further encouragement, giving him better access in the most arched, sweetest way possible. He leaned closer, his lips an inch away from your skin as he soaked in the familiar, sweet, intimate scent. The choice between possible routes was hard but eventually he settled on the most shameless one. He kissed your ear, brushed his lips right under it, and dived straight into the source of the fire burning him through all this time, through weeks that felt like ages. 

The softness of your hair was even more intoxicating when Higuruma felt it against his face. The first tasting nudge found your approval, so he went for a shaky, almost desperate breath of your scent, so rich and so throughout yours. It was a sin to abandon it, but he knew he had to discover more—or else the doors to the forbidden garden might push him away and shut closed. Shaking and almost sobbing in immense pleasure and happiness, the lawyer trailed his kisses back to your neck, then down to the curve of your shoulder until he felt the seam of your dress under his lips. 

"Hiromi…" You pleaded in whisper, for the first time calling him by his name. "Kiss me…"

Hand still tight in your hair, Higuruma tilted your head stronger to the side and leaned over your shoulder. Your noses brushed awkwardly before he finally found your lips. He expected it to be slow, just a little peck for a starter, but you apparently just waited for it. You grabbed him by the tie and pulled, your tongue slipping into his mouth without a warning nor hesitation. He let you take the lead at first but soon your advances weren't quite enough for his voracity, and he answered you with even greater eagerness.

It was his first kiss in so long and one of the very few so intense. You were barely stopping for a breath, one immediately pulling the other back when it halted. Higuruma's head was spinning, from lack of air and overflow of emotions. His heart was beating so fast that he danced on the line of fainting right in front of you, no wonder you guided him as you liked despite his hand clenched in your hair and kisses swallowing your breath.

You stood up and pushed him against the table, finally giving the both of you much deserved break and freeing each other of the tight clutch of your hands. 

"Lemme," you nipped at his ear shortly after. 

Gasping for air, Higuruma watched your advances with fascination. You unbuttoned his shirt with a casual knack and pawed at his hairy chest, trailing down the dark line towards the hem of his pants. Part of him was relieved to have his hard, almost painful, erection finally freed—the other dusted his cheeks with embarrassment. So fast and so easily… He wasn't a teenager anymore, his desperation was almost shameful.

Little did you care, almost shaking yourself when you fell to your knees and peeled his pants and underwear out of your way. You licked your lips at the sight of his hard, throbbing cock, and wrapped fingers around it. A few testing strokes later, you brushed a droplet of precum off his tip with a thumb, then leaned for a little, almost cute kiss.

"Shit…" Higuruma muttered through clenched teeth. For once forgetting about your hair, he held on to the table for his dear life and focused on not cumming right on spot. Unaware of his fight, you continued with teasing kisses and kitty licks towards the base. With the tip of your tongue teasing the sensitive skin of his balls you almost sent him flying; to stop orgasm from coming he bit his lip so hard he almost cut it to blood.

"So full…" You cooed, unawares of his struggle. Higuruma didn't dare to look at you—a futile effort as he could easily imagine what you were doing just by the feel of your lips and tongue at work.

"It's been… A while— Fuck!" As if it would help him if he held his breath and closed his eyes. Your mouth was so wet and hot and sucked him off with such fervor he was ready to beg you to slow down. It was illegal for a simple blowjob to feel so good; was it your skill or his desperation, all of it mixed with the tension building up relentlessly through the last few weeks—it didn't matter. Various thoughts were speeding through his mind, but he quite literally had no power to process them. 

Higuruma mewled your name, a pitiful whimpering sound that clenched his chest with almost painful embarrassment. He felt your approving hum vibrating around his cock as you slid him into your throat, until you reached a depth comfortable for you, and started bobbing your head along his length. His imagination reached its peak of capability, drowned into comfortable darkness he desperately tried to enforce on his poor, tortured brain. So slick and hot, so tight when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, balancing right on the thin line between ineffable pleasure and discomfort.

You were on a mission to suck him dry—and he had no power (nor desire) to oppose you.

Yet, with the tension relentlessly building and nearing its peak, Higuruma put every ounce of his might left and peeled one hand off the table to immediately tangle it in your hair. You chirped, pleased, around his cock, clearly expecting a pull towards—not backwards. Eyes wide open and dark with desire, you gazed at him with upper confusion. You didn't even close your lips, a string of saliva still connected them with the tip of his dick.

"N-not like that…" The lawyer managed to choke out between desperate draughts for air. "I want—"

Thank goodness you read his mind like an open book. Otherwise, he would stutter there to the kingdom come and back, like a dazed idiot he was.

"Bed?" You nuzzled your head into his palm. The temptation to pull grew stronger again, so strong that Higuruma's cock twitched just at the thought. He quickly withdrew, brushed his fingers down your face to wipe saliva off your lips and chin. At the desired level he hesitated—and brushed a little string of drool back into your mouth and deeper. If you were surprised, you hadn't showed it, instead opening wider for him and swirling your sinful tongue around his digits.

A wild idea crossed his mind, a kink he had tried with one of his past partners but hadn't quite brought it back until now as he was fucking your mouth with his fingers and staring at your drool pooling inside and dripping down your chin, first droplets falling on the front of your dress. He didn't dare to say it but a move, expression or the whole situation must have betrayed him yet again. 

You pierced him with an understanding gaze and nodded.

Higuruma slowly withdrew his fingers and grabbed your chin, soon tilting your head back. With his throat so dry it took him quite a moment to gather enough drool, but you waited oh so patiently, your eyes closed and your hair flowing down your head with the heave of your heavy breathing. 

He leaned down and let his spit slowly drip down from the tip of his tongue, straight into your wide open, waiting mouth. Your whole body trembled and a little mewl broke through your lips as you let it slide down your throat.

"Such a good girl…" The guttural, heavy with desire voice that got out of his throat surprised even him. "Swallowing everything for me…"

He did it two more times before he couldn't find more spit to share. Instead, he returned to torture you with his fingers, playing with your tongue and testing how far he can reach before you gag around them. With great pleasure he was surprised to not find this moment despite trying really hard.

"If you're gonna torture me like this—" You warned with an impish gleam in your eyes as soon as he gave you a break. "—I won't hold it for longer and make you cum with my mouth."

Higuruma leaned against the table and cooled his head down with a few deep breaths.

"Bed," he agreed with the unanswered question of yours and helped you get up.

Yet again you took the lead and straight up herded him to his bedroom. When and how you figured which was the right door, he had no idea, but he also didn't ponder over this fact too much, too busy with not tripping while kicking his pants out of the way. You both fumbled at the threshold, tangled in clothes you desperately tried to get rid of while kissing each other blindly, until the lawyer finally found an upper hand and pushed you inside and then on top of the bed. 

You started rolling the dress up, but Higuruma shoved your hand out of the way and reached beneath you for the zipper. It gave up so easily he worried for a moment he broke something, but you just graciously wiggled out, freeing your shoulders and breasts. The sight messed with his momentum, a heavy lump stuck at his throat, and he had to close eyes for a moment to not cum on the spot.

You finished rolling your dress down your hips and snapped your legs open with great impatience, "What, have you changed your mind?"

Higuruma cursed under breath, wiped his face with both hands—and immediately dove for it much like a bird of prey. Avoiding the temptation of your hair at all costs, he focused on your tattoos instead, tracing them with his tongue and kissing. He had no idea you had so many of them, in so many interesting places he was dying to explore and to cover with hungry hickeys. 

But he was also aware of the burning hard problem below his waist, so he didn't waste a droplet of time. He reached straight between your legs, hummed at the feel of soft bush brushing against his fingers and spread your labia open.

"So wet for me, baby girl?" He breathed against one of your nipples before sucking on it with fervor. 

A needy mewl was your answer as you bucked your hips, trying to steal friction from his palm. He didn't hesitate from giving you all you wanted, two fingers sliding into you at once. Just the squelching tight sensation was enough for a wave of pleasure to crush against him; with a whimper Higuruma thrusted dry against your side, staining your skin with precum.

"Fuck, you're so sexy…" His voice was breaking with desperation, but he kept a reasonable pace with stretching you. Your tightness was so hot and intoxicating, but he worried he could hurt you if he hurried the matters too much. If he made a mess and embarrassment out of himself because of it, he would take it, as long as you hadn't felt any unwanted pain. 

You read him right yet again and grabbed him by wrist, "I'm ready."

His next move hadn't met the same patience as you whined when he left you on the bed to look for condoms in the drawer.

"It's okay, I'm on pills." You pulled him back by the hem of his shirt and slid it away a moment later, leaving him completely naked. 

Clawing at his shoulders you kept nudging him until he was back in his place, teeth grazing at your neck. You fumbled in sheets warming each other up and experimenting for the last time before the main event, both of you growing impatient beyond tolerance. 

"How do you want it?" Higuruma rasped into your ear and bit at its shell. His cock throbbed with warning at the sweet mewl of yours; he knew he wouldn't last much longer if he kept edging himself.

"You can be rough," you whined without a hesitation as he pushed himself on top of you again. "I'll just tell you to stop, if needed. And hair—"

"Got you."

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips and gave you space to roll on your stomach and climb on your knees. He tried to not stare too much, just a glimpse of your ass arching for him, your hips swaying with invitation, put his blood pressure to alarming limits. Lining himself up at the best angle he could find, Higuruma kneeled between your legs and kneaded your cheeks. He loved how his fingers dipped into your soft flesh, but he didn't quite have enough time to appreciate everything you had to offer.

"Hair," you reminded him, looking over your shoulder at him with such heat in your eyes that a harsh shiver ran down his spine.

"I got you, my sweet girl." Higuruma leaned over your back and kissed the nape of your neck before taking a fist full of your hair. He hadn't pulled on it just yet, waited for the perfect moment when his cock slid into you and nestled comfy between your slick, tight walls.

He needed a break again, an inch away from an early finish. He kept the fire simmering by peppering you with bites and kisses, the grip on your hair kept satisfyingly strained until he felt he could move freely. 

A single deep and shaky breath later Higuruma finally rose straight to his knees, pulling you with himself until you arched your back and mewled. A tinge of pain was audible in your voice, but your cunt fluttered around his cock, and you hadn't said anything, so he followed with the plan, trusting your words from a moment earlier.

"F-fuck…" He muttered as he bottomed out, hips pressed flush to your ass. "Such a good girl you are…"

You stated your limits clearly, but Higuruma didn't want to test his luck. The grip on your hair was more than enough to satisfy his wilder side—and still he refrained from yanking your head too much. Just enough to have your back tense like a string as you were taking each one of his deep, desperate thrusts. More out of curiosity than anything he smacked your ass with a juicy slap, the sight of your body rippling from the impact so powerful he had to slow down and wait through another dangerous close call.

"Hi… ro…" You struggled to call for him, one hand clawing at sheets, the other between your legs as you played with your clit. He clenched his teeth and spanked you again. You responded with loud and enthusiastic moans, the best music he heard in a long, long while.

The finish was really close. Higuruma's hand clenched hard on your hip, maybe even bruising you in process, but then his focus narrowed to your union only and its unbearably hot, slick sensation that kept swallowing him. All he needed was your high first; he didn't want to go there without satisfying you at least this much. Your sweet sounds and trembling body were giving him good guidance—and he kept repeating what he was doing until the tight knot in your abdomen finally snapped and you spasmed in his hold, the tight clench of your pussy sparking friction almost too intense for him.

It didn't take long for him to finish too; a few erratic thrusts later he spilled his seed deep in you and collapsed on top of you, pressing you tight to the mattress.

Catching on breath, almost blind from exertion, Higuruma kissed your neck right under the hairline and buried his nose at the back of your head. You didn't make any sound under him, and he worried he might have pressed you too hard—but as soon as he shifted his weight to side, you budged and protested with a weak mewl.

"Stay." You reached behind and threaded fingers through his hair. He shivered under the gentle touch, almost literally melting when you kept scratching at his scalp and playing with his sweaty strands. 

"I'm staying," he promised and nuzzled close, flush against your back, cock still nestled deep in you. Frankly, even if he wanted, he didn't have much power left, just enough to roll to the side and collapse there for good. But he loved the intimacy of this moment even more than sex before, the warmth of your body, the rhythm of your pulse, the smell of your sweat covering your skin with a thin, sticky layer.

"Fuck, I think we need a shower." He mumbled to himself and chuckled, sure you had snoozed in his arms, but you answered the laughter and reached for his hand.

Higuruma gladly intertwined fingers with yours.

"I'd love to see your shower again." You kissed his knuckles, a smile pressed to your lips. 

[hana-no-seiiki]

This is generally such a stupid ask but I feel like it would be.. Chaotic? At the very least amusing

Anyways

Batfam x Nicole from Class of 09! Reader

Do what you want (etc make it romantic or platonic, doesn't matter)

Just the batfam (yandere ofc) dealing with a chick who loves to ruin lives for her amusement and sometimes for revenge

Istg she'll just bully them at any chance she gets

~ 🕒

I just binged watched Class of ‘09 and all its endings/choices for you non. I don’t think I can fully depict how brash wittiness of Nicole is but here I go! (I am so traumatized) Didn’t know that’s where “No I’m flirting with you flash me a tiddy bitch” came from no wonder Nicole sounded so familiar.

btw if people are interested in watching class of ‘09 just be warned it’s basically a VN version of Degrees of Lewdity but the mc is actually a minor (without the sex/r*pe mechanic though) and it depicts a lot of just… pedophilia, necrophilia, assault, su*c*de, school shootings, racism??, BE WARNED.

The following content above ^ might be mentioned in this fic but in passing. MASSIVE DDDNE WARNING.

I don’t think I’m comfortable writing stepcest/incest in this blog so despite how perfect it’ll be to make Bruce your step father considering Nicole’s mom has divorced like a hundred times…maybe ask me in @yoru-no-seiiki and I’ll be down for it.

THIS IS ADMITTEDLY TIM + DAMIAN CENTRIC

“Do you even care? Do the results of your actions mean anything to you?”

“Yeah when they affect me, sure.”

You were a bitch. There was no denying that. But you were a pretty one. One many would grovel to be under.

You were used to this, ever since you reached a certain age people just looked at you different, acted in a way that… made you think they were boring, utter losers.

One of those losers was Tim’s friend.

Like all the stupid, horny men in your life, you hung out with him once and he spilled everything there was that you could share.

To the entire campus, the internet, even the news.

And because you were pretty, you got off scot-free. Those morons didn’t even check to see what you’ve been doing the past decade.

Except Tim. Timothy Drake. You only knew that his dad was super rich, and as much as it was tempting to sink your teeth into him and get a load of that daddy’s money, you knew better.

He apparently didn’t.

You see there was one thing every batfam member couldn’t resist. Well, two things. The first was saving people.

The second? Fixing them.

When Tim first approached you he was confused.

You were quite the popular figure in Uni. He heard the rumors. He fully expected to be cussed out to hell and back.

But you were… nice. Agreeable at most really. Brash was an understatement. But you were witty. Your comebacks were swift and deadly.

The more he studied stalked you the more he realized that the two of you were the same.

Two bright people stuck with dull idiots.

And Tim? Tim interested you enough for you to not to completely drop him after the first week. That and most of your bullying probably wouldn’t bode well towards the son of a billionaire.

He was smart, even more so than that nerd friend of his that you destroyed the life of. But more importantly he actually had some tact, and was surprisingly packed underneath all those baggy clothes.

Tim had to admit he was kind of forgetting his entire purpose of ‘fixing’ you.

Until you manipulated yet another guy into jumping off a school building for you. Thankfully he survived because Red Robin happened to be there to apprehend him but still!

And what’s worse, you met up with him afterwards talking about how that Red Robin ruined all your plans of crippling a r*pist.

Wait, a r*pist?

Tim looks through your past victims once more. Admitted he only did a surface level job of studying them in comparison to his PhD level knowledge on everything about you specifically.

And…you were right. Every guy you’ve harassed was being pushy with you in the first place, if not people with authority a decade older.

Fuck.

Well now he had no excuse. He had to make you his.

Meanwhile…

“Ugh, Damian. Can’t you tell your brother to like, fuck off or something? I can feel my social standing totally plummet every second he’s around. How do you handle being related to him?” You groaned. You weren’t fucking stupid. You knew Tim was stalking and drooling all over you lately. You hated it. He was ruining your chances with your new victims.

“Jeez [Y/N]. And here I thought you were like, into him.” Jessica, your actual crush and best friend, commented as she filed her nails.

You being the emotional stunted adult you were only replied with an (admittedly softer) “Eat a sandpaper cock and die bitch.”

Damian stared at you, the words die before they crawl out of his mouth. His hands clenched underneath the lunch tables.

Guess he had another thing to steal from his brother this time.

[little-diable]

In My Arms - Tommy Shelby (smut)

I stumbled upon an imagine about Tommy coming home from war and how the first night with reader would be, but as a historian I just needed to take a slightly different angle on this. I think this is my new fave fic of mine ngl. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy comes home from war, but he no longer is the man (y/n) has once fallen in love with, he’s no longer the man she had once touched without thinking twice.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, talks of war and estrangement, but a soft, loving ending

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.7k words)

The smell of cigarettes hung in the air, a smell she hadn’t picked up for the past years. In the beginning, she had missed it, alighting a cigarette just to feel him near, to get a glimpse of how her everyday life with Tommy would be if he weren’t so far away from home. But then the seasons had changed, and with the war dragging on, the prices of things had risen immensely, the behaviour of those surrounding her had changed, and so the cigarettes were slowly left behind, just like the life she kept mourning.

Now, as Tommy was sitting near her, cigarette hanging between her lips, (y/n) had to bite down the need to ask him to stop smoking, no longer used to the biting smell. Her uneasy eyes kept studying his face, wandering over every inch she had only seen in her dreams ever since Tommy had left for war. Once a man she had known like the palm of her hand, now a stranger whom she only knew the name of. 

“Tommy,” she murmured his name, trying not to spare the way it tasted almost unfamiliar on her tongue any mind. “Can I touch you?”

His piercing eyes met hers, stone cold like the biting breeze keeping those living near them inside their homes. Smoke kept blowing from his nose, leaving the man as if he was the devil himself. She started counting the passing seconds, wondering if he’d ever speak up again. Even though it had been hours since Tommy had returned, (y/n) could barely remember the sound of his voice, aching to hear it like a bleeding-out woman desperate for anything she could cling to stop her bleeding. Yet deep down she knew she was about to bleed out, he could help her no more, nothing but another familiar face becoming one with the cold soil. 

Just as she tried to part her lips, wanting to call out his name again, Tommy cleared his throat. She watched him stub out his cigarette, watched him rise to his feet with his piercing though empty eyes set on her. Tommy came to a halt in front of (y/n), staring down at her for another handful of seconds before he cupped her warm cheek. He moved slowly as if he was waiting for her to flinch from the unfamiliar touch, but (y/n) held still, grasping any chance to be close to him.

Tommy dipped his head down, breath clashing against hers. It had been too long since his lips had found hers, too long since their tongues had met, too long since she had tasted his taste on her tongue. Yet, even though her hunger for his touch drove her on, (y/n) couldn’t help but realise how unfamiliar his lips felt like two puzzle pieces not made to fit. 

“Tommy,” she choked on his name, pulling back to get lost in those eyes she had once loved. Her heart skipped a beat at the smallest hint of a smile widening on his lips, oh how she longed to get a glimpse into his mind, desperate to read his thoughts. “Touch me.”

For a second she felt him moving forward, hands wandering lower to grip her waist, but the second his eyes wandered down to his fingers, the hands that had been dirty from the tunnels only a handful of days ago, he froze. She saw the hesitation swimming in his pupils, saw the fear, saw the pain. Gods how he must have suffered; suffered like no other she had crossed paths with before. 

“It’s alright, take your time.” (Y/n)’s murmurs seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, out of the place he never wanted to return to ever again. “I’m here, Tommy, I’ll always be right here.”

“That’s a nice thought. Something I dreamt of whenever I found myself longing for peace.” A humourless chuckle left Tommy at the words rolling off his tongue. Words that instantly drew tears to her eyes, forcing her to realise that she’d never fully understand what he had been through, the unspoken truth both would have to live with. Though while Tommy didn’t dare speak of the pain he’d been forced to endure, the endless trauma he’d never shake, (y/n) had to accept that she’d never hear of the things he had been forced to do, that she’d never hear of the unanswered prayers he had spoken in moments of desperation. 

No further word left Tommy as he now properly touched her, almost like he would have touched her all these years ago. He pulled her to her feet, lips meeting hers once again, with some more passion, some more heat than before. A moan flushed through her, a sound Tommy almost groaned at. 

With their fingers interlaced, he pulled her towards their bedroom, the door falling shut with a heavy thud. And once again they were engulfed by silence. Silence – something (y/n) had found solace in; silence – something Tommy now feared, scared to pick up on sounds that would foretell his cruel death. 

“Turn around, love.” Wordlessly she turned her back towards him, breath hitching in her chest as she felt Tommy undoing her dress, watching the fabric fall to the ground. Perhaps he was stuck in a dream, still forced to accept the biting darkness around him, but fuck he couldn’t care at that moment, eyes not daring to leave her naked frame. “Lay down, let me have a look at my beautiful wife.”

“Come closer, please Tommy.” He undid his shirt, not daring to meet her eyes, no longer familiar with the feeling of her gaze taking in his marked naked body. He stepped out of his trousers, eyes focused on her naked chest, hoping that the sight of her body could distract him from the demons calling his name. Tommy could only pray that his fears wouldn’t get the best of him, making his cock grow softer, telling her that he no longer wanted this, even though he wanted this more than he could ever express. 

Within seconds he hovered over (y/n), taking in the warm and encouraging smile she shot at him. He could find peace here, with her close, Tommy’s own kind of heaven, he was sure of it. Her fingernails traced his skin, leaving him shuddering as they made their way down his front, finding his hardening cock. She pumped him a few times, feeling him twitch in her grasp, forcing curses to claw through him.

“Fuck me, Tommy, show me how much you love me.” He shifted his weight, wanting to get his hand on her cunt before his cock would force her walls apart. With his eyes flickering down to her heat, he watched her arousal coat his fingers, movements that left her moaning for him. (Y/n) was at his mercy, not daring to move, not daring to do anything that could push him away from her. “Please, just please Tommy.”

His tongue kissed her teeth as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with his cock. Just for a second the both of them couldn’t help but wonder if they had unlearned how to do this, how to touch one another like they wanted to, deserved to. But the moment passed by all too quickly, ripped from them as Tommy thrust into her, groaning against her mouth at the feeling of her tightness around him. 

“Shit, you’re even tighter than I remember.” Tommy choked on his words, slowly beginning to set a comfortable pace that left (y/n) clawing at his back, making her legs tighten their grasp around his waist. The sound of their bodies meeting left the couple panting, knowing that this would be over far too soon, and yet they couldn’t care, couldn’t worry about time slipping through their fingers - not when they’ve grown to count every single minute ever since parting ways. 

“I missed you, missed you so much.” Even though (y/n)’s words dripped with love, love Tommy felt for her just as much, she knew that these were the wrong words to leave her the second she had spoken them out loud. The speed of his thrusts began to falter, Tommy had fallen straight from heaven, clashing to the cold ground like a disowned angel locked out of the pearly gates. 

He kept on fucking her, kept on moving with almost soulless eyes. The sight tore her heart to shreds, fingers moving up his face to his hair, murmuring his name. But Tommy didn’t react, at least not till a loud “Stop!” clawed through (y/n). He froze on top of her, eyes squeezed shut as if he was hiding away from her.

“Look at me, Thomas.” The use of his name forced Tommy to follow the softly spoken command, glassy eyes meeting (y/n)’s. “Oh, love. It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re with me. I won’t let anybody harm you.”

A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek, a tear she kissed away, needing to take away his pain. For a second they kept holding still, clinging to one another, but then he kissed her palm, moving once again. Within seconds their pain once again turned into love, trying to focus on the way their bodies were connected so intimately. 

Tommy’s thumb found her bundle, rubbing it to match the speed of his thrusts. His touch pushed (y/n) closer to the edge, and yet she didn’t dare close her eyes, not wanting to miss the pleasure tugging on her husband’s features. A sight so pure. A sight so raw. A sight so loving.

He kissed (y/n) as he felt her clenching around him, letting go with his name leaving her. The sight was enough to make Tommy follow her down the edge, eyes fluttering close, lips parted as he imprinted himself on her walls. He plopped down next to her, arm instantly finding its way around (y/n)’s waist to pull her close.

“I love you, and,” she felt him swallow heavily before he kept on speaking, softly whispering the words, “and I missed you too, so much.”

[snk-warriors]

Can't Stay Away

Levi Ackerman x F! Reader

Summary: After the war ended, Levi finds himself at a familiar doorstep.

Warnings: Bittersweet angst, smut, not proofread

A/N: This blog is still officially inactive, but this story is a little gift for my dear friend @antivan-dragon. It was a joy to write it for you! <3

This is wrong.

He shouldn't be here - not after everything that had happened.

How long has it been, ten years? More?

It's hard to tell when you're used to live from moment to moment. Never knowing whether the current day might be your last really messes up one's perception of time.

All Levi's sure of is that the brief time he had allowed himself with you was the happiest he's ever been - than he ever thought to be capable of.

And yet, from his very first breath, his fate was clear: To him, living had always been a fight. Whether it was in the underground for food and safety, or against titans and humans alike under the clear sky mattered very little in the great concept of things.

The only home he's ever known was on the battlefield - until he met you, at least.

And still, Levi went back to the frontlines again and again and again because it's all he's ever known, the power he's born with a burdening duty upon the weak...

...but what place does a soldier have now, in a society without war?

This is what he fought for, right? To achieve peaceful times. Avenge his fallen comrades, honor his commander and protect as many people as possible from the unnecessary suffering this cruel world eventually provided.

Protecting you, first and foremost.

Your wellbeing has always been his greatest priority, and yet at the same time Levi was the one responsible for so much misery. Back then he convinced himself it was for the better, that he was doing you a favor by removing himself from your life.

In the end, all that's left for him now is the bitter feeling of regret.

Levi was aware that you would've waited for him, no matter how long it'd take until his return...

...but he was certain that his death was inevitable - a sacrifice he'd gladly take if it'd meant ensuring you a long and fulfilled life. And even if the impossible case of his survival would occur, he'd be a different man by then.

Ultimatively, he has become exactly this: Unlike you remember him, and definetly nothing close to what you deserved.

Maybe even in different circumstances he could never live up to the expectations he had set in himself - at least when it came to you.

But he felt as if you were like pure sunlight and he was a moth, drawn to it. No, he was the moon - selfishly absorbing and covering your brightness.

So, in order to make things easier for you, he pushed you away despite his soul screaming for him to stay at your side until humanity would reduce itself to ashes.

When no words would dring through to your devoted self, he announced an engagement to Petra, efficiently shattering your heart in the process.

Nothing Levi had ever done was as hard a task.

Given time however you'd find someone worthy to give you the life he longed for so deeply but never could, at least that's what he thought...

...yet when he heard that you never married even after all this time, his rationality stands no chance against the aching of his own loneliness.

Just to look how you've been he told himself on the way, and for an overdue apology.

Your little cottage on the outskirts of Wall Rose still looks as if he never left. It always smelled of lavender and honey, and whatever you were baking at the time.

Levi switched from the wheelchair to his cane, still able to walk by himself at least for a short distance. Only a few stairs separated the two of you, and it was the longest he's ever took - not because of his disability, but rather to gather all of his courage.

Facing his enemies was a piece of cake compared to this right now.

Though it felt wrong to do so he peeked through the window, his face twitching into an almost-smile as he finally laid eyes upon you again. The inside was cleaned spotless as always, neatly yet minimalistic decorated. You on the other hand were currently preparing some pastries, contently humming to yourself.

It felt like he never left.

What about you, he wondered. Had there been others after him? What was your life like these days? He wants to know everything.

That goddamn cat was still alive as it seems, curiously pricking up it's ears as it recognized the familiar - altough mangled - face. You and him had argued a lot about letting feral animals into your home, due to Levi's concern for hygiene and especially that damn fur everywhere in the house.

One glare from the man and it hissed, jumping down from the front porch and bolting into the forrest. Shit.

Living alone and isolated from civilization was dangerous, especially for a single woman. So it was no wonder how hyper-aware you still are, immediately swinging the door open with a clocked rifle.

Oh, how much he missed that side of you. The perfect combination of cute but deadly.

"Levi..." His features immediately softened at the sound of your voice. To him that name had been reduced to a battle cry, something for his enemies to curse and his superiors yelled to wield their human weapon around.

But coming out of your mouth, he could listen to it all day even if it was just to hurl insults at him.

Instead you put your welcoming arms around him before the weapon even dropped to the ground, heartwrenching sobs echoing against the pinewoods. "God, Levi, you-you're back. You're finally back...I-I knew you'd come!"

The former Captain should be relieved, and frankly, he is - nevertheless, things shouldn't be this way.

He had left so you could live...and you simply didn't.

This wasn't fair. And it drove him insane. There was an immense fury at the pit of his stomach at the realization that his withhold was for nothing, that you had wasted both of your lifetimes through your stubbornness.

You should have found yourself a man that could give you a family, a stable life, goddamn it the whole fucking world shall you ask!

However the sheer fact that he was finally able to breathe the same air as you again overshadowed any grudge with pure gratitude.

His whole life Levi had been was a dedicated, dutiful combatant, unquestioning to his orders. Now that the war was over, there was nothing left for him to do, nowhere left to go.

This one time, he'll allow himself to be selfish.

A hand on the back of your neck pulled you to close the remaining distance between the two of you, sealing his mute promises with a longdue kiss.

Levi had kissed you before - always rough and demanding. That's how things were between you, after all: He came to your home solely to get a taste of what normalcry, being human, was like, just to disappear after having realized his mistake.

If it meant he'd stay in your life, if only feebly, that was more than enough for you.

But this kiss...it was different. Tender, savouring, unwilling to pull away even tor so much as breathing air.

When your lips finally parted, you placed another, small peck to the corner of his lips. Your hands reached for his face, cupping it on both sides as if to make sure he's really there.

For a moment he pulls back, doubting his decision.

After all, the man in front of you was a shell of his former self, old and disfigured and broken. Petra was long since dead, you'd heard about the tragic circumstance.

He never wanted to give you the impression that you were just a last resort for when everyone else had forsaken him.

Noticing his internal struggle - an amazing talent only you possessed, since his expression was as still as a statue - you clutch the fabric of his shirt, gently tugging him inside. He has to lean onto you for support, stumbling into the all-too-familiar room.

You feel calloused hands on your body, caressing every inch of your exposed skin and sliding under your clothes. "Tell me to stop" he speaks breathlessly, sternly, "And I will."

Instead you frantically shake your head as you moan into his ear, one leg wrapping around his waist as he pushed you against the wall, busying yourself with rising blood on the skin of your neck. Fuck, he's missed your scent.

"B-Bed" you manage to wring out as his hand slips under your skirt, fingertips tracing the wet spot between your legs. He was eager, intoxicated one might say, but you could clearly feel how his own legs were close to giving in.

The thrill of the moment was briefly overshadowed by the humiliation of his new reality. In the past he would've taken you anywhere in the house, would've been able to lift you up and throw you onto the mattress if you so desired.

Another jab at his conscience that he'll never be good enough for you. If only he knew this was the way you'd always wanted him: Slow, passionate, caring...

"Don't worry about me" he speaks nonchalantly, yet the determination in his glare makes you shiver. Levi dropped to his knees just like that, his hands wandering upwards each of your legs. "Let me worship you."

You half-laugh, half-whine when he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your upper thigh, remembering how much he loved leaving little marks like love-letters on your skin. Old habits die hard, even when trying to be gentle.

Without hesitating, Levi twirls his fingers around the hem of your already dripping panty, pulling it down just enough to put his mouth to work. His teasing made you a whimmering mess, taking his time tracing kisses around the area close enough to feel his breath on your clit.

"Shi-it, Levi!" you let out a scream as his tongue slid along your folds, muffling your own noises by a hand on your mouth until Levi tugs at your arms. "I need to hear you, love. It's been too long."

And so you did, begging and moaning shamelessly as Levi ate you out like a man starving, palming himself through his trousers with eyes never leaving yours.

Hearing you like this made something in him snap, and yet you tugged on his hair, tugging him away just before you'd fall apart in front of him. "Not like this" you pant heavily, head spinning from lust, "I need you. Completely."

He simply nods at the request, unable to keep his hands from you even the short way to your bedroom. Your gown fell to the floor as he watched, a low groan escaping his closed mouth at the sight.

Time sure had taken a toll on both of you, he thinks as his knuckles brushed along your cheek, diving in your features that had slowly faded in his memory over the years...

...but your eyes, those damn beautiful orbs that showcased the love you held for him, they didn't change a bit.

And their effect on him was also still the same.

Before you first met he was sure that all those hardships had turned his heart into stone, but now this yearning had become a dagger he desperately wanted to pull out, make his heart bleed in reverence.

Levi was a man that spoke through actions, however.

Your fingers intertwined when he aligned himself with your entrance, searching your face to which you gave a permissing nod. He entered you carefully, adoring every microexpression, every reaction of yours when he started at a slow pace.

Even in his current state, his skill lacked nothing from his former peak: It was as if you could feel his hands and lips were everywhere at once, hitting all of your weak spots as if your body was a map he had learned by heart.

"I love you."

Your pupils were blown wide at his declaration, those words you had already long since made peace with to never hear coming out of his mouth.

A look that could only be described as pure affection plastered on his face, kissing along your collarbone up to your ear. "I love you, Y/N" he speaks again, more firmly now and smiling sincere as never before now that this self-inflicted weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. "Always did."

Tears dwelled in your eyes, vocal cords lost their ability to form anything else than sobs and moans as your lips found his again, smiling against his mouth.

Words were never needed when it came to the bond of you and Levi, after all.

As his thrusts became more clumsy, ragged breaths whispering sweet affirmations barely audible to your ear, burying his hips against your pelvis as he rode you through your high. He followed closely after you came undone, stiling above you without any intend to leave this sweet escape he found in your arms.

Your hands rested on his shoulder blades when he felt safe enough to collapse in front of you, his head lying on your chest as your heartbeat soothed him just like back then.

He was alive. And you were his.

"Please" you sniveled, anxiety preventing you to endulge in the afterwaves of your ebbing high, "Never leave again."

You clung to him for dear life, limbs entangled as if he was just a pleasant dream that would disappear as soon as you dared letting go.

That moment Levi made an oath to himself: No matter his insecurities, for the rest of his life he'd dedicate to become the man you see in him.

There was a lot to make up for.

"If you'll have me."

[kotoku]

ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ

synopsis - Splitting off from your friends, you are left wandering in the dreamscape of Golden Hour. Expensive designer stores to extravagant restaurants and bars lined the streets with excited dreamchasers flocking towards their merchandise. Yet here you were, looking to indulge yourself in a couple of drinks at a small bar after gambling your Aideen tokens away. However, a familiar, punchable face is back and here to stay.

pairings - aventurine x nameless! reader part ii

content - enemies to lovers but we are slowly reaching the lovers part, character shenanigans, aventurine playing tour guide, lots of fluff/light moments, slight pining towards the end lol

warnings - none

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

Your stay in Penacony thus far has been an..interesting one.

After entering the dreamscape, you were transported to a place known as Golden Hour, a bustling city district where shops and food vendors flourish with countless dreamchasers flocking to see their merchandise. Surprisingly, you had stumbled into the Trailblazer while walking down the street, making small conversation before the two of you parted ways. They seemed to be muttering something about ‘origami birds’ when they scurried off..how strange… 

Nonetheless, you continued weaving through crowds of dreamchasers, eyeing the different stores with their bright and..lively advertisements. You found the little creatures strange but intriguing, chuckling at the way they would hop around and follow you. But to your horror, as you crossed the street so did the little billboard, getting run over in the process. You went to help it back up but by the time you got to it, it had already picked itself up and left. 

“All of this feels like a weird fever dream instead of a dream… People should really be cautious when driving here even if we can’t get hurt.” You muttered, shaking your head before walking up a flight of stairs. 

The place you were now at was called Aideen Park. Casino machines were lined in circles with a bigger one as a building, a small bar and lounge area, and a band playing in the middle of it all. You stared at the scenery in awe, taking a small stroll around the park and using the few Aideen coins you had to test your luck with the slot machines. Despite your dull luck, you still had a fun experience with the huge slot machine that towered above you. 

“Better luck next time, I guess...” You sighed, sulking over to the mini bar area they had for dreamchasers. Taking a seat at one of the stools, the bartender had come over to you to take your order. 

“I’ll take–” 

“Personally, the Classic Soul Glad isn’t that bad of a drink. You should try some, friend.” A voice interjected, coming from the seat beside you. 

Turning to your left, you were met by the same blond bastard who stirred some trouble up at the reception desk. 

“We meet again, _____,” Aventurine smirked, his glasses tipped forward while swirling the contents of his glass. 

Before you could politely decline and order the drink you were going to order, the bartender had already walked off to start making it. With a sigh, you turned your gaze to the right to eye the suddenly enticing exit. 

“Come now, don’t treat me like a stranger. We’re friends after all!” He gave you a shit-eating grin, leaning forward to wrap his arm around your stiff shoulders. “If I recall, friends don’t just ignore each other.”

“Neither do friends stalk one another on their way to their hotel room, but here we are.” You grunted, shrugging off his arm. Aventurine held up his hand to his chest, a big frown on his face. 

“You wound me, _____.” He dramatically cried, slumping against the counter.

“Don’t be such a drama queen Aventurine.” You rolled your eyes, bringing up the glass of Soul Glad the bartender slid over to you.

“I’d rather be a drama queen than a boring one.” You heard him mumble, taking a sip of his own drink. Rolling your eyes, you chose to look at whatever the TV was displaying. Not to your surprise, it played a bizarre advertisement for the Charmony Festival, bright colors and patterns fluttering across the screen. Looking at its dizzying display started making your head hurt, so you turned your attention to something else. Anything but the man that was sitting next to you.

“How are you liking the festivities so far? Anything caught your interest?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, reluctantly turning to face him so you could respond. 

“Mm, I’ve been looking at some of the stores… Other than that, nothing else really. I saw a billboard get run over today.” You hummed, leaning against the counter. You held your drink with one hand, watching the ice clink to one side as you rolled your wrist to stir it. You had to admit, the drink did loosen you up a bit, making you feel a little warm inside. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the drink had reminded you of another from a distant planet… 

When Aventurine heard the last part of what you had said, he almost choked on his drink in surprise at the bluntness. “I’m sorry– what?” He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his fist.

“What?”

“...Nevermind.” He waved it off. “Anyways, those were the only things you saw today? Nothing else caught your eye?”

“No? I was going to continue looking around later, why do you ask?” You eyed him suspiciously, watching as his grin grew a little wider. With his fingers drumming against the counter, he spoke. 

“Why don’t I show you around? It would be quite a waste to not explore.”

Aventurine playing tour guide? Now this couldn’t be good.

“I think I’ll pass.” Standing up from your seat, you fish out some cash for the bartender. “I’ll be taking my leave now, thanks for the drink.”

“W-wait–!” Aventurine sprung from his seat, chasing after you after he paid for his drink. You were quite the fast walker, he noted, finally managing to match his pace with yours.

Making an attempt at losing him was futile, proven by the fact that no matter what you did to get him off your tail, he was always right behind you. Through large crowds of dreamchasers, confusing paths, and many stairs, he was able to navigate through it all to keep up with you. 

Eventually, you gave up trying to explore in peace, opting to listen to the gambler speak about some of his favorite spots in the dreamscape. From the casino he frequently visits, to expensive designer clothing stores, and even fancy restaurants or bars that have a refined taste for food and beverages. It was no surprise that Aventurine had an expensive palate.

As of now, the both of you were checking out a clothing store that had multiple floors. From silk pajamas to leather coats, the store was huge and contained all articles of clothing that caught both you and Aventurine’s eyes. 

“What do you think about this one?” Aventurine asked, striking a small pose as he flaunted a magenta button-up with gold trimmings. He had a pair of slacks to match accompanied with his usual belt. You had to admit, it brought out the colors of his eyes perfectly.

“It..suits you.” You finally replied after eyeing the outfit. Aventurine grinned at you. Pausing, you spoke up before you could think. 

“It really brings out your eyes.”

Aventurine’s grin faltered, taken aback by your blunt compliment. He knew that the tone of your voice and expression held genuine, yet it was odd seeing you expressing your true thoughts other than shrugging him off. His grin came back, yet this time, it seemed a little bigger.

“I appreciate the compliment, friend.” 

Aventurine went back in to change into his regular clothes while you wandered around, checking out clothes that piqued your interest. It wasn’t long before Aventurine popped up right next to you, startling you.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he laughed, “Did you find something you liked?” 

You put back what it was that you were holding, not really wanting him to see what style you were into. “..No, there’s not much that matches my style.” You lied. He stared at you for a moment but shook his head. 

“If you say so.”

As you two started walking away, Aventurine made a mental note to come back at a later time, glancing at the hanger you were just holding. 

Exiting the store and back onto the busy streets of Golden Hour, you were about to speak before Aventurine interrupted you. It seems he always beats you to it…

“There’s..a place that I want to show you. I’m certain that you’ll enjoy it.” Aventurine tugged you along by the arm, navigating through dreamchasers and vehicles. You had no other choice but to go along with him, but you didn’t mind as you were curious as to what he was going to show you. 

After slipping past some Bloodhound guards and Dreamjolt Troupe members, the two of you finally made it to a small lookout overseeing some construction going on in Golden Hour. Although you wanted to question Aventurine’s methods of getting here, you couldn’t deny the scenery the place had to offer.

The view was breathtaking. The Penacony Grand Theater was in the far distance, stars streaming through the sky before ultimately fading out. The soft glow of the sun permeated the dark sky, mimicking the sunsets you’d often see in the waking world. There was a light breeze, expected as the two of you were quite high up, pedestrians and vehicles just specks beneath your feet. Walking towards the railing, you rested your elbows and gazed out at the horizon. 

“This..place… How did you find it?” You turned your head to Aventurine who took his place next to you, his arms crossed over the railing. Somehow, he looked more ethereal than before. Blond locks swept past his face in tune with the breeze, the lighting from the sun dancing across his skin which almost made it seem like he was glowing. You would never in a million amber eras want to admit it but… Aventurine was truly captivating.

Unbeknownst to you, he had thought the same.

“I stumbled across this place when I was scoping out the different dreamscapes.” He answered, eyes sweeping over your face. “The scenery here was.. beautiful so I figured that I’d show you this hidden gem.” Aventurine didn’t know whether he was talking about the place or you, but he shook his head to rid those thoughts.

“…Thank you, Aventurine.” 

“My pleasure, _____.”

Both of you lingered there for a moment longer, engaging in conversation with small pauses when either one of you was lost in thought. His presence was comforting, allowing you to bask in the moment and reveal smaller details about you. Naturally, he did the same, but still maintained his own distance as did you.

You forgot how much time passed as you were lost in conversation, exchanging small banter with Aventurine which would end up in laughter. When you pulled out your phone to check for any missed messages, you noticed that there were a few urgent matters that you needed to attend to. It seems this small “tour” session would have to come to a close… You felt a pang of disappointment hit you. 

“My crewmates are worried about me, I should get going…” You sighed, turning so your back was against the railing. “Thank you for playing tour guide.” Aventurine snickered. 

“No problem, I had fun.” He paused. “If..you’d like, would you like to meet up again for dinner sometime?” You noticed him adjusting his gloves and clothes, eyes meeting yours with a nervous glint. With a smile, you pushed yourself off the railing and started walking off in the direction of the exit.

“Sure. I’ll see you soon, Aventurine.”

“See you, _____.” 

Aventurine stood where he was, watching your figure slowly disappear. With a satisfied hum, he figured that he should get going as well before his colleagues got on his case. As he started walking, however, he noticed a small slip of paper hanging halfway out of his pocket. Unfolding it, there was a string of numbers with your name on it. 

‘Your contact info? How lucky of him.’ He patted himself on the back. 

With a delighted smile on his face, he walked back to the main streets of Golden Hour. 

Aventurine could not wait to see you again.

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - i'm back with another nameless! reader fic for aventurine. :) after a long longgg while i finally got some motivation to continue it and i had lots of fun writing it. i hope you all enjoyed!

[hiddenreamers]

The Soprano & Midnight Wonderings - Oscar Piastri

SUMMARY: When he can't sleep, Oscar ponders the could-have-been. You're happier now, aren't you? That's what all your friends say. Now that you're away from the limelight of being a "WAG", you have exactly what you wanted. Still, he can't help but think about the things we lose too soon.

WC: 792

Oscar can’t sleep.

It’s not that he’s not tired, quite the contrary – he’s been craving the soft hotel bedsheets ever since he stepped out of the car after today’s practice. But slumber is like a capricious lover and rarely comes when called.

How funny it is, to speak of lovers at a time like this. It’s the same kind of humour that earns a bitter chuckle when you see your late relative's favourite flower or eat a snack that was once loved by a friend you no longer talk to.

Despite the melancholic droll, Oscar isn’t keen to laugh. Not even a sad giggle will brush past his lips. He’s haunted by a ghost that never truly leaves.

Instead, he finds himself scrolling through a conversation. It’s been on his mind ever since he had it a few days ago. Curiosity and heartache had gotten the better of him, so Oscar messaged one of your friends a very simple and yet fateful question: How is she? The answer he got was entirely expected but still, it hurt in the most profound, inexplicable way.

Your friend gave him a short, straightforward answer. As much as Oscar knew that she had no reason to lie to him, the text was only that – some words. Later on, however, she sent him a few videos from a recent party the two of you went to. It was then that the reality set in for him:

There you were, even more lovely than the day he met you. Laughing, yelling something, dancing like you’ve never known anything else. All of that, all of you, is painfully familiar to his heart and yet the person in the video is vastly different from the girl whose heart he had broken. Your style has changed, your hair isn’t the same, the music you’re so eagerly singing along to is not the one you’d play in the car. At first, he thinks it strange, perhaps you’re trying to distract yourself from your own pain? But as time goes by and the scraps of you Oscar sees present this new you, he realizes what it truly means: you’re happier.

It should make him feel good, relieved, shouldn’t it? This is what you’ve wanted, is it not? Living in the limelight, suffering public opinions, being nothing more but “Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend” made you miserable. Now that it’s over, he should be glad you’re finally thriving. And yet, he’s far from it.

“Why?” he whispers into the night. “Why couldn’t it be both?”

Maybe one day he will get the answers he seeks. Maybe one day Oscar will finally know why he had to lose you too soon; why it is that we must let go of the ones we love.

He remembers all the instances when he asked why you were upset. When it wasn’t online hate, it was something else caused solely by the fact that you’re his lover. Now, he wonders if someone ever asks why you’re so happy all the time. Would you tell them the truth? Does anybody ever wonder why the heartbroken girl has blossomed into a walking ray of sunshine?

Oscar definitely does. Although, he does know the answer. What he’s curious about, however, is how much he didn’t do. What if he handled it differently? What if he was more brash and made it clear for the world to leave you be? How much of this is caused by him and him only?

For a moment, he considered texting you. The rather aloof messages of you congratulating him for his endeavours only egg Oscar on. What right does he have to come back into your life and mess it up again? But then, is it not a lover’s right to hopelessly seek the other half of their heart?

He lets out a ragged breath. With what’s left of his reason and composure, Oscar tosses his phone on top of the clothes neatly folded inside his suitcase.

Desperate to free himself from the ghost of loves past, he turns in bed to now face the large window. The world outside is calm, unlike him. Once in a while, a car drives by. The moon like a silver coin lights up the otherwise empty sky. Oscar knows that feeling all too well. What’s the point of being the brightest when there’s no one to share the light with?

He closes his eyes, hoping to find sleep before the memories of you find him first.

Sometimes, when he’s awake at night, he thinks about it – the story of you and how he has no place in it if that story is to have a happy ending. And Oscar does not have the heart to ruin his most beloved tale.

Check out other fics in the Ampersand Themed Works

[hedgiwithapen]

Leverage timetravel, pre pilot/child ot3 meet their redemption era selves

(I took some liberties re: /meeting/) In hindsight, visiting the US Patent office was probably not their smartest move.  Never return to the scene of the crime, and all, at least not if the job was finished. 

But they'd put a pin in going back for the time machine, and not even a really bad idea could deter Hardison from an actual time machine. Well. Portal, like Eliot had said. 

It hadn't come with an instruction manual, but the three of them, Hardison, Parker, Eliot were professionals at figuring things out on the fly . Even lost in the past. Even scattered. 

Hardison knew he just had to wait, though. They'd find each other. They'd lived through the past once, they could deal with it again, especially knowing everything they did. And it wasn't like they had to live through the whole span of years, either. They just had to find each other, put the pieces back together, scattered with them, and go home. Easier said than done--he was starting to think they might have ended up in different times--but still, the Estimated range was fifteen to twenty years, so that was only five max before they met up, right?

Hardison had gotten right to work. Ads in every major newspaper in the heartland cost plenty, but he had years of criminal practice on top of knowing what tech to invest in, so he really wasn't that worried. He guessed Eliot would be betting on sports games, like in Back to the Future. Parker... well, it was hard to guess where she was. Once he and Eliot met up, they'd have to wait for her to get to them. He did have a few things to do, first.

He knocked on Nana's door, feeling like maybe he ought to be wearing a bow tie. 

"What is it? You from the county?" she asked, when she opened the door. He could see behind her a few curious faces, including his own. Damn, he'd been so tiny. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he said brightly. He could remember this day, vaguely. The box he held was more familiar than his adult face. "I'm here to install your new computer."

"I didn't order any computer," Nana said. "Run your scam someplace else."

"It's not a scam!" he heard his own voice say. "I entered a contest at school."

He had. And he'd lost. Stupid Jake Puckett had won, a kid who could have easily afforded a computer. Alec hadn't known that though, until Hardison'd checked idly. And he wasn't about to just let all of history change. Well, all his own history. 

"You got some proof of that?" Nana asked, and Alec went  scampering off to his room to find his copy of the essay.

Satisfied with the expertly forged documents (wow! it was much easier to forge past documents when you were in the time they were from!) Nana let him in and pointed to a corner desk near an outlet. 

"You ever use your own one of these?" Hardison asked Alec, who shook his head. " just the one at school. I really won?"

"Sure did. Now, let me show you what this thing can do."

~

Eliot stood at the edge of the field, a newspaper crumpled in his hand. Hardison was in Boston, if the ad was right, and of course the ad was. No one else put that much effort into a coded message. 

He watched the football fly. In two weeks, the kid throwing it would be on a bus to boot camp. He closed his eyes. There were options.  Kid wouldn't believe him, of course. There were no secrets yet, to spill as proof. And he was too stubborn to buy the warning.  A good solid tackle, though. Break his arm bad enough...

He'd thought about it. And then about the what ifs. The blood would still be spilled, he knew that. Someone else would end up on Moreau's chain. Someone else would end up with a half dug grave for Flores, and maybe keep digging it.  Everything he'd done for money, the money'd go to someone else. Job might not get done, or it might. 

He'd be there for his mother's funeral. He'd miss Katherine Clive's. Rebecca Ibanez.  the way the drinking might have gone... he'd miss Nate Ford's.  He'd go to school, like his dad wanted, never play college ball. Study something-- art history, maybe -- but no, that was him now. Not him then. Him then would be angry and broken. Him then wouldn't have... his people.

He crumped the paper further. "Dammit, Hardison," he said quietly, and walked away. 

~

Parker had a code. Some things, you just didn't do. Some were big and flashy and obvious. Some were smaller, quieter. 

Hardison would say she shouldn't do this, she knew, and she usually listened to Hardison. He knew what he was talking about, most of the time. You can't change the past. That'd been part of the lecture before they'd gone to steal the time machine.  You can do things, sure, but you always did them. 

Well, Parker hadn't done this. No one had, back the first time she'd lived through this day. But she was doing it anyways, breaking his rule and her own. You don't steal from kids who don't have anything. 

Carefully, she picked the lock on the child's bicycle chain. 

[therealcocoshady]

Maybe as a sequel to Size Difference, it’s their first date with a bit of smut. You just know he’s got quite the romantic side & going from friends to more he’d pull out all the stops.

From friends to lovers

Previous part

A/N : I got inspired by your suggestion so I ended up writing quite quickly 👀. I decided to keep this one soft and actually decided to save the smut for another part. In fact, I think this pairing would be ideal for the "Body Worship" prompt of the Kinktober Masterlist. 😉 I hope you enjoy it ! ❤️

CW : First date - Romance - FLUFF

A few days after the dinner party, you received a heard on your door. When you opened it, a delivery person handed you a bouquet of stunning deep red roses mixed with lilies, your favorite. You blinked in surprise, your heart leaping as you reached for the note nestled between the petals. You didn’t need to open it to know who it was from, but you did anyway, unfolding the small card to see his unmistakable scrawl.

“Dinner, you and me? Friday at 7. I’ll pick you up. - M”

Your heart skipped a beat as you read it, a smile tugging at your lips as you hugged the flowers to your chest. It felt surreal—after years of friendship, the man you’d secretly adored had finally asked you out, and not casually either. He’d sent flowers. An actual romantic gesture that made you feel special. . You’d never felt more seen and it was making you all giddy. When Friday arrived, you took extra care getting ready, choosing a dress that hugged your curves and made you feel confident. You couldn’t shake the nervous excitement as you waited for him, pacing your living room until you finally heard the knock. When you opened the door, your breath caught. There he was, dressed in a perfectly fitted outfit, looking at you like you were the only person in the world. His eyes traveled over you with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. 

“Wow,” he said, his voice soft, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You look… stunning.” You felt yourself blushing, giving him a playful nudge. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Sharp Dresser.” He chuckled, offering his arm, and you looped yours through his as you headed out, the evening feeling like the start of something magical. Dinner was a mix of familiar and new—there was the same comfortable ease in your conversation, the laughter and banter that came so naturally between the two of you, but now there was something else, a heightened awareness in every glance, every touch. He pulled out all the stops, ordering your favorite dishes and insisting you try the dessert he knew you loved. He even stole a piece of your food, earning an eye roll from you that he met with a grin and a wink. The whole thing seemed effortless and yet, you could tell he was actually making an effort. Just enough to make you believe that dating was not a lost art after all. 

After dinner, instead of taking you straight home, he suggested a walk, leading you to a nearby park bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps. You strolled side by side, shoulders brushing now and then, the quiet intimacy of the night making you feel bolder. At one point, he stopped and turned to you, his eyes soft as they met yours. He seemed to hesitate, as if gathering his thoughts, and you waited, your heart pounding as you wondered what he might say. “You know,” he began, his voice lower now, more vulnerable, “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while.” You blinked, a laugh of surprise escaping you. “Really? You’re serious?”. The dinner party, the flowers, the date night had made it clear that he liked you, but you were still in disbelief. Your close friend you had a crush on telling you he’d been wanting to ask you out for ‘a while ‘ was definitely not on your bingo card. Never, in a million years, would you have thought that the man who could have literally anyone would be interested in you.  He nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah, really. I was just… I didn’t know if you’d even want that.”

You stared at him, your surprise giving way to something tender. “Marshall, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m… not exactly what people expect for you. I didn’t think I was even your type.” He gave you a look that was part disbelief, part amusement, his hand reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Not my type?” He shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. “Y/N, you’ve been my type since the day I met you. Funny, smart, gorgeous.” His voice softened, his gaze intense. “You’re everything.” You felt a lump form in your throat, your heart swelling as you let his words sink in. For so long, you’d felt like you were on the outside looking in, doubting whether he’d ever see you the way you saw him. But here he was, looking at you with nothing but pure, unguarded affection.

Before you could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Your heart raced, your hands finding their way to his chest as you kissed him back, melting into the warmth of him. Just like the first time he had kissed you, the world around you seemed to disappear, and it was just you, standing beneath the stars, sharing a moment that had been waiting to happen for so long. When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapped around your waist. “I don’t know how you never saw it,” he murmured, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’m crazy about you.” You laughed softly, feeling the last of your doubts fade as you looked up at him, your own smile bright. “Guess I just needed you to show me.” He leaned in once again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was filled with years of friendship and hidden longing, every unsaid feeling finally spilling out between you. You melted into him, your arms winding around his neck as he pulled you close, his hands pressing against the small of your back, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and you responded with a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as your bodies molded together. It felt like every brush of his lips, every slow exploration of his hands against your curves was a revelation—your heart pounded wildly, and you could feel his own pulse racing just as fast.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with desire. “I don’t think you know how much you drive me crazy.” You smiled, breathless, your forehead resting against his as you caught your breath. His hands moved to your waist, tracing the lines of your dress, his touch both tender and possessive. Every inch of your body felt electrified, and the warmth of him, so close, made you want to lose yourself in him completely. The air between you grew hotter, his kisses trailing from your lips to your jawline, then down to the curve of your neck. His hand moved slowly, reverently, over your curves, exploring every line with a gentleness that made you feel seen, adored. You could barely keep yourself together, every touch of his lips and hands sending a rush of warmth through you.

As he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes were filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a mixture of desire, tenderness, and respect. You looked up at him, your fingers playing with the collar of his jacket, your own heart racing as you tried to decide what came next. For a moment, the words were on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to invite him back to your place, to see where the night would take you. Desire was evident on both sides. But there was a hesitation, a sense that this moment was special, and you didn’t want to rush it.

He seemed to sense your thoughts, because he gave you that half-smile you loved, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want this, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with honesty. “More than you know. But I don’t want to rush it. I’ve waited this long… and you’re worth waiting for.” Your heart softened, a smile blooming across your lips. “You’d wait?” He nodded, his thumb tracing your cheek. “I’d wait as long as it takes.” The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache in the best way, and you pulled him in for another kiss, this one slow and filled with gratitude. You realized, in that moment, that he wasn’t just a friend, or a date—he was someone who saw you, who cherished you, and who valued every part of you. You stood there in the park, kissing under the stars, wrapped up in each other like you were the only two people in the world. And as you finally pulled back, hand in hand, and walked away from that tree, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, something worth savoring.

[mononijikayu]

night we met — ryomen sukuna.

Feeling the gravity of this moment, he tightened his grip on your hand. You looked down at him and smiled—a gesture that sealed his newfound faith in this bond. At that moment, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he had been reborn. No longer just a boy lost in the festival's chaos, but a person with a role, a duty, and a place in the world. His life, from that moment forward, was to be lived for you, in devotion to the path you would guide him on. You had become his guardian, his mentor—his goddess—and he, in turn, devoted himself to be your loyal follower.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

listen: the night we met by lord huron

note: i finally got a break after two exams. i still have one more. but i wanted to pop in and give this to you before i disappear into my books again. i hope you enjoy this little thing~ i love you~

FATHER THOUGHT THAT THERE WOULD BE MORE NEED FOR RETAINERS TO COME WITH THEM. As they navigated the bustling streets of the city, Ryomen Hiromi couldn't shake off a palpable sense of tension, despite the festive atmosphere. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with lively chatter and laughter. Yet, an underlying unease lingered—perhaps a whisper from the gods, you mused, familiar with the capricious nature of the divine. Your lips tightened into a straight line, your hand unconsciously drifting to the hilt of your sword. Beneath the surface festivity, an undercurrent of anxiety was palpable.

This might explain why your father had insisted on bringing as many men as possible. The Ryomen family was never short of loyal retainers, and Masaomi had been eager to accompany you. Your father's protective instincts weighed heavily on you, his warnings echoing in your mind. As the sole remaining heir of your distinguished family, his concerns were magnified by the elders’ incessant uproar. Though you understood the necessity of your high profile, it sometimes felt stifling.

As you continued through the lively streets, the festival's atmosphere was electrifying. Lanterns hung from every post, casting dancing lights over the faces of the revelers, each absorbed in their own joyous celebration. The air was thick with the scents of street food and a cacophony of laughter and music, creating a chaotic symphony. Yet, despite the jovial chaos, a tug of unease pulled at your consciousness.

You maintained an even pace and a neutral expression, blending seamlessly into the crowd. The presence of your uncle Hiramu was reassuring; his experienced hand rested nonchalantly on his sword, his eyes scanning the crowd with practiced vigilance. His readiness to protect offered comfort and a reminder of the ever-present potential for danger.

Ryomen Hiromi experienced the weight of the festival differently. While others were drawn into the spirit of celebration, your senses were heightened, alert to any discord. The subtle narrowing of your eyes and the stiffness in your shoulders might go unnoticed by an ordinary onlooker, but they were clear indicators of your tension. The flickering shadows cast by the lantern lights seemed to hide potential threats, and every burst of laughter could be masking whispered conspiracies.

You knew you couldn't afford to let down your guard, not when the stakes were so high. This mission was critical, especially to you, marking a step towards your heir’s role, and the weight of this responsibility was heavy on your shoulders. The festival, with its mask of tradition and celebration, might well be a veneer for more sinister undertones.

Navigating through this sea of faces, your gaze occasionally met those of strangers, your deep hazel eyes searching for any hint of recognition or malice. Being with your uncle Hiramu brought some peace, tempering the anxiety that gnawed at your heart, but the persistent unease remained. Something was amiss, and you could not yet pinpoint it. Your instincts screamed for attention, urging vigilance as the night promised to stretch long.

Reports of strange occurrences and unexplained events had been increasing, stirring unrest among the populace and reaching the ears of Lord Isamu. Typically, such critical missions would fall to your elder brother, Akimu, the designated heir tasked with maintaining the safety and stability of Hida's heartland in your father's stead. But now, with Akimu unable to lead, the weight of responsibility had shifted onto your capable yet burdened shoulders.

Each step felt heavy under the scrutinizing gaze of the moon, illuminating the bustling night with a mocking smile. You took a moment to gather your scattered thoughts, steadying the swirling emotions within. As you lifted your gaze, your eyes began to sharpen, honing in on the play of shadows cast by the lantern light, looking beyond the immediate spectacle to the hidden corners and fleeting movements that might betray underlying threats.

This mission was about more than following in Akimu's footsteps; it was about proving that Ryomen Hiromi could stand firm on uneven, unfamiliar ground. You were determined to command respect, to show that despite your gender, you were every bit the Ryomen heir as any man could be.

As you moved away from the main festivities into quieter, dimly lit parts of the town, Uncle Hiramu finally spoke, his voice low and serious, “Little niece, do you sense it too? There’s a heaviness in the air tonight. It must be what your father was speaking of.”

You nodded, your sharp gaze scanning the shadows. “Yes, I feel it. It's as if the air itself is thick with whispers of the past. There’s a disturbance, not just a vengeful spirit, I think. Something older, deeper.”

Hiramu’s eyes narrowed as he looked ahead. “We should be cautious. These kinds of spirits are often bound to old grudges or unresolved tragedies. The festival’s energy could stir it more than usual.”

You turned into a less crowded alley, where the noise of the festival faded into a distant hum. Your elegant robes brushed against the cobblestones, your attire blending traditional beauty with practicality. The layered silk of your fine kimono was dyed in deep blues and purples, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light, mimicking the night sky. Your obi was tightly cinched, supporting the small dagger hidden within—a necessity for any noble venturing into uncertain situations.

Your father insisted that you dress appropriately. It was outlandish, you supposed. The choices were far too simple for taste, unsuitable for any young beauty of such noble stock. But this was as comfortable as it was safe. Pretense of trade being your desire here in these parts, was much easier than to be quite obvious. Anything more than this would have attracted as much attention as retainers.

“Do you think it’s tied to a particular location or event?” you asked, your voice steady despite the creeping chill that seemed to cling to the edges of the night air. “It’s getting me curious…”

“It could be,” Hiramu replied, his hand never straying far from his sword. “These spiteful little cursed spirits often attach themselves to physical locations where significant emotional events occurred. We’ll need to explore the some sites around here—old battlefields, abandoned shrines, places of great loss or betrayal. Someone is deeply angry, little niece."

Your mind raced, piecing together knowledge with the clues of your current environment. “There’s an old well not far from here, sealed up after a great tragedy struck a hundred years ago during a similar festival. A fire had broken out, and many lives were lost. It was said that the well was cursed thereafter.”

Hiramu’s gaze sharpened, his lips just as sharp when he smiled. “That’s a good place to start. Lead the way, little niece.”

IT HAD TAKEN SOME TIME TO FIND THE CURSED SPIRIT. As the moon ascended, bathing the lively festival in its serene, silver luminescence, you and Uncle Hiramu pressed on with your diligent investigation. The festive air, alive with the thrum of activity and the laughter of revelers, contrasted sharply with your growing tension. Underneath the celestial glow, the reality of your mission slowly began to crystallize, taking on a new urgency as unexpected developments unfolded. It had begun with something ever so simple and from there, unpredictable fate intervened and soon enough, the chaos ensued.

The moment of realization struck you with unsettling suddenness. You patted down the side. There was nothing but panic as you looked to the side of the obi and found nothing. One look was enough to confirm that eager suspicion: the coin purse was missing. You looked up towards Uncle Hiramu. You knew that he was trying not to laugh, but his eyes were too obvious. You smacked your uncle which prompted the laugh to bellow from his belly. All you could do was mope in the silence. You supposed that it was alright. Money was not a big deal. But… your eyes widened.

Without hesitating, your eyes swept across the sea of faces swirling around you. The atmosphere was charged with the festival’s energy, yet your focus was razor-sharp. It was then that you had spotted a distinct splash of color that stood out against the earthy tones of the crowd—a young boy with striking pink hair, weaving through the crowd with the agility and desperation of someone fleeing. You looked at Hiramu, and he nodded back at you.

It was then where your instincts kicked in. You tapped your uncle's arm and started mouthing instructions as subtly as one could towards the fleeing figure. Without needing further explanation, Hiramu caught the urgency and nodded. Hiramu took the other direction as you turned to the other.

As you navigated through the dense crowd, the distance between you and the boy closed gradually, you were certain of it. You could sense Hiramu’s cursed energy with each step below against the wide battered ground. You were certain that you were ever so close to bringing a close to the night. But first, you must unravel the night's mysteries. That boy was the key.

Ryomen Hiramu wasted no time as he dashed from stall to stall, street to street. He could feel it, he could feel it too well. That overwhelming power. His seasoned body kicked into high gear, and he swiftly maneuvered through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the pink-haired boy darting through the festival, speeding through the brunt of human bodies. Hiramu cursed under his breath. The child was too clever. With each step, Hiramu's determination as he ran through a corridor of small houses clamped together—one of the poorest sects of life in the quaint area.

As he closed the gap between them, Hiramu noticed an unusual, dark shimmer around the boy—an ominous aura that seemed almost palpable in the moonlit night. This was no mere act of theft; it was clear there was something far more sinister at play. The aura surrounding the boy twisted and writhed like a living thing, a visual manifestation of deep-seated emotional turmoil. It became apparent that this child was not acting alone; he was bound to a cursed spirit, a malevolent force likely fueled by intense feelings of anger, fear, and loneliness.

The realization struck Hiramu with a harsh chill. The spirit's presence suggested that the boy's actions were not entirely his own, that he was under the influence of these dark energies that fed on negative emotions. Such spirits were known to attach themselves to vulnerable souls, magnifying their darkest thoughts and driving them to act in ways they might not otherwise, turning their inner turmoil into outward chaos. Just as he drew his sword, you turned from the corner. Ryomen Hiromi threw that heavy bound haori away, looking at Hiramu.

“Shibaru One! Binding Fate!” you exclaimed, your voice clear and commanding as streaks of luminous energy surged towards the boy. He let out a sharp cry, writhing against the ethereal chains that now ensnared him under your control.

“Be careful!” Hiramu cautioned, moving closer to assist. “He's the source, he's entwined with that cursed spirit!”

You nodded, your focus undeterred by the boy's struggles as you tightened your grip on the energy that bound him. The spectral chains glowed brighter, each pulse of light strengthening the hold over the chaotic spirit within him. Your uncle's warning echoed in your mind, reinforcing your burning resolve to act with both precision and caution.

The boy’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, met yours. You could see the turmoil swirling within him, the innocent caught in the grip of something far beyond his control. “Hold on, just a little longer,” you murmured, your voice a blend of firmness and reassurance intended to pierce through the haze of his panic. A faint smile blossomed from your lips. “Trust me, okay?”

Hiramu understood the gravity of the situation—they were dealing with a phenomenon that was both a danger to the boy and to all those attending the festival. The cursed spirit needed to be dealt with delicately and decisively, for the safety of the boy and the peace of the community. There were too many people here that would not understand what was going on.

There was no need to make a bigger ruckus. With this understanding, Ryomen Hiramu pressed on, his resolve hardened, knowing that he and you must act swiftly to intervene and dispel the darkness that had taken hold of the young boy.

As Hiramu closed in, the cursed spirit sensed the threat and began to lash out, manifesting as tendrils of dark energy. You, realizing the severity of the situation, knew immediate action was required. "Start the purification ritual!" Hiramu shouted over his shoulder as he dodged a swipe from the spirit. "I'll hold it off! Just go and do your job!”

You crossed the tips of your fingers, your eyes narrowing deeper into the soul of the boy. You began to chant softly, the words of an ancient purification rite falling rhythmically from your lips. The boy looked frightened by all means, as the white light did what it could, purging one dark fabric from the boy one after the other.

The air around you seemed to hum with power as your words wove through the currents of energy emanating from your firm hands. The glowing chains tightened further, and the dark aura around the boy began to dissipate, sucked away into the void created by your spell. But as with all things, it tried to keep alive.

Meanwhile, Hiramu engaged the spirit, his sword movements precise, each strike intended not to harm the boy but to distract the spirit and weaken its hold. The sound of the boy’s screams pierced through over and over again, the cursed spirit overlaying against each agonizing echo. He could see the ritual's glow intensifying, the light beginning to engulf the boy, binding and suppressing the dark energy around him.

As the ritual reached its climax, your voice rose in a powerful cadence, your tender hands outstretched towards the boy, directing the flow of purified energy. The cursed spirit writhed and howled and fought over and over, its form becoming unstable under the ritual’s influence. Sweat permeated through your sleeves, your teeth gritted, your eyes narrowed, over and over the ringing of each of your ears continued as the boy continued to fight for his life.

With a final, desperate cry, the cursed spirit dissipated, expelled in one painful grip. All of a sudden, your white cursed energy also disappeared. You gasped out loud as your shaking knees fell to the ground, weary from it all. It was the first time you had used that purification technique. But it seemed that it had finally worked. You looked at the empty depth of your palm.

Your eyes shined. You had done that. Hiramu looked at you, rushing towards you. But you stopped him, coughing as you regained air. You pointed to the boy, sprawled on the pavement. Hiramu sheathed his sword back. Soon enough, Hiramu could only lift the boy in his arms.

The boy, now freed from the spirit’s grasp, collapsed, exhausted but unharmed. He was perhaps trying to catch his breath. He must have been exhausted. You, having returned to the plane of reality, rushed to his side, your own energy spent. You were certain that there was no bigger word than relief as you eagerly confirmed that he was safe. His eyes were both soft and weary as he looked at that boy. He lifted his head at you.

Hiramu's eyes remained narrowed, the wrinkles at the corners deepening as he surveyed the scene before him. Despite the successful expulsion of the spirit, his instincts told him there was more to uncover. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight that drew your attention immediately. "Something is still not right," he said, his tone heavy with unease.

You nodded, understanding the depth of your uncle's concern. You gently placed your palm on the boy's forehead, feeling the residual heat of the ritual. "He's warm, uncle," you observed as your voice echoed tinged with worry.

"Purification techniques are painful to the body," Hiramu responded, his voice a low hum, soothing yet solemn. "It’s purging the worst of the soul, after all. Still, it must be said. You did well, little niece."

The corners of your mouth twitched into a slight smile, a rare break in your usually stern demeanor. "Such praise is rare, uncle."

Hiramu let out a soft snicker, his usual stern facade momentarily giving way to familial warmth. "I compliment you all the time," he claimed, though his smile betrayed the playfulness of his exaggeration.

"That sounds like a lie, uncle," you retorted, your weary eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection.

"Yeah, yeah," Hiramu dismissed playfully, but his attention quickly returned to the matter at hand as the boy began to stir. You blinked, taken aback by the sudden movement. You had been so focused on your exchange that the boy's awakening caught you momentarily off guard.

"What do you intend to do with this boy, niece?" Hiramu asked, his tone shifting back to the gravity of your situation. His question hung in the air, pressing you for a decision, reminding you of your responsibilities. “You’re the only one who can decide the lad’s fate.”

“Uncle—”

“You are my better, even if I am your elder and uncle.” Hiramu added, watching you become flustered as he watched the young lady shift in her position. “What do you think is right?”

You took a deep breath, your gaze shifting from Hiramu to the boy who was slowly regaining consciousness. You could see the confusion and fear flicker across his young face as he came to grips with his surroundings. He seemed disoriented, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of what had happened to him.

Your voice rang out with a firm resolve, words carrying an air of unwavering determination. You met the older man’s gaze with a steady intensity, your expression betraying no hint of doubt. 

"We'll bring him back with us to the manor," you declared, leaving no room for argument. "I'll send word ahead to let them know."

Hiramu's response was laced with a sense of foreboding. "They won't like this," he cautioned, his words heavy with the weight of tradition and expectation. You understood exactly what he meant—the elders, with their adherence to protocol and rigid adherence to tradition, were unlikely to approve of your deviation from established norms. But your determination remained unshaken.

"That is a matter I will handle myself, uncle," you asserted, your voice steady and resolute. You were acutely aware of the potential consequences of defying the elders, but your concern for the boy's well-being outweighed any fear of reprisal. "Do not worry."

Hiramu sighed, a reluctant acknowledgment of your determination. Despite his reservations, he knew better than to stand in your way when your stubborn mind was set to its desires. 

"Very well," he conceded, his voice tinged with resignation. At that moment, he placed his trust in your judgment, knowing that you would do whatever was necessary to ensure the young boy’s safety and well-being, even if it meant challenging the traditions of your elders. “What else?”

“We might stay a day longer, to make sure that this is the only concern.” You retorted back to him, pursing your lips together in a tight line. “I shall head off and see to it that barriers are strengthened. There need not be any more situations like this one.”

“Very well. I’ll go ahead and take him to our inn.”

“Make sure he’s well fed, uncle. And that he’s alright.” 

Hiramu snickers. “You act as though I didn’t take care of you or your brother.”

"I’ll check on him when I return. We need to ensure he's truly free of any residual curse," you said tenderly towards the older man.. "We also need to understand who he is. How did he get here at all, past the barriers. And how did he get this powerful. This puzzle requires quite a bit of effort.”

Hiramu nodded in agreement, his face reflecting his approval of your thorough approach. "Very well," he replied, "We should also see if we can help him find his way. No one should be left to wander alone, much so not one who has been through such an ordeal."

You knelt beside the boy, offering a reassuring smile. "Can you tell us your name?" you asked gently, hoping to ease him into conversation.

As the boy's gaze met yours, his initially wide eyes began to soften, a subtle shift that hinted at his growing realization of safety in your presence. Despite this reassurance, he remained silent, a reaction you attributed to the lingering shock and confusion from the events he had endured. Understandingly, you accepted his quiet, knowing well that pushing him to speak before he was ready could only cause further distress.

You addressed him with a gentle, reassuring smile, your tone soft yet imbued with an underlying strength. "Take all the time you need, little boy," you encouraged, your words floating warmly in the cool air, offering him the space and time he might require to recover from his ordeal. Your smile, kind and patient, was meant to communicate that he was under no pressure to reveal anything before he felt comfortable.

Straightening up, you prepared to continue your duties, aware of the responsibilities that still awaited your attention beyond this encounter. You glanced towards your uncle, who had also been through a trying time, his vigilance unyielding as he supported your efforts. 

"Get some rest. You too, uncle," you added, acknowledging his fatigue and your appreciation for his steadfast support. "I’ll return with haste."

As you turned to leave, the boy's eyes followed your every move, wide and contemplative. In the quiet aftermath of your promise, his gaze lingered on your retreating figure, a mix of newfound trust and lingering uncertainty playing across his features.  His eyes, filled with a depth that spoke of both fear and curiosity, seemed to hold a thousand unasked questions. 

As he watched you disappear into the crowd, there was a palpable sense of wonder about whether he could find his voice, not just to speak but to share his thoughts, fears, and perhaps his hidden stories. The boy was silently grappling with the idea of opening up, of letting someone else into his secluded world.

You, aware of his watchful eyes, felt a twinge of responsibility and hope. His silent scrutiny did not go unnoticed, and it reminded you of the delicate task ahead—not just protecting him from external dangers but also nurturing his trust and confidence to the point where he would feel safe to express himself. The boy's quiet contemplation as you walked away hinted at the significant role you would play in his life, potentially being the first to hear his voice when he finally chose to speak. 

As you melded with the festivities, the distance between you growing, you carried with you the weight of his unspoken thoughts, hoping that when you returned, the boy would be ready to break his silence, allowing you into his world. Until then, he shuts his eyes. He lets the sleep take him to the nether world, where nightmares still come to follow.

HIROMI THINKS THAT SLEEP WAS ALL THAT WOULD FIX THINGS. Hiromi returned to the heart of the festival, your task of reinforcing the protective barriers around the periphery completed. Your work, involving the meticulous weaving of energy to strengthen the existing magical defenses, had left you sharp and attuned to even the slightest disturbance. The process was arduous, as you needed to locate and neutralize any lingering curses that could threaten the festival's sanctity. Each of these encounters, a dance of skill and arcane prowess, tested not only your abilities but also your mental fortitude and resolve.

The challenges were varied, ranging from minor nuisances that were swiftly dealt with, to more stubborn, malignant energies that demanded all your focus and power to dispel. Yet, you managed each with precision and control, your extensive training and natural aptitude shining through. With every curse you unraveled and every barrier you chose to further fortify. As Akimu ensured the festival grounds remained a safe haven, you would do the same. This land must always be free from the influence of dark forces.

This vigilant defense was crucial, not only to protect the attendees but to maintain the balance of energies within the festival area. Any breach could lead to chaos, potentially unleashing harm on the unsuspecting revelers. Your successful fortification of the area thus served as an invisible shield, one that allowed the festival to continue in joyous celebration without the shadow of malevolent interference.

As the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn, you continued that prideful vigilance, keeping a watchful eye on the worshippers gathered for the festival. Amidst the joyous celebrations, you remained ever alert, scanning the crowd for any signs of disturbance or danger. It was in the stillness of the early morning hours that you noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

Despite the dim light of dawn, you sensed a presence nearby, a stirring of energy that caught all of your attention. Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward the source and saw the pink-haired boy, his eyes open and alert. You approached him quietly, your movements fluid and deliberate. You could sense that something had changed, that your encounter earlier had left an impression on him. With a gentle smile, you greeted him, your voice soft but reassuring.

"Good morning," you said, your tone warm with genuine concern. "How are you feeling?"

The boy's gaze flickered between curiosity and caution as he studied you, trying to parse the intentions behind your unexpected approach. Despite the swirl of doubt clouding his young mind, there was an undeniable sense of comfort that seemed to emanate from your presence—somewhat a stability in the tumultuous sea of his current experiences. Sensing his hesitation, you understood his reticence; after all, to him, you and uncle Hiramu were nothing more than strangers who had suddenly entered his life under unusual and likely frightening circumstances.

However, you sensed a deeper narrative woven into the fabric of the boy's aura, a story that extended beyond his current fear and confusion. You were determined to unearth the role he played in the festival's strange occurrences, driven by a conviction that his involvement was not merely coincidental. This was uncharted territory, a situation that neither you nor the festival had encountered before. Yet, you believed that new challenges were always opportunities for growth and understanding, reminders that there is always a "first time" for every occurrence in life.

Respecting his silence, you chose not to press him further for answers. You recognized that trust needed to be earned, especially in such delicate circumstances. It was then, in a moment of frailty, that the boy's strength seemed to falter, his body leaning as if he might collapse. Reacting swiftly, you stepped forward, kneeling to catch him, your movements guided by a blend of concern and readiness to support him.

As he rebounded slightly, stabilized by your quick intervention, he blinked up at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and bewilderment. In that brief exchange of looks, a silent understanding began to form. Your actions spoke louder than any words could have; they conveyed a promise of protection and empathy, laying the groundwork for a trust that might soon allow the boy to share his story and perhaps reveal the mysteries surrounding the events that had drawn you all together.

As you extended your hand toward him, he hesitated momentarily before his eyes blinked in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Observing his uncertainty, you offered him a tender smile, softening your expression to ease his apprehension.

"Are you alright, young one?" you asked, your voice low and soothing, cutting through the noise of the surrounding festivities.

In that moment, the boy found himself unexpectedly captivated by your presence. There was something almost ethereal about you, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within, casting a gentle, enchanting glow in the soft light of the festival’s lanterns—ones which still light up the dark morning glory. Your form appeared haloed by this light, lending you an otherworldly grace that was both comforting and awe-inspiring.

Your eyes, warm and inviting, seemed to draw him in further. They were deep pools of compassion and understanding, reaching out to him across the void of his own confusion and fear. As your eyes met, he felt a profound connection; it was as though you could see into the very depths of his soul, understanding his fears and yearnings without a word spoken.

The world around both of you seemed to pause, creating a bubble of serenity amidst the chaos. To the boy, this wasn’t just a simple meeting; it was a pivotal moment that would redefine his understanding of safety and hope. Even before he knew your name, Hiromi, he saw in you not just a protector or a higher power, but a guiding light, a beacon of hope illuminating his darkened world.

"What's your name?" you inquired gently, noticing his silence but undeterred by it.

When he remained mute, your smile broadened, radiating kindness and patience. "It’s okay if you have no name," you reassured him, your voice a soft anchor in his stormy sea of thoughts.

Upon hearing this, he looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of amazement and relief. Here was someone offering not just help, but a place and a presence in the world.

"I’ll give you one." you promised, a simple offer that nonetheless promised him a new beginning, a sense of identity and belonging that he had long craved. This simple gesture of naming was more than a label; it was a gift of a new life and a fresh start under your protective gaze.

You smile warmly at him, feeling the weight of the moment as you prepare to give him a name—a simple yet profound gift that could anchor him to a new beginning. When you smile at him, he thinks he found heaven. monsters like him do not deserve heaven. Yet the goddess you were, embraced him in the warmth of tender night. Names were important. In the family, it was.  Sensing the importance of the choice, you think carefully, choosing a name rich with strength and history. The family histories had such good names to choose from, you think.

"Would the name Ryomen Sukuna suffice for you?" you ask gently, observing his reaction to gauge whether it resonates with him. “Now that you are with us, you will gain two lives. The past and now the future. Will you accept it, little one?”

The boy looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he processes the name. It's clear he is unfamiliar with its origins or meanings, but there is an undeniable flicker of intrigue in his gaze. Ryomen Sukuna, a name that carries echoes of a mystic and power to it. Entirely opposite of what he had known. The boy, now Sukuna, thinks this could imbue him with a sense of might and courage, perhaps reflecting the new path he might choose to follow under your guidance. And then, maybe then, he can serve you. With this new name.

For a moment, he remains silent, contemplating the name, rolling it over in his mind. Then, slowly, a tentative smile begins to form on his lips. It seems to suit him, or at least, he is willing to step into the mantle it could offer.

"Ryomen Sukuna," he repeats softly, testing how the name feels as it comes out of his mouth. His voice is unsure at first, but with each repetition, he seems to grow more comfortable, more accepting of it.

Seeing his acceptance, your smile broadens. "Yes, Ryomen Sukuna," you confirm with a nod, affirming his new identity. "It’s a strong name, one that I believe can help guide you to become whoever you wish to be."

The boy nods, a sense of new identity beginning to settle within him. The name, though ancient, now starts a new chapter in his life, one filled with potential and promise. You extend your hand to him once more, this time as a gesture of warmth. A future worth looking forward to.

"Now, you must be hungry, Sukuna," you suggest warmly, ready to introduce him back into the celebration, not as an orphan lost amidst chaos but as a newly named participant with a protector by his side. “There’s still some stalls open. Some are not yet done with the festival. Do you want something to eat?”

He looks at you for a moment and then tenderly nods. As he takes your hand, his grip is firm, and his initial hesitance seems to wash away with the rising sun. Together, you walk back towards the heart of where the fullness of the festival had been, your steps synchronized. Ryomen Sukuna, newly named and newly empowered, walks beside you, no longer just a passive spectator but a young boy with a nascent but growing sense of belonging and purpose.

Your role as his protector, and now the giver of his name, has created a bond between you, one that promises not only safety but also a future filled with the potential for transformation. As you both step into the bustling festival, the early morning light casts long shadows, yet for Sukuna, illuminated by the glow of the lanterns and buoyed by your supportive presence, the world seems less intimidating.

You had given him a name, securing a place for him in this chaos—a gesture simple yet profound. This act forged a tentative bond, knitting a fragile sense of belonging into his young heart. And now, for the first time, he truly belonged somewhere. On this transformative night, his heart was full of nothing but hope. He had a name—a name that was uniquely his, one his mother had never given him.

As you walked side by side, he looked up at you with eyes shining with admiration. Sukuna adored his new name, not just for its sound or its meaning, but because it was a gift from you. It symbolized a new beginning, a sign of your faith in him. In that simple name, he found a deep sense of identity and purpose. He hoped beyond hope that this newfound connection would last.

Feeling the gravity of this moment, he tightened his grip on your hand. You looked down at him and smiled—a gesture that sealed his newfound faith in this bond. At that moment, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he had been reborn. No longer just a boy lost in the festival's chaos, but a person with a role, a duty, and a place in the world. His life, from that moment forward, was to be lived for you, in devotion to the path you would guide him on. You had become his guardian, his mentor—his goddess—and he, in turn, devoted himself to be your loyal follower.

This rebirth was not just about a new name but a whole new existence shaped by the promise of guidance and protection under your watchful care. As the festival carried on around you, with its myriad lights and shadows, Sukuna walked confidently by your side, secure in his new identity and the journey ahead.

[interastical]

Another Phighting writing account??YAYYAYYAYAYAY

can you do yan!Subspace x former assassin!reader (reader is gender neutral!). The reader was from Blackrock but ran away and uhh Subspace kinda found them again.. oneshot please!

(I stole this request from someone because the other writer hasnt update for a while and I am in desperate need of fanfics.. thank youu!)

sorry for taking so long on requests! i've got a good handful in my inbox now and since i got a lot of my assignments out of the way, i can start working on these ahaha

requests are also still open! please feel free to send some my way in my inbox :)

aanyways, thank u for being so patient!!! here we go

tw - yandere themes, kidnapping, drugging, semi-realistic violence

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖

♡ YAN ! SUBSPACE X READER ♡

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖

Your life at BLACKROCK was -- to put it bluntly, a living hell.

Your entire life, all you ever knew from the moment you entered this world and were shipped off to that horrid faction, was violence, war, weaponry, and murder.

You were trained to hurt people. Hurt demons who dared try to question Blackrock. Those who tried to flee, to escape the freezing confines of the place.

Rules were strictly abided to at Blackrock. Make one mistake -- consider yourself a goner. The best outcome was you being thrown in prison, the worst outcome was being slaughtered publicly.

You were made to abide by the rules and silence those who made the smallest of mistakes.

Nobody ever thought you'd break the rules one day yourself.

So when you one day disappeared, having vanished off the face of the Inpherno, Blackrock believed you were a goner.

That was far from the truth.

You knew the ins and outs of the faction, making your escape was relatively easy -- a cakewalk.

As an assassin, you specialized in stealth, speed, and agility. Maneuvering past guards and treading through freezing cold blizzards did not falter your escape in the slightest.

And when you were finally out, taking a deep breath of the fresher, evenly temperature air, you believed to be in the clear, as long as you managed to keep a life of anonymity, what could go wrong?

And you were right -- everything was fine.

Until one day, when mindlessly watching a PHIGHT, you noticed a familiar face participating in the round.

Subspace T. Mine.

You felt your heart stop in the moment.

Back in Blackrock, the two of you hardly had any form of connection. Rarely spoke to one another, as the two of you were on completely different fields of work.

His rambles about discovery and science nonsense made no sense to you. His work partner - Medkit, seemed constantly annoyed by the guy's presence as well.

You always talked to Hyperlaser more often. You still occasionally met up with him and Katana to go out for drinks in Crossroads -- as Hyperlaser was your only friend from Blackrock who swore to keep your existence a secret to that awful, awful faction.

But you did always take note of how Subspace.. stared at you often, whenever the two of you did manage to encounter one another back in Blackrock.

You remember constantly asking him if he needed something, and he'd whip out some awful excuse, saying how he was just "focusing on something next to you" or "staring off into space".

Yet, he always did it often. It got on your nerves.

The guy was .. a little weird. It's no wonder you constantly avoided him.

But Subspace... knew everything about you. Unbeknownst to you.

He'd often send a Biograft to just .. watch as you worked in Blackrock. He was so utterly captivated by the way you'd wipe out any filthy traitors with a single swipe of your blade.

You were so.. powerful -- flawless, perfect.

Subspace wanted everything you had.

Subspace wanted you.

The way their blood would hit your face, your stoic expression unchanged at their screams and cries -- as you silenced them with ease.

He so badly wanted to talk to you. But he could never find the courage to do so, despite his greatness, talking to you was his only flaw.

Medkit was often forced to listen to his constant rambles about you, often tuning it out and focusing on crystal studies.

But oh -- did Subspace just want to bring you in, set you down and tear you open, digging around at your inner workings, watching as your blood would stain his skin.

He needed you.

So when you disappeared, Subspace was devastated.

His work became sloppy, slower, and his emotions became violent.

Medkit suffered the consequences of his outbursts.

Nothing was never enough. Not without you. He needed to see you again -- even if you were some lifeless, rotting corpse in the midst of a blizzard, or if you were out there somewhere, he needed to find you.

So when he felt eyes on him during a PHIGHT match that he'd found himself participating in, he turned his head.

And he saw you.

You looked different. Your appearance was different, but it did not change the fact that your face was the same.

He found you.

The match? Subspace didn't care about some stupid bux anymore. You instantly clouded his mind. Thoughts of you, your face, your skills, your expression -- everything.

He could hardly hold back the manic laughter bubbling in his chest, rising to his throat.

Subspace had found you.

And he wasn't going to lose you again.

Walking home to your apartment in Crossroads late that night was no unusual activity for you. After saying your goodbyes to Hyperlaser and Katana, you strolled down the empty sidewalk, your apartment building only a few blocks away.

The sounds of crickets in the distance, the soft breeze of the night and the lack of any demons around was rather peaceful for you.

Thoughts of seeing Subspace again had almost completely left your mind, the soft buzz of alcohol from drinking earlier had you a little more careless.

But the sudden rustle of a bush from not far behind you shattered the relaxation you were undergoing, as you froze.

As a trained assassin in the past, you had high reflexes. Any slight noise off in the distance; you were trained to take note of, and prepare to defend yourself.

The night grew still.

You swore you heard quick footsteps.

Multiple footsteps. Two people, max.

One sounded.. normal. The other sounded heavier.

Something wasn't right here.

You quickly took a few steps back, not taking your eyes off of the bushes behind you, your dominant hand moving to reach for your gear so that you could summon it--

You were suddenly yanked backwards by cold, rough, metallic hands wrapping around your waist, locking your arms to your sides.

It wasn't a demon's skin that you felt from your assailant.

" TARGET ACQIRED. "

You knew those voices.

Biografts.

A Biograft was holding you still.

" PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESIST. "

You ignored the bucket of bolts, slamming your head back onto the robot's in hopes to damage it enough for it to loosen its grip, allowing you to escape.

As you felt the arms around you begin to loosen, a figure suddenly ran in front of you.

You felt a sharp pinch in your neck.

You screamed.

Not out of pain, you were trained to have a high pain tolerance.

But you weren't an idiot. You were clearly getting kidnapped -- and you'd most likely just got some kind of injection.

A cold hand covered your mouth.

"..shh, shh." a familiar voice -- slightly muffled underneath a mask, spoke. "Don't scream, beloved. I only gave you a small pinch!"

The demon in front of you -- you recognized him instantly with horror.

Subspace.

You -- how -- he actually noticed you earlier?!

You noticed your vision growing foggier and foggier - your brain turning into mush as comprehending thoughts became harder and harder.

no no no no noononono

You felt Subspace move his hand away from your mouth and over towards your cheek, softly caressing it with his thumb.

"Don't panic." Subspace reassured -- his voice becoming quieter and quieter, sounding farther off into the distance as your consciousness was quickly deteriorating. "I'll take good care of you."

The last thing you felt was being slowly lifted up by the Biograft - and your world faded to darkness.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Can you write fuego with a pregnant wife?

Hi!

I thought that I had done quite a few of them, but... apparently not ^^' Admittedly I took some inspo from my own long fic (aka Embers -series) for this, and basically used a scene as a basis. Anyways, hopefully you like it ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader Genre: Romance/fluff Fanfic type: Oneshot Length: ~0.9k Contains: pregnant reader, marriage mention, Fue gets kicked by the baby in the face, a lot of fluffy feels

Fuegoleon had always deemed himself to be a family man. Granted that he has other aspirations as well, and hadn’t had a partner for such a long time, which was why such a status and aspect of his life had been placed on the backburner for the time being.

Not that it had particularly stopped thinking about the future, and the family he might like to have. A wife. Kids. Maybe a few. One was too few for his liking, but he wouldn’t push for more if his partner so wished.

It was a personal preference if nothing else.

But. It had existed in a daydream for a time longer than he could tell.

Until he had met you.

Not that the images had flashed through his mind clear as day from the very first moment he had laid his eyes upon you, but rather… it was like a gentle, comforting sensation. The knowledge that this… this would be it. With you he could go on to build something.

What he had felt, was a kind of familiarity. Like this was how it was supposed to be, and nothing less would suffice.

A part of him wanted to rush. To just move together. Get married. And have the titles of husband and wife. But another part of him held back. Because that seemed more courteous. Something that one does. Bids their time and takes slow, tentative steps to the ever after. Not marry the woman he met less than a year ago.

Though people did do that.

But people, aside of royalty, were more free to make such actions. And he didn’t wish to place such scrutiny onto the two of you. Because it would just be unwanted attention. Rumours of a bastard child possibly.

Senseless gossip.

Attempts to tarnish a reputation.

No matter how displeased even the mere idea of it made him, he chose to abide the customs. Little steps. One by one. And yet with each day he tried to show his devotion, even if with words, scattered here and there, a passing touch, lingering gaze. Some if which came without a thought, because it, too, was easy; as natural as breathing.

And now…

As you sat there, in the arm chair with rings in your ring finger, and a baby bump on your tummy, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because it was his whole world that existed in that chair. And he made a point to cherish the moments where he could know, with absolute certainty, where the two of you were; away from harm and trouble. In the sanctity of your shared living quarters.

“Come here,” you told him with a whisper while stroking your stomach.

He perked up, eyes opening just a little wider, as he made his way across the room and crouched by your chair.

“The baby is kicking,” your tone was hushed, delicate and tender, as if you were speaking out a secret that was only for the two of you to know.

His eyes shifted between your expression, gorgeous and loving like the first rays of dawn, to the little bump in which your precious child resided.

He placed his hand onto your stomach, and waited.

Waited for a moment longer, eyes attentive and curious.

“Come on,” you cooed. “No need to be shy, kick some for dad too.”

‘Dad’… he thought as the corners of his lips tugged further up.

One of the most esteemed titles he could be granted.

“Come on,” you encouraged again, as if your child could hear. But… somehow it didn’t seem to make a difference, if they could, or could not. After all, they didn’t have the language to comprehend for a good while still. So, you were speaking because… speaking to your own child was one of the most natural things to do.

Your precious miracle.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled and pressed his cheek against your tummy. “You are far better acquainted with your mother,” he mused while closing his eyes. “But I can’t wait to meet you to-“

*Bump*

A kick right to his nose.

He jolted back.

You raised your hand to cover your mouth.

“Feisty,” he said while holding onto his nose. “And packs a punch already.”

There was a laugh that flowed from your lungs; equally amused and concerned.

“Are you okay?” You asked while placing your hand onto his shoulder.

“I am,” he chuckled before placing his cheek against your stomach again. “It seems we’re having a true Vermillion here,” he mused to himself with a wide smile again. “But no kicking or punching your mother,” he told, sternly, to your bump and the child. “Understood?” He quirked an eyebrow.

And… almost as if to reply, there was another kick, but this time against his hand. A much softer one this time.

“Good,” he smiled while closing his eyes.

You placed your hand onto his head, and let your fingers stroke through his silken hair, as your eyelids closed half way at the tender sight before you.

Because this… this really was him, at his happiest. While holding you, and being held by you; when he was with his family.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Riddle, Rook: By Order of the Queen

I wrote this one during a very busy time for me irl so I apologize if I didn’t end off the Platinum Jacket line of imagines strongly 🙇‍♀️

A Tale as Old as Time.

A young girl, an older man, and an odd hare shared the same table. The latter two were sitting upon it, propping their feet on the cloth.

Pots of tea—each of a different design—did not match the cups. A mouse poked its head out of one, curiously staring at the girl. Bent spoons sat beside the saucers, gigantic sugar cubes floating in pools of tea.

Riddle stared at the painting intensely, picking apart the details, the rules being skirted or blatantly violated. The man and the hare are not in chairs, there’s far too much sugar in their drinks, and is there even jam properly smeared on that dormouse?

“Roi des Roses, what about this painting has captured your gaze so?”

He startled at the deep timbre at his ear, jolting back. His shoulders relaxed when he met a familiar face. His heart, still racing, was unable to be wrested under control.

Devious, tumultuous thing, the heart.

Riddle cleared his throat. “A roundabout way of asking for my opinion on this work, Rook-senpai.”

The grin the Pomefiore student wore stretched, reminding Riddle of his childhood days. Cheshire smiles and sugar-coated memories, tasting far sweeter than the hours he toiled at a desk.

“Ah, do forgive me for the sudden request! As an avid fan of art, I love to hear different interpretations of the same piece,” Rook rambled excitedly. “A painting that invokes joy in myself, for example, may bring about despair for you, or vice versa! The wellspring of human emotion, expression, and experience is just that vast.”

With an exasperated expression, Riddle folded his arms. “… Well, I was just thinking that I would never allow for this sort of behavior at an unbirthday party. It would be an affront to the spirit of Heartslabyul.”

And yet…

His chest ached so longing when he looked at the illustration. A taste that remained long after he tried to wash it down. It drew a word out of him, pulled thin.

“However… I must admit, I feel a little envious of their quaint little tea party. It looks…” He grasped for the correct adjective. “… fun.”

Rook’s brows sprung up. “Fun!”

“You disagree? Or does it perhaps surprise you that the rose-red tyrant would make such a remark?”

I know what they say about me. The thought was tinged bitter like medicine as he swallowed.

“Non, non.” Rook wagged a finger, his eyes half-lidded. “You are correct in every way!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Pomefiore vice dorm leader placed a hand on his chest. “My immediate family is quite large and likes to keep busy. Those few precious times when we are able to steal away and sit down for a meal with one another… Those are the most magical of all.”

“We each fall into our seats and—like a match struck, the moment comes alive. Words and laughter flow like fine wine, enhancing the flavor of the food that touches our lips. The weariness of study and work melts away in the dishes and drinks, replaced with good company in a safe, warm haven.

Riddle squinted at his senior. Suspicious. “… What is it that your family does for a living again?” When met with Rook’s still dubious smile, he sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s fine so long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

“Fufufu. Roi des Roses, I see that you’ve considerably lightened your evaluation of the rules.”

Riddle made a pensive sound, not confirming nor denying. “Mmm. Lately I’ve come to a realization.”

“And what might that be?”

He hesitated. “That perhaps the world as I saw it is not as it truly is.”

It feels like waking up from a dream. Tendrils of it still clinging to him as he made to rub them from his eyes.

Rook silently nodded, watching him. Not the huntsman stalking his mark, but a silent observer.

“I wonder for just how long I’ve been living in that false reality. Seeing the tea party and thinking it a disgrace…”

Something slovenly. In need of fixing. Out of line.

Wrong.

“Ah, but—” Rook raised a finger, “what matters now is that the veil has lifted. The line between truth and lies is that much clearer to you. That is the first step to any story: the beginning.”

Then his hand fell and grasped Riddle’s.

“R-Rook-senpai…?!”

The man practically glowed, his grip firm. “Now the decision to stay on the path or to stray from it is yours.”

To renounce the party or to join it, given the invitationz

Riddle pulled himself away with a frown. “Of course, within the limits of what is acceptable,” he lectured. “A minimum level of decorum is expected, even at the most ‘fun’ of festivities. Should anyone cause a disturbance in the peace—”

He raised his arm, slashing at the air once, delivering a strong blow to an invisible victim. Riddle, in his element, brimmed with smugness, arrogant as an unchallenged queen.

“—it will be off with their head!”

Without an ounce of fear, Rook laughed and bowed his head. “As the queen commands, so shall I heed her orders,” he drawled. A tilt of the head, then came a suggestion. “And if I were to drop by an unbirthday party to observe?”

“Because you asked politely, I may consider it—but see to it that you attend as your normal self,” Riddle warned. “That means I expect you to be on time, your behind planted in a seat at the table. There will be no hiding out in the bushes, no watching us from a distance. You are to stay and engage in all manner of merrymaking with us.”

“Oh la la!” Rook feigned surprise, throwing both hands up in an exaggerated act. “Is that a rule?”

“No, but they are orders,” Riddle clarified with an all-knowing smirk. “After all, it would be a shame if you disobeyed and missed out on all the fun we shall have.”