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upsidedownwithsteve · 6 months

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[4.5K] Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

A/N: sorry, no advent blurb today as we’re v tired and v sick and writing doesn’t sound fun. but please have an old fic that was once on the masterlist

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, shy, nervous, wanting to curl into yourself.

Steve stayed still behind you, your back to his chest, his legs bent and framing your own. His hand stroked over your knee, a safe distance, one that didn’t add too much pressure to the situation. The boy pressed a kiss to your cheek, nose nudging your temple. “We can stop, if you want.” His voice was quiet and filled with soft sincerity. “It’s okay.”

But you’d asked for this, face flushed, squirming on Steve’s bed sheets ‘cause how on earth did you go from watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High to talking about sex to telling your best friend you’d never had an orgasm?

“What?” He’d asked, face soft with shock. “What about those six months you dated that guy, whatshisface? Liam?”

“Lewis,” you’d corrected, fingers pulling uncomfortably at the blanket Steve kept at the end of his bed for you. “And no, he just couldn’t get me there, I guess. Maybe it was me. It’s gotta be me, I can’t even make it happen myself.”

Steve had paused at that, looking at you with parted lips and soft eyes ‘cause you looked so sad, so frustrated, defeat taking over from the embarrassment you’d felt in admitting such a thing.

“It’s not you,” he’d said, determined. “He should’ve taken his time with you or— or, found out what you liked.”

You huffed out a laugh at that, humourless and tired. You shrugged, hands falling into your lap. “How’s that fair when I don’t even know what I like myself?”

You don’t know what happened after that. Just that the movie was paused and the evening outside turned to night, Steve’s blue room turning navy in the shadows, the dull glow of his bedside lamp making your bare legs turn apricot and rosy in the light. His hand looked so big against your knee, like he could swallow you whole.

You asked him. Voice quiet, words making the boy’s cheeks turn pink. Asked him to help, to show you, to tell you what you were doing wrong which sounded so ridiculous, because Jesus Christ, it was your body, for fuck sake.

You sucked in a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. I’m just— being stupid. We can keep going.”

You felt Steve relax a little behind you, his body sinking into the pile of pillows at his headboard, your body falling into his in turn. His thumb drew circles on the side of your knee, a touch you’d felt before: during a horror movie in the dark of the cinema, in the front seat of his car when you cried about a boy who wasn’t him, when he’d argued with his dad and you piled yourself into his lap for comfort.

“Are you sure?” Steve whispered and his voice was right by your ear, lips almost touching the shell of it. It made you shiver, spine tingling. “And you’re not stupid. This, the way you feel. It’s not stupid, okay?”

You realised he was waiting for you to answer him, so you nodded, chest tight at his earnest words, always trying to make you feel better. He’d once told you when you were both only thirteen, that that was his job and he’d proven it true ever since.

“Yeah, m’sure.” You let your head rest against his, cheek to his chin, day old stubble rough against your skin. “Thanks, Steve.”

A silence swept over you both, not exactly uncomfortable but not an easy one either, not like it usually was. ‘Cause your skirt was hitched up high, the hem of it falling towards the tops of your thighs when you’d bent your knees and sat between Steve’s legs. He’d patted the space there and your body had burned, but you’d obeyed all the same. His thumb was still rubbing circles and your hands lay awkwardly in your lap until finally, finally, Steve took them in his own and placed them flat over your thighs, his bigger ones covering your fingers.

“So you’ve never, ever—?”

“No,” you whispered it back, like a dirty secret. Something to be ashamed about. “Can't even manage it myself… it’s— fuck, I don’t know.” You choked off your own words, heated embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck.

Steve squeezed your hands, gentle, soothing. “S’okay. Do you, uh, do you try? A lot?”

He sounded nervous too and suddenly you were thankful for this position, eyes hidden from each other, knowing his cheeks would be flushed, too pretty to look at. You sucked in a breath and nodded. “Sometimes, yeah. I guess. It’s just— I either get interrupted or it doesn’t feel right and then the times when it does, I just can’t… can’t. You know.”

“Finish?” Steve supplied helpfully.

You nodded again.

“Okay, uh, why don’t you— do you wanna, try? Show me?” You heard him swallow audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and you felt his jaw tense against your temple, where you were leaning against him.

You stiffened, and Steve felt that too, so he tangled his fingers between your own and used his thumb and yours to skim up and down your legs. You wondered if he noticed how warm you were, if he realised you were running so much hotter than before.

“It’s just me,” he whispered to you, head ducked tucked down so he words fell into the crook of your neck. He sounded so soft, familiar, like the sixteen year old who’d picked you up from your shitty first date and told you that the next boy that hurt you would have to deal with him. “Do you trust me?”

You licked your bottom lip, mouth dry but you made a noise of agreement. “Yeah, I trust you.” You felt his smile, felt the affection ripple through him and back into you, ‘cause you really, really did. More than anyone, you thought.

“We can stop whenever you want, alright?” Steve said and you bobbed your head, suddenly feeling clumsy, fingers too small between his own, legs splayed out like a broken down China doll. You dug your toes into the mattress and breathed out. “Show me.” Steve whispered again. “Show me what you do.”

It took a second, maybe five, for your heart to stop rattling against your chest, for your bones to stop vibrating. But you took one hand from Steve’s and pressed it between your thighs, hidden under your skirt. Your underwear was still very much on and you were unsure how to go about that, so you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to find your clit the best you could under the cotton, shifting your fingers over the fabric.

Then Steve tsked, a soft sound that didn’t come across as reprimanding as it should’ve, but between that and his hand catching yours again, you stopped, unsure.

“You normally just dive right in like that?” Steve murmured, rubbing his thumb over your knuckle. “Christ, you gotta be nicer to yourself, babe, you need to relax more.”

“I do?”

Steve laughed quietly, a huff of spearmint breath falling across your cheek and wasn’t unkind, it didn’t make you shrink like you thought it would’ve. “Well, yeah,” Steve answered. “You gotta warm yourself up, right? Get in the mood. Hasn’t anyone taken their time with you? Made you feel like, uh, like putty?”

“Putty?” Your lips kicked up at the corners, lashes fluttering as your eyes closed, happy to listen to Steve and the smile in his voice. He sounded shy, and it was lovely, it made you feel better, warmer, ready for what was happening.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “You know, all gooey n’shit. Nice. Relaxed.” Steve sucked in a breath and pressed your joined hands to your thigh, his so much wider and covering much more skin. “You’re real cute, babe, someone’s gotta treat you the same way.”

“No,” you shook your head, trying not to sound too sad about it, ‘cause Steve’s hand on your bare skin was starting to make you feel real nice, warm, just like he was describing. Except you were anything but relaxed, heartbeat a livewire racing through your bones, a new pulse thrumming, stomach jumping at each touch. “You think I’m cute?”

You weren’t sure why you asked that, but suddenly, you were desperate to know.

“You kiddin’?” Steve said and you could hear the smile there, the one you knew so well. He leaned in, chin hooked over your shoulder when he felt you settle back against him, body more lax than before. His lips brushed your cheek when he spoke. “You’re the cutest girl in town, d’you not know that?”

You squirmed, too pleased with his comment but embarrassed all the same. Steve always gave you too much attention but it was the way it had always been, a little flirting over the diner table, his hand on the small of your back when you walked through too big crowds, an offered cheek for you to kiss goodbye when he dropped you home after school.

“Shut up,” you whispered, voice thick and quiet and caught in your throat. You didn’t mean that. You didn’t want him to shut up at all. And Steve knew that.

“Now, if you’re the cutest thing in all of Hawkins,” he continued, emboldened by the way you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, letting your fingers go soft between his own. “Don’t you think you gotta be nice to yourself?”

Your breath stuttered and hitched in your chest and despite the nerves that still pinballed around in your stomach, your thighs dropped open a little, the hem of your skirt hitching higher still and Steve swallowed down a curse.

“I don’t think I know how.” It was embarrassing, admitting it, cheeks on fire, nose scrunched even though Steve couldn’t see.

His hands swept up your thighs, taking yours with them, stopping short of creeping under your skirt before retreating back down to your knees. “Like this,” the boy whispered. “See? Nice and sweet. Slow.”

You wanted to let your hands fall away, wanted to feel Steve’s rough fingertips and wide palms span over your skin but when you tried to pull away, Steve only tightened his grip. “Ah, ah, c’mon. You can’t learn if I do it for you.”

There was a whine stuck in your throat; a bratty, moody noise that you didn’t dare let out in fear of being teased by the boy for all of entirety but Steve seemed to sense your frustration anyway.

“C’mon, you got this.” Steve pressed a quick kiss to wherever he could reach, a warm smack of his lips against the skin under your ear, right by your jaw. “Relax, remember?”

So you did, letting out a small sigh before sinking back into him, legs widening and letting Steve drag your hands up and down your thighs, your skin erupting in goosebumps every time you felt a particularly rough graze of Steve’s short nails.

“What d’you think about?” He asked, voice hushed, almost hoarse. It sounded dirty, like a secret you weren’t supposed to tell anyone else about. “When you touch yourself? What d’you think about?”

You pressed your lips together and shrugged, a gasp wrenching out from you when Steve moved your hands inwards, to the softer dough of your thighs, creeping higher and higher until you felt the cotton and lace edge of your underwear against your fingertips.

“I dunno,” your voice didn’t sound like your own. “Someone else, I guess. Someone’s fingers, instead of my own. Being— being kissed and their, their mouth. Lips. Tongues.”

If Steve’s hips twitched up into your own, you were sure you’d imagined it. But he took a second before he answered, nodding so his nose pressed into your cheek, his hair fell over your own.

“S’good,” he agreed, praising you like any teacher would. “What about their mouth, huh? Where d’you want it?”

You squirmed, face on fire, teeth chewing something rotten at your poor bottom lip and when you didn’t answer, Steve took your hand and placed it over your cunt, the cotton there suddenly more damp than it was before. You wanted to throw yourself out the window. Or worse, at Steve.

“Here?” The boy suggested. He wasn’t really touching you, just his hand over your wrist and fingers, guiding, pressing slightly. “Has someone done that to you? Has someone put their mouth here?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the little whine that came out with it, disappointment colouring the sound. Steve tutted, cooing at you with sympathy and he let out a stuttered sigh when you took it upon yourself to press two fingers closer to your clit, seeking out some friction.

“That’s a real shame, you know that?” Steve’s hands left yours, only to grasp your waist and pull you back into him a little firmer and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel him, hard under his jeans, pressed into the bottom of your back.

It only made you press your fingers into yourself harder.

“It is?” You were breathless, each word a huff of air, face screwed up and eyes shut tight as you tried to work out where you wanted your fingers the most.

“Fuck, yeah it’s a shame, babe.” Steve whispered. “Told you, didn’t I? You’re the sweetest girl there is. And someone’s not tasted you? Not told how sweet you really are?” Steve blew out a breath, as if exasperated. “That’s just unfair.”

“Steve.” You weren't sure what you were whining your best friend's name for. For release? Permission? Guidance? All of the above, maybe.

But Steve seemed to know, ‘cause he nudged your hand closer to your cunt, coaxed you into running your fingers over your cotton covered folds. “Yeah?” He asked and his voice was hoarse, a little wrecked sounding. “Ready for more? Feelin’ good?”

You nodded, clumsy, breath coming out a little heavier than before.

Steve let one finger flirt with the edge of your underwear, along the lace trim where your cunt met your thigh and he snapped the elastic against you, feeling brave when you pressed back against him, like you couldn’t be close enough.

“Want these off?” You heard him swallow hard, sounding quieter than before. “Don’t have to, if you don’t want to. We can do whatever—”

You lifted your hips in answer, one hand holding onto Steve’s thigh for support as the other dragged down your underwear and your cheeks cringed with heat as you caught a glimpse of how wet the cotton was. You balled them into your fist, shoving them to the bottom of Steve’s bed and they lay there like a flashing neon sign, all lilac and buttercream coloured flowers, lacy and mortifying.

Your skirt still covered you, hiding a lot from Steve. But the boy could look over your shoulder and see the way your chest heaved, nipples pebbled underneath your T-shirt, the one you’d stolen from him freshman year and made into a crop top. You were all legs, soft thighs, socked feet digging into his duvet, skirt flirting dangerously with all that bare skin underneath. He tried not to rut up into you, but he knew you had to feel him by now, his hard cock pressed against your spine, twitching at every breathy noise you let out.

“What next?” You asked and you sounded desperate, more pent up than you’d ever felt before and you wondered if it was really because you were taking your time with it, if all these slow touches really worked. You wondered if it was Steve. “Should I just—?”

Your fingers dug into your thighs, sitting over your skin alone ‘cause Steve was gripping at his own knees, knuckles white on the denim. “Fuck,” his voice cracked. “Just, uh, do what feels good, yeah?”

You made a sound of protest, frustration spilling up and out of your throat because this is where it went wrong, fingers fumbling, unsure where to touch to be able to coax you over the edge.

“Hey, hey, s’alright,” Steve assured you, whispering again. “Give me your hand.”

You did, without hesitation, and together, with Steve’s fingers twisted between your own, he guided your touch underneath your skirt. You held your breath as you felt your own fingers - and the boy’s - slip between your folds, your legs parting automatically for him. You felt his breath hitch and fall over your cheek as you let out a tiny moan, urging him on, your fingers following his as he swept up and down your cunt, gathering up the slick there before pressing your middle finger to your clit.

“Yeah?” Steve asked and he sounded awed when you cried out, a soft grunt that made him see fucking God. “That good?”

You could barely speak. “Yeah,” you whispered on a breath, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder, giving Steve an unobstructed view down your front, to the way your hands could be seen between your thighs, skirt rucked up around them.

“Atta’ girl, keep doin’ that, okay?”

You did as you were told, adding your pointer finger to the mix, rubbing the two digits over your clit in soft circles, panting every time you felt Steve’s fingers slip between your own. Steve’s free hand was on your waist, a vice-like grip that you weren’t sure he was aware of, his palm on the strip of bare skin between your top and skirt. Every time you let out a shy noise, he squeezed, kneading at the dough there.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, jaw slack as he watched you work at yourself, never letting go of his hand and fuck, fuck, you were so wet, velvet heat under his touch.

“D’you use your fingers?” Steve asked you, lips against your cheek, both of you leaning into each other as if you were unable to help it. “Inside? Do you put your fingers inside yourself?”

Twenty minutes ago, you would’ve died if the boy had asked you such a thing, but now? Now? Now you whined at it, cunt clenching around nothing at the idea of it and you shook your head, temple rubbing against Steve’s cheek in a way that killed him with how fond it was.

“Not really,” you whispered to him, ‘cause even with his fingers slipping over your clit, you were still so shy. “Don’t feel big enough, never- shit - never full enough.”

Steve swore his eyes rolled back into his skull, ‘cause all he could see was white, a blank flash over his vision that felt white hot. He rubbed soothing at your waist, let his fingers span over the width of your side, blunt nails sliding over your ribs. “Poor girl,” he sympathised and he smiled when you whined as he pulled your fingers away. “Shh, gimme a minute, hey? Here, just, try this, huh?”

You didn’t get to ask what he was meaning before the fingers that had been rubbing over your slick skin were in his mouth, two digits pressed to his tongue and Steve sucked. He licked over the pads, most definitely tasting you and you felt his chest rumble with a groan he tried to keep in. And then, as quick as it happened, it was over.

Steve brought your spit slick fingers back between your thighs, nudging the tips of them against your entrance. You keened, hips arching off the bed a little until Steve soothed you back down against him, mouthing over your jaw and cheek in a touch that definitely couldn’t be misconstrued as a kiss.

You sighed as you slid them in, two fingers fucking into yourself as deep as you could manage, slipping in easily with how insanely turned on you were. You hooked them up, like all the articles in the magazines you hid from your parents told you to do, searching for that spot that would apparently make you see stars. But you fell short, fingers not long enough and your clit was aching with neglect.

“Steve,” you felt close to tears, the usual frustration bubbling at the surface of your chest, ready to pop and simmer over. You’d have normally given up by now. “Steve, s’not working.”

“Gotta be patient, babe,” Steve assured you, “gotta be nice to yourself, c’mon, don’t let your head take over.”

But Steve saw the tear that rolled down your cheek and he caught your chin, titling your face towards him as he frowned down at you. You looked wrecked, heartbroken and all pent up, lips red and slick from where you’d chewed at them, eyes all glassy.

He shouldn’t have asked. But he was already in too deep. What does it matter now, right?

Right?

“Want me to help?”

He waited, one second, two, three and then you nodded, relief and disbelief filling his chest all at once. He swallowed back a broken moan and tapped his thumb at your chin, just catching your pouting bottom lip. “You gotta tell me, please?”

“Please, Steve, please. I want you to touch me.”

He’d died. He was dead.

But then you were pulling at his wrist and guiding it back between your legs, your fingers slick from where they’d been inside of yourself and Steve wasn’t sure he was able to handle it. His middle finger nudged up against your entrance and Steve felt it flutter, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was for you, not him.

He was rock fucking hard.

“Ready?” He asked in a last bid for confirmation. You were laying fully against him now, thighs pressed to his, skirt barely covering you and you nodded so furiously that Steve didn’t dare ask you to speak again. “Okay, I’ve got you, alright?”

His finger slid in so easily and you clenched around him, velvet heat that made his heart stutter and his cock kick up against your spine. You immediately felt the difference, the boy’s finger thicker and longer, already reaching parts of you that you’d never felt. You felt like you were going to burst.

“More?” Steve asked and his voice eas shot, eyes closing at the feel of you, your small hand wrapped around his wrist to ensure he wouldn’t stop and Steve wanted to tell you he’d never stop if you didn’t want him to, that he’d do this every fucking day if you’d let him. “Another?”

“Another,” you agreed and god, you weren’t holding back anymore, moans tumbling from your lips when Steve slid another finger in with his first, the feeling of your cunt tightening around him making you both cry out.

Your hips were shifting against him, listing yourself on and off of his fingers and he groaned, stuttered dirty, filthy words into your hair as he let you fuck yourself down onto his didgits. The friction was too much for him, his cock straining in the denim, weeping for release.

“Touch yourself, babe,” he managed to groan out, sighing at the sight of you doing what he told, hand flying to your thighs so you could rub messy, wet fingers over your clit. “That’s it, good girl. Jesus, are you close? I can feel you - fucking hell - I can feel you getting tighter.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest and Steve decided it wasn’t a good idea to ask, deciding that he needed to get you out of your own head so your body could take over.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” He asked instead, a whisper against your ear, his breath warm on your neck, his fingers spanning upupup until they grazed the lace of your bra. You rutted against his hand harder, whining when he hit a deep spot inside of you, one that made your vision go blue-white. “You do, don’t you? My girl likes hearing dirty things, right? Like when I asked you if someone had went down on you? If you’d had someone’s tongue here?”

Steve slid his fingers in and out of you a little faster to get his point across, sweating when you moaned his name. His name. Your own fingers were moving with intent now; tight concise circles that were making your toes curl.

“Would you let me do that? Huh?” Steve dared to asked, grinning when you almost ripped the sleeve off his shirt as you grabbed at his arm, lips falling open in a long moan. “Shit, you look so damn pretty, you know that? I could do that for you though, if you wanted.” Steve’s eyes closed for just a second at the thought of it. “Could put my mouth on you, let you know if you’re really as sweet as you look—”

You seized up, body stiffening as you let out a noise Steve would never forget, a breathy moan of his name that he’d think about every time he fisted his own cock. He kept pumping his fingers into you, eyes wide as your own hand faltered and you shook, head slumping back against his shoulder as you decided to hold onto him instead, hands reaching back to grab at his shoulders, his neck, his hair.

Your pussy was a vice around his fingers, filthy, wet sounds filling his bedroom and he was pretty damn sure but he had to ask, he had to know—

“You comin’, babe? Yeah?” You nodded, frantic, eyes slammed shut and nose scrunched up all cute and Steve couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. “Fucking hell, oh shit, yeah, there you go, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it—”

He wasn’t even ashamed that he came in his jeans like a teenager, in fact, he was a little insane with it. White spots over his vision as his cock twitched and jumped, letting his hips grind against your ass as you whined, your cunt still fluttering around his fingers as he slowed down the way they pumped in and out of you. He heard you swear when he finally pulled them away, slick with your release, sliding them into his mouth as if hiding the evidence.

Your eyes finally met Steve’s when you turned and flopped onto the bed next to him, mattress shifting as you both panting, chests heaving. He turned to find you already staring, eyes wide and cheeks flushed the prettiest colour, almost matching his own.

“Holy fucking shit,” you managed on a gasp.

“Told you,” he managed to say, fighting to keep the smile of his lips.

“What?” You frowned at him, wondering what on earth he wanted to say to you after that. He still looked like your best friend, still sounded like him too. Maybe just a little more smug. “Told me what?”

Steve took the time to push his finger into his mouth once more, enjoying the way your face burned, lips falling open as you watched, unblinking. He let his tongue wrap around it, chasing what was left of your taste until he let it go with a dirty pop.

“Sweetest girl in this fucking town,” he said.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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lord-of-the-prompts · 2 years

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DESCRIBING THE PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES OF CHARACTERS:

Body

descriptors; ample, athletic, barrel-chested, beefy, blocky, bony, brawny, buff, burly, chubby, chiseled, coltish, curvy, fat, fit, herculean, hulking, lanky, lean, long, long-legged, lush, medium build, muscular, narrow, overweight, plump, pot-bellied, pudgy, round, skeletal, skinny, slender, slim, stocky, strong, stout, strong, taut, toned, wide.

Eyebrows

descriptors; bushy, dark, faint, furry, long, plucked, raised, seductive, shaved, short, sleek, sparse, thin, unruly.

shape; arched, diagonal, peaked, round, s-shaped, straight.

Ears

shape; attached lobe, broad lobe, narrow, pointed, round, square, sticking-out.

Eyes

colour; albino, blue (azure, baby blue, caribbean blue, cobalt, ice blue, light blue, midnight, ocean blue, sky blue, steel blue, storm blue,) brown (amber, dark brown, chestnut, chocolate, ebony, gold, hazel, honey, light brown, mocha, pale gold, sable, sepia, teakwood, topaz, whiskey,) gray (concrete gray, marble, misty gray, raincloud, satin gray, smoky, sterling, sugar gray), green (aquamarine, emerald, evergreen, forest green, jade green, leaf green, olive, moss green, sea green, teal, vale).

descriptors; bedroom, bright, cat-like, dull, glittering, red-rimmed, sharp, small, squinty, sunken, sparkling, teary.

positioning/shape; almond, close-set, cross, deep-set, downturned, heavy-lidded, hooded, monolid, round, slanted, upturned, wide-set.

Face

descriptors; angular, cat-like, hallow, sculpted, sharp, wolfish.

shape; chubby, diamond, heart-shaped, long, narrow, oblong, oval, rectangle, round, square, thin, triangle.

Facial Hair

beard; chin curtain, classic, circle, ducktail, dutch, french fork, garibaldi, goatee, hipster, neckbeard, old dutch, spade, stubble, verdi, winter.

clean-shaven

moustache; anchor, brush, english, fu manchu, handlebar, hooked, horseshoe, imperial, lampshade, mistletoe, pencil, toothbrush, walrus.

sideburns; chin strap, mutton chops.

Hair

colour; blonde (ash blonde, golden blonde, beige, honey, platinum blonde, reddish blonde, strawberry-blonde, sunflower blonde,) brown (amber, butterscotch, caramel, champagne, cool brown, golden brown, chocolate, cinnamon, mahogany,) red (apricot, auburn, copper, ginger, titain-haired,), black (expresso, inky-black, jet black, raven, soft black) grey (charcoal gray, salt-and-pepper, silver, steel gray,), white (bleached, snow-white).

descriptors; bedhead, dull, dry, fine, full, layered, limp, messy, neat, oily, shaggy, shinny, slick, smooth, spiky, tangled, thick, thin, thinning, tousled, wispy, wild, windblown.

length; ankle length, bald, buzzed, collar length, ear length, floor length, hip length, mid-back length, neck length, shaved, shoulder length, waist length.

type; beach waves, bushy, curly, frizzy, natural, permed, puffy, ringlets, spiral, straight, thick, thin, wavy.

Hands; calloused, clammy, delicate, elegant, large, plump, rough, small, smooth, square, sturdy, strong.

Fingernails; acrylic, bitten, chipped, curved, claw-like, dirty, fake, grimy, long, manicured, painted, peeling, pointed, ragged, short, uneven.

Fingers; arthritic, cold, elegant, fat, greasy, knobby, slender, stubby.

Lips/Mouth

colour (lipstick); brown (caramel, coffee, nude, nutmeg,) pink (deep rose, fuchsia, magenta, pale peach, raspberry, rose, ) purple (black cherry, plum, violet, wine,) red (deep red, ruby.)

descriptors; chapped, cracked, dry, full, glossy, lush, narrow, pierced, scabby, small, soft, split, swollen, thin, uneven, wide, wrinkled.

shape; bottom-heavy, bow-turned, cupid’s bow, downturned, oval, pouty, rosebud, sharp, top-heavy.

Nose

descriptors; broad, broken, crooked, dainty, droopy, hooked, long, narrow, pointed, raised, round, short, strong, stubby, thin, turned-up, wide.

shape; button, flared, grecian, hawk, roman.

Skin

descriptors; blemished, bruised, chalky, clear, dewy, dimpled, dirty, dry, flaky, flawless, freckled, glowing, hairy, itchy, lined, oily, pimply, rashy, rough, sagging, satiny, scarred, scratched, smooth, splotchy, spotted, tattooed, uneven, wrinkly.

complexion; black, bronzed, brown, dark, fair, ivory, light, medium, olive, pale, peach, porcelain, rosy, tan, white.

#writing prompt #writing ideas #writing tips #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writers block #writing things #writers #writing advice #characteristics #character description

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crimsonbubble · 10 months

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Miguel smol shy!innocent!wife!reader fills my mind♡

She crochet cute things for Miguel like, PINK CUTE THINGS FOR HIM TO WEAR, and if she sees that he is not using them she will make that cute cry baby face and Miguel will immediately rush to wear any of the cute things to make her happy:3

cw. fluff, gn!reader, miggy being love sick, slightly suggestive at the end *not proofread, just pure brainrot

[ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE REQS FOR MIGGY X WIFE!READER]

yknow like those leaf sprout things you can attach onto headphones?

yea reader making matching ones for everyone

everyone gets a designated colour bc yes

miguel is red, peter is mint green, miles is maroon, gwen is powder blue, pav is golden yellow, hobie is violet, jess is navy, mj is apricot

mayday gets a headband with a light orange sprout

I can imagine reader seeing the headphones still in the box that they gave to him and getting pouty

miguel always reassures you that he does in fact use them just not that often

at least seeing the kids wear them makes them happy

internally he's bawling his eyes out bc you're just so cute with the little things you do and make and it makes his heart swell

it makes his dick swell too but let's save that for another hc post 🤭🤭

#bubbly speaks <3 #ash answers #bubbly writes <3 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader smut #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse #spiderverse x y/n

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90108s · 11 months

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in another life

[alt txt below!]

[START I.D.: A two-panel artwork of Feng Xin, Xie Lian, and Mu Qing from Tiān Guān Cì Fú (Heaven Official’s Blessing). In the first panel, the trio is shown from when Xie Lian was Crown Prince while Feng Xin and Mu Qing were his attendants. Xie Lian is in royal attire whereas Feng Xin and Mu Qing are in simpler robes. Xie Lian is smiling with his eyes closed and holding onto Feng Xin and Mu Qing as they bicker with each other. They are surrounded by foliage and fallen leaves. The overall panel is in monochrome. In the second panel, the trio appears to be in a modern setting. They are all in casual wear: Feng Xin in a plain black shirt, Xie Lian in apricot overalls over an off-white sweater, and Mu Qing in a blue jacket over a beige turtleneck. Xie Lian has his arms around Feng Xin and Mu Qing, the former smiling with him while holding a drink and the latter impassively crossing his arms. Like the first panel, they are surrounded by foliage and fallen leaves. The overall panel is in full color. END I.D.]

#tgcf #天官赐福 #Heaven Official’s Blessing #Tiān Guān Cì Fú #천관사복 #art #tgcf fanart #feng xin #xie lian #mu qing #xianle trio #mxtx #mxtx fanart #danmei #jdraws

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rancidpancakebatter · 7 months

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Picnics at Sunset - [L Lawliet]

Pairings: L (Death Note) x Female!Reader

Summary: You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Word Count: 14k words

Content: Swearing, Mentions of death, nudity?, friends to lovers, first kiss, Use of Celcius, touch of angst (it's death Note, come on), Sappy thoughts of love

( Masterlist )

A/N: I have so much to say, but I'll try to keep it brief. I'm sorry this is so long, but so much of this show cuts to long internal dialogues within a conversation, and I tried to capture that. I think I did well, but it is a little long-winded. I don't know if I'll do a lot of writing for this character, but he got stuck in my head recently, and this was the only way I knew to let him go.

You sat at your desk, the computer screen you had been staring at for the past three hours was beginning to hurt your head. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes; then silently cursing as you felt your mascara smear against the pads of your fingers. You needed a break and something other than a slice of cake in your stomach. You looked to your right out of habit, ready to tell your friend that you were taking a break and he should do the same, but his chair was empty.

You looked around the room.

“He stepped outside,” a voice said.

Behind you was Matsuda. You jumped when he spoke, not realising he was there, and he apologised for startling you.

“Yeah, we should get you a bell,” you suggested.

“Yeah, maybe so.” Matsuda laughed. “You know, if you want to bounce ideas off of someone, you can talk to me. I know I can’t come close to Ryusaki’s intelligence, but I’d like to think I have something to offer.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I didn’t really need anything from him, just wanted to see what he was up to.”

“Well, I think he just needed some space to think. You know how he is.”

“That I do,” You agreed, “And I know If he wants to be alone, he’ll have no problem telling me himself.”

Matsuda laughed again, “I’m sure you’re right. But I have a feeling he won’t shoo you away. He has a soft spot for you.”

Just the idea of L turning you away had you put out. You crossed your arms, turning away with a huff. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

You heard Matsuda chuckling behind you, wishing you luck.

You marched up the stairs, down the hall, and got in the elevator, heading for the roof. As you made your way, you couldn’t help but admire the walls around you. The building L designed was quite impressive. You greatly enjoyed the glass elevator, preferring it over any others. Once you passed the tenth floor, the city could be seen. You were usually greeted by blinding sun and clear blue skies, but today, the sky was an enchanting apricot colour, blanketed by thick pink clouds heavy with rain. The sun was peaking from behind the silver buildings as if waiting to see you before finally saying goodbye. You waved to the people below, wishing them well on their oblivious wayfaring.

Soon you reached the top floor, and you pushed open the door to get to the roof access. The door to the roof was already opened, so you called out.

“Ryusaki! You out there?”

You were greeted by silence and tried again.

“I’m alone!”

Only then did you get a reply, “Did you bring any food?”

You chuckled, stepping out onto the roof. “No, I’m sorry.”

L stood out in the open, basking in the fading light and staring at the sky, unbothered by the cold air blowing. He was slouched over and hands firmly in his pockets. He turned his head to you, and the vibrant sky poured over his pale skin, drenching the soft canvas in the colours of monarchs and sunflowers. The light danced around his prominent eyes, flames in a ring of stone. His lips looked kissed by a dreamsicle. You looked away, finding your way back to reality.

“Did you want me to go back and get something?” You offered, throwing your thumb back towards the door.

“No,” He said, turning back to the sun, “Watari should be up soon.”

Before you could question, you heard the door open and close and the clinking sound of plates as they made their way up the stairs.

“Hello, dear,” The old man greeted with a smile.

He carried a tray with a full tea set in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, with a blanket draped across his arm. You watched as he laid it out on the ground, pulling plates and silverware from the basket along with a candelabra. Ryuga settled himself as Watari lit the candles, then gestured for you to do the same. The only clear spot to sit was right beside him, and you took it as gracefully as possible.

“I have brought sandwiches and various tea cakes,” Watari explained, “along with Keemun Mao Feng tea and honey. I hope you enjoy.”

You both thanked him and he left, closing the roof exit behind him. L sat, perching next to you, watching as you admired the display.

“It’s all my favourites,” You observed. “Why did you ask him to bring this?”

His thumb came to rest on his lip, gauging your reaction.

“I knew you would be getting hungry soon. I told Watari to bring some acceptable food if you didn’t grab any on your way up.”

You furrowed your brows in innocent confusion, “How did you know I’d come?”

His head turned away and you notice his feet shuffling, a tell for his anxiety.

“You always do.” He said with a shrug.

Your heart thumped affectionately as he turned his head, and your gaze fell back onto the band of sterling silver in his eyes. You smiled fondly at the man, and he had to look away. He busied himself with the basket, pulling out nicely wrapped sandwiches in brown butcher paper. He read the options out for you and passed you your selections. He then reached in and pulled out a white box with a blue bow. He began to tug at it, then stopped, offering it to you.

You giggled, unravelling the satin ribbon. When he pulled off the lid, a tiered display stand stood with ten layers of tiny cakes with an array of colours, creams, and toppings. L looked over the selection with a careful eye, then chose a spongy square with a raspberry on top. He pinched it between his fingers and brought it to his lips. You watched his selection process as you braided the ribbon into a piece of your hair, presenting it to your friend with a smile. He nodded in approval, and then you finally took a bite of your sandwich, moaning as the myriad of flavours filled your senses.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you said, pushing it towards Ryusaki, “You’ve gotta try it.”

His chewing stops as he eyes the sandwich in front of him like it were a loaded gun.

“I’m okay.” He said politely.

You accepted his dismissal, taking another bite from your sandwich, but still curious about it.

“Why don’t you eat anything but sugar?” You asked through a mouthful of sourdough.

“Well,” Ryusaki began, “Desserts tend to be more homogeneous in texture and taste. I find most ‘real’ food reduces my deductive skills by approximately twenty-five percent.”

You looked up at the beauty of the ending day around you and breathed in the air of the city.

“Do you need your deductive skills right now?” You asked softly, eyes still trained on the sky.

Moments passed in peaceful silence. You could hear a dog barking and the mummer of the life teeming below you. People going about their everyday lives, despite the horror of this new world. You tried to join them now and then, encouraging Ryusaki to do the same– to have a life outside of, despite of Kira. From your peripherals, you saw him spread his knees apart, sitting in a cross-legged position. You watched as he continued adjusting, trying to find a comfortable position. When he settled, you turned your eyes to his.

“Would you like some tea?” You asked.

He nodded his head, and you poured him half a cup from the teapot, filling the rest with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He thanked you when you passed it to him, fingers brushing briefly. You could tell he was a little uncomfortable, probably much more in tune with the “loss of thought” he was experiencing than any other person would be. He held his cup in both hands, elbows resting on his knees as he looked into the wheat-coloured drink. You left L to his thoughts, knowing he would share them if he deemed them important. You instead focused on tucking the rest of your sandwich away, opening another to try. You were happy Watari cared enough to cut them into little triangles.

“What are your plans after the Kira case?”

You nearly choked on your sandwich, not expecting the question. You wiped at your mouth with a napkin, trying to grab your composure.

“I haven’t given much thought to it,” you said, “but I know it will be a bittersweet moment when we catch him.”

Ryuga sat up a little, his interest piqued as he took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” you began, “I’ve met a lot of great people by working on this investigation. I don’t imagine our paths will cross much once this is all resolved, even if we do survive. But it makes me happy to think that one day they’ll get to walk into their front doors and hug their families without the fear of them being ripped away as collateral damage.”

“Not to mention,” You continued, “at the risk of sounding selfish, this job has some really nice perks. I’m compensated well, I get free room and board, I haven’t done my own laundry in four months, and I can even get company-provided gourmet picnics on the rooftop. There’s a lot to miss.”

“I must admit, I will miss the camaraderie,” L said softly. “But I fear the fallout from Kira’s arrest more.”

You knew what he meant. If he was right, and Light and Misa were Kira and The Second Kira, then it would destroy the task force. Matsuda’s heart would shatter, as would Mogi’s, though he’d hide it better than the former. Chief Yagami would likely suffer another heart attack, or perhaps snap entirely. And while you yourself didn’t want to believe it, you couldn’t deny what you knew was true. With the proof of shinigami's existence and an otherworldly murder weapon disguised as a harmless notebook downstairs, nothing could be ruled out. You questioned what other powers came with the notebook, and how those powers transferred.

Bribing Ryuke into answering all your questions was easy enough. It turns out he had never known the taste of a Fuji apple, only enjoying the common red delicious. One was enough to get him hooked. You presented everything you had learned about ownership of the notebook, how it can be passed, and how it affects the user. You and L had come to the same conclusion: sometime in Light’s confinement, he transferred ownership, as did Misa. You knew for sure when Misa visited Light the other day in the lobby.

At the beginning of the investigation, he refused to toy with her emotions, as it went against his code. And you found it comforting, knowing Kira would have no problem doing that, and Light was immediately opposed. For months, he made no effort to show affection to Misa, rebuffing any advance or innuendo she made, but you watched as he brought her into a hug. You watched as she melted into it, savouring the sparring touch and every word he whispered into her ear. You knew he hadn’t magically fallen in love with the girl, but was using the love she had for him.

Yes, Light had changed, and the repercussions were terrifying.

Ryusaki was silent. By now, the sun had set, and the moon began climbing up a ladder of stars. The candlelight flickered, making shadows jump and jive across your friend’s face. The shifts were jarring, but the gentle lighting softened his hardened edges. Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, down his plush lips, and his long neck. You wished to stretch out a curious finger to replace your itinerant eyes.

“Would you like a cake?” Ryusaki asked, changing the subject. You allowed the distraction, deciding you would bring it up again later, but not know.

You selected one with orange filling and chocolate drizzle. It was delicious, falling apart in your fingers as you ate it. You heard a soft chuckle leave your friend's mouth and you looked up at him confused. He said nothing, instead motioning towards his face. You tilted your head, not understanding what he meant. Before you could ask, L brought a napkin to the corner of your mouth, gently rubbing it across your bottom lip.

Your heart stopped beating and your lungs stopped breathing. His touch was like the flames of the flickering candles, igniting the skin he polished. His eyes flicked up to yours and you were lost in a pool of obsidian, his pupils vast in the stary night.

“There,” he said softly, “all gone.”

You searched for your voice, and it came out in a breathy whisper, “Thanks.”

He continued, unbothered by the unprecedented physical contact while you took a sip of your tea, in hopes that would help your unsteady heart. Before you had much time to recover, He spoke again.

“My favourite colour is blue.”

You blinked dumbly, at the man as he readjusted uncomfortably.

“My favourite cake is Strawberry Vanilla Sponge Cake,” He continued, “and I sing in the shower.”

You laughed out of shock, and words continued to spill from his mouth like he couldn’t stop them.

“If I could have a superpower, I would want invisibility. I think four-leaf clovers are ridiculously overblown, but I admire their inherent whimsy. I really like The Beatles, which is very embarrassing as I am British. But even more so because I listen to ‘We Can Work It Out’ when I get frustrated. They bring me a sort of comfort. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think it’s funny when they’re given people names, or named after ridiculous things. If I had one, I’d get a tuxedo cat and name it 3,4,4,5-tetramethylcyclohexa-2,5-dien-1-one.” You open your mouth to ask what that was, but he answered it before you could, “It’s a cyclic dienone, more commonly known as penguinone, and though it has no applicable uses, it’s funny.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his sudden urge to tell you all of these things. In his unblinking eyes, you saw something close to desperation and it confused you, forcing you to look away. You missed the way Ryusaki’s face fell.

“Are you…upset?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry if I overshared.”

“No, no,” You reassured, trying to alleviate some of the guilt that filled your chest at his apprehension. “I’m just confused”

“I was trying to establish trust,” he explained cooly.

Your brows furrowed, “Do you think I don’t trust you?”

“No, I-” he paused, releasing a sigh that moved his shoulders.

“Ignore me,” he said sadly, “Nothing I say lately seems to make much sense.”

Your heart shattered at the uncertainty in his voice. He usually spoke with such conviction. To hear him unsure, insecure in sensibility– his intelligence, really –it made you nauseous.

“Ryusaki,” you began, but he looked away.

“Ryusaki,” you tried again, this time resting a hand on his shoulder, “your sense is still very intact. You’re not the crazy one.”

He looked at your hand, where it rested without hesitancy.

“Look,” you continued, “Someone is trying to kill you. And it could very likely be your best friend. You’re making more sense than anyone else would in your situation.”

Suddenly his eyes shot to yours. There was a small fire burning there, and you worried that you had upset him. You began to remove your hand, but he rested his on yours, keeping it pressed against his shoulder. Your heart leapt at the contact, and you prayed he didn’t notice. Though, if you knew anything about Ryusaki, he did and already tucked it away as useful information.

“Light Yagami is not my best friend.” He said simply, “You are.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that sprouted from the sentiment.

“Really?” You asked in disbelief.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Your smile grew more teasing, “But you didn’t even chain yourself to me.”

L smiled too, “I didn’t have to.”

Time passed in silence. It was a bit awkward, your hand remained on his shoulder as the candles burned. You were getting chilly, the night air nipping at you through your t-shirt. L’s hand kept yours still, you were much too nervous to move it away. Especially when you could see your friend thinking very hard.

He suddenly turned toward you, removing his hand and jostling yours. His thumb came to his lip, running it across and moving the muscle.

“There are a lot of social customs that I haven’t gotten to participate in, due to my isolated childhood, and even more so because of my dangerous career,” he said, “for instance, I had never had friends until this investigation, and now I have three. But that also means I haven’t experienced a lot of the common experiences that come with friendship.”

He looked you over, trying to gauge your reaction thus far. You seemed at ease but attentive. His eyes darted to the blue streak in your hair, and felt a warmth blossoming in his chest. He was amazed by how light-hearted you could be, despite the heavy burdens you carried. You shone so brightly, he was almost embarrassed to ask you to share.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with that. I think it’s important to my development, and general understanding of the human condition.”

You were delighted to hear that he was thinking about such “trivial” things. As you became closer to L, you quickly realised that he lived a very lonely life. You could tell he had convinced himself that was what he wanted, but you knew a life of work wasn’t enough, and he deserved more. You always encouraged him to take care of more than his brain; to value his body and his spirit as well.

“Of course L,” you nearly cheered, “what did you have in mind?”

You waited patiently for his response, trying your best not to shrink under his gaze. You were sure that his eyes were a large reason as to why he made such a great detective. When he focused his eyes on someone, it made them feel see-through; like he could see everything that made up that person. Like he could read your thoughts.

“Can I-“ he began, then stopped. It was rare to see him trip over his words. “I would like- would it be okay if we hugged?”

Lightning struck across the sky, and you flinched, startled by the sound. You looked up into the dark, trying to find the flash of light you knew was long gone. You spotted the thick, rolling clouds hovering above you, and you hadn’t noticed before. Then the thunder rumbled, and the cry was resonant, penetrating your bones as it rolled through you. Then slowly, rain began falling from the sky. A few drops landed on your face, and you could feel them beginning to stick to your clothes.

When your shock faded away, you looked back at your friend. He was looking at you intently, hunched over like always. You opened your mouth to respond, but L spoke before you.

“Let’s step inside,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder like you had before, “you’re shivering.”

You hadn’t realised that you were, but as you looked down at your hands, you couldn’t deny the tremble. He stood and began packing up everything on the blanket, refusing your help when you offered even though the rain had picked up. It was steady now, easily soaking through your clothes and his in turn. Once everything was tucked away, he guided you inside, opening the door for you.

As you walked down the steps, your mind spun around his words. He had asked to hug you, someone who you thought would be pretty averse to physical touch. You were surprised he let you lay a hand on him at all, and even more surprised when he reciprocated the action. It could’ve just been an experiment, a test to see how it made him feel, but you found yourself reviewing your own results.

You hadn’t really touched L before. There was no reason to. Even when he fell out of his chair over the whole “Shinigami” thing, you let the others crowd him. Your hands had maybe brushed here and there when passing sweets or documents, but intentional, prolonged contact was never made until today. You couldn’t deny his behaviour had been odd lately, though that was to be expected with the stress he was under. You wondered if he was indulging out of curiosity or a fear of missing out on life.

You jumped again as another bolt of lightning struck across the sky, followed by the soft beginnings of rain, now slowly collecting on the glass walls around you. You began walking down the hall and jerked your head to beckon Ryusaki, who seemed deep in thought. You watched the rain grow, drops colliding and running down the glass. You stopped to trace the tracks left, your body shuttering against the cold.

“I’m sorry,” your friend spoke quietly, as there was no one but you here, and no reason to raise a voice. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You looked at him with shock, but he refused to look at you.

“Ryusaki, I haven’t felt uncomfortable around you since we started this investigation. Why would that change now?” When he didn’t respond, you bumped his shoulder with yours, “Seriously though, if you ever do make me uncomfortable, I won’t let you live it down.”

“Good,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You both continued to stare off into the distance in silence. You began breathing out hot puffs of air and drawing in the condensation. Meaningless shapes littered the space as you got lost in your thoughts.

You felt stuck between knowing and knowing nothing. You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.

Your thoughts were interrupted once again when you felt a weight on your shoulders, and you looked down to see pale, slender hands embellished with tendons and glistening in the light. Your jaw dropped slightly, seeing him appear so close behind you in your shared reflection.

“You’re still shivering.” He didn’t look at you, his eyes obscured by his shaggy hair, “A blanket should help.”

You offered a kind, timid smile in thanks, turning to face him. Your cheeks filled with blood though you couldn’t quite pin down why. Maybe it was just because he was touching you again when he’s never really done that before. Or maybe it was the fact that he was concerned about you. Or maybe it was the intimacy of it all, how close he was and how gentle his touch was.

His hallowed, all-seeing eyes met yours and you lost your breath. You wanted to look away, feeling pierced by his gaze, but you couldn’t– you wouldn’t. “If this isn’t sufficient, let me know. It’s my fault you’re cold.”

“No, it’s not,” You chuckled as he adjusted the material on your shoulder, “I walked out willingly. Yeah, you baited me into staying with food and tea, but I saw your plan, and I decided to go along with it.”

L smiled shyly, “I never could fool you.”

Your brows furrowed, and your heart sank.

“Can.” You corrected sternly. “You never can fool me.”

“Ah, Of course.” L said, removing his hands from you and tucking them back into his pockets, “You’re too observant for me to keep a secret. You’re always the first in the room to know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t directly address his slip-up– referring to himself in the past tense as if he had died –so you didn’t either, instead filing that away under “more things to bring up later”.

“What can I say?” You teased. “Great minds think alike.”

“That they do,” he muttered, though you could tell his mind had taken him far away again.

You turned back to the window, and he joined you there. The rain had picked up, the heavy clouds drawing nearer. Your body buzzed with the electricity in the air. You could feel the winds of change surging through the city, and it filled you with determination.

“You should change,” Ryusaki whispered, “you’ll catch a cold.”

“Please,” You said, rolling your eyes and landing on his. “We were out there for less than an hour, and it never dropped below four degrees.”

“That’s still rather cold,” He hid his eyes from you, and you missed the sparks he carried there. “Not to mention the addition of rain.”

“If you’re so worried about my immune system,” you quipped, “studies show that hugs can actually help fight illness.”

That got a reaction out of the man, whipping his head to look at you.

“Is that so?” He asked, amusement teeming in his thin, grey irises. “Is it the exposure to more germs?”

“Possibly,” You admitted, “But it’s mostly the stress relief. Hugs reduce your cortisol and noradrenaline levels, improving blood pressure and general heart health. Also, with both of our body heats working together, it might help warm me up.”

L brought his thumb to his lip again, pondering your words.

“Maybe you have a point.” He muttered, “Perhaps we should test this theory.”

You agreed but neither of you moved, both too afraid to make the first move. You had hugged people before. You had hugged your family and many friends, so hugging Ryusaki shouldn’t be that nerve-racking, and yet, your body was buzzing just at the concept.

Suddenly, L Spread his arms, his figure drowning in his baggy sweater. It happened in slow motion, or at least it felt like it did. He dove towards you, wrapping his arms tightly around you, unintentionally pinning yours to your side, and his chin landed on the crown of your head gently.

You tensed, not expecting him to just go for it. Your face was pressed into his chest, your nose brushing his collarbone because of how his sweater had shifted. You were suddenly self-conscious breathing on him, trying your best to make sure your lungs were expanding and contracting naturally, but you could feel the awkwardness in your muscles.

“I don’t think this is working,” He said, his jaw moving against your head, “Your heart rate has only elevated. This seems to be…bothersome to you.”

He slowly removed himself but remained close, focusing his trying eyes on you, hands back in his pockets. “Please, tell me how you feel.”

“Well, firstly, you surprised me.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. Laughter bubbled up due to his unwavering gaze that affected you, though you didn’t want to concede to that. “And second, I’m not sure that counted as a hug. You trapped my arms, so I couldn’t reciprocate it properly.”

“I see,” He said, not showing any emotion you could detect (And you had gotten pretty good at reading L at this point). “What can I do better?”

His determination was…adorable. He was adamant about this, about hugging you better. You wouldn’t have thought this was something he ranked so highly in importance, and you felt flattered.

“Open your arms again,” You instructed, scooting closer.

He followed your orders, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. You took a quick breath, then brought your arms around his waist, then rested your ear between his pecs. There you heard his heart. You expected a steady thrum, but instead, the muscle beat like a kick drum without cause. But you supposed if you only fed your body sugar and caffeine, your heart would go crazy too.

He was also much comfier than you expected his skin and bones to be. His frame felt right in your arms, and a word flitted through your mind: safe. He was safe here in your arms, and you felt safe here too.

You remembered then that he was still standing there with his arms fully extended, like an owl stretching their wings.

“You can wrap your arms around me like before now,” You said into his chest.

He did as you said, and you felt an instant relief. Your blanket was wrapped around him, and you were surrounded by L. He was soft, like the petals of a Gardinia– like the ones your mother used to grow. He smelled like chocolate and strawberries, though with his diet, you were sure he sweated out sugar. In the refracted light the droplets cast, it looked just like that, like sugar crystals dancing across his skin.

Your nose picked up hints of lavender you recognised as the fabric softener Watari swore by. You wanted to bottle the sents and wear them yourself. You found yourself snuggling in closer, drawn in by the comforts of L.

You sighed in contentment, closing your eyes. His heartbeat stabilized, beating slower but strong. Slowly, he adjusted himself, bringing his arms tighter around you and turning so his ear rested against you and not his hewn jaw. Many moments went by like that, with nothing but the instrumental played by the rain, steady breathing, and hearts beating. As time went on, your heartbeats began to sync, beating together. You felt warmth spread throughout you at the thought. You liked this. You liked being close to Ryusaki.

“How long do these usually last?” He whispered into the rich silence.

“It depends on the friends, everyone’s comfort levels.” You replied thoughtfully. “Some people only hug for a few seconds; others hold each other like this. But it’s recommended that you get at least four hugs a day.”

He hummed, considering your answer. “I definitely haven’t been fulfilling that quota.”

“It’s okay,” You said through a laugh, “Me either.”

“Perhaps,” L said, putting on his detective voice, “If you have found this as enjoyable as I, we could do this more often– try to reach that benchmark more. The act of hugging seems to increase my oxytocin levels, which feels different than the dopamine confections give me. If it affects you the same way, I think that could be good for us both.”

Your laughter danced across this skin. “I can’t believe you can feel the difference between happy hormones.”

“Of course I can.” He said, completely unphased by your disbelief. “Dopamine feels more like I’m doing a good job, and Oxytocin is…”

You waited patiently while he found the words.

“Oxytocin makes me more…sentimental,” He landed on.

“I guess that makes sense,” You mumbled into his chest. “Weirdo.”

He chuckled at the title that would have hurt coming from anyone else.

“I would be okay with that,” You said, addressing his proposal, “If we hugged more often.”

“Great,” He said, and you could hear his smile. L could feel how the cold continued to cling to your skin. Although hugs were supposed to help fight illness, he doubted it was a cure. “We should finish up then so you can change.”

He released his hold on you and began to pull away, but without thinking, you held on tighter, your brows furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I just don’t want to leave this.” L brought a hand to his chin, cradling it and trying his best not to jostle you. “Is it the hug that you want, or is it me?”

Your eyes bugged at his question. Immediately, you let go, creating distance as you jumped back. You reacted as if he had struck you instead of asking a straightforward question to better understand the situation.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish plucked from the water.

“Well, I- It’s uh…I mean- heh -what?” You stumbled. Again, L’s shark skin eyes bore into yours, dissecting every stutter and stammer.

“I believe the question was fairly easy to comprehend.” He said plainly, “I asked if it was the hug you wanted or me.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks.

“I understood the question,” You weakly defended.

L’s head dropped once again to the side, his hair flopping loosely as he moved but still weighing down over his face.

“Then answer it.”

You swallowed. He had cornered you, baiting you by insinuating you weren’t as intelligent as he thought and getting you to confess that you in fact were not confused. But in truth, you were. Because it was true that you were extremely touched-starved. You had dedicated the better half of the last year to catching Kira. You hadn’t had time for much else. You weren’t exactly popular before either.

You were a criminal, a cyber-robinhood. You had stolen from several pharmaceutical companies and redistributed their funds to families in need. You thought it absolutely abhorrent that the companies could make money off of cancer and diabetes, depriving people of medicine they needed, not wanted. You had done it with your best friend, who was killed by Kira.

She had taught you the ropes and how to hide yourself from the authorities. She, however, had crossed the line. She began targeting government officials, leaking their private messages and phone records to the public. You would have thought that would align with Kira’s morals, but you guess not because she died of a heart attack in your arms. You hadn’t made a friend since, not until Ryusaki.

You didn’t want him to leave you too. You were terrified that he would be ripped away from you, much like your friend before. But it was more than that. You wanted Ryusaki to live. You wanted him to have a full life, one of joy and contentment. One where his intelligence wasn’t weaponised. One where he could let his guard down and not break his back with his posture. You wanted him to drown in hugs, to never be deprived of comfort again. And you wanted to be by his side to see it.

You had become very attached to the man before you. You admired him, respected him. You found yourself trying to be more like him in many ways. And you felt pride every time he mimicked you.

“I don’t know.”

L was unconvinced, leaning in closer, “Yes, you do. But you won’t say.”

You stared into his eyes, words eluding you. What could you say? You weren’t even sure what you wanted, what your answer would be. He looked at you curiously, awaiting your response. When you had none, he sighed.

“Fine then,” He said, turning his investigative gaze away from you. “I will escort you to your room. Hopefully, that will satisfy you.”

You had requested a room here at headquarters and were unsurprised when L told you that he had already built one for everyone on the task force. You had all but moved in during the Kira case. You hadn’t meant to, but it was just easier than taking the train alone after a late night of investigating. With no one to stop you, you would stay up until three ante merīdiem, studying and analysing trends. Sometimes you would crash at your desk, but usually, you would drag yourself away when you noticed your eyes becoming heavy. But now, your apartment was more of a formality than anything else. L knew this and made no comments on the matter. He was happy you stayed here instead, and that the rooms weren’t a complete waste of time and effort.

As you travelled through the silent halls, you brought your blanket tighter around your shoulders, tensing your jaw so your teeth didn’t chatter. Ryusaki seemed unbothered by the cold. He showed no signs of discomfort other than the way his shoulders folded forward more than they usually did. You wondered if he was just suppressing them or if he truly wasn’t cold. But then you saw a small shiver travel down his spine.

“You never told me,” you said softly, “what you were doing out there?”

His steady pace was unwavering, his bare feet gently padding across the tiled floors of the hall.

“Thinking,” He replied but offered nothing more.

“Of course you were thinking, that’s all you know to do. ” You joked, “What were you thinking about?”

He took a few more steps, then stopped. You continued forward until you were standing side by side. He stared ahead, but you turned to face him. You watched as his face remained flat, unchanged.

“I was thinking about my death,” he said plainly, continuing his previous pace. “I reviewed my mental record of my will, noting necessary amendments. Due to recent events, I felt it something I reconsider.”

Your stomach twisted at his casualness, and you looked away. How could he say that and have no feeling about it? Or rather, rationalize whatever feelings he had about the situation away?

“You-” You began, your words tripping over the lump in your throat, “you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not going to die.”

You said it with finality, though your friend heard the subtle desperation, the fear beneath your bravado.

He stopped again, and when you turned to him, he turned as well. His eyes seemed almost hollow as he spoke.

“We all die. And I happen to find myself in a position in which I am taunting the reaper.”

L did a lot of staring, and this one you took as a personal challenge. He knew what you meant, and he was purposefully not addressing it. You weren’t backing down; you weren’t folding for him. The other members of the task force often forgot that he was human; you refused to forget. While he was smarter than anyone you had ever met, he wasn’t a supercomputer. He had hopes and dreams; he had fears.

“We’re here,” he said, interrupting this game of blink.

You hadn’t realised you had arrived at your room and hesitated at the door.

“Would you like me to step inside?” He offered.

You nodded.

“Very well then.”

He opened the door and you stepped in. He closed the door behind him, then stood a few feet into the room, scratching at his leg with his foot. You made your way to your closet, selecting a new shirt and some sweatpants, then went to your dresser, selecting new undergarments.

L looked to the wall after catching a glimpse of the lacey bra you balanced from your finger. You looked to your friend, ready to ask him to turn around, when you noticed his head already turned and a slight rosy hue crawling up his exposed neck. He was usually so devoid of colour; the splash of pink was a nice touch. You wondered what had flustered him and if it had anything to do with you. The thought made you excited, but you chose not to acknowledge that.

“I’m changing now,” You said, turning away from him.

L tried his best to keep his eyes off of you, but soon, your hands were in the air as you peeled off your shirt, and his curiosity won. His eyes traced over the exposed skin, counting the vertebrae up your back. His breath hitched slightly as you reached behind you and unlatched your bra. He caught himself imagining what it would look like if you were turned around and ripped his eyes away again. After all, you were his friend, and it was inappropriate to think such things about a friend. Especially one that trusted him enough to change in front of him. He would rather die than abuse your trust.

Soon, you were wiggling out of your pants, and his eyes betrayed him, following the movement of your hands. The cotton panties you wore were nothing special, plain and purple and a bit cheeky. It clung to the shape of your ass beautifully. His eyes bugged involuntarily, and he decided he could no longer trust himself to be facing you and turned his body.

As he faced the wall, he considered your interactions today. You had sought him out and then joined him outside despite knowing the discomfort the cold would bring you. Meaning you valued his amusement more than your comfort. You entertained his tangents and encouraged him to try new things, which meant that his general well-being must be something of importance to you. Why else would you go out of your way to protect it?

Yes, you wanted him to be happy and made that a responsibility of your own. You coached him through a new experience and reassured his insecurities about it. He had hugged you for two minutes and thirty seconds, but you had held him for two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. So you enjoyed the physical comfort, and obviously desired more, as you only stopped when he shocked you.

That’s right, you pulled away when he asked if you "wanted him." So enjoying his company was fine, but once "wanting" became a part of the equation, you rejected it. Or tried your best to. But you didn’t deny that you still desired his presence, allowing him to escort you to your room, where you took off your clothes in front of him.

When he looked at the incidents individually, it could all be chalked up to you being a good friend– one who trusted and respected him –but he was a better detective than that. He also knew to look at the big picture. In his mind, he replaced himself with other people, like puppets in a play, and saw how your reactions changed.

He found it hard to believe that you would allow someone else on the team to hold you for two minutes, lure you into the rain, or risk them seeing you in your underwear. Which begged the question, why do you treat him differently? How does your perception of him differ from the others?

Then it became abundantly clear, and he was shocked. The conclusion he came to seemed ludicrous, and yet, it was the only one that made sense-- the only one that stood with the evidence. How could this be? There was only one way to know.

He called your name and you hummed in response, putting on a new shirt and turning to face him.

“You evaded my question.” He remarked, still looking at the wall. “However, I think your evasion– and the several events surrounding it –has given me a more clear understanding of the answer you were guarding.”

You felt a general unease, not sure you liked the direction his inquisitive mind was heading. You wrung your hands anxiously in front of you, looking at the back of his head. You should have known L wouldn’t let that go.

“I told you I didn’t know.”

He turned quickly, catching you off guard. He was once again very close to you, his eyes dancing with curiosity and a bit of pride. It was a look you saw when he presented a theory based on new evidence he had finally made sense of that had previously baffled the team. You knew he was confident in whatever he had deduced and was more amused by your responses, watching carefully with a thumb pressed to his lip just a few inches away from your face.

“But I don’t think it was the complete truth,” he pressed, “which makes it a lie of omission.”

“I didn’t lie,” You quickly defended.

“But I saw it: a realisation flitting across your face. You looked at the evidence and came to a conclusion. You have some idea as to why you reacted to my question the way you did, and you have an answer. Does the answer put you in a position of vulnerability perhaps?”

You gaped at him, unsure how to respond. However, he continued to think aloud, answering your question for you with his own ramblings.

“Yes, that must be it. In answering whether you merely wanted more affection or me, it would force you to admit that you had a need that wasn’t being met. And since we had already discussed our general lack of affection in day-to-day life, revealing that you felt you wanted more hugs would not make you uncomfortable… no, it has to be me that you want. That’s the only reason you would react that way. Which makes me wonder, in what way do you want me?

“My phrasing may have impacted your response, as ‘want’ can mean different things in certain contexts. However, if you thought of me in a strictly platonic sense, you would not have assumed I meant anything more than my company. There is, of course, the possibility that previous interactions in male friendships lead you to believe I meant something else, but I think it is more likely that you interpreted it romantically because you have– on some level –romantic feelings for me. And by answering the question honestly, you would have revealed that.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Am I right?”

Your brain was spinning, repeating every word he had said. He waited patiently as you mulled it over. You tried to disprove his theory, picking each line and defending the opposite, but it became harder and harder the longer you went on. You weren’t sure how you saw the man in front of you. He was your friend, someone you respected and cared for. You valued his opinion and you listened to his advice. But you couldn’t deny that you found him attractive. You had since you first met him.

After your friend had died, it didn’t take you long to piece together that it was Kira who killed her. You brought your theory to the police, but they didn’t take you seriously. Apparently, there had been many false reports of Kira's murders, and yours was the fifteenth report that day. You continued to argue, but you didn’t even get past the front desk. That night, when you got back home, you decided you would do everything you could to catch the killer. You broke into the police database– which was entirely too easy –then followed up with everyone they suspected. You used your skills to hack into the suspects' computers, scouring through their histories and files, but didn’t find anything incriminating. Except for one man.

He was too innocent, not even a record of porn on his computer. Most of his search results were quiz questions with brief breaks spent streaming funny videos. He was a studious pupil and the son of a cop. You consulted the police’s notes often and were surprised when they claimed it could be a student. Then soon after, the pattern of killings changed, further proving the theory.

You were convinced it was Light Yagami, but you needed more. So you tried to hack into L’s computer. You knew from the police notes of the meetings that L called in using a computer, meaning he had to have a Wi-Fi connection to talk to them in real time. It took you a while to hack the secure connection, and even longer to get into the computer. You felt defeated– outsmarted –when you realised the only thing on the device was whatever system he used for the calls and whatever connection he used for that was heavily encrypted.

You thought nothing more of the event until you were picked up off the street a few weeks later. You were grabbed and bound, the assailant immediately gagging and blindfolding you. The drive was long, and you were taken somewhere with winding hallways and cold rooms. You were restrained to a table, straps keeping you upright, and then your gag was removed.

You yelled in anger, cursing your capture and illustrating all the ways in which you would make them suffer for treating you this way. You only stopped when a robotic voice filled the room. It asked who you were, but you ignored its question, connecting the dots.

“You’re L,” You said plainly, “The renowned detective. You’ve solved every case you’ve ever taken on. And you apprehended me– confining me and taking away my vision –meaning you must think I’m Kira. You know who I am, that’s why you’ve taken me in.”

He confirmed your suspicions and listed out the crimes you had committed, and your behaviours that made him suspect you. You couldn’t deny his deductions, and instead of trying to prove your innocence, you told him about your own mission to catch Kira. You even apologised for trying to hack him as well, “but you understand, I had to try.”

He kept you tied up for a few, very long days, then let you walk around the room, giving you access to a bed and a few books. Now and then he would check in on you and offered to make amends for the misunderstanding. You only requested that he hear you out.

You told him about your theories and how you were disregarded by the police. He was the first person to tell you that he believed your friend was murdered and that it had more to do with them talking out against Kira online than the crimes they had committed. And that only angered you more.

Soon, he began to trust you. He showed you his face. He was nothing like you imagined, but everything you expected. He was odd; he looked almost sickly and was very deadpan. But he had a sense of humour, one that was just as odd as him. He was straightforward forward, and you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking, as he often shared his thoughts. He was kind, having an obvious affinity for sweets, but always willing to share with you. He asked about you and your life, and you could tell he was cataloguing everything you had to say. He listened so intently when you spoke.

You only grew closer, looking forward to your meetings in the following weeks, and were elated when he told you about the new headquarters and how he wanted to introduce you to the rest of the team. He was impressed by your resourcefulness and intellect, but more importantly your passion. You were driven by revenge, but soon that changed. L believed in you, and you wanted to honour that.

Despite his quarks, you saw his soft underside, and it drew you in more. He was fascinating to you, alluring.

Was that normal for a friend? To simply see them and feel better, to seek out their company? Yeah, you guess it was, but you didn’t think it was as normal to think your friend is pretty. Friends don’t trace jaw lines or let their eyes linger on outstretched fingers and moving lips. Is that what you were feeling? Was your confusion and nervousness a result of an unrealised crush on your friend?

“Oh, I see,” Ryusaki mumbled, “It wasn’t an intentional lie; you only just now realised.”

You hated that he could read you as well as he could, and suddenly his proximity was suffocating. You stepped back, hiding from his gaze in your hands. It was bad enough that you had feelings for your best and only friend, but to come to that realisation in front of them –when they have the uncanny ability to practically read minds –was mortifying. You were cornered and unsure what to say. You didn’t even have time to consider what you wanted to do about your feelings before they were made known.

You could try to deny it, but you didn’t think that would work. Not against L. So you decided to look deeper. You had pieced together how your interactions proved you liked him, but how did L fare? You compared his behaviour towards you to the others. He was kinder with you, often wording things gentler to you than he would care to for anyone else. He provided confections to everyone, but he only offered you bites from his plate. He was more candid about his feelings with you, as well as his thoughts.

While he often toyed with the investigators, constantly testing their deductive reasoning and loyalty, L only asked what you thought to question his own conclusions. He valued your input more than others on the team, and you knew the task force was aware of that. if you were in the room, Ryusaki was always within arms reach. He never strayed far. He asked about your personal life, and he encouraged you to take breaks. He smiled and laughed around you, something you didn’t see in front of the others. You had seen L’s soft side, but only because he had shown it to you. He was vulnerable with you. But was that just friendship?

No, no there was more. Today, he cared for you, feeding you and treating you to a picnic. He apologised for your condition, completely disregarding his own. He did his best to atone for the wrong he felt he had done, going as far as to wrap you in his own warmth. He didn’t need to. He sought out the contact. Contact he didn’t look for elsewhere. Contacted he requested and asked for more of, in a less than graceful way. Tripping over words was out of character for the normally articulate detective.

He then stayed by your side, escorting you to your room, again, disregarding the fact that he too was cold and rained on. Furthermore, any other friend would have turned away from you while you changed, but he faced you. You remembered the blush on his face before you changed. Either the idea of you undressing or something he saw you were changing into caused that response. You had difficulty believing this came from a general lack of experience with women.

If Misa changed in front of him (which is an unavoidable event which has already happened with her room being monitored the way it is), you doubted he would have much of a reaction. Yes, you were sure. His flustered state was a result of you.

You removed your hands from your face and looked at the man of your affection. He wore a curious look, and you smiled.

“You’re not upset,” he observed, “Usually, people respond badly to my blunt deductions about their emotions. I expected you to yell or deny, but you’ve done neither.”

You chuckled lightly, “I don’t think there’s a way I could have denied that without further confirming your conclusion.”

“Well, your initial response of hiding from me was sufficient.” he said with a bit of smugness, “But I’m curious as to why you no longer feel the need to.”

“I don’t need to hide my feelings if you already know they exist,” you stated calmly, “And I’m sixty-seven percent sure you share my feelings, making them much less frightening.”

Rysuaki’s hidden eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. You watched smugly as he said nothing, revelling in the pride of shocking even the great L.

You explained how you reached that conclusion, knowing that would be his first question. When you finished, he looked up to the ceiling, reevaluating the evidence. You watched as his careful mind picked apart your deduction and this time you allowed yourself to appreciate his unique beauty.

You traced the slope of his nose, following it down to the tendons in his neck and where his collar bones poked out from his baggy sweater. You greedily observed the way his clothes hung from his body, nearly swallowing him whole.

“It is true, I am rather fond of you. I made that more obvious than I intended, however, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” He admitted, “I can’t say I’ve ever had much of a love life or much experience with romantic feelings. I’m not sure how to proceed.”

You patted the spot next to you on the bed, and he crossed the room to join you. To your surprise, he sat with his feet on the floor, hands on his thighs.

“I think this a good place to start,” you said warmly. “We don’t have to do anything about it yet.”

He nodded but didn’t look at you. You could see the gears churning in his head, then you noticed his hands. There were impressions left in his thighs from his strong grip. Was it possible he was nervous? You couldn’t hide the delight the sight brought you. You thought it was adorable that you were something that could cause him so much grief. But you hated it too.

You placed your hand on his and he tensed slightly, but didn’t push it away.

“Hey,” you said softly, “Take a breath. Really, I don’t want you to stress over this. You have enough on your plate.”

He looked at your hand, his face level, silently assessing, and you allowed him the space to do so. His hand twitched a bit under yours before he turned it over, his palm meeting yours and his slender fingers weaving between your digits.

“What if-” he paused, as if not sure he should say what he was thinking. He took a breath as you instructed, then continued. “What if I want to do something about it?”

You couldn’t contain the smile that spread across your face, and you didn’t feel a need to.

“Then I would ask what you wanted to do.”

"It's not about what I want." He looked at you, eyes wide and panicked. “What if doing something is stupid and puts you in danger?”

You had never seen L so worked up before, and you were stunned for a moment. You realised he was letting you in, even more than before. He was letting you see his fear, something you're not sure he’s shown anyone willingly. And in this moment, you were reminded that he was just a young man. That his life had barely begun. Yet he had seen horrors you couldn’t imagine.

“If Light is Kira,” he continued, through gritted teeth. “then you are already endangered enough. But if our relationship is now romantic, he may use you to get to me. He would have no problem killing you if it brought him closer to his goal, and we both know that.”

“Ryusaki…” you tried, rubbing your thumb against the back of his cold, clammy hand. “He already knows I care for you. The others have been teasing me about my favouritism for months now. If he thought I knew anything, or that you would tell me anything, he would have already done it. If he could, he'd probably force me to write your name in the book somehow, so he didn’t have to do it himself.”

The fire in his eyes fizzled, and now he looked deflated again as if his anger was the only thing giving him the energy to fight.

“Then, I can’t tell you anything,” he concluded, “and that doesn’t make for a very strong relationship. One of secrecy where I’m forced to keep you at a distance…no that won’t do.”

He let go of your hand, looking away and rising to his feet. You felt that familiar tug in your heart, the one you felt at your desk when you realised he wasn’t beside you, the same feeling when he tried to end the hug. It felt like he was leaving you, and this time, it made you angry.

“Fuck that!” you said a little harsher than you intended. L turned to look at you in surprise; you had never raised your voice to him before (Aside from that time he arrested you and you didn’t know it was him you were cursing). “I refuse to let Kira make any decisions for me. That bastard doesn’t get to stop me from doing anything I want. And I want this, I’ll fight for it.”

You spoke with a vicious resolve, and L had to admit, it was intriguing.

“I’m done letting him ruin my life. I’m taking charge. I know there’s a way to prove it, to get him to confess. We can do it. We’ll catch that monster and frame his head on the wall.”

L was studying you; you could see it in his analytical eyes.

“‘Monster’ you say…” he wonders aloud, “There are many types of monsters; the one we face now... he’s a lying monster: He’s cunning, posing as a human, though having no understanding of the human heart. He works hard, but only to appease his own hubris. He seeks friendship even though he does not truly know how to love. I had once said, If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because, in truth, I am that monster.”

He locks eyes with you, his gaze resolute.

“Tell me, honestly, how can you hate Kira and care for me? We are the same beast.” His body towered over yours, the shadows of the light obscuring his face under his hair. He was almost intimidating. “I do not fight for justice but my own amusement. How many lives have I disregarded all because I didn’t find the case challenging enough? How many people have I endangered solving this one? I allowed who I believed to be Kira intimate knowledge of the case, all because I thought it made the game more fun. I view people as disposable, just as Kira does, and manipulate them just as freely. Kira and I are cut from the very same cloth. Yet, you despise him and respect me.”

Your stare was hard and unforgiving. Rage shook your body, and L was sure that you had changed your mind. You hated him now, just as you should.

“No,” You said sternly, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t allow you to lie to me.”

You carefully lifted his chin, forcing him to hear you.

“You are flawed, yes. You certainly have an ego, but that doesn’t make you a monster. If you were presented with the power of the death note, you wouldn’t use it to make yourself a god. You don’t always fight fair, but the criminals you chase don’t either, and it would be silly to try for the high road. That is what makes you such a great detective. You do what needs to be done. But that’s not why I care about you.”

You saw a flicker of surprise on his face before he buried it once again.

“I care for you. Not L, the world’s greatest detective. I care for the man who treats me kindly and listens to my woes. I care for the man who checks in to make sure I’ve eaten and taken breaks. I care for the man who is so terrified of himself, he hides away from the world. I care for the man who was cursed with a brilliant mind and raised in a world of evil. I don’t care that you’re a genius, I’d love you dumb. I’m not interested in what you can do for me. I just want you.”

You watched as the man closed his eyes, unable to face your reverent judgment.

“You could step away right now, and I’d never think less of you. You could imprison Light, right or wrong, and I would stand by you. You could tell me that you don’t want this, and I wouldn’t fight you.” You moved your hand from his chin to rest against his cheek. “But if you bow down to Kira– admit defeat when your heart is still beating –I’ll never forgive you.”

His eyes snapped open, and he scanned your face, looking for a lie, but found one.

“We live in a world where gods of death are real,” you continued, “And that knowledge has made me realise even more that nothing in life is guaranteed. Nothing other than your own resolve. I chose life, and I wish you would choose the same.”

“You speak as if I am trying to kill myself.” he scrutinised.

“Since the arrest of Higuchi, you’ve stopped investigating," You pressed, "but we both know it’s not because you think we’ve stopped Kira. There’s still a second notebook- a second Kira. And I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in Yagami, almost as if coming in contact with the book has turned him back into Kira. I see the way he looks at you, the way he studies you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“I have,” he confirmed.

“Then why? Why have you stopped trying to catch him? If he is actively trying to catch you– to kill you –and you do nothing to stop it, you are killing yourself. You’re allowing him to win. And I can’t– no, I won’t catch him without you.”

“You wouldn’t avenge me?” He asked curiously.

“I’m here for my own selfish reasons,” you reminded him, “If you die, then everyone I have left will have been taken by Kira. What motivation would I have left to stop him?”

“I see…” he said flatly, “so if Kira is to be caught, we must both live to see it happen.”

“Yes, but more so, I would blame you for your death. Avenging you wouldn’t be possible, as you and your killer would be one and the same. I would hate you.”

His hand joined yours, guiding it away from his face and holding it at his side.

“I’m not sure I could rest knowing you hated me. Not when you’re the only person I trust and the only person I can say I’ve ever cared for– besides Watari, of course,” He said softly, “But in all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of it. I can’t control you, and I have no desire to, but allowing you to grow any closer to me is dangerous. And I would hate myself if anything happened to you.”

His fingers traced over the creases in your hand as he spoke, memorising the fate lines.

“But I can’t deny the attachment I have for you.” he continued, “It clouds my judgement, and I spend valuable time constantly correcting it. I’ve been indulging in delusions of running away with you. Taking you far away from the danger, placing you in a secure palace where you want for nothing, allowing you to lose yourself in all the simple pleasures your poetic mind can conjure. I would rather collect a list of books for your library than face Kira at the moment.”

You felt like crying, his words striking your heart. While it was easy to deduce that he favoured you over the others, such a blatant confession wasn’t something you expected. You knew this fantasy was built in his mind as something to make you happy, but you knew that this was something he wanted as well. To live a life of ease, not as a pawn to world governments. To be free to have intelligence and not be weaponised. You realised then, he was tired. He was exhausted from chasing Kira, exhausted from comparing himself to the enemy.

“Let’s get out of here then.”

He looked at you curiously.

“You can afford a break, a real one. Your mind is scattered, and you can’t possibly expect to outsmart Kira if you’re worrying about everything else.” You explained, “I’ll talk to Watari about planning a secure getaway for you but for now…”

You softly grabbed his hand and led him towards the door, “We’re going to your room so you can change. Then we’ll discuss what we’re doing for the night.”

He allowed you to lead him down the hall, saying nothing while you travelled. He only spoke again after you stepped into his room.

“I am not often surprised,” he marveled “But you continue to amaze me. I can’t predict you. You’re courageous and strong-willed, but always kind. You’re extremely brilliant, but you’re humble about it. But most amazingly, you believe in me– not because of what I’ve done, but because of who I am –and I’ve never met someone who could separate the two.”

You flush under his praise, “You say you can’t predict me, but I swear, you see right through me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with panic in his eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You laughed, the sound affecting L more than he expected. He loved it, loved making you laugh. He wanted to do it as much as possible, but that was something to figure out later.

“You didn’t,” you reassured, “but I do have something you can do to make it up to me,”

L smirked, knowing you were teasing him.

“I don’t understand. I didn’t offend, but you claim I need to make amends.”

“You don’t have to. It’s completely up to you.”

“What is it you would have me do?”

You didn’t answer with words, instead spreading your arms and then making a grabby motion towards him. Your smile was soft, gently pulling at your lips.

“Yes,” he said sweetly, “I suppose we could both use a boost of oxytocin.”

He took slow steps towards you, and then all at once, his arms were around your waist. He pulled you into him, lifting you slightly off the ground, bringing your neck to his hung head. You felt goosebumps where his nose nuzzled into your skin and your heart grew wings, soaring. You held L just as tightly, indulging in his desperate touch and burying your nose into his silky hair.

“I think we should revise our previous agreement about hugs.” He said after a moment, speaking into your throat.

“What amendments would you like to make?”

“I think four hugs a day is fine, but I don’t think we should limit ourselves to that. We do need to make up for our lack of hugs in the past after all. Furthermore,” he lifted his head slowly, so as not to knock you in the nose. He would feel horrible for that. “I think we could add or substitute hugs for other forms of affection as well.”

You hummed, and he continued.

“For instance, you have held my hand twice today, and both times, I felt a similar sort of comfort from the action. In fact, I’ve noticed any skin-to-skin contact with you eases me. Your hand on my face proved that. I tested this theory twice. Once, before our confessions, on the blanket. I placed my hand on the one you had placed on my shoulder. Then again, in your room, by simply touching your hand, tracing your palm instead of holding it. Both yielded similar results.”

You smiled at him fondly, your hands reaching up to play with his hair. As your nails skated across his scalp in lazy circles, his eyes fluttered a bit, his lids resting heavier.

“So you would like to add hand-holding? I’m fine with that.”

Your sweet voice flooded his mind, and your hands liberated his composure.

“Either you’re completely clueless to the effect you have on me,” he whispered, “Or you revel in it. And I’m not sure which is more terrifying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, which startled L for a moment, but then he realised it was because of an emotional response and not an attack from Kira.

“I wonder the same about you.”

L was unfamiliar with the look in your eyes. Your pupils were dilated, and your irises sparkled in the light. He’s never been looked at like that before. Your face looked brighter, and your body language (while restricted in your current position in his arms) was relaxed; open. And suddenly, he was entranced by your lips. You were talking, and he studied the muscles as they moved, unable to focus on anything else. He felt the urge to kiss you, and this shocked him. He forced himself to pay attention to your words.

“...besides you have all the power really. I know what I want, but if you don’t want me there’s nothing I can do about it. I could never kill you, but even if Kira forced my hand, I don’t know your name. And you’re the only one on the team who knows mine. Whether I like it or not, my heart is in your hands.”

“I would never hurt you,” he quickly defended, almost offended.

“I know,” you said simply, “That’s why I trust your hands.”

Your gaze was unwavering, your stance absolute. The emotions L tried to contain began stirring restlessly. He no longer felt like he had a hold on them. A hurricane of feelings he couldn’t quite name tore through his chest, and he didn’t know what else to do but act. He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. It was awkward and brief, as neither of you puckered your lips, just touched them together. He kept his watchful eyes wide as he did so, gauging your response.

“Was that a kiss?” You finally asked once your silent shock was replaced by a highly amused smile.

A small frown overtook L’s face. “I fear if you had to ask…”

His sentence trailed off as he sat you back down on the ground. Then turned to walk to his closet. His was much larger than yours (which was ironic given he wore the same clothes for days straight), and you assumed he elected to change there when he closed the door. Now that he was out of sight, you allowed your excitement to show, jumping up and down and shaking your hands.

He had kissed you, almost. It was obvious that he didn't have the experience, but your heart swelled at the thought that he wanted those experiences with you. And he did kiss you, he held you in his arms, for no other reason than to hold you close.

You tried your best to calm down, but your bright smile would fool no one. Instead, you tried to focus your attention elsewhere, calling Watari. He had given you his number (or a number) months ago. He told you it was because he saw that you cared for his son and that his son trusted you. He also confessed that he was rather fond of you too. He wanted to see you make it out of this investigation.

He answered almost immediately.

“Hello, Ms Ogawa,” He was always careful to use your alias, even if he knew you were alone. “I notice that you’re calling from within headquarters, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was calling because I convinced Ryusaki to take some time off. I need you to plan a trip for him, no shorter than a week but something that’s easily extendable.”

The old man chuckled on the other end of the line.

“You convinced him to take a break? I didn’t think anyone was capable; I wonder how you managed.” He seemed amused, implying he knew something through his old man wisdom.

“I’m not entirely certain I did,” L emerged from the closet, looking nearly identical, just less soggy. You smiled at him as he made his way towards you. “But I’ll be very cross with him if he doesn’t. I think he knows that.”

The man you spoke of raised a single eyebrow as if to say, “Oh really?”

You made a similar face that left no room for argument.

“I see,” Watari continued, “Shall I book this trip for one or two?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the question. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t have to though as L decided then to grab the phone from your hand, pinching it awkwardly between his fingers.

“Two,” he replied on your behalf. “We’ll also need a cover so that the others don’t know we’re together.”

“Understood. How soon would you like to leave?”

L returned the phone to you, trusting your decision.

“We’ll leave tomorrow. We have plans for tonight, and I’d like to rest beforehand.”

“That’s very wise, Ms Ogawa. I’ll send over the itinerary soon.”

“Thank you, Watari.”

You hung up, placing your phone back in your pocket. When you looked up, L’s hand was extended, offering you a sweater.

“If you intend to go out,” he explained, “You’ll need a sweater.”

You took it gratefully, and he turned his head again, giving you space to change. When you finished pulling the shirt over your head, he looked up and felt like he had swallowed his tongue. He never anticipated that seeing you in his clothes would affect him this way. He was truly smitten by you, and that was something he could no longer deny.

“Ready?” You asked, disrupting his train of thought.

He nodded, and you offered him your hand. A small smile spread across his face as he took it. He trusted your hands too, he realised.

You reached the garage, selecting an inconspicuous sedan for your ventures. L moved to open the door when you stopped him.

“Wait!” Your heart was in your throat, but you closed your eyes and forced out the words. “My favourite flowers are poppies. I think it’s cool how versatile they are. The moon absolutely amazes me. I understand how its gravitational pull affects our tides, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I also really like The Smiths, which raises conflicting feelings in me because I hate Morrison as a person, but man, if he isn’t great as crying into a microphone.”

You heard a soft chuckle and felt a hand reach out to hold your bicep. You took a deep breath, continuing with Ryusaki’s encouragement.

“I prefer a good milkshake over any other dessert. I think time travel is probably the coolest superpower, but I think it’s too great a power that I wouldn’t trust myself with it. I like cats, but I’ve always wanted a pet raccoon. I don’t think I could get one, morally, but they just look so cute. If I had one, I would love that little guy so much. I would give him a really pretentious name; find a way to grant him Lordship.”

You opened your eyes slowly to see Ryusaki smiling, his thumb tracing circles on your arm. His eyes darted around your face, twinkling in city lights. His heart pounded harder with every word you uttered. Romance was never something he prioritised in his life, it wasn’t something he ever saw happening. Most people were put off by him, and it wasn’t often that he actually met people in his work. He could have lived the rest of his life hiding behind a computer screen, an imperceivable entity known only to one man. But now, he would give anything to stand in the sun with you while you look at him the way you do now. Affection and amnesty dripping from your gaze.

“I’d like to try and kiss you again,” he said timidly. “If you’d show me how.”

Your smile split your face, feeling overjoyed by his words. Each move you made, he mirrored, hands on cheeks and bodies touching as he matched your steps forward. You jumped up on your tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Ryusaki’s eyes widened comically, and a hand rose to his lips as if he’d find your kiss there. But soon, his shock dissipated, replaced by a look of hunger.

This time, he led, dropping a hand to your waist to hold you close and using his other to lift your chin. He moved in so slowly, and your body thrummed with the anticipation of contact. He stopped, his lips barely grazing yours, and you couldn’t hide your desperate tremble when you felt his soft breath against your own. He pressed his puckered lips against yours, and you took no time reciprocating.

You brought a hand to the back of his neck, guiding him and pulling him closer. You felt like you were flying, your heart beating its feathered wings against your ribcage. You pulled your lips away just to bring them back, and you could feel his confidence growing as he tilted his head and his grip on your waist grew tighter. You began moving your lips against his, testing the waters. The rhythm was awkward at first, but he caught it soon enough.

His chest was rising and falling quickly against you, and he brought his hands up to hold your face. You lost yourself in his touch, in the way he clung to you. You were being consumed and felt no dire to run from it. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you gasped.

Your eyelids flutter as your brain caught up to what was happening around you. Ryusaki was no longer kissing you but carefully cataloguing the look on your face in his mind. He was reviewing everything he did and how you reacted to it. He had decided that he loved kissing you, and he wanted you to love it too. He wanted love to be something you associated with him, especially now that he knew his brain was making a similar connection. He knew it was probably too soon to say something like that, but he could wait. He would wait forever if he had to. He had the brightest star in the sky in his palms, and he didn’t intend to let this shooting star fall from his grasp.

You were seeing sides of L that you never thought you would, ones you never thought to look for. He held you like a precious stone, something sacred. He looked at you like you were a wonder to behold, the eighth wonder of the world. It made it hard to breathe, suffocated by his silent adoration.

“So, where are we going this evening?” He asked from high above.

“I don’t know,” you said breathlessly, “but we have all of Tokyo, I’m sure we’ll find something.”

He loved this look on you. The joy in your eyes, the lack of stress in your muscles. Your glee was infectious, and he didn’t mind it.

“As long as you’re by my side, I think anything would do.”

He testingly laid a kiss on your forehead as he said it, and you felt like you would melt to the floor in a pile of goo. You removed a hand from his neck, resting it on his, and were delighted when he instantly intertwined your fingers.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, Ryu-”

“Lawliet,” He interjected. You tilt your head, confused, and L does his best not to swoon as you rest your head in his hand on your cheek. “My name is Lawliet.”

You break out into a blinding grin, and Lawiet knows then that smile was the sunlight he was meant to bask in. Those were the rays that would light his darkest nights. The beams that would guide him through the intricate maze of life.

He had found all he needed. A friend who listens to his grief and grievances. One who cares enough to try and understand his mind and soothe it at the same time. Not for her own convenience, but for his betterment; never pushing the boundary of discomfort but bringing thrill to the change. He found a fresh pair of eyes, for when his get dull and tired, to show him the artistry outside of the ghastly monstrosities he and the world bathed in. A person brave enough to show up, even on the bad days. The whole world could fit in his palms when he held you like this.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lawliet.” you corrected.

L smiled, squeezing your hands three times. You returned the sentiment with a kiss to the hand you held in your own.

Tag List: @barbecuetiddy, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

I hope you enjoyed the read! Like I said, I don't think I'll do much writing for L, but I really enjoyed this. I hope even if you don't have as much love for this character as I do, you can still get something out of it :))

#rancid writes #death note #death note fanfiction #death note l #death note imagines #death note l lawliet #death note fluff #fluff #l lawliet #l death note #l x reader #l lawliet x reader #death note characters #friends to lovers

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apolloanddaphnis · 5 months

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Tomboy Bimbo!Reader telling Steddie that she has plans, they get all "wHeRe YoU gOiNg wItHoUt uS?!?!" the boys are going nuts wondering where their puppy could possibly be going in Steve's stolen navy and teal, collared polo sweatshirt, you could see the thin red strap of her sports bra beneath, and she was wearing those tight blue Levi's that hugged her thighs, ass and pussy tight which you could see when the sweatshirt moves up. And the adorable way her red slouchy socks bunched around her blue, black, and white Van's sk8 his...it was too cute made her look small and playful making them want to play with her...she looked up at the with wide eyes they could smell her chapstick, spearmint today, and her strawberry shampoo and apricot lotion...she can't go anywhere being so enticing. A perfect little package, a sexy body in boys clothing that taboo of fucking one of the boys without fucking them (although Steve and Eddie know all about that and love doing it), they know how guys think.

"I'm just going to the skate park." She said so innocently.

The thought of the boys at the park alone with THEIR little puppy. NO.

SO they take her, and she tries to teach them how to skateboard, and kissed their booboos after they fell, and then Steve treated them all to Benny's.

#this was stupid #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steddie x tomboy bimbo!reader #steddie x reader #steddie fanfic #steddie

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nikosaki · 15 days

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“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

#sakira writing tips🌙#writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing ideas #writer stuff #bsd writing #writers community #bungou stray dogs #fiction #stories #writers and poets #writerscommunity

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soulofapatrick · 8 months

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No Words Needed - Jeremiah Fisher x Reader

Summary: Jeremiah joins you at the end of the pier, wondering why you're not having fun with everyone else

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: makeup session

Y/N’s POV

The worn wooden planks of the bench cradle me as I is at the end of the pier, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The evening sun, now a radiant orb of orange and pink, begins its decent, casting a warm glow that dances upon the water’s surface. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the pier is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that time moves in tandem with the tide. The air is infused with the unmistakable scent of saltwater, a fragrances that’s both invigorating and comforting. It tickles my senses, and I take a deep breath, letting the tangy breeze fill my lungs. The distant calls of seagulls add a melodic layer to the symphony of the sea, creating a serene atmosphere that wraps around me like a familiar embrace.

As I watch the sun dip lower, the sky transforms into a canvas of hues — apricot merging into lavender, then fading into the deeper blues of twilight. The colours reflect off the water, creating a mesmerising panorama that stretches as far as the eye can see. The world seems to slow down in these moments, as if the sun and the sea have conspired to gift me a pause button

With each passing minute, the temperature drops slightly, and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair. I draw my knees up to my chest, embracing the slight chill that contrasts the lingering warmth of the day. It’s a sensory feast—the taste of salt in the air, the sound of waves serenading the shore, the sight of the sun bidding its daily farewell.

As the light continues to fade, the ambient sounds of the evening become more pronounced. In the distance, I hear the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden planks, and a shadow falls across the pier. A subtle anticipation rises within me, wondering who might be joining me at the edge of the world.

The approaching presence becomes more distinct, and soon a familiar figure settles beside me. Jeremiah’s silent arrival is like a gentle breeze, a quiet acknowledgement that needs no words. I send him a soft smile before turning my attention back to the breathtaking view.

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything: he just watches. His presence is comforting, and the shared quiet is like a secret language only we understand. I steal glances at him in the fading light. His profile is etches against the backdrop of the ocean, the hues of twilight casting a soft glow on his features. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m prettier than the view unfolding before us. The breeze tousles his sandy hair, and I find myself drawn into the tranquility of the moment. The lines of worry on his face seeming to ease, and it’s as if the sea has a way of soothing not just me but him as well.

The silent dance of the waves below continues as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in its final strokes of warm colour. Jeremiah’s silent company becomes a steady anchor, and the shared quiet between us deepens, becoming a refuge from he world beyond the pier.

I shift slightly, almost instinctively, closer to Jeremiah, feeling the warmth of his presence. The wood of the bench creaks softly under our combined weight, a testament to the intimacy of the is shared space. Without a word, I rest my head on his shoulder, finding solace in the subtle connection that goes beyond the spoken language.

Jeremiah responds with a gentle squeeze, his arms wrapping around me. It’s an unspoken embrace, a wordless assurance that he’s here, not just physically, but in a way that transcends the tangible. The breeze carries the scent of the ocean, and I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting the tranquility of the moment seep into my soul.

As the sunset’s glow begins to yield to the embrace of the night, the horizon transforms into a tapestry of deeper blues and purples. The last remnants of daylight linger on the horizon, and I find myself melting into Jeremiah’s side, the lines between us blurring into the fading light. The worry lines on his face seems to soften even more, and the weight that lingers in the air dissipates. We sit there together, a silent union against the backdrop of the sea, finding a refuge in each other’s presence.

I feel an inexplicable peace as I nuzzle my face into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck, breathing in deeply. His scent, a subtle blend of saltwater and the warmth of summer envelopes me. It’s a fragrance that mingles with the sea breeze, creating a sensory symphony that feels uniquely ours.

Jeremiah’s heartbeat echoes beneath my ear, its rhythm a steady lullaby. As the world around us falls into quietude, I sense the subtle quickening of his heart. It’s a whisper of vulnerability, a shared heartbeat that transcends the layers of silence. His arms, which encircle me, feel like a protective cocoon, creating a haven within the expending darkness. His hands find their way into my hair, fingers moving with gentle grace. Each touch is a reassurance, a tender affirmation that we’re both present in this shared sanctuary. I close my eyes, savouring the sensations of his hands running through my hair, a tactile expression of understanding and connection.

His other hand moves, bodying shifting towards me more, to cup my cheek. His thumb stroking a delicate path along my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it feels like a silent promise in the dimming twilight. I revel in the warmth of his palm against my skin, the reassurance of his touch anchoring me int he present moment. The night, now fully unfurled, wraps around us like a velvet cloak, and I find myself feeling both vulnerable and secure within the confines of his embrace.

His eyes, softened with the ambient glow of the evening, meet mine. There’s a silent question in their depths, a query that transcends words. The air around us holds a subtle tension, a moment suspended in time. As his gaze flickers down to my lips, a sudden spark of anticipation dances within me. It’s a simple glance, yet it carries the weight of unspoken desires and uncharted territories. In that fleeting moment, I feel a subtle shift in the rhythm of my heartbeat, an anxious flutter that echoes the gentle pulse of the sea.

Jeremiah’s eyes return to mine, and the unspoken question lingers in the air. The sea, the stars, the night—they become witnesses to this delicate interlude, where a shared silence speaks volumes.

A subtle breeze carries the scent of salt and summer, as if nature itself holds its breath, anticipating the next move in this shared dance. Jeremiah, with a gentle tilt of his head, leans down, closing the distance between us. The touch of his lips against mine is feather-light, almost hesitant, as if he, too, is navigating the uncharted waters of this moment.

His kiss is a whispered promise, a tender exploration that resonates with the ebb and flow of the waves beneath us. The world around us seems to blue, the sound of Belly, Steven and Conrad shrieking and laughing in the distance fades to nothing, and for a moment, it’s just him and me. The sweetness of the kiss lingers, a taste o fast and the promise of something new. In the hushed atmosphere of the pier, Jeremiah's kiss is a delicate revelation, a soft caress that resonates with the rhythm of the waves beneath us. As our lips meet again and again, there's an almost ethereal connection, an exploration that transcends the physical and delves into the uncharted territory of emotions.

The kiss is almost overwhelming, the taste of salt lingering on our lips like a secret shared between lovers. Jeremiah’s touch is a whispered promise, a gentle of exploration that communicates more than words ever could. The warmth of his lips against mine creates a cocoon of intimacy, a sanctuary where nothing else matters except the feel of his lips against mine and his hand cupping my jaw, thumb under my jaw.

As the kiss deepens, Jeremiah breaks away, but the lingering connection remains. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed and we’re both breathing heavily, caught in the aftermath of a shared moment that feels suspended in time. The air between us crackles with the electricity of newfound emotions, and I can sense the vulnerability in his closeness.

The moment of separation is brief but pregnant with unspoken understanding. Jeremiah’s ocean blue eyes, when they finally open, search mine as if he’s deciphering the depths of my soul. Without a word, he’s surging forwards again, his lips seeking mine with a newfound hunger that betrays the fear of losing this fragile connection.

The second kiss is different, charged with an urgency as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto the moment. It’s not just a kiss it’s a declaration, an affirmation of something unspoken but profoundly felt. His lips mould to mine, and I respond with an equal intensity, and I respond with an equal intensity, losing myself in the magnetic pull of the moment. The world around us dissolves once more, leaving only the symphony of our shared breaths and the distant murmur of the sea.

Gripping Jeremiah’s shirt in one hand, I feel the fabric bushing under my fingers. The other hand is tangled in his sandy-bold curls, and I tug lightly, savouring the soft sound he lets out—a whispered melody that joins the symphony of the night. His hands, once cupping my jaw, now explore the small of my back, creating a sensation that blurs the line between reality and the ethereal.

The kiss deepens in a convergence of desire and connection, and I feel every nuance of his response mirrored in the rhythm of our shared breaths. Jeremiah’s taste is both familiar and intoxicating, a blend of salt and sweetness that leaves an indelible mark on my senses.

I feel him close, our bodies pressed together in an unspoken promise of mutual understanding. There’s a warmth that radiates from the core of my being, a fire stoked by the intensity of the kiss and the closeness we share. Jeremiah’s hands, strong and sure, traverse the landscape of my back, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake.

A soft moan escapes Jeremiah, a muffled melody that becomes part of symphony of our shared breaths. Encouraged by the unspoken exchange, I tug at his curls again, and the sensation is met with a gentle squeeze of my hips. It’s an intimate dance of touch and response, each movement a silent affirmation of the connection between us.

Jeremiah, seemingly guides by an invisible force, pulls me onto his lip. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. The world tilts for a moment, and I find myself straddling him, our bodies now intimately entwined. His tongue runs across the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. The feel of his tongue against mine is new and electric, a dance of warmth and familiarity that sends shivers down my spine. Our tongues move in tandem, an unspoken language that speaks volumes. The taste of salt, the heat of the night, and the passion between us a sensory tapestry that leaves an indelible mark.

But the kiss doesn’t linger on our lips for long. Jeremiah, with a subtle shift, moves his lips to my neck. The sensation is both tender and electrifying as he places soft, lingering kisses along the curve of my neck. His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers through me, and I find myself tilting my head, granting him better access.

As As Jeremiah's lips linger on my neck, his touch takes a slightly different turn. There's a pinch of pain and a twinge of discomfort as he sucks a hickey into existence, the initial sting met with a soothing stroke of his tongue. Embarrassingly, a soft sound escapes my throat, and I can feel him smiling against my neck, the shared intimacy creating a unique connection between us.

The sensations, a blend of pleasure and the slightly awkward reality of a hickey, become almost overwhelming. I find myself yearning for the familiar warmth of his lips on mine, the need to feel the connection more directly urging me to pull him back. My hand instinctively grips his curls, intending to guide his mouth back to mine. But, before our lips can barely brush, our names are called, and a groan escapes me. Conrad, always the untimely intruder, seems to have impeccable timing.

Jeremiah laughs softly, a sound that resonates through both of us, and he wraps his arms around my waist in a comforting hug. He calls back to Conrad, assuring him that we'll be there in a second. As the distant call fades, Jeremiah whispers to me, his warm breath against my ear, "My bedroom door is always open for you.”

His words carry a promise, a reassurance that this stolen moment on the pier is just a prelude to something more. I meet his gaze, a shared understanding passing between us. The interruption may have cut the night short, but the invitation lingers, a whispered promise that the sanctuary of the pier is not the only place where our connection can unfold.

Reluctantly, we disentangle ourselves, the echo of our interrupted desires lingering in the air. As we make our way back towards the distant call of Conrad and the world beyond the pier, Jeremiah's hand finds mine, and we share a glance that speaks volumes—a silent agreement that the night may have been interrupted, but the story between us is far from over.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months

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i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part 0 - first meeting ]

synopsis; the gradual blossoming of a youth shared with three strange classmates, at the weird, isolated boarding school you all attend. as the seasons of your first year together pass, the relationship between you changes into something you don’t need to put into words to understand.

word count; 1.6k

contents; sashisu/reader (but can be read as either platonic or romantic, or something inbetween!! i wrote it with the latter in mind), gn!reader, no curses au (dw they’re all still a little bit insane and damaged), very shoujo manga-esque, reader is a little bit in love with all their friends, just wholesome comfy vibes :), characters may be ooc but pls bear with me </3

a/n; this is the shorter opening piece of a sashisu/reader series i’m writing and the first out of six planned parts!! :> the rest will be much longer this is just me setting the tone. sorta. i’m extremely normal about sashisu and i wanted to write something summery and sweet so <3

you first meet them in a sun-soaked classroom, with blue-tinted windows.

the room in question, clearly not having been of use for some time, is just a little dusty. enough that you notice it, nose scrunching up as your gaze trails over the space.

tiny specks of light dance around, meeting and intersecting between the gaps where streaks of sunlight fall and illuminate the floorboards. they’re oddly mesmerizing, a little hard to forget. the flicker of their movement begins to etch itself into your retinas; for some reason, you can’t quite take your eyes off them.

eventually, your attention is caught by something else, coaxing you into moving your gaze towards the translucent windows. they glimmer softly, tantalizingly in the sunlight, reflecting the blue of the sky. through the glass, it’s all you can see at first — a sky so blue that it’s a little irritating. big, white clouds are scattered like splotches of paint across a blue canvas, treading gently over the boundary of your vision.

in a similar fashion, the ground of the schoolyard is littered with dots of white. for just a second, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s snow; it’s not until you spot the skeletal trees and their pale blossoms that you see them for what they are. soft petals flutter down to the ground eagerly, covering everything in a pure white.

it really is eerily reminiscent of a snowy landscape, ephemeral in its beauty. it gives you the impression of having stepped over some sort of threshold, into another realm, another world entirely. coated in apricot blossoms, soaked in sunlight.

(it shouldn’t be possible from where you’re standing, behind the windows — but the scent reaches you all the same. everything smells of apricots.)

it’s springtime, and you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to share with three other kids, all standing in front of you and wearing mildly indifferent expressions as you give each other a brief glance.

you try not to stare too hard, but it’s difficult to resist the temptation. three new classmates, mysterious and just slightly intimidating; two guys, and one girl. the tiny glances you steal at them aren’t very sneaky, but you doubt they’d care, when they’re all doing the same.

you study their appearances, eager to sate the curiosity clawing at your heart.

the girl is pretty.

the expression on her face is laid-back, almost bored, and she looks a little like she doesn’t quite want to be here. her hair reaches down to her chin, just barely, brown and smooth and silky. estimating her exact height is a little tough; you can tell she’s fairly short, but you don’t know how much of it is exaggerated, courtesy of her placement between the other two. their lanky legs and broad shoulders only make her look smaller in comparison.

her eyes are chestnut-coloured, a little dim, somewhat hazy. there’s a mole under one of her eyes, too, and you’re acutely aware of how charming you find it. you’re relieved to have at least one girl in your class, anyhow. you hope she’s nice.

the boy on her right is pretty, too.

he’s much taller, and wearing a somewhat serious expression, but something about him feels almost comforting all the same. he seems relaxed, but also sharp, as his eyes trail across the room. his hair is black and silky, and it’s long — or so you assume, judging by the fact that he’s got it in a bun. two things about him stand out in particular; one, the black gauges on his ears, and two, a single lock of hair framing his face. his hair is tied up and neat, prim and proper, with the exception of his bangs. you don’t think it looks bad, exactly, but it’s an odd choice.

at first glance, you think his eyes are black, but when a ray of sunlight falls across his face you realize that they’re brown. a deep colour, oddly soothing, warm. little sparks of amber glitter in the depths of his irises, illuminated only by the sun. it gives you the impression that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

then there’s the other boy.

he’s the most intimidating out of the three, without a doubt, though you still can’t pinpoint exactly why. he strikes you as particularly unnerving; maybe it’s the expression on his face, that you can’t seem to identify. he’s also tall, very tall, even taller than the other guy — though only by a smidge. he towers over you slightly, and that unnerves you even further. there’s something in the way he’s standing that almost seems a little menacing. his hair is white, and soft, and just a tad messy. and he’s wearing a pair of round sunglasses, even though you’re indoors.

you can’t see his eyes well, behind the black glass, but you get the vague impression that they’re blue when sunlight cascades down the contours of his face and reflects in them.

you take another moment to simply look at them, observing them, as if trying to reach some sort of conclusion about what they’re like. it doesn’t really work, but you do get some semblance of an impression.

finally, your teacher clears his throat, breaking the silence of the classroom — urging you to hurry up and get the introductions done and over with. the impatient reminder snaps all four of you out of your collective trance.

the first person to speak up is the boy with the weird bangs. that alone gives you a sense of his personality; polite, proper, the first to do the thing no one really wants to do.

”my name is suguru geto,” he begins, well mannered. ”it’s nice to meet you.” his voice is pleasant, somehow. nice to listen to. there’s something comforting about it, that you can’t quite place; it sounds almost familiar, like you’ve heard it all your life.

then, the cute girl chimes in, casual and unbothered as she fiddles with something in her pocket. ”shoko ieiri. just call me shoko,” she says, short and sweet.

she really is pretty, you muse, bathed in the streaks of sunlight falling haphazardly across the room. and she seems nice, not uptight or obnoxious; the kind of person that’s easy to talk to, easy to be friends with. you think you like her already. but she notices your lingering stare, and so you look away, gaze falling to the floorboards.

finally, after a slight pause, the boy with the sunglasses speaks up. you still can’t get a good read on his expression. ”… satoru gojo,” is all he says, and you can’t seem to grasp his tone of voice, either.

it irks you, though. you’re not sure why. you almost get the sense that he thinks he’s appeasing you, by introducing himself, like hearing his name is a priviliege. that, and you feel a little like you’re being dissected when his gaze falls on you — like he’s weighing your value, deciding your worth. you think you almost catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the black tint of his glasses, and they strike you as acutely menacing, bright blue and uncanny. you decide that you don’t like him, and that his sunglasses are kinda ugly.

their gazes fall on you, at last.

you’re the only one whose name they don’t know, now. it’s a kind of power, in a way, the power of mystery. intrigue. their stares feel heavy on your skin, and you feel more than a little nervous; but you’re intent on following the silent cue, all the same.

and you do so, dutifully, raising your hand up in a silent hello before tentatively saying your name. then, in a voice you hope doesn’t come across as bored or unpleasant:

”— it’s nice to meet you.”

some of them hum in affirmation, as if to say it’s nice to meet you too — others remain silent. even when the introductions are finished, you continue to look at each other, vaguely and discreetly, as if trying to look inside each other’s heads.

but then your teacher begins to speak, in an authorative voice, and you’re snapped out of the trance, once more.

he babbles on and on, about something you’re sure is important, something about the school and the classes you’ll be having and the dorms and so on. you try to listen, you really do, but it’s tough — you vaguely get the gist, but all you can really think about is your classmates, still so mysterious and intimidating.

you try to repeat their names, inside your mind, trying to ingrain them into your memory.

suguru geto, shoko ieiri, and satoru gojo.

you still don’t really know what to think about them. shoko will probably be fairly easy for you to warm up to, but the other two are a different story. all three of them seem to have strong personalities, reflected in their eyes; a dim hazel, a deep umber, and a stark azure. you don’t know what’s hidden in them, but you have a strange inkling that you will, in due time.

that’s how the four of you meet. and in this moment, as you look into their eyes for the first time, you have no idea how much your life has changed — how much they’ll change it for the better.

you only know that it’s springtime, and that you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to spend with these three kids in front of you, who you know nothing about. some part of your soul urges you to find out, for yourself.

maybe you will.

(outside the sun-soaked classroom, through the blue-tinted windows, the world observes your meeting with bated breath and barely contained excitement.)

part i

#title is taken from the lyrics of yorushika’s ’spring thief’ btw i listened to it while writing this n cried <3 its sooo sashisu.#anyway!!! this series ended up kinda reader-centric but the focus is meant to be on the relationship between all 4 of them #its just… really easy to analyze the characters from a third party pov. and im a shameless self inserter so. x reader it is!#this series is also my excuse to (attempt to) analyze sashisu as a trio/individually but idk if my own interpretation will align w/ canon #in my defense theyre a lot less traumatized in a no curses au #but i still wanted to try and explore their high school selves + their issues w/ intimacy and trust n all that. im obsessed with them.#so i hope i did a decent job :’) anyway thats enough ranting in the tags if u read this far i am in Love With You #sashisu x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #sashisu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #…. i think thats all #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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Azriel x reader: Pull You Down[*]

A/N: I feel like there’s a prominent theme of me initially writing a pretty vanilla fic and then spinning the wheel of my kinks and just randomly throwing one in

Side note: just assume his shadows removed the pancake from the stove…

Warnings: food play (honey pouring), pussy-eating, smut, not proofread

“Something smells good.”

Your lips hitch up into a smile at the deep drawl, roughened by sleep. Husky, and delicious.

You turn to meet Azriel’s morning-softened eyes, how the dark centre within his green ring melts like honey in the sunlight.

“Pancakes?” You step aside to reveal the stack you’ve created, a few toppings sealed in dinky glass jars to the side. Some jam (strawberry, raspberry, apricot), some honey, and some cream (with strawberries and nuts scattered over top).

He pads across the kitchen silently, the deep blue cotton of his night clothes swishing quietly. Initially, he’d been against the idea of matching pyjama sets, colour flushing his cheeks when you had first suggested it, but you’d worn him down.

Azriel’s arms wrap around your waist, solid warmth pressing against your back as he settles his jaw over your head. “Looks good.” You hum in response, a spark of pleasure heating your chest at the approval. “When do you want to eat?” You ask, flipping the last pancake.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he answers easily, still a bit lethargic from what was apparently a good night’s rest.

You smile a bit. “Someone slept well.”

His arms squeeze you in response, and he dips to your ear. “I was very worn out.” You stiffen, the pleasant soreness between your legs a gentle reminder of the night before.

“You were rather…unhinged.” You venture, pressing into him slightly so he would understand that wasn’t a bad thing. Sure enough, he nipped at the shell of your ear, silent encouragement for your feedback. “The riding crop was a pleasant surprise.” A quiet growl rumbles in his chest, full of masculine satisfaction. Maybe you curved your back a little, just to press into his hips. Maybe you wound against him too.

A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands snakes up your front, tracing between your breasts as he cups your jaw. “Any other fixations you’d like to tell me about, pet?” Your breathing hitches, feeling the shift in atmosphere as he tightens his grip on you—more dominating; firmer.

You swallow, and you’re sure he feels the roll of your throat beneath his palm. “No, sir.”

“No?” He drawls, the hand atop your stomach tracing soft, teasing patterns with his fingertips. “None?” Your thighs squeeze together, hand tightening on the spatula as you feel his lips brush the tip of your ear. Your very sensitive, pointed ear.

You shiver.

Azriel lands a firm smack to your cheek for taking too long and you have to grit your teeth to keep from whimpering. “Answer, pet.”

“I…like when you surprise me, sir.” You admit softly. “When you…show your own tastes.” His hand tightens but he’s listening. Intently. “Depraved as they sometimes are.”

His hand dips below your nightgown, hooking beneath the hem that comes to the middle of your thighs. You’re body tenses as the pads of his fingers dance over your bargain mark: the empty circle with the crossed lines haloing it. “Depraved?” He drawls, his touch feather-light. “I think you should be grateful I’m willing to share my fantasies with a filthy thing like you.”

A shiver spider-walks down your spine, and you fight to keep from whimpering at his smooth tongue. His mouth opens over the skin of your neck, tongue swiping up the column of your throat, teeth scraping over your skin.

Your hands grip the counter, one squeezing the spatula— fuck, the pancakes.

You hiss, noting how the edges are already curling, the sign you need to flip it over—pronto. You reach forward, sliding the instrument beneath—

His hands drop to your hips, pulling you back and spinning you around so you’re further from the stove. His body flattens against your own, soft skin meeting unyielding muscle as his hips press into your own and you have feel him pressing into your belly. Over the bargain mark.

You open your mouth to scold him, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you see the gleam in his eyes. The spark. He’s just waiting for you to stumble. So he can pounce.

One hand is now wrapped around your waist, the other settled on your throat, resting with proprietary entitlement. You shiver.

“Look at me.”

You swallow, but raise your gaze to his.

His pupils are dilated, expanding across his iris’, devouring you as you watch him. His hand raises to your cheek, brushing up over your throat to swipe his thumb across your lip.

Azriel lifts you from the ground, shifting you into the air before dropping you onto the counter. You bite your lip—he’s not gentle in his actions.

“That hurt, pet?”

Swallowing, you dip your head, leaning back on your arms. “A bit, sir.”

His fingertips dance up the tops of your thighs, hooking beneath your nightgown and lifting, allowing his eyes to settle over your slick heat. He groans, thumb brushing over your hip—dipping lower to just above the apex of your thighs. The muscles in your legs tense with the need to buck against him.

“Good.” He breathes, eyes not leaving your cunt.

You’re so wet. He’s barely touching you and you’re already dripping down onto the surface. His lips quirk at the edges, a dark light glinting in his eyes as they glaze. “Maybe one day, I should leave you wrapped in my shadows. See what they do with you.”

Your jaw tightens with the effort not to squeeze your thighs together, to keep from moaning. His thumb dips lower, tracing over your glistening sex, light enough to be a deft brush of his fingers. Hardly a breath of stimuli. “Keep you on your hands and knees, while I’m out working. Leaving you two to get to know each other…”

As if in response, they crest at his shoulders, peering down at you with eager curiosity. You bite the inside of your lip to keep from whimpering. “I’m sure they’d like that,” he drawls, raising a hand for them to wrap around, rubbing against him as a cat would. “Maybe they’d collect all the slick that drips from this pretty cunt into a jar.” He picks up the pot of honey. “Like this one.”

The heat is boiling, bubbling beneath your skin, breaths shallowing. “I can’t imagine a single dish you wouldn’t taste good with.”

You draw in a shaky breath, hearing the glass clink as he sets the jar back down on the side. His hands settle atop your thighs, spreading them as he easily lifts your night robe from under you, peeling it up so it pools at your waist. Allowing your arousal to slick the counter. “Would you like that, huh? Like the idea of them having their way with your pretty cunt?” He drawls lowly.

Your lips part in need, desperately keeping yourself silent but you’re panting. You need him to touch you. Need him to do something.

He smacks you lightly, palm connecting with your cheek as the stinging sensation settles into your skin. A soft whine drags from your lips, and his eyes gleam. He’s wearing you down, layer by layer, stripping you bare until you’re a shaking, quivering mess at his feet.

“Answer, pet.”

If his hand would just drop a little lower. If his fingers would just sink into you. Even if he just put his mouth to yours, you would be happy.

“Sir…” you manage, back curving, tilting your head downward to peer up at him. His wings flare slightly, making him seem larger. His eyes hunt your mouth, tracking their movement with predatory focus.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The words are barely a brush of his lips over your own, but you can feel their quiet threat.

Your head dips, “yes, sir. I would.” Need thrums beneath your skin, and you know he can sense how desperate you are. And he’s still withholding your pleasure.

He arches a brow in silent command, thumb now brushing over your inner thigh, circling in light, taunting patterns. You look at him with pleading eyes, quietly begging him to touch you.

“I—…”

Your lips part with a startled moan, and you smack your hand over your mouth.

His shadows had wound their way up your calves, over your thighs, settling between them, poised to strike. And when you had begun to answer him, they dragged over the slick mess that was steadily dripping onto the counter.

They pull away as quickly as they had arrived, leaving you wet, hot, and needy, beneath the mercilessly gaze of the shadowsinger. You can practically feel his satisfaction as he tuts, slowly.

“I thought you knew our rules.” He drawls, mouth so, so close to your own. You push against his grip, leaning for his mouth, but he lands another smack to your cheek in warning, and you squirm on the countertop. “Are you being purposefully disobedient, pet?”

You shake your head, “no, sir. I swear—”

He’s pulling you away from the side, and before you know it, his hand is fisted in your hair, forcefully bending you over. You gasp, his hips pressing against the swell of your ass, eyes rolling a bit.

“I think you need a fresh reminder. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Shit. What’s the right answer. Yes, or no? Which one will please him the most? Which one’s correct? Shit, shit, shit.

He laughs, and you know you’re fucked.

You help when his hand connects with your ass, making you flinch, breasts pressing against the cool marble, making you bite your lip. “Make one more noise,” he whispers beside your ear, “and we’ll see how long you can go without coming.”

Your breath catches.

Especially as his hand snakes down your front, the one in your hair moving to cup your throat. Your eyes widen as he smacks your clit, knees wobbling as you lean more of your weight into the marble, but his hand comes down again. Again, again, and again. Until tears are rolling down your cheeks.

So overwhelmed.

The mouth-watering press of his cock against your ass, the solid heat of him at your back, the sinful brush of his mouth over the nape of your neck. Your toes curl.

“Open,” he growls softly, tapping your inner thigh.

Tears spilling, you part your legs a little wider, having tried to close them when he was abusing your sensitive clit. “How many do you think you deserve?” He muses, teeth scraping your ear, and you wish he would put them in your neck. He knows that too.

“Five?” He murmurs, and a quiet sob breaks from you, shuddering beneath his powerful grip. “Ten?” He asks, revelling in your reactions.

He pinches your clit, and you so nearly whimper. From the pain, from the pleasure he’s keeping just out of reach. So close your fingertips could brush it.

“Thirty?”

You nearly give out, praying to the Mother he doesn’t give you thirty. You won’t last that long. There’s no way. You’re already so nearly done. Already so used. Even five is a stretch.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes, vision blurring so you don’t notice his shadows gripping the jar he’d earlier set down. Nor as they pop it open.

Azriel pressing mockingly soft kisses up the length of your neck, making you melt into him, desperate for that soft touch. His mouth is heavenly soft, just the barest whisper of pleasure against your sizzling nerves and you release a shaky breath.

You can feel him shifting behind you, but think nothing of it.

Until something cool, and viscous is pressed to your clit.

Your mouth drops open in pleasure, in relief at the cold sensation to your puffy heat. You could beg for him to continue. Subconsciously, you press your hips down onto his fingers, smearing the thick substance.

“Want more?” He whispers. So soft. You could whine from the gentle attention. After the repeated stinging, the coolness of welcome.

The pads of his fingers move in slow oscillations, spreading it over your clit. You flinch as it’s spread thinner, and you can feel the twist of his lips against your skin. “Guess, pet.”

You struggle, mind stumbling over itself but you come up short when you feel his tip pressing against your entrance.

“I—…" you stammer, scrambling for words. Anything. Anything will do. But what is it? He won’t be pleased if you throw out a random answer. “Honey—… honey, sir.”

His hips roll forward, and both your hands cover your mouth as he slides in. He’s coating himself in your slick, pulling out then pressing in, until he’s nestled inside of you, hips flushed tight against your ass, making your eyes roll.

He doesn’t praise you for getting the answer correct. Why would he? Out of the pots and jars that are scattered at your side, the right answer was obvious. He won’t reward you for something so minimal.

You gasp as his finger rolls over your clit, the tiny sugar granules abrading the soft, puffy skin. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as he begins pounding into you, still painfully working your clit. He’s not pressing hard enough for it to properly sting, but it’s like he’s repeatedly scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive bud. Enough to keep you crying—he likes it when you cry.

His shadows wrap over your hips, eager to join the fun, to set their darkness skittering across the expanse of your skin. They brush over your nipples, silky and cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s his way of punishing you, giving you the pleasure of having him filling you up—so deliciously and it’s enough to make your eyes roll for you to beg and plead and scream for more and more and you’ll be so good so good and so pretty for him however he wants.

But he wears away at you, the honey making it a sticky mess between your thighs.

You wish it was just his hands, his hands and his cock between your thighs, then you could indulge in the deftness, the skill he carries. You could weep at the memory of it. The soft touches at the beginning of your relationship before you properly discovered one another.

Tears roll as his hand smacks down, a sharp buck of his hips accompanying the pain, easing you out. “Drift of again and we’ll see what happens.”

All you can manage are shallow pants of breath as he slams into you, touching you just perfectly. Now that you’re focusing on it—it’s kind of nice… The scrape of the granules, itching that spot, rubbing over it, with the heat and softness of his fingers.

“Stop enjoying it,” he growls lowly beside you, and your brows curve upward, beseechingly. You can tell he’s nearing that edge—then he’ll be spilling, spilling all of himself, everything he can give, all of it, spilling all of it inside of you.

You tighten around him at the low timbre of the order, making pleasure rasp beneath your skin. But then he presses slightly harder, and you flinch. So sensitive. It’s too sensitive.

“Something you want, pet?” He drawls, his hips rolling so deliciously, dragging against the spot over and over again that makes your knees weak.

You manage a weak nod, a slight dip of your head as you’re made delirious by the pain and pleasure that is twining together inside of you, reforming to something glorious. “Please—…” you gasp, his hips bucking, making it difficult for you to form any words.

“Please…?” He taunts, softening the tight rings he’s been making around your clit.

“I need—…inside me—… Please, sir!” You stammer the words between the thrusts, his shadows nipping at your chest in a way that has your head falling forward onto the counter, so well used already.

The request sets something off in the male.

Azriel pulls back, shifting to stand upright so he can put the full weight of him behind every buck, every slam of his hips as he drives his cock into you. If you’re good, if you can make it through him without releasing a sound, he can return your pleasure. But only if you obey.

And with the mess he’s creating between your legs, he hopes to the Mother you will.

Your hands press hard against your mouth, teeth biting your inner lip as you feel him spill inside of you, hot cum filling you up as he rides out the pleasure you’re giving to him. Tears spill down you cheeks with pride. You make him feel like that. You drive him mad. You make him want to fuck you over the counter first thing in the morning.

His hips draw back, and Azriel watches as his cum drips from your glossy hole, groaning at the scent. How the creamy liquid mixes with your arousal, sliding down to the honey.

He gives himself a few moments, licking his lips as he hold himself back a little longer.

Then, he’s gripping your hips, walking you over to the dinner table where he promptly picks you up, setting you down atop its surface. “You’ve been so good haven’t you?” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You can feel as the atmosphere shifts with his change in demeanour, and you could cry with relief. He reads you so perfectly.

“Azzie…” you whimper, pushing against the shadows that are guiding your legs wider. He just smirks, mouth opening over your unmarked skin, eyes latching onto yours as he trails closer and closer to your centre.

A whine drags from your throat when his tongue laps over you, collecting your arousal on his tongue, his own release mixing and sweetened by the honey. He groans, eyes rolling for a moment, before he’s settling in.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes at the sensitivity, but his tongue is so soft, and wet, and warm. Slowly lapping away the abrasive granules, until it’s just saliva and come that’s causing the mess of arousal.

“Az…” you whimper, barely managing to push from the table. “Please…please let me come.”

How can he resist.

Your flavour drives him wild. He could spend countless hours with his head between your thighs—days, even. It would be his own heaven, being able to bring you pleasure over and over, submerging himself in your heat.

That coil tightens, and you whimper, fingers tangling in his inky hair. “Azriel…” you pant, back arching. You’re so close. The thought of him cleaning that mess he’d made—

You moan, and it’s the best sound he’s heard.

“Don’t stop— Please! Please don’t stop,” you whimper, and you can feel that pleasure cresting.

He hums, suckling on your clit as he dips down, lapping up your centre, gathering your taste on his tongue as you fall apart then and there.

Beautiful. The way your hands fist, back arching, toes curling as your hips wind against him. It brings him his own pleasure, to feel you fluttering on his tongue, waves of euphoria washing your body in ecstasy.

A broken moan slips from your lips, mind flying high to the heavens as his mouth soothes you out, calming the arousal that had been begging to be unleashed on your body. He barely has a chance to stand before you’re hauling him closer—maybe his shadows shoved him forward, into you arms—mouth landing over his. Your flavours mix and moans echo through kitchen as you taste everything from his mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” you breathe over his mouth. “How are you so perfect?”

His heart aches at the words—he knows you believe them.

It has him solidifying his decision on how he wan to to spend the morning, his shadows already whisking away the stack of pancakes to your shared bedroom, his hand looping beneath you as you’re pulled to his chest.

He chuckles as your mouth attaches to his neck, teeth nipping possessively at his skin, making sure your own marks will bloom over his skin. He’s yours. No one else’s.

Never.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #Azriel shadowsinger #safeword series #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger

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