#ugh hes so sweet he wants to be so genuine all the time

[sysig]

See you everywhere, now that you’re gone (Patreon)

[earlyspringtranscendence]

btw i think one of the most impt hobbies in the world is having a mostly non-existent, mostly self indulgent crush on a professor/lecturer just to zone out to their classes to and focus instead on their hair and their hands and their dark circles speaking NAWT from experience. maybe a little bit.

[ame-to-ame]

love being nd and have the tism wolf Inside me be so drastically uncomfortable with uncertainty that i physically cannot think about school and having to deal w the unknown of that whole situation without losing 5lbs in 2 days

[lokissweater]

sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.

warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.

word count: 9.6k

authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—

yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.

you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.

you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.

and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.

that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.

that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.

he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.

and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.

“hello?”

you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.

“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”

“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.

yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.

a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.

“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.

“uh— milkshake?”

your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.

“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”

your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.

“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”

he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.

“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”

“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.

you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.

“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”

“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”

you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”

his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”

“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”

“fuck okay! jesus—”

you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.

and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.

he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.

he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.

“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”

“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.

“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about— about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“

“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."

“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”

“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. and it sucks for you.”

“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”

“way fucking done.”

as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.

“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”

and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.

yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.

soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.

he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.

“you don’t—”

you shot up startled.

“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”

“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”

“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.

“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.

how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.

yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”

he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”

“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”

you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”

yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”

“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”

“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.

“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”

yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.

“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”

“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.

“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”

“like be mean? like them?”

you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”

“are all of your friends like that?”

“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”

yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.

he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.

“do you want… another elvis shake?”

you looked up. “what?”

“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”

“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”

he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”

and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.

you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.

“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”

“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”

the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.

yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.

“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”

“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”

“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.

“oh shit!—”

“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”

he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”

yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”

you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.

he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”

“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.

“i hope you feel better…”

your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.

“i do yuta… thank you!”

the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.

you paused in front of the jukebox again.

“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”

he picked his head up. “from earlier?”

“if— if you listen to elvis?”

“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”

you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.

“oh my god i love him too! so much!”

“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”

“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”

“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”

“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”

“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”

you gushed. “i like that one too!”

you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.

and he loved elvis.

“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”

you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”

you tilted your head. “really? why?”

“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”

“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”

“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.

“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”

your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.

“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”

“no?”

“no.”

you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”

“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”

“yeah!”

“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”

yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”

he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”

your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.

you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.

“you think i’m pretty?”

beautiful.

yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.

“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.

“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.

“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”

you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.

“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.

and he nearly just about died.

“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”

you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.

you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.

in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.

“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.

“what if i work here?”

he stopped.

“work here?”

“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”

he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”

“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”

yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.

“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”

“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.

“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”

you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.

“thank you thank you!”

yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.

“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”

you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.

“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”

“thanks thanks!”

and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.

“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”

yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.

yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”

“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.

“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.

his cheeks went pink.

“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”

yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”

“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”

yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”

his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.

“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”

“what’s so funny?”

you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.

“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”

“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.

“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.

“i said—”

“don’t say it!”

yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.

“yuta has a cru—”

“shut the fuck up!—”

you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.

yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.

“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”

you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”

yu.

“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”

“shut up!”

for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.

yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. “why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”

yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.

“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”

“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”

“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”

“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”

yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.

would you ever kiss him?�� would you ever like him back?

“m—maybe?”

“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”

“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”

yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”

he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.

he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.

“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.

“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.

he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”

“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”

with him.

yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.

there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.

that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.

so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.

maybe he should just ask?

“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”

he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”

“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”

yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”

“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”

he laughed.

“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.

you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”

yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”

“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”

“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”

you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.

but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

but this time it was different.

it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.

“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.

“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”

you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—

riinnggg!

you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.

but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.

“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”

yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.

“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”

“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”

“four?!—”

it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.

so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.

“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.

a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”

“do you wanna—” you stopped.

his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”

“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.

“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”

“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”

you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.

the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.

elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.

you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.

out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.

“yu…” you murmured.

he didn’t trust his voice.

“hm?”

“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”

what?

“kissed… you?”

“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”

yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”

your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”

“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”

the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.

your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”

he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”

his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.

your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.

did he say something wrong?

“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”

“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.

“i— i thought—”

your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.

“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.

“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”

“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”

his shoulders deflated.

“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”

you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.

yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.

he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.

you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.

of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.

the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.

a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.

yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.

when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.

you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.

the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.

through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.

and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.

but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?

yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.

but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?

by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.

you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.

by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.

“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”

yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.

“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”

“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”

“we were closing…”

“uh huh?”

“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”

“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”

“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“

“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”

“my bad…” yuta muttered.

“shit— whatever keep going.”

“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”

“you said other guys?”

yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”

“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”

“yes i did—”

“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”

“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”

“you rejected her.”

“what? no i didn’t—”

“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”

“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.

“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”

yuta stayed silent.

“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”

“holy fucking shit.”

why was yuji kind of smart?

“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.

“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”

yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”

you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.

“oh you have got to fix this.”

yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’

by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.

you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.

“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”

“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”

yuta bit his tongue. “please.”

he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.

“i don’t want it i’m okay.”

“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”

“i got sick of them.”

yuta froze.

you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.

it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.

“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”

the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.

“sorry what did—”

“are you mad at me.”

you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”

“are you upset with me?”

you hummed a no.

yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.

“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”

you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.

“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.”

you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”

“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”

“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”

he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.

“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”

“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.

“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”

you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.

“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”

“i love you.”

you paused.

yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.

you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”

“i love you.”

“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”

you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.

he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.

he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.

the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.

you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.

“are you lying?” you murmured.

his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.

“absolutely not.”

“but you rejected me.”

he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.

“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”

you couldn’t believe it.

“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”

“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.

“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”

“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”

he chuckled softly.

“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”

“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.

yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.

and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.

the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.

“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”

you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.

“how— what— when— where—”

you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.

“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”

“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”

he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”

yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”

“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”

your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.

“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”

yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”

“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”

“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”

your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.

“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”

“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.

yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.

he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.

yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.

“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.

“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”

“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”

he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.

but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.

yuta spoke after a moment.

“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.

“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.

he grinned. “yeah.”

you pulled back to face him.

“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”

“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.

“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”

you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”

you felt his arms tighten around you.

“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”

he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.

“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”

you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.

“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”

yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.

“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”

“cut. it. out!—”

and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…

but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—

that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.

forever.

this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs

(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)

[anantaru]

— flavored chapstick challenge

synopsis. you put on different chapsticks and make your boyfriend guess the flavor <3

including. alhaitham, venti, scaramouche

genre. making out & slightly suggestive, fluff, gn! reader

— alhaitham

as was expected from somebody like the scribe himself, the moment you have challenged your boyfriend alhaitham to such witty game, he, in return, will take it serious, extremely grave to the point where the more actual reason as to why you wanted to play this game in the first place, went straight down the drain.

notwithstanding the fact that such was the case now, the man will always kiss you slowly and passionately, each time, introducing you to how it felt when time froze, whenever he pressed his lips on you.

naturally, to savor the artificial taste on his mouth, he tenderly swipes the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip and hums, then breaths in as glitter and a faint rosy tone was sticking all over his mouth.

alhaitham opens his eyes and watches you struggling weakly at him.

you're holding yourself close to your boyfriend now, both hands around his neck, watching him with flustered cheeks and stars hidden behind your eyes, greeting him with your precious gaze.

alhaitham blinks and found himself holding the eye contact longer, his lips pressing together to voice a deep, low, pleading tone;

"sunsettia, i assume?" he whispers, almost cruelly, staring at your wet lips and like he didn't just tease the living hell out of you.

yet not so fast, since truth must be served in alhaitham's eyes— following his answer he assured you that in order for him to be truly certain, one hundred percent, he needed to repeat that kiss once again, that exact one, maybe use his tongue a little more while he was at it.

— venti

venti simply takes every opportunity to just kiss you while ignoring the entire purpose of the game, even once asking you about the rules again— this isn't him feigning innocence, or is it now?

ah well, you know your boyfriend pretty well, correct? it's not like he doesn't understand what the chapstick challenge was, in fact, when you proposed the idea to him, the anemo archon was utterly delighted, all impulses of soul and senses numbed when he started to become excited about it.

in a tizzy as he was, one of his most beloved hobbies was the secret art in teasing you, not to forget edging you on and playing sweet, miniature tricks on you while adoring the annoyed tone on your pretty expression.

venti gently props up your face with his hand before leaning in, his gentle dreams long subdued when he faces reality. you let yourself slit into his embrace when he begins to kiss your bottom lip, nibbling on the wet skin before tilting his head to let his tongue inside.

you felt malleable, as if all your troubles and worries simply had melted like snow in the sun, trickling away into pure nothingness— and ugh, he did it once again, making you forget about the game as well.

instead of saying something, you resort to letting yourself drift into his warmth, stroking one hand into his tousled hair before tenderly clashing your tongue against his own— yet before you knew it, venti was senseless once again, abruptly pulling away red-cheeked, "hehe, it's valberry, isn't it?"

— scaramouche

sometimes you wonder if scaramouche genuinely believes that you cannot pick up on what his secret plans are, especially when it came to a game you, in fact, controlled.

you were aware of your boyfriend and on how smart he was, not to mention knowledgable— so why, out of the blue, he pretends to not get the flavor right, even worse, not a single one was guessed correctly the entire day.

come on now, he clearly knows the answer, look at his handsome face blushed with love and that awfully sweet smirk plastered all over his lips, attached with residue of your chapsticks showing a little glitter on his face.

scaramouche was getting more clumsy the more chapsticks you tried out, even swallowing down the first two letters of the real answer before messily uttering the complete opposite.

perhaps, he believes you kiss all the grief and longing away from his flesh, and so this is why he wants to kiss you more, or make you kiss him instead— see it this way, he doesn't need to say it out loud and embarrass himself, despite his progress in trusting the people around him, scaramouche found himself struggling regardless.

even so, all his thoughts, all his passions, all his delights, whatever you stirred enclosed by his immortal frame, he refers to it as a bubble of love, and your touch alone calms his fiery flame within a dark spot in his body.

with gentleness crossing paths in your view, you admire kuni and purse your lips, remaining silent as his mind was long since lulled into soft calmness.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[angstigone]

fictional medias are definitely calling me pathetic in a few langauges because what does it say about me that I see a pretty boy wounded and being generally nice and I am folding like a lawn chair?

let us live, if we must die. / chapter two: of blood and fire

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 6.6k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, tending to aki's wounds, but things don't all go to plan. warning: a few small mentions of blood / wounds / a knife

notes: we're in aki's perspective this time! reader & aki's relationship is off to an interesting start... hope you enjoy this one hehe. next chapter will be a bit longer and include multiple scenes!

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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Aki awakes to the sound of a crackling fireplace. 

He blinks, his eyes still tired. His blurry vision slowly begins to come back into focus. When it does, he is met with an unfamiliar ceiling in a room he doesn't recognize. Candlelit shadows dance above him. The cottage, right. Relief washes over his mind, his body, and his weary muscles, the sensation as strong and comforting as the warmth from the nearby fire. The forest was cold. Rain soaked into his bare skin, until every droplet felt like ice in his bones, bitterness in his boiling blood. But now, he is warm. Safe, at last. 

He remembers first spotting the cottage in between dense trees and pouring rain. Every step grew harder and harder to take, his legs becoming heavier by the second. By the time he reached the doorstep, he knew he was at the end of his rope. Now, his fate was no longer in his own hands. He recalls knocking on the door, seeing it open, falling, fading — 

Yeah, he needs to apologize for that. He has a lot he probably needs to say to you, actually. 

Aki listens to the fire flicker and fizzle, while he continues to idly watch the ceiling's pirouetting shadows through heavy eyelids. He's alive. His heart pounds forcefully against the caged walls of his chest, as if reminding him, taunting him. Attempting to recall the moments before he lost consciousness, his thoughts can't help but wander back to you. 

You were moonlit, the serene glow of the stars shining in your eyes and your panicked expression. Aki felt his throat go dry. His hands shook. His breath took on a tender hitch, despite the pain still splintering through him. He plays that moment over and over again in his mind, and Gods, he knows he's already messed everything up. He probably scared you. No, he definitely startled you. Arriving at a stranger's door all blood-soaked and weary, before proceeding to pass out on them doesn't make for the most positive of introductions. 

Of course, all things considered, getting off on the wrong foot with you was perhaps inevitable. He can only wonder how long it might take now, to try and get the two of you on the right foot. 

With a steady breath in, and a moment to prepare, Aki pushes himself up. Instantly, he winces, grunting in pain. The still-fresh wound on his side sends pain tearing through him like sharp, icy daggers. A heavy ache settles over his spine, then his limbs. 

He glances around; you have him resting next to a stone fireplace, on what seems to be a makeshift wooden cot. His shirt is laid out, drying by the fire. You've washed the blood from it, for the most part. When he examines himself, he sees his torso wrapped in cloth, torn and tied together to make bandages, fabric closest to his side stained a dull, dried red. 

"Don't move." 

The sound of your voice gets him to glance in your direction. With your back turned towards him, you're standing at the kitchen counter. You are preparing something, your knife chopping smoothly, echoing a firm noise each time it hits the cutting board. Aki huffs the start of a rebuttal, but you don't let him get very far. 

"I'm fine, I-"

"You risk tearing your stitches if you move," You scold, tone stern, your movements halting. Aki feels the anticipation heighten in his veins, the room briefly going silent, save for a persistent echo of rain hitting the roof. 

You glance over your shoulder to look at him, and proceed to shoot him a particularly harsh glare. "So please, lay back down." 

The intricate features of your face are just as captivating as Aki remembers. 

Slowly, without taking his eyes off you, he leans back, the cot creaking once he's settled. You breathe an annoyed-sounding sigh before returning to your work. A drizzle hums outside steadily, softer than the earlier downpour. The storm is passing, thankfully. 

Your stone pestle knocks and grinds against a wooden bowl. The fireplace crackles, calm flames flooding Aki's body with a comforting sense of heat. It casts him in gentle light, lambent sparks reflecting off his eyes, and in the smooth metal of his earrings. 

Once you've finished grinding the herbs, you unscrew the cap of a nearby flask, and you pour a generous amount of water into the bowl. Each scrap of vegetation dissolves almost immediately, leaving behind a thin mixture, colored in shades of green and muddy purple. You have the bowl held in both hands when you finally walk over to him, careful not to let anything spill. 

You kneel down beside the cot, eyeing him nervously. Your lips press together to form a taut line. Awkward seconds pass in droves, before you manage to say something at last. 

"Tilt your head up," You're instructing. You have the cadence of someone who isn't used to their own voice leaving their lungs, Aki notes. When he does so, propping himself up a bit, your free hand hesitantly shifts to rest underneath his head for support. He swears he can feel your uneasiness. 

"Drink this." 

You've let his hair down, and the long, messy strands brush your palm; they lightly tickle the back of his neck, and fall to frame his pointed ears. Orange light caresses him, flickering over old scars and freckled skin. Aki breathes deeply, his gaze locked with yours. You're so close. Close enough to make him feel as though the stars themselves are burning in his heart. 

There's fear in your eyes. The sort of fear he's come to recognize on others, countless times before. The same fear that would've taken over him when he was much younger. But there's gentleness, as well. A genuine concern, as you watch the choppy rise and fall of his chest from the corner of your eye. 

He owes you everything, and more than that, still. If it wasn't for you, he surely would have died out there. When he was running, rain pelting his back while he sprinted as fast as his weak legs could take him — fruitless, for the devils were already following his blood trail — he thought he was definitely going to. 

What a terribly awful, terribly stupid death that would be. Aki always imagined his end would come at the clawed hands of a devil. It was the fate he accepted, when he swore to hunt them. With no mercy, they will end him someday, just as they've taken his family, and each of his peers. Yet, to die there, from such a foolish mistake, to perish because he merely fumbled with his weapon when he should have been focused — In whatever afterlife he stumbled into, kind or cruel, he would never have forgiven himself. 

His mind has been wandering elsewhere quite often, as of late. From now on, he needs his focus maintained if he wants to survive. Between his troubles, his training, and his responsibilities, it's like his brain hasn't rested in weeks. And then there's this damned forest, the devils, and you. Something tells him he won't be finding his composure any time soon. 

Aki's nose wrinkles up on instinct when you bring the bowl to his lips. You tut, shaking your head. 

"It smells bad, I know," You're scoffing, "But it isn't going to taste any better. Drink it all, it'll help." 

With his eyes screwed shut, you begin to tilt the bowl back, and he forces himself to down the entirety of the mixture. It sticks to his throat, thick and unbelievably bitter; it makes him cough once he tries to breathe. He swallows dryly, allowing the taste to gradually dull. Satisfied, you rise to your feet. Empty bowl in hand, you're finally heading back towards the kitchen. 

"Demons got you good," You hum, sweeping stray scraps of herbs from the counter into your palm. Glass jars line the back edge of the counter, and you pop the lid on one, carefully brushing the corresponding traces inside. "You'll heal though, in time. Shouldn't be left with another scar, unless you keep messing with your stitches." 

Aki leans back into the cot, his messy hair fanned out around him. He runs his fingers over his torso, feeling the outline of the ragged bandages. They're wrapped tightly to protect the wound on his side. The gash underneath stings slightly when he touches it, still. 

"Thank you," He murmurs, turning his head to glance at you. His voice is low, breathy. Honest. "If you hadn't brought me in, I think I would have bled to death." 

"You definitely would have," You grumble under your breath, a bit louder than intended. You exhale a small tsk, your nails rhythmically tapping against the side of the glass jar. "You're heavy, very heavy. I had to practically drag you inside. And you talk in your sleep, too." 

Aki snorts, breathing something of a dry laugh. He props his head up, resting it on top of his arm. "What was I talking about?" 

Briefly, you hesitate. "How am I supposed to know? It was gibberish." You set the jar back into place, and carefully straighten the entire assortment. "At least I knew you were sleeping and not- you know. Dead." 

At last, you're starting to sound sure of yourself. He hardly minds your harshness; he's the one who nearly barged in, he certainly deserves to be met with a hint of vitriol. Aki finds your sudden ray of confidence to be pleasant, in fact, like standing in the shimmer of a rising sun. Perhaps he can make amends with you after all. 

"I was lucky," Aki starts. "I wasn't expecting to find anyone all the way out here. You saved my life. I don't plan on forgetting that." 

Busying yourself with cleaning your kitchen knife, you pour water onto a towel before using it to hastily polish the blade. 

"Where are you from?" You ask him, changing the subject entirely. "The city?"

He shrugs. "I suppose you could call it that." 

"The city's awfully far from here." 

"It is," Aki responds calmly. He distracts himself by watching you, his gaze flickering over your form: bathed in shadow, and touched by the slightest lamp glow. Your back is facing him again, and your shoulders are tense, wound up. Your hooded cloak has holes here and there, with the bottom edge of your cape distinctly ragged from tear marks. The deep blue color of the cape's fabric matches the makeshift bandages around his torso. 

"But you're from there," He continues, eyes narrowed, "Aren't you?" 

You pause. Just barely, he hears you take a shuddery, uncertain breath. "I've never been." 

Aki concentrates on the idle drum of raindrops — tapping against the roof, the windows, and the ground outside. Nourishing each blossoming tree, and every overgrown blade of grass. The sound is low, yet calming. 

"That's a shame," He says. "The weather in the kingdom has been so much nicer." 

Suddenly, in one smooth, quick movement, you're turning around. You're dropping the towel and the knife down on the counter with a faint clatter, and you're twisting to face him head on. Your cold glance is immediately interrogating him, flickering up, and then back down. 

"Has? So you've been there recently?" You snap, the bridge of your nose forming a disgruntled knot. Your arms cross tightly over your chest. "Thought you were an adventurer. The kind that doesn't like to stay in one place, the kind that goes out searching for treasure and jewels and monsters- that sort of thing. Why don't you explain what you were doing in the kingdom, then?" 

Aki frowns. "I was born there, if you must know." 

"Yeah, I must," You counter sharply, a brow raised. "And that still doesn't answer my question." 

Aki's teeth grit slightly when he sits up, a hint of stinging pain promptly sparking in his side. Firelight frames his face in amber hues and pockets of shadow — his expression is unreadable, but soft. Desperate, almost. If you were planning on telling him he should lay back down, the annoyed twitch in your brows is the most you let on. 

"I'm an adventurer, just not the kind you're thinking of. I'm… I'm a devil hunter. That's what the people in the kingdom call it," He explains; the ache spreading through his body leaves him a tad out of breath, and his next words are spoken between a subtle wince. "I'll venture far from the kingdom to kill them, but I also take care of anything lurking too close to the city's outskirts. I came here to practice. The devils in this forest were reported to be weaker. At least, compared to the hunts I usually go after." 

"Really?" You roll your eyes, huffing in exasperation while your arms go loose at your sides. "And I'm supposed to believe you came here to fight demons, without a weapon on you?" 

"Devils, you mean." 

"Whatever you call them." 

Aki presses a palm against his side, and matches your stern gaze with a composed one. "I had a sword. The devils disarmed me, and when they did, they all but destroyed it. I left my things behind when I ran, to make it easier to escape. Hence why I showed up empty-handed." 

You're quiet as you think, eyes glancing between him and his torso. "You're awfully terrible at coming up with excuses. Either you're a trained demon hunter, or you're an idiot who nearly lost his life to a bunch of demon-sprat. So, which is it?" 

"Devils are ruthless," He explains hastily, "They can easily overwhelm their target if they attack in numbers, and I know you're aware of that, you must be. The storm- I think it was causing them to flock together. I'm telling the truth, there's no need for this. You don't have to keep trying to intimidate me." 

"Shut up," You mutter through a scowl. Your hands have clenched into tight fists. Your brows are furrowed, and your jaw is locked tight. "You already deceived me once. I'm not going to sit idly while you do it again." 

"I'm not lying. If you would just listen, please just calm down and-" 

Quickly, without tearing your fierce gaze from his, you're reaching behind you to snatch the kitchen knife. You point the sparkling, sharpened end right at him. Thunder booms, and the sky alights with sparks that fleetingly bathe the room in a blinding flash. Aki goes quiet, his heart in his throat. In the darkening afterimage, he finally sees the whole of you — A raging flame, a thorned heart. The fire in your eyes is near engulfing. Your fear runs far deeper than he ever could've known. 

He watches, as your arm trembles just barely, unease concealed behind a struggling steadfastness. You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip. Your knuckles protrude from your hand, your grip on the leather hilt rigid and unacquainted. 

Aki lets go of a long, deep breath. "Put that down." 

"Give me one good reason, then." Your gaze is sharp, honed enough to cut through him all on its own. "Give me one reason why I should believe any word that comes from your filthy mouth." 

Allowing his palm to slip from his torso, he carefully puts both hands up. It seems to do little to put you at ease. 

"The knife," Aki murmurs, his gaze darting to you, then to your unsteady hand. "You don't know how to use it." 

"Would you like to put that statement to the test?" 

Aki tenses. "Devil hunter sounds far more intimidating than adventurer. I was trying not to scare you, that's all there is to it." 

"Liar," You chide, "Serpent." 

"I'll show you, if you'll let me." He speaks in a level tone, attempting to stay collected. His voice comes out quieter, his words are slow and deliberate, and he remains as still as he can possibly manage. Regardless, his chest gently rises and falls, falling in line with the relentless pound of his heart inside. Low light dances across his bare skin and faded scars. 

"Once the storm clears," Aki continues, "I'll head back out, and I'll retrace my steps to find everything I dropped in the woods. You can come with me. Hold a knife to my throat the whole time, if you must. I'll lead you right to where the devils attacked me. My sword will be there, and my bag. Devils like to snatch whatever shiny gold pieces they can get their hands on, but if there's any gold left in my bag when we find it, it's yours. How does that sound?" 

A conflicted expression dawns on your face ��� your brows knotted, eyes dark, lips pressed together. You stay focused on him, not yet answering. You're refusing to look away, with stress present in your form, stiff like a statue. Aki's chest aches, from something other than the wound's persistent pain. 

"I'm sorry," He apologizes, mumbling earnestly, his voice soft. "I shouldn't have- I'm not dangerous. I won't hurt you. I promise. I'm just-" 

"Don't." Your next breath trembles, it is shaky, weak. The knife's silver point, aimed towards his chest, glitters with his own reflection: warm and fire-lit. "Don't make promises you can't keep." 

Through your frail gaze, locked with his, Aki can taste the bitterness on your tongue. You remind him of the wolf, and the deer. The spark to ignite the flame, and the pyre, woefully made to be burned upon. You are shrinking up, your hand shaking ever-so slightly — and he can't help but feel as though he has just taken one step forward, and a thousand steps back. 

He should feel frightened. Anyone else in his shoes would be. Truthfully, he doesn't think you'd hurt him; it's this keen intuition he's held onto, ever since he first wound up at your doorstep. And although he knew it was foolish of him to push his luck, to underestimate you, when you helped him, when you saved him, he realized he was always right. 

Just like when he found himself deep in those devil-filled woods, he's come face to face with something — someone — who he's sure could destroy him. Everything he's ever known is telling him you could do so quickly, fiercely, in a tempest of crimson blood and vivid ash. He'd be lucky if he managed to take one final breath, before the heavens came down to greet him. Or, perhaps, you'll opt to destroy him slowly. Softly, waves of built-up hopes and intentions building until they're complete, deep enough to drown him in a sea he could never escape from, because he's never quite learned how to swim. 

Fortunately, Aki isn't frightened by fate. Nor has he ever been scared by the things he really ought to be scared of. 

Silence stretches on, and so too does the hum of the rain. All at once, you break it; Aki glances at you with a little less apprehension as you turn away, clumsily tossing the knife back onto the counter. You sigh listlessly, and you rest your elbows on the surface, leaning against it. 

"This is pointless," You scoff, seeming defeated. "We're never going to get anywhere." 

Aki slowly drops his hands into his lap. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. He almost speaks a handful of times, before finally settling on something to say. 

"I've- I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" Glancing down, he doesn't meet your eyes. "For what it's worth, I am grateful for everything you've done for me. I know this is my fault. I won't take advantage of your kindness or your hospitality. It wouldn't be right. Come morning, I'll leave as soon as I can." 

"No, you can't," You're suddenly arguing, turning around to face him. As he expected, your words sound sharp as ever, but your gaze on his is different, somehow. "You need to rest, for at least a few more days. Otherwise, your wound might leave lasting damage. You'll have to give up your whole demon hunting thing for good." 

"I'll be fine." Aki stretches, bringing his arms over his head, then rolling his shoulders back. He rests his palm back on his side, and he uses his free hand to push his bangs from his eyes. "I've been through worse. Besides, I think whatever you gave me is working already." 

You roll your eyes. "It's just numbing you, you fool. Please, didn't I already tell you to lay back down?" 

Aki tries not to let too much guilt show on his face. With a hand on your hip, you glare at him expectantly, until he's slowly settling back into the cot. Once he's fully lying down, you take it as your cue to snatch the flask and towel from the counter behind you; the knife is distinctly pushed away, out of your reach, and out of the realm of worry. You make your way over, kneeling down next to him. After quickly unscrewing the cap, you reach out to offer him the flask. 

"Here," You hum. You gently shake it, making the liquid inside slosh back and forth. "It's just water. Prop yourself up a bit, so you don't choke." 

Hesitant at first, Aki props up slightly on his elbow. He takes the flask from you, careful not to let your fingers brush. He only has a few small swigs, but it's plenty refreshing. It immediately relieves the dryness in his throat, and chases away the last few bitter hints of medicine. 

Once he hands the flask back to you, you're pausing, taking a moment to get a clear look at him. You focus on his face, his ruffled hair. His pointed ears, decorated with sparkling earrings. He can't help but feel his chest tighten, your gaze locking onto his. You hold his stare for merely a second or two, but your eyes; they transfix him, like they're a sanctum he should be praying to. 

Then, you're looking down, and Aki watches while you silently inspect his torso. Idly, he wonders what you might've seen to make your brows furrow, and to cause your lips to form the slightest pout. 

"You were angry enough to hold a knife to me mere moments ago," Aki murmurs, before breathing a short, light-hearted sigh. Your gaze meets his own once more, your brow raised in curiosity. "And now, you're asking me to stay." 

"Yeah, I am. Would you prefer I toss you out?" You proceed to pour a generous amount of water onto the towel. You set the flask aside, and then, you reach up, bringing the towel to his nape. "Hold still."

Aki tilts his head to the side, the water cool and damp when it touches his skin. "Not really," He answers; you dab the towel onto a small, fresh scrape just above his collarbone, and you wipe off the traces of dirt and dried blood. "Unless you think that'd be best." 

You lean over him a little, giving a quick once-over to his adjacent side and shoulder. "Your legs, let me see them." 

Aki shoves the thin blanket you'd covered him with aside. The moment it's gone, you're rolling up the legs of his trousers. You clumsily push them up to his knees, until he can feel the warmth of the fire, lapping at his bare skin. 

Both legs have a few sets of scrapes, but his knees are the worst offense. They're bruised and raw from falling, firstly after those stray devils had managed to topple him. He recalls rushing through the forest, hearing their howls from behind him as they gathered in numbers. Vision growing dizzy, he tripped over overgrown roots and rocks obscured by the darkness, just to force himself to his feet over and over again. The sight clearly displeases you, getting you to breathe an annoyed tch, and you press your damp towel to the knee closest to you. It stings, slightly. 

"I wasn't going to hurt you, just so you know," You huff, focusing on your work. "My mind was made up from the moment I brought you in. There would be no sense in going back on that now." 

"I know. But I wouldn't have blamed you," Aki remarks. "You have good reasons not to trust me." 

Those words get you to freeze, briefly. Aki eyes you, calm and straight-faced. Diligently, you apply water to a new corner of the towel, and you reach over to clean the scrapes on his other leg. 

"You're to stay right here for the next few days, and not move. Got it?" You instruct; you lean back, and he nods, pulling the legs of his pants back into place. In spite of your assuredness, you seem to falter, staring down at your hands and pondering to yourself. As if, while you think, you've momentarily forgotten he's even here. Each breath, once, and then another, you take on edge. He almost asks if you're alright — before abruptly, you return to busying yourself. 

Your towel is discarded onto the floor, as you murmur, "Sit up. Slowly, please." 

Aki pushes up all the way, straightening his back. You shift until you're able to reach his side. Your touch is gentle, and your fingertips begin to softly evaluate the bandages around his waist. 

When he fails to hold back a wince, you ask calmly, "Does the wound still hurt?" 

"A little," Aki manages. He keeps most of his weight rested on his arms, his palms pressed flat to either side of the cot. "The pain is dull, though. It isn't as strong as it was before." 

Your touch is feather-light and foreign. He isn't used to being fretted over like this; his shoulders and the back of his neck feel hot, and he can feel the delicate brush of your fingers faintly, even through the fabric. The weak ghost of your touch on his sensitive skin is enough to make his spine tingle. 

"You've got those herbs to thank for that," You remark, pulling away. "Once you're rested and healed, and only then, you'll be free to leave. I'm not sending you back out there just to be demon food. Not after I've used a month's worth of medicine on you." 

There's a small beat of silence, as you search for the cap you'd set aside, carefully screwing it back on the flask. You rise to your feet. You neatly spread the damp towel out by the side of the fireplace, next to Aki's drying shirt, like it's a task you've performed a thousand times before. He grinds his teeth together — an action you don't notice — but inevitably, he isn't able to stop himself from speaking. 

"If it's alright," He starts, waiting until you've turned back towards him to continue. "Could I ask you something?" 

Your arms cross. "Possibly." 

"Why did you help me?" Aki swallows, and he feels his jaw start to grow tense. His gaze wavers, shifting between you and his lap. "You could've turned me away, thrown me out, swore at me- You could've done anything, besides what you did. I hardly understand it." 

Expression softening, you laugh — You actually laugh, lips upturned, the corners of your eyes crinkled, and Aki fights against his own heart as it threatens to burst from his chest. 

"I wasn't aware I needed a reason," You retort, shrugging. 

"You don't need one. I was just wondering if there was one." 

"If you must know," You mumble; mocking him, he thinks, as you put on some horrible, deep impression that he can only assume is meant to be his own voice. You clear your throat after that, glancing away, quieting. You hold your own arm, and you rub it in a nervous sort of motion. "I wanted to, I suppose. End of story." 

"You- You wanted to?" 

"Of course," You're answering dryly, "What, are you saying you don't believe me? I can't save some stupid lying adventurer out of the goodness of my own heart?" 

"No, I believe you." He answers you calmly, smoothly. "That's a fine reason." 

"Is it?" You hesitate, gaze tearing away from his own to focus on the ground. Aki watches you take in a subtle, steady breath. "Sorry, I didn't expect- I'm not sure how I should explain it. I think I…" Suddenly, you sigh, letting your arms fall limp at your sides. "I guess I've seen too much death to just… let you die." 

I've seen too much death to let you die. 

Oh. Aki stalls, the sound of his own heartbeat and the echo of steady raindrops working in tandem to play a tune in his ears. Your previous lightheartedness dissolves with the room's building silence, and with those words. They remind him of himself. You remind him of himself — Scared and alone, a herald of death, despite all your efforts to wash its stench from your skin. And Aki, he has been followed by so, so much death. 

It's impossible to know exactly what you're burdened with, but he knows what that sort of weight feels like. Death is a heavy thing. The tolls of both people and devils alike have long since sunk into him with fangs bared. Necessary evils, his colleagues would say: the men who trained him, the men who died beside him. To meet your end protecting this land is an honor, to slaughter devils is an accomplishment. By now, blood and death and slaughter are practically burned into his palms and the back of his eyelids. Grasping the hilt of his sword feels as natural as breathing. He can't remember the last time he dreamt of anything pleasant. 

In the quietness to follow, Aki tries to picture himself in your place. How much have you lost, to make you so distrusting? How strong and how good is your heart, to still have offered him a safe place to land? Sure, if you were dying, bleeding out, the sight filling his lungs with embers, his head enveloped in the scent of blood and petrichor — Even if you needed him, he shouldn't be saving you. Saving you would go against everything. But he would. In much the same way, he wouldn't let you die. And he knows he wouldn't hesitate. 

When it was all said and done, his path at your side would have led in the same direction. Perhaps because it was meant to. Perhaps, if he defies everything, he can keep that path on its course, and he can deserve your efforts to save him. 

Realizing you've opened up a little more than you would have liked to, or maybe discerning that you've been standing there gawking at the puzzled, wide-eyed look on his face for far too long — Abruptly, you stand up straight, righting yourself. You stride over to him, taking quick, certain steps. Aki can't help but tense when you put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. Your eyes narrow, your glance traveling over him with quiet contemplation. 

"And if we don't want you to die," You start; you're standing up again, with liveliness finally returning to your tone. A faux liveliness, maybe. "You need more medicine. I'm fresh out, so I'll need to gather more if you're to fully recover. Damn," You study him, your hand coming to your chin. "Bandages, too. I almost forgot. I'll need to substitute them- Leaves? No, I'm sure there's some clothes I don't need somewhere…" 

Aki's brow raises once you start to trail off. "Are you sure I should stay?" 

"Yeah. Of course I am, I already told you." 

Leaving it at that, you head back to the kitchen, taking care of the last few steps needed to clean up. While you're busy, he decides to have a proper look around for the first time since he awoke. 

The cottage is small, but well lived-in. There's a bowl of chopped fruit, and a vase of fresh flowers sitting atop a rickety-looking dining table. Asters: flowers with purple petals, and a bright yellow center. A few candles line the table and the kitchen counter, flickering with light and dripping with wax. The shelves in the living room are filled with dusty books and interesting nick nacks. He recognizes various creatures hand-carved in wood: a bird, a Great Elk, a kelpie. You've carved lots of birds, actually. You have a whole shelf dedicated to them, large and small and mystical alike. 

A book is left sprawled open over the arm of a wooden rocking chair. As if whoever was reading it needed to mark their page in a spur of the moment, and they'd left it there, planning to return to it shortly. 

Aki recognizes the cover; a knight, with armor and a shining sword, holding the blade up to a painted sun. The Holy Knight, the story is called, if Aki remembers correctly. Some tale about a knight rescuing a princess, saving the land from a curse, and marrying her to become the king — awfully traditional, for a fairytale. 

Not that he minds. Books rarely interested him when he was a kid, but his brother loved those sorts of stories. Aki would read them to him, when their parents were away. Have you read this one as many times as he has, he wonders? 

"You're sure I'm not- ehem," Aki clears his throat, turning his attention back towards you. "Overstepping? Feels like I'm intruding on your home." 

Your response is quick, sharp, and immediate. "This isn't my home." 

"Really?" Aki questions innocently. 

You freeze up for a moment, before returning to washing the bowl in your hands, scrubbing the inside with a tattered rag. "I mean- for now, it is. This place was abandoned by the time I got here, I'm only passing through. I'll be leaving once I'm done gathering what I can from the forest. The demons are becoming too much lately." 

Immersed in thought, he can't help but restlessly chew on his bottom lip. He won't press you, it'd be best not to. Although, the current plan he's thought of isn't exactly the smartest of choices, either. 

Damn it all. 

"I understand," Aki hums. He brings a palm to the back of his neck, nervously running his fingers over a mismatch of scars there. "We should leave together, then." 

Immediately, you turn around on your heels, your cape fluttering, and give him your most agitated glare yet. "Why are you so insistent on dying?" 

"I didn't mean 'leave right now,'" Aki corrects, matter-of-fact. "We can head for the kingdom once I'm healed, and once you've taken care of everything you need to do here, however long that might take. I can keep myself busy. You said you've never been, right? I know the way, I can take you." 

You scoff, shifting your weight from heel to heel, "They aren't letting anyone in unless you come with a letter of admission. It's been that way for years now." 

"I grew up there. I know how to get you in," Aki replies. Firelight dances in his eyes when you catch them: blue hues, warm and earnest, sparkling like sapphires. Such riches have always been out of your reach, until now. "I can show you around too, if you'd like. It'll be to repay you. For everything you've done for me." 

"I don't have any interest in going to the kingdom." 

"Why not?" Aki shrugs, tilting his head. His pointed ears give the slightest curious twitch. "It isn't as bad as you might think. If you'd let me talk to you about it, maybe I could end up convincing you." 

"You'd sooner convince me to toss myself to the demons." You half-roll your eyes, leaning against the edge of the counter. You turn to watch the dying rain pelt the dining room window: cascading droplets on colorful stained glass. 

"Either way," You're continuing, "I have plans. There's somewhere else I need to be, somewhere far away from here- Close to the north mountains, that's where my hometown is. The kingdom is in the exact opposite direction, if you recall." 

"That's fine," Aki pivots, after a slight pause. He follows the line of your gaze, trying to discern what you're looking at. Droplets race on the window, before disappearing once they've chased each other too far. "You're still welcome to leave when I do. It'll be safer that way, traveling out of the forest together. As long as you're alright with that, of course. By then, I'm sure I'll be fine enough to head out alone. I want you to be safe. But I don't want you to… feel like you have to listen to me. Or something like that." 

He feels like a damn fool, stumbling over his sentences as if he's got no clue what he's trying to say. Aki's jaw tenses, but thankfully, you don't seem very fazed. 

"Let's just figure it out later," You huff, "Alright?" 

Aki eyes you, up and down. You stand in place, your arms crossed, tapping your foot. Finally, you quit leaning on the counter, standing up straight, and you approach the dining room table. He watches as you reach up, deftly untying your cape and pulling it from your shoulders. You drape it over the back of a wooden dining chair. 

"I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" Aki starts; you stare at him from the corner of your eye, and you're moving in his direction while he's continuing. "You can call me Aki. I'm glad to be acquainted." 

He has his hand extended for you to shake by the time you're stopping in front of him. Though, instead, you give him a once over, before immediately striding to the nearby fireplace. Aki awkwardly lowers his hand into his lap, and you proceed to grab a log, tossing it into the fire, where it becomes swiftly accepted by the flames. 

Aki clears his throat. "Could I know your name, as well? I'd like to know who I have to thank for saving my life." 

You dust your hands. Without giving him a passing glance, you head towards a door on the room's opposite end. The wood is engraved with an intricate design: twin birds, and blossoming flowers. 

"I'm going to bed," You tell him, and Aki stares at your back and tensed shoulders, somewhat dumbfounded. You turn the doorknob slowly, allowing the door to open with a creak. It's far too dark to make out anything inside, besides the light of the moon, shining onto some shelves from a small set of windows. 

Tone unreadable, you spare him one last look from over your shoulder. "I'll be waking up at sunrise to gather herbs for your medicine. I'll try not to wake you when I do. If you're hungry, I chopped some apples for you earlier. They're on the dining table. I suggest you get some rest, you won't regain your strength without it." 

He still doesn't know your name. He still doesn't have your trust — but that's alright. The kingdom is days away, isn't it? And besides, if anyone followed his trail, he doubts they'd be able to find what they're looking for. This cottage is well-hidden. Nearly too hidden for him to find, actually. As long as he's here with you, treading this line, there's time. Plenty and plenty of time. 

The Gods can watch, as he defies everything his wretched people once prayed for, once sought to destroy, while letting himself get swept under. 

"Goodnight," Aki murmurs, before you can finish closing the bedroom door behind you. "Sleep well." 

The fire crackles. Rain taps against the roof in fading whispers, and Aki watches your door shut with an inferno in his heart. 

[hanjisungslag]

attack on titan headcanons #14

synopsis: when attack on titan characters make you cry 💦

characters involved: eren, mikasa, armin, jean, sasha, connie, reiner, annie, bertolt, levi, erwin and hange.

notes: 2 posts in 2 days! arent you a lucky bugger x

☆ eren jaeger

it’s really situational for eren, he cannot take you seriously if you’re in a bad situation. if you’re on the battle field or doing anything important to do with titans, strategy plans etc. he will tell you that you can’t be crying in that moment. HOWEVER, if you’re not in any of those situations he is so empathetic!! my little baby is so sweet to you like, he’s like putty in your hands especially if he’s the one making you cry, oh my god. he would just DIE and probably cry with you.

☆ mikasa ackerman

her eyes soften… her eyebrows pinch together… her lip quivers and tilts into a frown… SHES SO DISTRAUGHT, HOW COULD SHE DO THIS? SHES SO STUPID GAHHH. super mellow, super quiet and of course, super sweet. she’ll approach you like you’re a fragile animal in the woods that she doesn’t wanna scare. she genuinely couldn’t think of anything worse in this world than upsetting you and her being that reason? HER HEARTTT, she’ll drop her nonchalant dread head act immediately and silently reassure you with physical affection.

☆ armin arlert

breaks the boys heart. he is absolutely and utterly DESTROYED. his self-esteem reaches an all time low in that very moment, as soon as that one tear fell of the apple of your cheek, GOD. he wanted the world to swallow him while to be honest, he was so upset and embarrassed he made you cry! but obviously, he really tried not to be selfish and start crying as he didn’t want to take any attention off you but trust, by the end of it, he will be crying alongside you.

☆ jean kirstein

god he is just so gentle, so caring, so comforting, so patient. he KNOWS exactly how to comfort you - he apologises profusely, sits with you, hugs you, talks the whole situation through with you LIKE UGH, and whatever it was that made you cry i can promise you this man WILL FIX THE FUCK UP! he lives to serve you and make you happy ���.

☆ connie springer

very quiet afterwards… he just feels really awkward, he wishes he could reverse time and just pretend nothing happened 😭. he’s like, do we break up now orrr…? he will eventually say sorry and become less awkward but, he definitely shows his sympathy through physical affection. after everything’s died down, he cracks a joke or two.

☆ sasha braus

SHES SO SWEET, definitely also awkward and she doesn’t realise you’re being serious for the first 2 minutes but afterwards oh my god, she’s so apologetic!! she gives does acts of service as an apology and of course, says sorry. profusely.

☆ reiner braun

breaks him into a million bijillion pieces. he turns into a puddle like, he just dies. HE made YOU cry? his life is over. sooo apologetic & he makes sure to let you know that he is! he will not be over this for days, days i tell you, he will continue to make it up to you even if you’re over it in like an hour.

☆ annie leonhart

she’s in shock honestly. she didn’t think you would be so upset over what she had said… but most of all, she’s shocked that seeing you upset had such a big impact on her. what- what was this? oh my god, she’s crying? because you’re crying? she’s in deepp😭. keeps her tears to her self and apologises to you and you make sure to tease her because you saw those tears!!

☆ bertolt hoover

crying with you. not in a way that would steal any attention from you or what he did to make you cry, he really tried to stop himself but after trying to not cry and apologise, he breaks down and now you’re both crying. a lot of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘i love you’, ‘i won’t do that again‘s are being thrown around and it’s just an adorable sobbing, loving mess.

☆ levi ackerman

errrmmm, it’s kind of tough for him. he’s been very desensitised to mostly everything, even horrid things like people being eaten alive by titans, literally watching them be ripped limb from limb yk? the usual stuff! anyways, he does feel bad though because of course, he loves you. and he never wants to hurt you or be the cause of your pain so, he does apologise even if it doesn’t sound very normal coming from his mouth, lol.

☆ erwin smith

he feels bad, of course. he’s a very respectable, normal man so, as any other person, he’ll apologise for making you feel that way, say he won’t do it again, say he loves you and move on with his day.

☆ hange zoë

NOOOO THEY CANT BELIEVE THEYVE DONE THIS!! tragedy has struck 😔. they will do everything in their power to make it up to you, they will do a simple, straightforward and sincere apologise HOWEVER, afterwards they’ll do something extra for you, just as a cherry on top like, a candle lit dinner in your house or something along those lines ^o^.

[baepsays]

How to breakup with your boyfriend — not a guide.

tw: mentions of food, just NSFW stuff, mention of periods, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), p in v sex, no clear pronouns used for the reader, but written as a fem oriented person, insecurities, trauma responses.

If someone asked you what's your boyfriend like? — you'd say, "GREAT!"

And no it is not to compensate for the fact how badly you want to break up with him. It is infact that he is just great! No complaints really. Gojo Satoru was perfect.

He was kind, caring, attentive, and sweet. He knew when to just sit there and agree with you when you're telling him about this horrible fight you had with your parents, and not give you unwanted and unsolicited advice. He also knows exactly at what time to feed your cats, water your plants, how you like your coffee, which days you do your laundry — how you like them done. Which specific clothes are supposed to be sent for dry cleaning, and he drops them off on his way to work and pick them back up when they are done.

Satoru knows what foods you are allergic to, and which ones you're 'allergic' to (read: do not like to eat)—so he will be the first one at a table full of people you've known for decades, to say something like, "oh this dish has corn? Ah. Y/n can't have corn, allergies you know."

He also knows which detergent to pick up, which fabric softer you use. He knows your period dates and the brand of tampons and pads you use. He remembers your birthday, your cat's birthday, your parents' birthday, your bestfriend's birthday! He gets you your favourite cake to celebrate your promotion. He will watch every bad movie, every gore or horror movie and whatever you want, it doesn't matter if he doesn't like them.

He is one of those people who will cover the head of the car's entrence after opening the door for you so you don't hit your head there, he'll cover the corner and the sides of the table as you move around to find something you dropped and urge you to sit back up, so he can pick it up for you.

When you guys kissed for the first time, he let you take the lead, to make you feel comfortable knowing that you're quite inexperienced. He'd rather eat you out for days on, tongue inside you, on your clit, fingers and all than have you give him a head. Unless you want to! And sometimes you do want to. And when you do, despite his urge to push your head down on his cock, he resists. His hands are always in your hair, pushing it back in a comfortable ponytail. Always complimenting you and telling you how well you're doing. He won't leave marks on you if you don't want him to cause of an important work event, he'll even resist his impending urge to bite you. Even sex is just very sweet, he's the most gentle when pushing himself inside you. He simply worships your body and-

Ugh! You get it! He is absolutely picture perfect.

So back to the matter at hand. Why would you ever want to break up with a person like that? Maybe because he is just TOO perfect. There is a thing called overbearing, sometimes it feels like— he's too overwhelming, and all too consumed with you.

You do not really mind the last part—but maybe you don't want a man who's straight out of fiction! You weren't familiar with such treatment all your life really, this all can be too new. You do see him treating others more roughly when needed. But he's just so delicate with you. Not that it is a bad thing, but sometimes you'd rather he stayed rough around the edges. Being treated like a fragile doll to the maximum does sound great in theory, but in practice it can make you feel pathetic.

You have tried to breakup with satoru on multiple occasions. First you started dropping hints here and there, seeming to be uncertain about your future together —all he'd say is, "don't worry your pretty head about the future sweets, I'm planning accordingly."

You've started picking unreasonable fights with him more often, whether you'd get genuinely pissed off or not, you'd fight him over the most silliest things. "Why did you turn over the pillow on this side?? You should know I don't like this side! How could you not know!? It's like you don't even know me Satoru!"

All he'd respond with, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I am genuinely so disappointed in myself. I hope you can forgive me please. I'll make sure to know which side you prefer better from now on. Please sit down and let me finish painting rest of your nails."

Yeah so that also didn't work out huh.

So you opted for for this weird strategy. You told him you wanted to get a nose job — to make it bigger! (No shaming anyone for wanting that just saying this is a very silly strategy you've decided upon). Satoru just smiled and kissed your nose, told you that whatever you'd like to do, he'd love you anyway (Insufferably loving man).

Then you stopped reciprocating his kisses, doging them even. You went as far as to try to not have sex with him. But this bastard is too good, and unfortunately for you despite wanting to break up with him you just still really love him. Too much. And he loves you. Too much.

You'd move your head away and he'd cradle your head in his hands and make you look at him, then let this staring contest go on until you just give in and pull him into a kiss. He'd be very sly about his choice of clothing, his touches, and get you all riled up that you can't just help it! "What happened to the sex ban sweets?" Satoru would whisper smugly in your ears while thrusting in you. Bastard! Even trying to control your expressions mid sex to make yourself seem disinterested was not on the table! He's just that good.

And infact satoru is better than what you think of him. And he's much more perceptive than what you give him the credit for. Because he picked up on this little mission of yours the exact day you probably thought to yourself —i need to leave him. You stayed up the whole night one day and silently went to the living room to go on the internet and search up articles about 'how to break up with my boyfriend'.

I wouldn't say he was not hurt. But he also understood you. He understood you more than yourself at times. He understands that you haven't had the best childhood and the best parents around, resulting into this hyper independent mindset you've curated. You'd rather bleed to death than ask for help. And he gets that you can sometimes get in your own head about things. But he was ready to tackle those things head on the day he signed up to fall inadvertently in love with you. And if you want to make excuses to your friends about him being too soft for the reason behind wanting to break up with him—

He can show you rough. As long as he gets to keep you all to himself, love you and cherish you. However you want.

A/n: dividers by— @/omi-resources. To check out more of my stuff click this.

[seungfl0wer]

Jeongin As Your Boyfriend

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut 🩷

-🩵

•I feel like he’s very nervous, especially at first.

•Constantly checking on you making sure anything he does is ok.

•Like kissing. He’s gonna ask you if “it’s ok” to kiss you.

•Because he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable.

•When y’all get past that phase he’s still asking sometimes however he goes for it more often than not.

•He’s not super big into skin ship.

•However that does not mean he’s not ever gonna touch you of course.

•Holding hands is his favorite.

•Or wrapping his arms around you in a back hug.

•He’s not into PDA so if you try to kiss him around the others.

•He’s gonna turn bright red.

•He’s very reserved in my opinion.

•I feel like since he likes fashion so much he’d honestly like those couple outfits.

•Not the “I love my boyfriend” shirts.

•But like same color shirts and stuff just simple cute couple fits.

•Will have you in his OOTD’s especially when y’all matching.

•Absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes too.

•Ugh it just melts him. Finds it so endearing.

•Has a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

•Loves taking you to different places with him so you can experience them with him.

•Teases you of course.

•However he’s very mindful and sometimes can overthink what he says.

•He’s just afraid of hurting your feelings.

•Cuddles.

•Like I said he’s not a big touchy person however.

•When you’re sleeping he’s pulling you so close.

•Tells you all the time how it’s hard to sleep without you.

•Sings trots songs for you.

•Likes karaoke dates a lot too.

•Will definitely send you pictures of their concepts before it’s out.

•He can’t keep things from you.

•It’s really hard for him to keep secrets even if it’s something like a present or surprise.

•He just tells you everything so it’s hard for him not to tell you these exciting things.

•Clumsy.

•You joke how you need to put him in a bubble.

•Or bubble wrap the house at least.

•He loves taking pictures of you too.

•Changes his background so much cause he takes such cute pictures of you.

•No matter how long y’all date for he’s still smiling when he sees your name pop up on his phone.

•Even old and grey he’s still all giddy with you cause he loves you.

•I feel like after he lets his wall down he falls really hard.

•His love is so very genuine.

•He’s just a soft guy under those fox eyes, whose only mission is to make you smile.

•To make you happy and to feel loved and he’ll always be there to do so.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•Again this man’s still a bit nervous.

•He lets you take the lead a lot.

•But when he gets comfortable you’ll see the real jeongin.

•He’s very much a switch.

•Loves when you take care of him.

•Calling him your “Sweet baby” makes him go crazy.

•Whimpers so much when he’s like this.

•”I’ve been so good for you please-“

•Morning blow jobs to wake him up.

•Lazy morning sex too.

•You’re still half asleep when he’s pushing himself between your legs.

•His head in the crook of your neck whimpering how he “needs you so much”

•When you respond he’s losing it.

•Lubing you up before pushing into your sweetness.

•On the other hand he can be very aggressive.

•A lot of the times it’s when he’s stressed.

•He’ll have you face down as up as he pounds deep into you.

•Those big beautiful hands leaving hand prints on your ass.

•Loves sneaking you into the dorms.

•Telling you how you “have to stay quiet”

•Gets off on the thought of the others hearing how good he’s making you feel.

•Also those hands I mentioned?

•The way he pushes them into your sweet hole it just-

•He curls them so perfectly hitting every sweet spot.

•He knows how much you like his pretty hands.

•Teases you about how you fall apart on them.

•Aftercare is a lot for him.

•He is always concerned he hurt you or pushed you too far.

•Constant “are you ok?”

•Runs to grab you towels, snacks and drinks.

•Just wants to make sure you’re completely ok.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something

[a-fangirltrash]

"Ford treated Fiddleford so bad!!" As if him treating Fidds like shit wasn't directly a product of being constantly gaslighted and abused by Bill.

I'm genuinely getting tired of people flaming Ford, but in a serious tone. Like people are acting like he's a toxic selfish man that used to put Fidd down... and... no he never did???

Ford ADMIRED Fiddleford, he TRUSTED his friend for what he described as "the project of his life" and Ford, being the most prideful man in the world, decided to ask for help because he knew how CAPABLE Fiddleford was.

When Fiddleford arrived Ford let him know how thankful he was that he was there with him, the man even took a bath and made sure to make him feel like he was at home. Ford even remembered his favorite bean brand?

When Fidd got traumatized by the gremoblin, Ford TRIED to help with what he knew. He tried to help him meditate, took days off for him, decided that they could go out and have some good time. Be mindful that this might've been the total OPPOSITE of what Bill wanted, and he still did for his friend sanity. Bill would make Ford work like CRAZY.

Also, for him it wasn't "putting him in danger!!" For him it was sharing adventures with his friend! Just like hi did with *cofcofSTANLEYcofcof*. That's love language all around.

Fiddleford could abandon the project anytime, but he didn't because he liked being there. And Ford is NOT the guilty one for Fidds creatinf the gun :/ it's nor his fault that fidd interpreted "using his creativity" in that way. Ford NEVER approved that gun.

Also, Ford noticed that RUBIK THING, HE APPREACITE HIM SO MUCH HE KNEW HIS HABITS. AND GOT CONCERNED RIGHT AHEAD.

"B-but he free Frilliam!" The portal was close, did you all READ how much gaslighted Ford was at that point? He didn't free it because "ugh i don't care about this shitty axolotl" but because Bill started to freak out and yell at him to get rid of it. Ford wrote "A friend" with a heart in the title??? Wdym he didn't appreciate it aaaagh

If Stanley took the diaries (i don't like this universe because...stanley:() he WOULD have looked for Fiddleford, they'd have made the Institute of Oddology, he'd have shared his success... with the man that helped him the most.

TBOB SPOILERS AHEAD

He got sad when Fiddleford told him he was gonna get back home to spent time with his family, he PLANNED holidays with him. Even if he DIDN'T like holidays.

He took a day off just to make him happy after his atrocious christmas party, he USED RESOURCES that as you know ford is the most practical mam in the world JUST to decorate the portal as a tree and make Fiddleford happy.

And that atuff of "h-he doesn't appreaciated Fiddleford gifts!" IS SO DUMB OMG, he wore the gloves in the snow and was incredibly thankful about them. When BILL that dumbass triangle pretty much LACERATED his hands, he used Fiddleford gloves as a way to hide those scars, and in a sense, probably to comfort himself because he was ALONE.

I think that was the reason of Fiddleford fast forgiveness, not only because he's a sweet heart, but because after fighting with Bill i think he noticed how BIG was the monster torturing his "partner".

And after all of this i'm not trying to excuse Ford treating him poorly and not listening to him in time

BUT FORD IS NOT A PERFECT VICTIM

Even if i believe he wasn't "the" (at least only) reason of Fiddleford becoming crazy, i know it could have been better for him and he could have avoided so much trauma. But can we please stop seeing Ford as a selfish, evil mad scientist and start seing him as a victim... of a terribly abusive relationship that checks in for all types of domestic abuse... please!!! Ford is not a perfect VICTIM Can we blame Bill!!!

All this rant is because there's certain ship... which i kinda like, but i just HATE HATE HATE the interpretation and how much they put Ford as a villian on it omg

Edit: fixed the use of word narcissism, since it might've been ableist! Replaced with words that actually relate to what i intended to say, instead of referencing a personality disorder

[rafescvntyclubgf]

My Valentine - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor DNI

Older!Rafe x Girlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

warnings: swearing, pet names, fingering, rafe and the reader watch their porno

📖 What do you get the man who has everything on Valentine’s Day?

✨ “You want your gift, daddy?

“This is enough, truly,” he mumbles as he slides your bra straps off your shoulders. “But I’m a greedy man, honey. Let me have it.” ✨

800 words

Reader’s POV:

Valentine’s Day… What do you get your boyfriend? The man who has everything and anything he’s ever wanted, including you.

You pass him the little gift bag, watching his eyes sparkle as he takes it in, knowing he’ll most likely get something shiny purchased on his card. He humors you sweetly nonetheless, giving you that smile that makes your heart race a little faster.

His eyebrows pinch together as he pulls out the flash drive. “What do we have here?” He eyes the little device in his large palm, his curiosity peaks, turning the faux surprise genuine. He looks down at you, waiting for your response, but you simply shrug and giggle. “Alright. Alright. Let’s see what my girl got me. Yeah?”

He whisks you off your kitten-heeled feet, taking you into his arms, walking down the long hallways of Tanneyhill to his master bedroom. You let out a little gasp as you take everything in, the usual gifts and flowers, but Rafe loves how excited you get each time, regardless.

“Rafey…” You coo, making the high-points of his cheeks blush as you fawn over his sweetness and how well he takes care of you.

“Daddy’s always got you. You know that, princess,” he hums, dressing your new Tiffany necklace around your throat as he kisses his way to your ear. “Can’t wait to see what you got me, baby girl.”

“Why don’t you get comfortable? And I’ll go put something on,” you whisper onto his lips, to which he happily obliges.

You stroll over to the nightstand, littered with gifts purchased by Rafe, eyeing the lingerie sets.

“Somethin’ pink, princess,” he aids.

You change quickly, slipping into the matching silk robe before stepping into your heels again. Snagging the flash drive, you pop it into the tv, sauntering toward the bed as Rafe stalks your movements with a preditory stare, waiting for you to drop the delicate fabric.

His eyes are only on you for a moment before they roll back—Rafe grabbing for you fast, drawing you closer. You straddle his legs, feeling his cock, hard between your thighs.

“Tonight is going to be a good night,” he smiles, his hands drifting around to your ass, gripping tightly.

“Mmm… All night long?”

“All night long, angel. Gonna make you so dumb you forget your own name,” he chuckles raspily against your glossy lips.

“You want your gift, daddy?”

“This is enough, truly,” he mumbles as he slides your bra straps off your shoulders. “But I’m a greedy man, honey. Let me have it.”

You reach over to the nightstand, grabbing the remote, pressing play. Rafe’s eyes double with his devilish smile as he takes a rough grip on your curves. “Fuck, was this Moracco?” He rasps. “Did you record-” His voice trails off as he watches your naked body come into frame before adjusting the camera slightly, ensuring the perfect angle for him. “Holy shit. My girl looks fuckin’ good,” he moans before slapping your ass. “God damn. C’omere, princess.”

He snaps at the little band of your thong guiding you to slip it off. You finger the clasp of your bra flicking that away before relaxing your back into his muscular chest. Rafe snuggles into you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as you kiss on camera.

“Look at how good we look. Shit,” he sighs, kissing you gently on the neck, drifting up toward your ear. “My own personal pornstar,” he groans sinfully. His soft voice in your ears gives you the giggles. “Ugh… Not the giggle too. Just kill me, princess.”

He draws his hands up to your breasts, taking a hold of them, massaging them in his large palms. He circles your nipples slowly, making you whine.

“Fuck, I gotta big dick. You think she’s gonna take it all in that tight little pussy?” He taunts. Rafe’s hand drifts over your naval, lowering to your sex, his other hand resting lightly on your throat.

He massages the inside of your thighs with a heavy hand, dangerously close to where you’re craving him most. “Mmm…” you purr. He grabs your chin roughly, directing you toward his lips.

You let out an airy sigh when he slides his fingers through your folds, the tip of his ringed digits dipping in and out of your entrance. His fingers rub around your clit, small waves of pleasure with every stroke of the hand.

“We’re gonna watch this again and again,” his fingers mirror his words; a smile felt against your lips.

“Please, daddy.”

“So polite, princess. So good f’me. Look at you take my cock. Fuck m’givin’ it to you so good,“ he hums.

”So – So good,“ you pant as Rafe adds more friction. ”Just like that.“ You plead. Rafe kisses your neck roughly—your heart starts beating faster.

He lets out a wicked laugh as you repeat yourself on camera. “Yes, Rafe just like that. Fuck!” Your desperate cries come pouring out of the tv speakers. He repeats your words teasingly through kisses which only makes you wetter, the squelching of your own pussy making the video hard to hear.

”Bet you can’t wait for me to stuff you full of my cock. Hmm? Look at you beg for me. I’m ruining you, honey. Jesus fuck. N’you’re just takin’ me like the whore you are,” he grunts. Rafe adds all four fingers, his strong hands rubbing your bundle of nerves. You hit your crescendo. “That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Cum for me.”

You feel yourself pulsing, shockwaves gripping your body as you ride the waves of your orgasm. Rafe’s fingers slip along your pussy, sinking in and out of your entrance slowly, just playing with you, letting you soak in all your pleasure.

You watch yourself fall apart on camera as Rafe cums with you. The two of you reaching for air, panting and kissing between breathes as he plays with the cum slipping out of your soaked hole, before stuffing it deep inside.

He lift his finger to his lips, sucking them clean before reaching for the remote.

“Round two, princess.”

[secriden]

One of my favourite things about the way Fadel's plan (to "make them [Style] fall in love with us [me]") plays out is that when he dials up his affection and goes all out on the sweet flirtation and tenderness, Style immediately finds it weird and strange and suspicious and off-putting. Fadel pretending to be #whipped actually makes Style pull away like none of Fadel's aggression and violence and outright rejection did -- because it wasn't sincere, and Style could sense that.

When Fadel first drags Style out and starts peppering kisses on his face, Style turns away from his kisses and pulls back/pushes Fadel away from him to start questioning why Fadel is acting so strange. This is the same person who later propositions Fadel in a public bathroom whilst knowing one of the stalls is currently occupied by a stranger, so whilst I fully acknowledge Style probably genuinely did not want his dad to see them necking in his place of work, I'm also convinced it wasn't the only reason.

Because when Fadel allows some honesty to slip out, when he says "Don't you ever think that I'm only like this because of you?", Style actually softens and turns into Fadel's kiss for the first time in the scene. His hands go from pushing upwards at Fadel's neck to clenching softly against his shoulder and upper arm, like he's finally able to relax and hold Fadel closer (you can actually see the difference in these screenshots compared to the ones above). Style stops resisting and sinks into the kiss, lets his eyes almost slip close because something in him recognises that Fadel spoke true.

The same thing happens in Style's bedroom when Fadel continues his charade: Style is smiling, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable and awkward air about it, and he actually pulls away when Fadel continues to sniff-kiss him while going on and on about loving the way Style smells like gasoline. Fadel tries to be clingy again and Style outright calls him out on how weird he's being, so Fadel is forced to backtrack into sincerity:

Suddenly, Style's wariness turns to excitement and interest; he happily agrees to come along and asks what he should get Bison as a gift. Fadel is literally torturing himself to keep up this excessive affection and tenderness (the away Fadel's softness and sweetness just drops once Style goes to take that shower. Ugh. T_T) and gets nothing from Style until he offers something genuine -- a request for time to celebrate someone Fadel truly loves.

In fact, it's the pieces of honesty (or at least I'm assuming that this is also true since he was honest about Bison's birthday), and only those, that Style responds positively to. We have seen Style flirting constantly in previous episodes but he literally has not said anything scandalous or suggestive so far, nor has he initiated any affection even once until this moment.

And the reason why I love all this SO MUCH is because it really shows the evidence of Style's words before he even says them. In the midst of all the secrets and lies between them, ever since he found out about Fadel's secret and decided he was going to keep pursing him anyway, Style has been chasing and chasing Fadel's sincerity. And each precious revelation that Fadel gave him -- his parents' murder, his inability to trust, his desire for something genuine from Style -- has been carefully stored away in Style's heart like nuggets of gold. Which is why Fadel's performance was doomed from the start; because Style was moved by the true things and not the lies, and Fadel's pretensions can have no effect when Style's heart now has the ability to recognise that which he has already grown to love.

[moonsaver]

Almost a kiss, Always a breath

How close life is unto death. Almost a kiss, but always a breath.

With only about a month left to live – your previous guardian angel, Robin, has been replaced, as The Family decide to assign you one that's more "suitable" to your need. Guardian Angel!Sunday x gn!reader CW/TW: reader is chronically ill, and there's descriptions of how painful it is (a little gruesome) but the actual illness is left vague for self insert purposes. Mentions + implications of childhood abuse, death (reader), lesbians because i just wanted it A/n: As much as I'd have loved to make it Seraphin x reader, Sunday is just a guardian angel who has a more biblically accurate appearance. also it's about just a bit over 11k words. sorry for the delays! ______

"You can stay out here."

You turn halfway to face Sunday, the pair of wings over his eyes firmly shut, the other two pairs slightly bristling at your words.

“I have been assigned to you for a reason.”

You glance at the bright entryway of the boutique in front of you. People would definitely notice something was off. No one can ignore someone like him. At least, they’d sense something would be off.

You turn back to face him. Your hesitant silence seems to spur him to continue,

“I shan't interfere.”

He smiles. You don't think it's genuine. You look up at the various eyes embedded across his halo and wings like jewels. They stare back.

Have they ever blinked?

You shake your head,

“No. Stay out here. You'll scare people.”

You stand your ground firmly, your body facing him entirely now. He hums, his smile vanishing from his face.

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

You reply, and it's followed by silence.

The corners of his mouth perk up slightly, before it's met with lesser and lesser resistance, eventually letting out a wholehearted chuckle.

“I can promise, truly, I won't interfere, nor draw attention. Nothing like the scene at the hospital.”

You sigh.

—

“Sweet mother of..”

You keep Xipe's name out of your mouth, sitting up on your hospital bed as fast as you can, ignoring the jolt of pain in your body from the sudden movement, as your eyes train on the figure in front of you.

The man is clad in white – a suit, to be specific – and seems to have started his day much earlier than you.

“I thought Robin was..”

“The Family has decided otherwise.”

You stare at his covered eyes, only to glance over at the plethora of his.. other eyes blink at you; wide and all-seeing, surrounded by clusters of feathers. A pair of them bristle as you continue to stare, and he clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his (wing-covered) eyes. His halo is golden - just like Robin’s, except.. Bigger. And sharper.

“I'm– I think my intentions were very specific, so why on Earth do I have a Seraphim looking after me?”

“The Family decided the timely course of your fate required an assistance of much.. higher capability.”

You scoff, the covers crumpled under your hands as they clench.

“Robin was adequate– no, more than adequate.”

“I would be aware. I expect nothing less of my sister.”

“Your–?!”

This day couldn't get any more confusing in the mere 15 minutes of it's starting, really. A Seraphim. Sent to be your guardian angel. And he has a sister by some biological miracle.

As if he senses the question you are about to ask, he says,

“Let's focus on a more dire topic.”

He neatly sets down his cup of finished tea on a surface – you don't care enough to check; too busy glaring daggers at the man – a few of his other eyes peeking over at the cup in your stead.

“ugh, great.”

 You groan and plop onto the bed on your back with an ‘umpf', then cringe as the pain shoots up from a plethora of nerve endings on your back.

Sunday continues, regardless of your pained expression, an artificial smile plastered on his too human-like features,

“Roughly 2 weeks. That is all.”

He gets up, and walks with measured steps to the side of your hospital bed, his eyes (in multitudes) staring down at your not-so intimidating glare.

You click your tongue, your eyes zoning out for a moment before they settle back on the teacup he'd just placed down.

“Since when did Seraphims like..?”

“Coffee. It helps, I've found.”

“Found?”

He opens his hand towards you. You awkwardly look at his gloved palm before he speaks to clear your hesitance again,

“Let us continue to whichever place you wish to visit.”

You look at his hand again, now with a dull glaze over your eyes, a plethora of thoughts glooming over your mind before another one of his (unsettling, you may add) eyes catch your attention, breaking you out of your saddened trance.

You breathe out, taking his hand,

“Fine.”

—–

And so, that led you here.

You pick out a dress, then shuffle through the stacked hangers to find your size, as Sunday patiently stands beside you, his obnoxiously white suit out of your vision by your request as to “not blind you.” But you can't necessarily explain about that to someone who covers their eyes for.. 90% of the time, you assume. Regardless, he obliges.

You turn to hand him a few of your clothes to hold, but watch as he stares at a distant baby. Their face is red and swollen, presumably from having cried for a while. The tears in their eyes confirm the suspicion. You look back at him, curious as to what he could possibly find fascinating about a red-faced baby.

..what the fuck?

You observed his eyes – the conglomerate of them making a weird sensation bubble under your skin as you watch all of them blink in succession.

You sigh, for the umpteenth time, making him turn to you. You look at Sunday with a strangely confused expression, as Sunday’s cautious hands pry the clothes from yours. You shift your eyes to see the baby look at you two once again with a face as confused and perturbed as yours.

“You’re lucky not many can see you.”

“Yes, it is fortunate.”

You continue browsing through the selection of clothes, politely waving off any staff member that seem to force themselves to help you regardless of the strange aura they felt around you.

“I’m trying these on. You stay right..”

You reposition him, hands on the sides of his arms as he complies.

“Here.”

He stands, in all his glory, in front of a kids’ indoor playground.

“The changing room is too far from here.” Inquisitively, that seems to be the only trouble Sunday faces, and not the curious glances from a few children making weird faces at his eyes on his back.

“It isn’t. It’s just a few picks, I’ll be back soon.”

He seems to stay silent, although his (unsettling) smile is no longer on his face, which reads him as more intimidating instead.

You shake your head, and then turn to walk over to the changing room.

——

A scream.

It rips through the chill, calm atmosphere of the store, warranting concern from a few employees situated around the changing room,

“I-Is everything okay-?”

“Yes-! Sorry, sorry, Im just–”

You hurry, and shuffle the floating eye into your bag, your hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.

Why was there an eye in your bag in the first place?

Turns out Sunday sent one to stand right dab in front of your stall to ensure your safety in, probably only his opinion – a minimal way. You screamed the moment you opened your door and found a floating eyeball in front of your stall, before realising only that Seraphim was capable of doing such a thing.

You internally let out a beautiful, colourful string of curses, presumably to beat some sense into him, as you wrestle with the bag that's flailing in your bag like an animal caught in a potato sack.

“Stop, stop, Xipe damn it-!”

You bring the bag up to your face, glaring down as the singular eye looks up at you with an unreadable glint from the soft fabrics of your bag,

“If we get caught I swear I will–”

“Uh.. is everything okay?”

You jolt watching the door slightly move ajar as one of the employees gently signal their presence,

Shit, you forgot to lock it!

It wasn't your fault - you were about to step out when you were delightfully greeted by an eyeball, and in your hurry you must have forgotten to lock it.

You throw a sheepish smile towards the door, hiding your bag behind you. You're aware it looks like you've stolen something, so you take a deep breath and pat your bag, careful around the bulge of the eye inside.

“I'm okay, I- I just uh.. saw a cockroach.”

“A cockroach-?!”

The employee gasps, immediate words of apology on the tip of their tongue, but you stop them before they can continue. You swing open the door, having only grabbed a single item as you rush past the employee sputtering on their words, politely dismissing yourself as you beeline to Sunday.

––

You did, thankfully, find Sunday where you left him.

You stood a bit of distance away as he came into your vision, making sure to count the number of his eyes, blinking a few times and recounting to really make sure – who knew staring at his eyes for so long would make you dizzy?

By then, the eye in your bag only nudged a few times, but nothing more than that. On the way you realised there might have been no need for the commotion, considering people can barely see Sunday as is, let alone (one of) his eyes. You sigh tiredly at the thought, but brush it off.

You walked over to the small barricade surrounding the children's indoor playground and observed.

Sunday is crouched down, watching intently as two young girls clack their (very distressed) barbies together, making up drama on a whim. Sunday seems deep in thought, occasionally piping up to add his own additions.

Ookay. You need to stop this.

You sigh, running your hand over your face before calling out,

“Sunday!”

His head turns to look at you, then gets up, unassumingly as though he'd not been getting in on local gossip from girls.

—–

You sigh, pushing off the shoes from your feet as you sit back down on your familiar hospital bed, the door of your room clicking as Sunday ensures your privacy.

“Do you plan on going somewhere?”

“Tomorrow, actually. Since we have enough time, I'll take it easy.”

He hums, merely in acceptance, as he sets down the small bag your recent purchase was in.

“Oh, also, c'mere.”

You motion him to come closer.

“Closer.”

He steps closer, your knee almost grazing against his thigh,

“Closer.”

“Any closer and I-”

You grab his tie and yank him down eye level,

“Do you know what happened in the dressing room-?!”

You sputter out, the embarrassment returning to you as you recall the flustered employee's voice,

“I.. cannot say I do.”

You grab your bag, and out comes bursting an eye.

Ah. He felt something was amiss.

“I was fine on my own! Seriously, if you wanted to check in you could have just walked over! Which guardian angel just casually sends an eyeball of theirs-?!”

“Ah, but I did not want to overbear—”

“I would have preferred that, instead of your eye hanging in front of my stall like a Christmas tree decor!”

…

“Noted.”

You sigh, watching the eye float and join the conglomerate of his, wink at you, making you blink, unimpressed.

——

“I wanna be buried…”

You hum, looking over the green, slightly bumpy landscape, and point to under a tree.

“There. That's perfect.”

Mei seems to take your words in stride, despite the depravity of your humor. She chuckles softly, and turns to you,

“I'm sure it's possible.”

“D'you think I can get one of those colored, glass tombstones?”

“Hm, slightly difficult..”

“Oh please.”

You nudge her shoulder, making her softly chuckle again. Both of you gaze over to the distance, the plot of land sparsely filled with tombstones of other strangers you've yet to know about from Mei.

If the purple haired woman knew anything about you – it was that you adored stories. She never considered herself the best storyteller, but you'd convinced her enough to tell you anyway. Occasionally her companion would join in, greatly elevating the storytelling atmosphere, but for the most part, it was just you two.

Mei, who would tell you of each person she'd buried. Carol, 98, a lovely grandmother. She'd always smell of pie and something herbal – always sure to drop off tea wherever she went, the dull packets that rattled whenever she'd placed them down with her shaky fingers. Only her daughter's side of the family visited. 

Nico, 17. His father comes every weekend to clean his tombstone. He had a green thumb. His gravestone had the most beautiful flowers around him.

Razalina, a mysterious woman who you'd been waiting to hear about from Mei, before Robin was shortly replaced. Your health got worse and Mei urged you to take a break. You miss the flavour of the tea Mei would serve for you two. You wonder how it would feel to drink it for the rest of your life until you'd grow to be 98.

There was a morbid comfort in having a friend as Mei. Acheron – the term suited her. A gentle, sorrowful, but greatly respectful and polite woman who took care of the dead. A mortician you'd gotten familiar with on a whim when you'd bumped into her somewhere. She was going to bury you, and you'd let her with delight. You imagine there was a sort of trust and intimacy in that. She would clean your organs, and lay you to sleep on the naked Earth. There was certainly intimacy in that.

“A wardrobe change, hm?”

She quirks an eyebrow, her words still slightly hushed in caution to not even possibly offend you.

“Thought I'd try something new.”

You kicked a stray rock, looking down at your newly bought clothes, then back up at Mei.

“Went shopping with someone yesterday.”

“Finally let you out of your enclosure?”

“Ugh, for once, thankfully.”

She hums, walking alongside you with a leisurely pace, her gaze drifting over the cloudy sky,

“I'd expected Robin to come with you. I don't think I was able to continue onto the next story with her.”

“Yeah, I did too..”

You look back at Sunday – still following you two a few ways behind, waving as you and Mei observe him for a second.

“quite a character.”

You nod, simply, continuing to look at him as Mei's steady eyes train on you for a moment.

“Scared?”

“No. Never have been.”

…

“Good.”

Mei's assurance was quiet, almost relieved. She turned ahead and continued, and you followed her.

——

The cloudy weather only seemed to thicken with humidity and the threat of rain as the sky dimmed with time, and Mei was kind enough to end the story on a reasonable cliffhanger, making you giggle in your seat.

“There's never enough time, really..”

You say, between your soft chuckling. It always felt like time passed by unfairly fast when you sat with Mei as you used to.

She hums, smiling, her finger circling the rim of her cup,

“Tomorrow will come, so have faith.”

Have faith in a tomorrow. It would have left you breathless had you not heard it from Robin before. You glance back at the Seraphim behind you as if to confirm Robin really wasn't looking after you anymore.

You bit your lip for a moment at the agitation as the thought bubbled in you, before looking back up at Mei and returning her gentle smile.

“Alright. I'll get going. Take care, Mei.”

She nods, getting up with you, as you gather your items and walk up ahead a bit.

Mei turns to Sunday, and mutters something out of earshot.

——

You're tired of this.

You get up once again, in pain. It shoots through you, and pulses in your body. It continues to ebb and intensify with passing moments.

You stifle a groan, biting down on your chapped lips and swallow thickly, a bead of sweat forming over your eyebrow as you clutch yourself in pain. 

No one else is awake.

You zone out in pain, the only sound in your ears of the heart rate monitor beside you picking up slightly. The pain renders you almost still. 

This pain. This all too familiar ache. You despise it, and yet you don't. How many events have you had to skip or leave because of it? How many times have you turned down hanging out with your friends over it? It angers you. It's as though inhabiting a scrawny animal who claws at your insides for nothing. How many hobbies, pastimes, hell even careers, have you missed out on because of this? The all to familiar sight of your friends’ slightly pitiful gazes burns your mind, almost making the pain in your body worse as you squeeze your eyes shut–

A hand.

Your eyes open, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming on your back as you turn your head to look at the hand on your shoulder.

Sunday. He doesn't seem to be donning any gloves this time.

His hands are pretty. The thought floats through the top of your mind like oil on water, the pain pulsing in you barely letting you cling to the present.

“Are you in pain?”

You lick your lips, shallow breathing carrying the response you wish to say. He hums, the noise almost soothing.

His hand moves and rests on your back, the warmth of his palm more comforting than the sweat making your skin shiver. He doesn't seem to mind the fluid sticking to his own skin.

For a moment, you feel the warmth increase, before it dims. Everything dims. The pain ebbs away, making you breathe out shakily, your tense muscles eventually relaxing. His hand slides to your wrist as you lay back down, fatigued from the midnight bout of pain.

“Better?”

You blink a few times, a futile attempt to appear more alert and less affected from the episode. There's a bit of water in your eyes – you didn't notice, but it's nothing you're concerned about.

You turn your head slightly to him, your eyes looking up at him as you ask with a hoarse voice

“How did you do that?”

Sunday hums, his fingers moving from your wrist to your palm, drawing soothing circles in the middle of it as a comforting gesture.

“We are equipped to absolve a bit of your pain. This is our duty. This is how we become pure.”

“Pure?”

His head isn't turned to you, instead a bit low, as he leans back in his seat. He breathes out.

“Purification happens through only a few means. Absolving you of your pain is a major way to do it.”

“But it hurts.”

“It hurts.”

His hand gently squeezes your hand.

“But you are feeling better.”

“It's not fair.”

His head turns slightly to see you. Your watery eyes only become more teary. Frustration, hurt, sadness, anger. There's a scripture in your face as he scans the furrow of your brows, the tears in your eyes and the chapped, dry blood on your lips.

And the silence settles between you two. A tender sort of hurt in the night air as he folds his fingers around your hand. Your eyes trail to his plethora of wings. Pairs of 3. They're beautiful. You watch the conglomerate of his eyes closing and gently blinking, almost lulled to sleep. His golden halo hangs a little lower than usual – sharp, yet elegantly prudent. The ones on his wings covering his actual eyes stare back at you.

You're beautiful. The words stay choked on your tongue like a regretful prayer. Your eyebrows relax, and your jaw unclenches.

Sunday smiles, watching your tear filled eyes close with sleep.

–—

Your shoes click as you circle around the fountain, watching the carved figure in the middle pour out water from various sources. 

Your padded shoes come to a slow halt, followed by Sunday's polished shoes right behind.

“Do you believe in wishes?’

“Hm..”

You shuffle through your bag, picking out something silvery. A coin.

“Yeah. Like.. a wishbone. A shooting star. An eyelash.”

You hold up the delicate coin, but Sunday's attention is trained on your face.

“We find wishes and stories everywhere. If you could.. what would you wish for?”

You gently grab one of his hands, and press a coin in the middle of his palm. He seems to have forgone his gloves once again.

“I am incapable of–”

“It's hypothetical. Come on.”

He hums, glancing at the coin, and then at the fountain.

“I'd like more coffee. One that is flavorful, deep and complex.”

You chuckle and shake your head,

“Be a little more creative. Just coffee?”

You pick out your own coin.

You suppose you were a bit unfair to him. What would you explain about walking to a whale in it's depths? About flying to a mammal accustomed to it's faithful footing? About crawling to feathery or scaled wings?

You throw your coin.

I wish for freedom.

Sunday hums again, pondering deeply.

“Ah, but if I say it out loud, it won't come true.”

“Aww..”

He chuckles, pocketing the coin.

“Let us proceed.”

He holds out his hand to you, and you eagerly accept, intertwining your fingers around his as you walk alongside and make small talk

“They've been struggling to walk and do basic tasks. Look after them.”

Mei's voice rung out in his head for a while, like a record playing over and over in an empty ballroom.

“You can see me.” He says matter-of-factly, instead of a question, after a moment of contemplative silence.

“I'm intimately familiar with death.”

He stares at her distant look for a moment.

“..I have my duties.”

“Sure. Take care of them. Please.”

–—

“Sunday, it's okay–”

A small gasp escapes you as he yanks you a bit closer,

“Watch out for the pothole.”

“The cover?” You look up at him almost in disbelief. 

What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Careful.”

He pulls you aside again, ‘assisting’ you to dodge a very obvious, very blaringly red fire hydrant.

“Ugh, okay, wait.”

You halt, Sunday stopping in his tracks ahead of you as your limp hand refuses to move with his in grasp.

“you don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to keel over if I step on a rock or something.”

“Nonsense, I'm simply fulfilling my duty.”

He turns to you completely, your hand still firmly grasped in his, as he looks down at your troubled face.

“You weren't this.. protective.”

“Hm, something must have messed with your memories. Here, let me–”

You gently swat away his hand that reaches out to you,

“Sunday, relax.”

You both stay silent for a moment. You breathe out,

“Okay, here,”

You step closer, and shake your hand out of his firm grasp, but loop your arm around his, and gently pat his bicep with your other hand.

“Better?”

He stays silent for a moment,possibly surprised for a moment.

“Better.”

He smiles at you, and you return it, both of you continuing forward.

——

“I want a garden. As big as possible.”

“Is that so?”

You kick around a small pebble, stepping on a slightly raised stone platform before looking up to gawk once again at the priceless view – the field of tulips making you stop for a moment.

“Mhm. I want to grow as big of a garden as I can. I've always wanted to.”

He chuckles softly, following your gaze out into the vast tulip field, before returning back to you.

You almost belonged here.

The entire gorgeous tapestry of you. Blending into the delicate backdrop like a painting. He's seen a few portraits in museums that could at least come close to the vision.

“I want to paint.”

You turn and look at him, Inquisitively, as he says so, almost surprising you.

“Really?”

He fully turns to you, and holds out a flower for you to see.

A carnation.

“What do you want to paint?”

You glance back up at his covered face. He steps a bit closer, and places the flower in your hair, moving a few stray strands from your face as he does so.

“A garden.”

You giggle, and the sound blooms in his heart.

“What kind?”

“A big one. With as many flowers as there can be.”

“Sounds pretty.”

He hums. You are, He thinks.

——

Sunday hates the rain.

There are many things he hates.

Overrun schedules, late appointments, rushed deaths, overbearing contracts, unruly protectees, a bad cup of coffee, bright lights.

And the rain.

Both of you pant and huff – you especially – running to hunt for any cover, the pattering of your feet almost matching the rain's rhythm.

Sunday's hand is tightly grasped around yours as he leads you to a small cover; a small awning, the grip so firm you notice the middle of your palm is still dry when he lets go to check you over.

“Are you alright?”

Sunday scans you over, stepping to the side to examine you more, a supportive hand on your back as you continue to catch your breath. You can predict the next bout of pain is gonna be worse. But you shove that thought aside as you nod, turning to face him, wiping away some of the rainwater dripping from his chin.

“You're soaked.”

He hums, disregarding the obvious nature of your remark, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he counters,

“You'll get sick.”

He raises his head slightly to glance over you, gauging something.

“We're closeby, let's just run–”

“No.”

Sunday shuts you down firmly. His tone doesn't allow more room for argument.

He sighs, running a hand through his own wet hair as he contemplates on what to do. You try to scrunch up a bit of your clothing to squeeze out the water, and do the same with your hair as you wait for him to continue.

“I'll be fine–”

You try to softly negotiate, but Sunday takes off his blazer, swiftly putting it over your shivering shoulders, before wrapping his arms around you and–

“Ah- Sunday-?”

You breathed out, almost a gasp, as he pulls you in. His shirt is thinner from the water still soaking it, but the warmth of his body (of which you become too aware about) relaxes you almost immediately. You hesitate for a moment, until Sunday quietly sighs into your shoulder. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his waist, tucking your face into his neck as well. Your bodies exchange warmth, and the water seems to help hold the heat better than before.

“I despise the rain.”

Sunday's muffled voice resounds into your clothes and skin, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips.

“Really?”

He nods

“Why?”

“Alters too many things in the schedule.”

“Ah. I see..”

He sighs again; a puff of breath warming– almost burning your shoulder.

You stay that way for a few moments longer, before you speak again;

“Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“I want to do something.”

He stays silent, as though waiting for your initiative. You loosen your grip, and he pulls away at the indication. You take a moment as you scan his appearance – nothing resembling the once pristine, well kept man you'd seen the first day in your hospital room. Bits of his blue hair stuck to his skin like waves latching onto the shore, the feathers of his wings adorned with raindrops, the blurred effect of his halo under the rain. Your eyes travel a bit lower; his tie is slightly crooked, and his shirt is see through and..

You clear your throat, blinking and turning your gaze away to the pattering rain.

“I've wanted to.. um..”

Sunday's fingers brush against the side of your face, turning your attention back to him.

He brushes away a few strands sticking to your wet skin. His fingers are cold.

Your hands gently grasp his, encasing it, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

You slowly turn, and walk backwards, his hand still encased in yours as you step into the rain, watching his hesitant steps follow you.

You both stand under the rain, the water cradling your skin and washing away your previous efforts to dry off. Your hand intertwines with his, and your other hand rests on his shoulder. He places his other hand on your waist.

You smile, but he still seems hesitant. For a moment, you both stand, simply looking at each other. 

As if to reassure himself, Sunday leans down, and gently presses his forehead to yours.

Your smile falters for a moment, your expression replaced by that of surprise, but when Sunday grins, your confusion floats away. His hand squeezes yours as both of you sway and dance in the rain.

–––

“Is everything okay?”

Or at least – that's what the curious look on your face might say.

Sunday retracts his hand from the water of the fountain, gently flicks it, before wiping it with a handkerchief, drying it off. He sits half turned to you on the fountain's edge.

You stand with an umbrella and a (familiar) floating eye in tow, changed into warmer clothes and dried hair, washed of the rain's scent. 

Sunday had temporarily stepped away while you were showering to visit a smaller fountain closer to where you stayed. He was acutely aware the coin you'd tossed wouldn't be here. 

Always standing. Never approaching. That was how he'd describe Gopher Wood.

Right where you are.

Dressed in black like a curse that followed him – ravens in corners of buildings and lurking from above muddied puddles. Always in the distance, fog following him like a haunting widow, the backdrop of the mist etching him further into Sunday's mind. A hollow that spasms like a missing organ.

“These are necessary measures” he'd say. “Are you afraid?” He took delight.

He took delight in it.

“Sunday?”

Your voice, soft and grounding, snapped him out of the small trance he was in.

“My apologies.”

He says, picking up his folded blazer as he stands and walks to you,

“I have to check your temperature and–”

“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on.”

You hand over the umbrella to him, and shuffled through your bag to pull out a warm and fuzzy towel.

Sunday simply observes you for a moment as you hold the towel in your hand. He tries to reach out to take it with his other, but you pull away. He looks at you hesitant and confused, as you motion for him to lean down.

Carefully, your hands bring the towel to his head, and cautious of his wings, you gently dry his damp, blue hair. He hums, his wings shifting and bristling from the contact at first, before relaxing. 

“You could have told me.”

“You wouldn't let me.”

“I wouldn't?”

You huff,

“You talk too much.”

“You're the one who cuts me off quite often.”

“Touchè.”

Your hands stop for a moment, looking over at his ruffled hair half dried by the towel. One of your hands brushes away some of the hair that sticks up onto his face.

You wish he'd let you see his eyes.

“What colour are your eyes?”

His throat tightened a bit. He'd hate to deny you if you asked to see them.

“..gold.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

You stayed quiet, simply looking at the soft feathers of his wings, your hand moving from his face to hover around the pairs behind his ear, you look at him, and he nods, giving you silent permission.

Your hand gently cards through one of the wings’ feathers, careful to not poke any of the eyes, wiping away any wet edges of his feathers.

“..You're pretty.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.”

You back away, your hand retracting and pulling away the towel but Sunday is a bit faster, his hand grabbing your wrist and immediately stilling you. You both stand for a moment, breathless, and silent.

…

“I.. I'll wash the towel.”

“Ah, it's okay..”

He insists, silently, although his originally urgent grip on your wrist loosens a bit.

You end up obliging, letting him take the towel.

He could feel your pulse. Do humans have normally quick heartbeats?

–—

“Brother!”

Robin grins, ear to ear, proud of her handiwork as she holds up her fingers, sticky from the dampness of the water and the sweat of her small, clammy hands. The water dips into the chubby curve of her elbow, threatening to go up further but dripping down into the water instead, rejoining the gentle flow. 

“Robin, that could be dangerous! We don't know what those plants are..”

Sunday cautions his sister, voice untethered but soft with naivety and youth. His feet remain hesitantly restless on the muddy edge of the small river bank.

She only offers him a closed eye grin, before trudging her short, stubby legs in the water, walking back to the soil where she descended from, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she was cautious not to slip.

“It's for you!”

“M-Me?”

Robin's wet hand reaches out to Sunday's, gently prying his soft palm open and placing a soaked flower, making the water drip from his rounded knuckles. Some of the water seeps into the edges of his sleeves, but not more than a few centimetres.

“It's the flower! From the book!”

“But it's not real..”

“It is! That's why it's white!”

Sunday looks down at the flower again. It looked dreadful, in a way. Like a drowned rat – if he knew he could describe it that way. But from the rambunctious effort of Robin's chubby little fingers having wrestled it out of the water, it looked..

perfect.

It was beautiful in a sense. The white petals were (almost) unmarred, the stamens gently swayed with the soft draft that carried with cloudy weather, and the stem was still slightly rigid.

Robin's handiwork was pretty.

“You mustn't run off like that.”

Robin flinches, and clings to Sunday's back, as he turns to the source of the voice.

His eyes first see shoes. Black, polished, unmarred. Never touched by filth. Then crisply ironed pant legs. Then up, up, and up, until his little neck strained.

Father.

Or what was left of him.

Gold rimmed glasses. A rosemary always adorning his neck.

Sunday's original thoughts, back then, had been none of these incriminating feelings. They'd been quiet. So silent and afraid, as though his father would hear if he thought too loudly.

“What do we have here?”

The man leans down, but it does less to make him non-imposing. He might prefer it, that way. Sunday notices the gentle tinker of his rosemary as it moves forward with his father.

Robin's clammy hands now clenched the soft fabrics draped over Sunday's small back, cowering behind him. His loud, messy sister. His determined, bright sister. Dimmed by the clouds and fear his father brought.

If only he reached out to choke his father with his rosemary right then and there.

—–

“I wish u could have made it ://”

You stare at an old text – probably even forgotten by the sender. The tears make the digital screen a bit hard to read momentarily as it fills up your vision, but it gets easier after they settle on your waterline. 

It's these quiet nights you realise how much company you're missing. Like an artist painting the negative spaces in blotches to carve out the image – texts and hidden whispers like these carved out the loneliness you'd fester in yourself.

Something stirred you awake. Maybe it was the constant lingering pain that threatened to push it's usual threshold. Maybe the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor.

Or that Sunday wasn't here.

Not even his eye. As unsettling as it was – you missed it a little. You sigh, pushing yourself up and sitting on the edge of your familiar hospital bed, careful to not agitate the pain more by accident. You push off the bed, and walk a bit hunched, pulling a shawl over yourself and deciding to go out and search for him for whatever reason.

At least, it's a better way to pass your restlessness than going through old texts. Walking at night didn't seem as bad of an idea – at least within hospital grounds.

––

Sunday remembers the world.

Or what he wishes to remember it as.

Cold, stony alleyways. Unforgiving nights. Merciless fog. A sun that never shines.

Not upon those like him anyway.

His Father – always standing. Never approaching. The fog surrounding him was the same. Always at a standstill.

Until something broke that.

There it was. Blood, seeping through cracks in the broken pavement of the ground. Almost inky from the murkiness and filt that seeped into it.

That was the first time he saw his Father's shoes marred.

“This is necessary, child.”

The Raven perched on his shoulder would bristle a bit, but not more.

No, it wasn't.

“This is our duty.”

It isn't.

“You will have to do what it takes.”

Sunday felt impossibly small that day. Like a fawn's leg caught in a bear trap. As if his surroundings grew a size too big and left him behind like a borrowed sweater. He was always more frailer than the other kids.

He wonders if that's why his father broke him so easily.

His little, golden eyes peered down, lost in thought and terror. He learnt how to ground himself at a tender age.

There was grime under his shoes.

Grime in the cracks of the pavement.

Grime in his father's affections.

He was never pure.

——

You couldn't find Sunday.

Forget that – you couldn't even walk.

Pain shot through you the moment you stood up, making you gasp and breathlessly sit back down onto your bed. Your throat constricted – you couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the frustration.

The frustration that had been ebbing and chipping away at you; second by second, hour by hour.

“I can't make it”, “I'm not feeling well”, “The doctor said..”, “I probably won't.”,..

“It hurts.”

Your lungs tremble, before sucking in a breath. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you hunch forward, glaring through the blur of your festering emotions at the sterile tiles of your hospital room.

The tapered off conversations, friendships fizzled out, disappointed looks.

You weren't blessed. By some being, or some cruel fate, or so on and so forth; it felt like if anything, you were created to be tortured. Like flimsy, rotting meat on a metal rod. Pain was more familiar to you than the crevices of your hand, weak with the trembling in your bones from all the feelings you couldn't even name.

“I wish you could have made it.”

That pulls a sob out of you like a hooked wire piercing and pulling through a fish's throat, making you double over as more continue to bubble past.

You were meant to be tortured; you choke on your spit, and sob past the coughing.

Why? God, just why? Fall to your side and curl up,

Why couldn't you be blessed? What did everyone else have that you didn't? Why weren't you blessed? Why couldn't you be free? What godforsaken sin had your soul committed? What did your fate have in store? What did you do?

Why you?

Burying your screams into the pillow, the ugliness of your reality was softened by it like an interrupted fall from a height.

You cry until your vessel is empty.

Until you feel you've carved a hole out of yourself from the middle.

What it would take to be blessed, you wonder. Your hands clench to your chest, and your heart throbs to live despite.

–

Sunday returns late.

And he returns quietly.

You look up, puffy and tired eyes meeting the wings where his are supposed to be.

He stands idly at the opened door. Blood stains his visage. 

You breathe out, your face warm from your previous bout of sobbing, and don't utter a word. Sunday walks– limps to your side, almost paddling his way, before slumping down into the chair beside you. Some of the eyes besotted on his halo look tiredly at you.

You sniffle. He stays still. You presume he's looking down at the tiled floor.

Your hand comes up to rub away at your sticky face, and soon Sunday's own hand comes up to cup your face when yours retracts.

You lean into his gloved hand, disregarding the grime and the strong, metallic scent. He leans forward, and presses his forehead against yours.

His hair are soft against your forehead. You peer into the deft feathers of the wings that firmly shut over his eyes. Your own hands gently cup his face, closing your eyes. After a moment, he shifts, his face moving to bury itself into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you, a bit too tightly. He stays tense for a minute, then relaxes into your hold.

You both stay like that for a while.

—–

You woke up feeling under the weather the next day. Which was ironic, because the Dawn has never looked as beautiful as it did that morning.

In fact, you don’t even remember how you managed to sleep. 

You look down emptily at your hand – as though you awoke from a coma induced dream, reminiscent of the warmth that was under it just a night ago.

Just then, your door creaks open. Sunday enters with a small box, and stills for a moment before his face breaks into a gentle smile.

“Ah, you're already awake.”

He says, softly, careful to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere the morning sunlight had casted in your room with you two. He walks over and sets the box on your bedside table.

“What is that..?”

“Paint.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He leaves, and a few moments later, you hear a soft grunt in the distance, followed by some wood creaking. Finally, Sunday seems to be able to maneuver whatever he'd been handling and it comes into view as he brings it in;

An easel, and a canvas already set on it.

You smile, at his struggled and awkward movements as he carefully handles the easel inside.

“You wanted to paint.” You recall, propping up your pillows and lazily leaning back onto them.

“I did.” He says, his smile returning to his face after the slightly troubling task. He pulls a chair and sits in front of the canvas, adjusting and pondering over the position of it until he was satisfied.

“What are you going to paint?”

“You.”

“Something more original please.”

“With lots of care.”

“Hm? What?”

You chuckle a bit, Sunday puffing a smile at your seemingly lightened mood.

“You should rest for today. We have a few necessary tasks to look into, aswell.”

You yawn, turning your head to look at the morning sunlight brightening up your room.

“Sure. What are they?”

You hear a clack – the lid of the box having been pried open with a bit of difficulty, as Sunday rustles with the paintbrushes and paints.

“A few things regarding your previous experiences with The Family, reviews, feedback and complaints..”

Ugh. They wanted you to drop a review?

You sigh, stifling a groan as a hand runs down your face. Sunday chuckles, softly,

“I'll take care of the writing part, just answer the questions.”

——

“Hm, how curious.”

The lavender-haired woman stirs her tea with dainty, carefree rhythm, the spoon clicking against the ceramic of the cup as she peers down at the cards on the table.

Mei sighs, her hands folded on her lap as she stares at the golden liquid, occasional vibrations making it ebb the slightest bit.

“He doesn't seem.. angelic, does he?”

Black Swan ponders out loud, her hand picking up and flicking a few tarot cards,

“There's something about him. It feels off.”

“Relative to his sister, even I'd think so.”

The woman smiles lazily, her dawn colored eyes looking up at the purple haired woman in front of her.

“You're quite worried.”

“..I suppose, it's obvious.”

Mei's eyes flit up as she hears movement, followed by a lazy sigh from the woman across her.

Thin, manicured nails faintly brush against her skin as Black Swan holds her hand, her lithe fingers feeling the ridges of her engagement ring,

“And here I’d have thought you’d been more excited to see me back.”

Mei puffs out a prudent chuckle, her hands manoeuvring to hold her lover’s.

“Alright. Care to give me a reading?”

The dawn-eyed woman flicks up a card.

The Hanged Man.

Acheron’s eyes follow the swift movement.

“Let’s see what’s in store.”

——

Sunday thinks he's cursed.

Dirtied, marred. Absolution is in store for the sinners, and exorcism for the cursed like him.

Who dirties the divine? Who damns the dirtied? Whose hands marr purity?

Gopher Wood was not a man of purity. Grime-stricken hands that crawled up from the depths of hell to pull fragile minds into an abyss.

He inlaid a curse upon Sunday – that must have been it.

Why else would he not be able to look at him?

Head down, child.

Sunday's little feet would shuffle together, sweat would stick to the small flicks of his short hair on the back of his neck, eyes fixated on the grimy, cobblestone path under his polished shoes.

Follow my lead. Do not go astray.

His hand would tightly grasp onto a few fingers, barely gripping onto the firmness of the man's hand with his little, clammy ones.

Do not look.

Sunday stops. His heart beats a bit too fast for his tiny body.

Do not ask.

A bead of sweat tickles his skin as it rushes down the side of his temple.

Do not speak.

Tears would bubble at the corners of his eyes, hands red and swollen from being hit for every verse he got wrong. For every word he could not muster out from his throat that was raw from childish blubbering through cries.

He would not speak of him.

“Sunday?”

He holds his breath.

You scrutinize at the pamphlet in your hands, before aiming it towards him and pointing at a word on it.

His hand remains stiffly held in the air, the tip of the brush barely grazing against the painted canvas.

“What does this mean?”

His chair creaks as he leans aside the canvas to take a look at the word you pointed at.

“Ah. Exorbitant. Something unreasonably pricey.”

You make a small ‘o’ shape with your mouth, looking over the sentence again in better understanding.

“How's the painting coming along?”

“It's..”

Sunday takes a moment to glance over the painting.

The sky is barely painted in – it’s embarrassing how much detail he's put into your figure standing among the flowery field, however. The looser ends of your outfit billow among the sunlit garden, a wide smile etched upon your face, flowers adorning your arms in bunches as you try to hold the huge bundle.

“It'll take some more time.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitates. You smile.

“You.. can, however.. I'd like to keep it a surprise.”

You nod, softly,

“Okay. I'll see it when it's done.”

Sunday returns your smile. You continue reading the pamphlet. Sunday takes the time to admire the curve of your lips against the backdrop of sunlight through the window.

–——

You suppose you should have seen this fever coming.

You curl up further on your side, tapping away at a laptop on your hospital bed, putting on a show and huddling further into your additional blankets provided by the hospital. It helps provide background noise in case you want to zone out.

“Hm.. fever of.. 38°C.”

Sunday plucks out the thermometer from your mouth, before placing it on your bedside. His methodical hands mess with various sachets of medicine before neatly presenting a few of them on his open palm.

“You'll need these.”

He hands them over to you, along with a bottle of water. You eat your pills and settle back into your bed with a forlorn, disappointed sigh. Sunday only fixes your covers and tucks you more into bed.

Your eyes trail over to the canvas behind him, covered by a cloth, as Sunday dabs your sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.

“When can I see it?”

He hums, a bit in thought, as his hands continue to gently dab away the sweat on your skin.

“In a bit. I have to add a few details.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes, your weakened body pulling you into sleep as you feel the sensation of Sunday's lips press on the corner of your brow.

And that was the last you'd seen from Sunday.

Not that you're upset – of course not. He's a Seraphim. He surely has much better things to be doing, really. You can't imagine it must have been easy gaining such a status in the first place. And then having to look after a sickly human in the last days of their life? Work must be drab to him.

That being said, you do wish he'd at least tell you where he is.

Your eyes drift over to the overcast weather outside your window.

You hope he took an umbrella with him.

——

“Sunday.”

“Mr. Wood.”

Sunday's voice is sharp – he doesn't bother coveting the offensive edge.

“You've been astray for too long.”

…

Silence.

His gloves creak in protest as his fingers dig into his palm, curled fists at his side.

His smile remains stiffly on his face as one of his gloved hands pushes up his glasses.

“Surely, do you think such blasphemy is tolerable within the Family?”

“I–”

“Im asking, child.”

Sunday breathes out, strained.

“I didn't mean to–”

“Such excuses do not work–”

“Stop cutting me off.”

Sunday's voice wavers at the end. He feels his heart pushing into his throat. The raven on the man's shoulder only bristles, the smile on his face unwavering under the shadow of his black umbrella.

“..You haven't changed, little sparrow.”

Sunday's jaw clenches more. But before he can speak, thunder cracks in the background. His head snaps to look at the distant skies covered by heavy clouds.

It smells like rain.

––

“Take responsibility. Take responsibility for all you have done!”

Sunday's voice cracks through the strain on it. 

To respond is to acknowledge. He knows that filth won't respond. But he tries anyway.

He and his sister – they weren't sinful. They were children. They weren't filthy, they were confused. They weren't sinners, they were hurt.

They were children.

Through countless tortures and rotting, had Sunday realised his training was nothing but an escapist projection of his Father's own fears.

The fears his Father could not absolve in himself – he would, through the raw, blistered hands of a child that did not know better.

Or perhaps it was enjoyment. Or to fulfill his ego. To bolster his position as the shoe that grinded on dirt like him.

Perhaps all of those reasons.

Children with clammy hands, who plucked flowers and grabbed too tightly onto the swing, with scraped knees and a face that basked in the innocence of an eternal Sun.

Children, who were perfect to hurt, for monsters like him. Monsters like him who revelled in the pain of the innocent in lieu of unproven salvation. 

By the time Sunday yells his throat raw, thunder bellows in the background in equal magnitude, the rushing rain doing little to calm his heated face and drowning out the pattering of your feet as you rush to find him in front of the fountain where you both had made a wish.

“Sunday!”

Your voice calls out in the distance, his head snapping to you.

You shouldn't be out here.

He turns to embrace your approaching figure in the distance, his feet thrumming and moving to meet you in the middle, but before he takes a step–

“Do not move.”

The words still his bones. He breathes out, watching your slowing figure, swaying from the fever. Water sloshes lazily along his polished shoes that leaks out from the overfilled fountain. You'd wished for freedom here.

“Do not defy.”

He bites his lip, his teeth gnawing the flesh and drawing blood. He kept his wish in his pocket.

“I have commanded you, child.”

He will always be a sinner.

A sinner who is undeserving of a salvation as beautiful as yours.

“Your thrall is fizzling out.”

He smiles, and Sunday wishes he could rip his teeth out.

You sway, stopping to catch your breath, feeling yourself almost lose balance before steady arms wrap around your body.

“You're soaked!”

You whisper, feeling the dampness of his suit as he pulls you into a hug.

“We need to leave.”

Sunday leads you back, ignoring the weakening tether of his divinity.

Sunday looks back for the final time – a lonely, black umbrella in front of the fountain, it's owner seemingly vanished.

——

You heave, as Sunday helps you back onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, your body only grew weaker. You feared something worse when you could barely feel your pulse, but the way your legs seemed to almost stop working by the time you reached your room, it was already true.

Your figures shuffle as Sunday paces around the room, trying to find extra blankets and covers provided by the hospital, cursing under his breath as he knocks over a few items, some getting caught in his leg. You try not to pay attention to your failing body, but its hard to ignore how much deja vu you're getting right about now. Only this time – the pain is worse. The chill running up your spine at your spike in fever is nothing compared to the cold that's slowly chipping away at your fingers, and the pain in your body is reaching an all time high, making your breaths come out in labored gasps. It feels like a scrawny animal trying to rip out of your body.

He hurries over to you, swaddling you in blankets and sheets in layers, furiously rubbing your arms as he tries to warm up your body from the biting cold of the rain. Thunder strikes through outside your window, and in your fever haze, you catch a glimpse of the painting Sunday had meticulously made. He must have accidentally pulled the cover while pacing around.

Sunday calls out to you, snapping you momentarily out of your haze, but not completely. You were losing consciousness, and fast. His voice is shaking, despite how much he tries to appear calm. 

He knows.

But you can't bring yourself to pay attention. Things float over your mind like an ephemeral dream, your eyes only focused on the golden sunlight of the painting.

There's Sunday. And you. The garden is beautiful, and the sun illuminates your hands, reaching out to each other.

The gold is beautiful.

“Hey..”

You call out, making his panicked actions stop abruptly. His hand cups the side of your face, so gently, as if you're porcelain under his hand.

“What is it?”

“Sunday..”

Your hands tremble, moving up to hold his face, your fingers brushing away stray droplets from the edges of the wings over his face. The pain ebbs in you, and you recognize the familiar action as you sense it dimming, coupled with the sweat forming above Sunday's scrunched up eyebrows. He's trying to salvage this pain.

“Can I see your eyes?”

Sunday breathes out, leaning more into your hands. His hands move from supporting your back to your shoulders, gently pushing you back onto the bed, but his forehead presses against yours. 

You can feel his trembling, cool breath fan the lower half of your face, his own hands clasping over yours. The pain starts decreasing terrifyingly fast, making you afraid of just how much Sunday is trying to take it from you and into himself.

“Sun..”

Your voice whispers out,

“You don't have to–”

“I love you.”

The words hang between you two. You hear the faint sound of him swallow. There's dried blood on his lips.

“I love you too. The painting is beautiful.”

Sunday sucks in a breath, his wings bristling at your words. You feel your hands slowly lose strength.

His wings move. You see his eyes.

And they hold the most beautiful, striking golden Sun.

You're caught breathless for a moment.

Sunday's hands are still clasped over yours as they loosen and threaten to fall away from his face. You sense the trembling in them as he fosters your pain.

“I'm scared.”

His eyes close, eyebrows scrunched in worry and uncertainty.

“I'm here. I always have been.”

“I don't want to die.”

Sunday shifts, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead,

“Wherever you go, I'll follow you. There is nowhere you will go that I won't reach you.”

You close your eyes, tears roll down the sides, and Sunday kisses them away, continuing to whisper against your skin,

“I promise. I'll find you. In every universe you are painted into.”

You smile, laughing bitterly through your tears, your voice cracking a bit,

“You didn't make a wish, you know..”

Sunday presses his forehead to yours, his hand fishing out the coin he'd kept from his pocket in a hasty manner. He holds your hand, and gently places the coin in the centre of your palm.

“Because this will be a promise. I will follow you unto the borders of fate. Wherever you will lead I shall look to.”

You smile, through your tears,

“It's not fair. It's not your wish.”

“It's mine. And I am yours.”

He kisses you. His lips are soft against yours. You can taste his blood.

“I will always be yours. In death, if not in life.”

His hands encase yours. You feel the ridges of the coin press against the inside of your closed hands. 

You die in love.

He is a curse; a man rotten by the grime of his humanity, and thus he turns to you for the salvation of his divinity. But how insignificant such a thing is to him  – He cannot bless you, so he curses you. You who were never blessed now face the miracle of an angel like him. A miracle crafted by the defiling hands of a sinner that cursed you for love.

And he shall follow you unto death like one.

——

Acheron thrums her fingers against the cool counter of her desk, her eyes trained on the register in front of her.

She doesn't know how to tell a story.

Not yours, anyway.

Black Swan hums in the background, fixing the frame over the wall,

“You doubt yourself too much.”

Mei stays silent for a moment, then sighs. Her office chair creaks as she leans back in it. A few moments of silence, followed by a soft peck on the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to see her wife's, the woman slightly leaned over her.

“I'll be home late. I promise I'll spend more time with you soon. I just..”

Black Swan hushes her, her fingers lazily tangling themselves in the woman's violet hair. 

“I know. You have a long day ahead, isn't it?”

Acheron sighs again, closing her eyes, remembering your body in the morgue. Just about a few hours ago, when the rain was hitting it's hardest, she and her wife had taken a relaxed break. Black Swan had drawn some predictions for her, and the sounds of thunder had soothed her troubled mind back to a still pond. 

She opens her eyes again, and watches the precipitation on the window, the gentle sunlight peeking through the breaking clouds, the sound of rain coming to a slow halt. She watched a raindrop sliding off of the leaf of a plant right outside her window. Black Swan has already returned to her own devices behind her.

In just a few hours, you'd been alive. By the time the clouds broke apart and the rain stopped, so had your heart.

And here you were – back with a story of your own, instead. Acheron wishes she was better at storytelling. She hopes her wife can do it justice.

She turns halfway in her seat, looking back at her wife.

“..do you mind.. lending me a hand?”

The lavender haired woman only hums in response, the clicking of her heels as she approaches her again. She places three cards on Mei's desk.

“Which one calls to you?”

Mei takes a minute, analysing the duplicate designs of each card's back. She taps on the one on the left. Black swan picks it up.

“that's good.” She hums, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking back at Mei,

“But I mean, you. Which one really calls to you?”

Acheron hesitates once again, before tapping the middle one.

“Perfect.”

——

“You were right.”

Mei says, before gently blowing on the hot liquid in her teacup,

Black swan hums, lighter at the end, questioning what Mei was mentioning.

“That painting looks better in the centre.”

At this, the lavender-haired woman's mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, before curling into a smile. She flicks a few cards before gathering and tapping the bundle on the table to even them out.

“It does. Aren't you pleased I'm looking after your office decor?”

Mei only hums in response, looking over to the said painting hanging above her office chair, her face hidden by the sunlight of early morning.

“Someone ought to have helped with such a..”

Black Swan trails off, perturbed by the sterile, clean look of Acheron's office where she has yet to make changes.

Mei only laughs under her breath at her words.

“You're right.”

Black Swan's gaze joins her lover's, as she looks to the painting aswell.

The golden sunlight peers through the tender reach of your hands with a certain, blue-haired angel. The same angel who was buried beside you.

“Ah, look.”

Mei looks down at the table, following her wife's fingers, as they tapped on the table.

“What do these cards mean?”

“Take a guess. Tell me what you feel from these.”

Her hand lands on Mei's – slightly coarse from her line of work. Her lithe fingers trace the band of her engagement ring.

“Something.. new. A fresh start.”

She smiles. Her dawn-colored eyes trail to the sidewalk just outside, watching a pair of lovers walk hand in hand under the newly uncovered Sun after the night's rain.

——

“Morning.”

You whisper, leaning down and gently kissing the corner of your husband's brow. He sighs, and shifts, burying his face further into the pillows. It's soon followed by arms that move under the covers to wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay seated beside him. You simply chuckle.

“Goodmorning.”

He replies, his voice soft with sleep. You ruffle the soft tufts of his blue hair.

“Sleep well?”

“Mm. I..”

He opens his eyes, half lidded and blurry with sleep, looking up at you. You both stay silent for a moment.

“I had a long dream.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

He sighs, before slowly sitting up, and burying his face into your neck, and then leaning his body weight onto yours, making you lay down on the bed.

Hm. So this is how it's going to be.

You know your husband too well to know this is going to turn into a drawn out cuddling session. Your hand raises and brushes through the soft, blue locks. You're giving in anyway, because who are you to deny your lover?

He only holds you impossibly closer at that.

“I made coffee. It'll get cold.”

He hums at that.

“It's 10 in the morning, you dork.”

“Ah, didn't notice.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He presses a kiss to your neck in return.

“You haven't shown me your painting yet.”

He stays silent. But then, he shifts, his arms hesitantly letting go of you.

That seems to have gotten him going.

He gets up, and shuffles out of the room. A few moments later, he returns with a small canvas wrapped in a cloth. He hands it to you, then returns to sit beside you, burying his face into your neck once again.

“Wrapped too, hm?”

“It's your birthday.”

You smile. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your brow.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You haven't even seen it yet.”

You unwrap the cloth from the canvas. Your smile only widens at the painting.

There you two are. Your house is behind you two, and there's your garden that you've painstakingly taken care of.

You chuckle, pointing to a few, scattered reds across the greenery,

“You included my carnations.”

His hand comes up to wrap around yours, before bringing it up to his lips, and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course I did.”

You set the painting aside, before getting up and stretching, popping a few joints.

“Come on, I'll make you some fresh coffee.”

You reach your hand out, and he takes it, getting up on his feet as he lets you lead to the kitchen.

———

There's a strange shop that you've recently discovered.

It pops up just about whenever, wherever. A strangely elusive personality culminated by the repeated disappearance and the mysterious purpose of the shop tends to pull you in.

You had visited the shop before – but the memory is fuzzy. You don't remember having anything you'd like to buy. Photo Albums, mirrors, tarot cards, polaroid cameras, antique equipment and trinkets, and strange candles. It was when you were on your way home from work that you decided to take such a detour. Perhaps.. that must've been what it was. Regardless, you decided you'd want to visit the shop again with your husband.

The opportunity was pretty perfect; your schedules aligned, the weather was considerably not so miserable, and you managed to find the shop in time.

It's a bit of a chance opportunity, considering how your husband has taken a liking to a bird that recently ended up in your backyard – the poor thing was scuffled. It's wings were broken and it barely survived through the night you two found him.

Ever since, he'd been collecting photos and capturing the little thing's recovery, bit by bit. 

You smiled to yourself, humming in contentment as your arm was looped around his snugly, basking in the warm glow of the early Sun, walking in a leisurely pace as your husband continued to flick through photos on his phone.

The weather was especially nice today – the rains had stopped a while ago and the time window was perfectly in between cold breezes and a warm atmosphere. You eyed the gentle swaying of newly sprouted weeds and grasses, a thicket of flowers and so on, at the edge of the sidewalk connecting to the wall of a barrier.

The wall would end a few ways ahead, replaced by (slightly worn) fences, as the rest of the land came into view the more you two walked ahead. Your husband would occasionally fill in the silence with little facts he would remember of, while you scanned the vast scenery of the green land behind the fence.

It was a cemetery. The tombstones were warmed by the Sun – or you at least think so, the way a cat seems to be lazily draped over one. There's a hugely amassed tree a few ways up the tombstones, and there lay two solitary ones, just enough distance from the tree for the light to reach under and illuminate them. 

You wonder if they're warm. You wonder if the grass is soft, and the dirt is coldly comforting. You wonder who they were – lovers, spouses, friends. Perhaps they were holding hands through their graves. Another cat sprung from behind one of the tombstones, gracefully approaching the one asleep sunbathing, stomping around the little flowers growing beside the specific tombstone.

You see them greet each other. You see the cat lovingly bathe the sun-kissed one. It's tail lazily draped over the tombstone flicks, drawing your attention to the name. Nico. Below it, reads, Have faith in a tomorrow.

The fence cut the sight a little short as you two walked ahead. 

You think for a moment, almost disregarding the smallness of the thought amongst other things in your head.

“Ah, I don't think I've shown you this one.”

Your husband speaks, leaning over to show you a spontaneous photo of you on one of your dates. You both had taken a detour and rested near the fountain. That must have been when, as you smiled, looking at the photo.

But the thought still lingered quietly in your head.

To be woven so delicately and strongly into someone else's tapestry, until the strings frayed long after your deaths.

What it would take, you wonder.

———

Akin to your habits of detours, and keenly aware of your likings, your husband politely guides you to a cafe you two had visited once (he, thankfully, does not mention the audible growling of your stomach. Coffee is not a good, neither a fulling breakfast.)

You two spend a handful of hours there, simply relishing the downtime you two have together. Hushed, soft conversations, hands held over the wooden table that stayed linked as you two finally made your ways to the strange shop.

It was small, but the arrangement of the trinkets (and perhaps the placement of the lighting) made it look more spacious inside. You two talked at the front where, you presume, the owner of the shop was. A lavender haired woman who spoke in a hushed, sweet tone. Nothing else was off about her except her hypnotizing gaze and the knowing look in her eyes. You two would take your time sorting through the shop, and eventually your husband would pick a photo album.

The woman offered to print a few select photos, and you hesitantly agreed. Although technically this was a strange shop in itself, something about it prickled your skin the wrong way.

So, you waited outside for him as he discussed the details, choosing to admire the carefree and relaxed atmosphere of the day outside.

After a moment, your phone buzzed, and that was your signal. You headed inside, and found your husband listening carefully to the lavender-haired woman instructing on how to take care of the album. As soon as you catch her eye, she smiles at you, and waves. You wave back.

“Good to go?” You ask, looking at your lover in blue.

“Sure is. Feel free to drop by anytime you need some more help.” The woman chimes in, smiling lazily at you, her chin cradled on her hands, her elbows propped up on the counter as your husband fiddles around with the album a bit more.

“Alright.” He says, after a moment, satisfied with his inspection. “We can leave.”

You smile at the woman again as a thanks, she simply waves you two off as you leave. The chiming of the little bell over the door resounds for only a moment as she watches you two with a fixed gaze leave and walk away.

“Hm..”

She hums, her fingers grazing over the plethora of cards sprawled in the pop up desk below. Her finger lands on a card.

The Hanged Man.

“Mei was right.” She smiles.

———

[xxsunoosprincess]

Enhypen’s Favorite Positions (OT6)

How Enhypen likes to fuck you.

pairings: Enhypen legal line x reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni, fem!reader for Jay and Sunghoon, otherwise gender neutral!reader, light spanking, mentions of masturbation, overstim, and roughish sex.

Heeseung’s Favorite Position: Spooning

There is something so intimate about this position, it genuinely makes him feral. Beware anytime y’all are spooning. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the couch, the bed, hell, even during movie night with his band mates: the moment he has your ass pressed back against him he is bricked up. Maybe it’s the size difference? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that during those late nights on tour when he’s is alone in his hotel room, his mind immediately goes to wrapping his arm around your waist as he drives his cock into you from behind!! <3

Jay’s Favorite Position: Lotus

You guys never intentionally end up in this position, but more often than not, it makes its appearance in your night. Pulled into his lap, you can feel his thick cock so so deep! As soon as you throw your head back in pleasure, he’s mouthing at your tits. Sucking, biting, groping, all of the above… you can hardly fault him for the way his hips jerk up and he forces himself deeper. Boob lover Jay agenda in full force. He just loves seeing your face contort in pleasure, so this is perfect for my little romantic.

Jake’s Favorite Position: Reverse Cowgirl

Has Jake ever seen a more beautiful sight than your ass bouncing on his lap? No. Literally never. Doesn’t matter how often he sees it, he lets out a pleased sigh every time. Reclined back against the headboard, hands behind his head. This must be paradise. He loves seeing the handprints he leaves behind on your cheeks. And he’s just so loud! Moaning and whining… ugh how dreamy. He tries to be gentle, he really does, but he can only let you take charge for so long before things take their inevitable course. Rough grip on your waist as he fucks up into you, letting out those pretty moans all the while.

Sunghoon’s Favorite Position: Missionary

I am here to take down the rough dom Sunghoon agenda. This bastard is so soft for you it isn’t funny. Expect tender touches to your face, deep kissing, and some dirty praise while he bullies his cock into you. “Sweet girl takes me so well” type mfer. I’m sure of it. I really do think he is another romantic… still exploring himself and a little shy about it >_< !! He gets a little flustered when you mention try to talk about your sex life with him so be gentle… doesn’t mean he isn’t going to lay the best pipe of your life. I know this might be a controversial take but it’s MY TRUTH.

Sunoo’s Favorite Position: Mating Press

I think Sunoo is another one that is really soft and tender during sex. It’s the skin-to-skin contact, the sloppy kisses, and dry humping that screams “I want you so so bad!!” that gets his cock filling out in his pants (He has the prettiest cock ever but that’s a story for another time). That’s why I chose a mating press for him… when he is rutting into you and you wrap your legs around his waist or he has you near folded in half he has to fight cumming instantly.

Jungwon’s Favorite Position: Cowgirl

Hehehehe this made me smile. Just imagine him squirming and whimpering as you ride him. Actual art. So whiny and needy. Tells you how much he loves you over and over as he moves his hips with yours. Be gentle because he gets pussy drunk soooo easily. Mind goes blank and probably overstimulates both of you until you are both in tears. Loves when you lay on top of him as you catch your breath together, loves taking care of you. Declaring him the king of aftercare.

END.

Author’s note: Just a short lil thing to test formatting on mobile! Hope y’all enjoy. xx - princess

[puckinghischier]

celebrations with luke though after the game. like i don't even care even just cuddles i feel like he'd be so happy especially if you were there to witness the goal, he'd have looked for you in the stands to see you cheering and he'd just be so happy. ugh.

you’d rush out of there as fast as you could, already on the phone ordering all kinds of snacks and goodies to surprise him with after the game. you’d know you have a little extra time, considering he’d be held up with media for a good while after they hit the locker room.

you’re stopping by several stores on the way back to your apartment. bakeries, grocery stores, restaurants, and even a little party store for silly hats and confetti poppers. you text jack to make sure luke is distracted and unable to leave until you send him a green light text, not wanting him to walk in on the middle of you arranging his celebration.

you let jack know you were almost ready, putting the final touches on the junk food spread. you have just enough time to throw a red party hat on your head and grab a confetti popper before you hear the door opening, ready to celebrate his goal and their win.

the second he rounds the corner into the kitchen, you pull the string on the popper and watch his small jump backwards, red confetti falling all over his damp curls.

“surprise!!! congratulations lukey!!!” you exclaim, running towards him and slamming your small frame into his large one. he laughs at your enthusiasm, hugging you back just as tightly, picking you up just enough that your feet aren’t touching the floor before sitting you back down.

you pull back, looking up at him with a proud, toothy grin. he returns your lovey look, smiling just as wide as he looks down at you. “proud of you, lucas,” you tell him, using the full name that isn’t really his own, simply because you know it irks him. he rolls his eyes at the name, but his smile never falters.

“thanks, you big dork,” he responds, flicking the paper hat on your head, his cheeks only slightly red from all the attention you’re giving him. he moves his face down to give you a short, but sweet, kiss.

the second his lips detach from yours, you step back from him, preventing yourself from getting too distracted and lost in his kisses. “so, let me show you tonight’s gourmet meal,” you grab his hand, leading him to the island that’s covered in every single one of his favorite treats.

you have cookies from his favorite bakery, brownies from his favorite cafe, several pizzas from his favorite pizza place, all of his favorite kinds of chips and snacks, and in the freezer you have a carton of every single ice cream flavor he likes. it looks like a kids birthday party gone wild, but you didn’t care. he scored his first goal of the season tonight. he deserves junk food and tacky hats.

“oh my god, coach is gonna kill me if he finds out this is what i ate after a game,” were the first words out of his mouth, eyes taking in all the greasy food and sugary treats.

“well, he can get over it. you deserve it tonight. i went through all this trouble to get your favorites, so just indulge me and eat them, yeah?” you scold him slightly as you take the cone-shaped hat off of your head, not caring about what the coach or team nutritionist has to say about it. it’s not like he won’t have a chance to work it all off in the next couple of days anyways.

you hand him a plate and watch him load it up with as much food as it can hold, making his way over to the couch where you have his favorite movie queued up and ready to play.

“the secretariat? oh you really do know how to make a guy feel special, huh?” he half jokes, a hint of genuine excitement in his voice.

you join him on the couch and shush him while you press play, your own plate of treats sat in front of you. the two of you snack and watch, eventually finding your way on top of him to lay on his chest as he lays on his back, head turned just enough to still see the tv. his hand drags lazily up and down your back as yours traces light shapes on his clothed pectoral muscle.

the two of you had been quiet for some time, enjoying each others company and watching the movie, but luke’s voice breaks the marathon of silence.

“you know, m’glad you were there to see it. felt nice being able to look up and see you cheering for me after i scored,” he tells you, not taking his eyes off of the tv screen.

“of course i was cheering for you. are you crazy? i’ve been planning this for weeks, just waiting for the moment to finally happen. you’ve been trying so hard to get your first goal, everyone could see it,” you move to rest your chin on his chest, loving the relaxed look on his face. “but i’m glad i could be there, too. was so scared you were gonna score on the road and i was gonna miss it. well, miss it in person anyways. i’m always watching.”

he turns to look at you, not being able to keep his lips from stretching into another smile. it’s a common occurrence, he realizes. he can hardly look at you without smiling anymore, always filled with so much love and adoration for you he doesn’t know what else to do.

“know you are. can feel it every night,” he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, letting his hand linger on the ends of it, twirling it around his fingers.

“i am super proud of you, y’know that, right? not saying it just because. i meant it when i said everyone can see how hard you’ve been trying, and it’s a well deserved goal,” you tell him again, never missing a chance to let him know just how proud of him you really are.

he legitimately blushes this time, always being one to shy away from praise. you reach a hand up to tap the tip of his nose, smiling when he scrunches it and turns his head in protest. “stop booping my nose, you’re gonna ruin my reputation one of these days,” he swats your hand away, dropping the strand of hair.

“luke…what reputation? everyone knows you’re a big softie,” you deadpan, causing a pout to form on his lips. “plus, there’s no one here except me and you right now.”

“i’m supposed to be a big scary hockey player, i can’t have my girlfriend booping my nose all the time,” he argues, whining through his pout.

“aww, baby,” you fake sympathy, “you are a big scary hockey player, don’t worry. you showed that net and that goalie who was boss tonight.” you reach up to pat his cheek.

he huffs, not appreciating the little laugh you let out after your sentence.

you stop your chuckles, easing yourself back into the previous conversation. “i’m just kidding. but really, luke, i’m proud of you. and so is jack. glad he was the one who got the assist and you could experience this with him,” you tell him earnestly, loving the moment the brothers shared on the ice after the goal. “your whole team is proud of you, too. you’ve been playing so well lately. you deserve to be celebrated every night, but especially tonight.”

he leans in for another kiss, ignoring the awkward angle of his neck, bringing his hands down to push you up his body by your ass, bringing your face closer to his. the kiss is soft and slow, no rush, just raw emotions conveyed through it.

once the two of you pull back to catch your breath, you rest your forehead against his.

“proud to have you by my side through all this too, you know? couldn’t do it without you,” luke whispers into the small space between your lips. “mean it. you do so much for me, and i wouldn’t want to come home to anyone else tonight. or any night. you’re more than my good luck charm, y/n, you’re my rock. my calm in a storm. my steady hands on a sloppy goal attempt,” his words cause your own blush to paint your cheeks. “just glad i landed this shot, most of all. don’t know where i’d be if i hadn’t.”

you can feel the tears prick at your eyes, not wanting to be a blubbering mess on what’s supposed to be his night.

“alright you big sap, this is your night, you can’t make me cry before we even get eat all the ice cream i bought,” you sniffle, bringing a hand up to dab at the corners of your eyes with a wet laugh.

luke’s eyes widen, face suddenly brighter than it had been all night. “wait, you bought ice cream!?” is all you hear as you’re being lifted off his chest and dropped onto the couch while he slips out from under you, rushing to the the freezer, your sentimental moment long forgotten at the promise of a frozen treat.

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flawless .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ YN LN is the picture of perfection, brilliant, kind and impossibly talented. But behind her angelic smile lies a sharp tongue that she keeps hidden.

YN LN was perfect—untouchably so.

Her hair always shone like it had been blessed by the heavens, her grades were flawless, and her quirk—a dazzling ability to manipulate light into solid constructs—was nothing short of extraordinary. Every smile she gave was met with sighs, every word she spoke carried a melody of grace.

And it drove Katsuki Bakugou absolutely insane.

“Why’s she acting like she’s some kind of goddess?” he muttered under his breath as YN entered the classroom. Her angelic aura seemed to glow brighter when she greeted everyone. “Tch. Fake.”

YN, having heard him, maintained her kind smile, but her inner monologue flared to life:

“Fake? Oh, I’ll show you fake, you spiky-haired gremlin. Just wait until I—”

“Good morning, Bakugou,” she said sweetly, cutting her own thoughts off.

“Tch.” He didn’t even look at her.

“This brat’s gonna pay for ignoring me in front of everyone! I was blessed by God—this kind of disrespect would NEVER happen to me. I choose not to accept it!”

Despite her carefully curated reputation, YN had a side to her that no one knew—a competitive, hot-headed, and downright foul-mouthed streak that she kept buried beneath layers of charm. The only person who seemed to bring it dangerously close to the surface was Bakugou Katsuki.

It all started during a routine quirk demonstration.

“LN, Bakugou,” Aizawa called, looking as tired as ever. “You’ll be paired up to test each other’s quirks. Bakugou, go easy on her. LN, don’t let his explosions overwhelm you.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter, but her eye twitched imperceptibly. “Go easy on me? What am I, a toddler? I’ll obliterate him.”

Bakugou smirked. “Hope you can keep up, ‘Golden Girl.’ Wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect image of yours.”

Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides. “Of course,” she said with a laugh, though inside, she was seething. “You’re WAY off, idiot! I’ll wipe that smirk off your stupid face!”

The match began, and YN summoned a glowing shield of pure light, deflecting Bakugou’s explosions effortlessly. She countered with sharp, whip-like constructs, forcing him to dodge.

“Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly, sending another blast her way.

She sidestepped it with ease, her tone smug. “Oh? Did you expect me to just stand there and let you win?”

For the first time, Bakugou looked genuinely intrigued. “Hah. So you’re not just a pretty face after all.”

“A ‘pretty face’? That’s all he sees me as?! This guy—UGH!”

YN’s next attack was less restrained, her light constructs slamming into the ground with enough force to shake the arena. The spectators gasped, but she quickly composed herself, her sweet smile returning.

“Oops,” she said lightly. “Guess I overdid it!”

Bakugou, however, saw right through her.

After the match, YN sat alone, meticulously cleaning her gloves. Bakugou appeared out of nowhere, plopping down next to her with his usual lack of grace.

“What do you want, Bakugou?” she asked, her voice as light as ever.

He didn’t answer immediately, his sharp gaze studying her. “You’re not like them,” he said finally.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You act all nice and perfect, but when we were fighting, you looked like you were actually havin’ fun. Like you’re hiding somethin’.”

Her hand froze mid-polish.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone just a little too defensive.

He snorted. “Whatever. Just don’t bother pretending around me. It’s annoying.”

She watched him walk away, her heart pounding.

“That brat! Who does he think he is?!”

And yet, for some reason, she couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto her face.