#he's really soft in this one
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Different Ways
Pairing: Khonshu x Reader
Word Count: 2429
Summary: Once in awhile, Khonshu will allow his avatar to have a break. It's the four of you: Marc, Layla, Khonshu, and yourself in a town you love to visit. You are happily strolling along when you spot a necklace that was far out of your price range. So, keep going along when you notice the tall mummy bird god gone from sight. Where did he go?
Author Note: Don't worry folks! I haven't forgotten about our favorite dead god. I got caught up in requests on my other blog and have been trying to keep up with them.
Masterlist
Ao3
There was something about seeing the moon god causally chilling on the wall’s edge. One leg hung over the edge while the other rested underneath that one. His staff leaned against said brick wall, between his legs. The crescent end next to his skull.
After all that has occurred with Ammit and Egypt, you didn’t expect to see him like so. Khonshu looked relaxed compared to how you first saw him. So demanding and ready for battle, and grouchy. Very grouchy. You smiled minutely at this. He’s a very grouchy and jealous god. You didn’t know why but your heart fell for him.
Before you, Marc and Layla conversed about something. There was no mission to worry about currently. Instead, the three of you were taking a short vacation. One that everyone needed.
A deep breath of oxygen filled your lungs. The air up here was fresh with the pine trees. You’ve missed this place, only visiting a few times throughout your life. Leavenworth, no matter the time of year, was amazing to visit. Though the cooler weather wasn’t for everyone. You didn’t mind one bit. No jacket as your two friends were wrapped up with one of their own.
The shadow of something past near you, making your head tilt up. A hawk of sorts glided far above the ground, eyes searching for a snack. It’s wings flapped a few times as it circled in the air. That made you look over to Khonshu’s last position once more, but the god wasn’t there. You raised a brow at this in question and turned your head to search for him.
He appeared behind Marc, making him jump at the sudden appearance. Any person around him barely gave notice and stayed focused on their conversations. Said human whipped his head to glare at the god but immediately looked back at Layla. “Khonshu,” he spat out quietly with a harsh tone. You giggled at this and leaned back in your chair.
Layla peered over at you and smiled. “Shouldn’t he be used to that by now?” she teased her husband and pointed her thumb at him. You agreed with her, nodding your head at Layla, a sparkle in your eyes.
“Yeah, I have been around him the least and quickly got over it,” you jestered alongside Layla. She took at sip from her bubbly drink, no ice. That was true. Though, you were easy to scare. The spooks the god gave you were quickly thwarted after the third for forth time he suddenly appeared in your apartment.
Marc turned his glare to the two of you, causing said duo to snicker at his expression. “I’m easily frightened by him,” he tries to excuse himself. It doesn’t work as much as he thinks it does.
Instead, the two of you looked at one another again and laughed, both leaning towards the other. Marc huffed and harshly fell back against the back of his seat. You two just laughed all over again. “You’re playing yourself, Worm,” Khonshu snarked from behind said avatar. You shook your head at the name calling but couldn’t hide the minute smile.
Khonshu disappeared then reappeared neck to you, casting a shadow over you. “I saw that, Stardust,” he was quick to point out. A hint of red blushed over your cheeks at this. You grasped at your drink and sipped away at it.
“I have no idea what you mean,” you stated and peeked out to look over at the masses moving about on the street. No clue. Completely innocent here. Khonshu hummed deeply at your words and rested a large hand on your shoulder. Your entire body tensed up at this. What is he doing?
“Hmm, I thought I saw you smile. Isn’t that something you mortals do? When I called the worm here ‘Worm’,” he continued to try and get you to admit. Something you didn’t want to do. You disliked when Khonshu called Marc ‘Worm’. It’s disrespectful. After everything that has occurred. How could Khonshu name call him things that like? Yet, he calls you ‘Stardust’. You didn’t mind that one. You did have a passion for the stars.
You shook your head once more, denying the accusation. Everything besides the god was intriguing. You saw the playful smirk on Layla’s face and gave her a knowing look. One she laughed at. Being at the other end of the teasing wasn’t fun. Your arms crossed with a pout, lip jutting out. Your cup still hiding a portion of your face.
The god hummed, the stood up. Though, his face doesn’t have the ability to move, you sensed a smirk before he straight up disappeared. Uh oh. That made you fear on where he had gone. He has something up his sleeves. Sometimes, you swear he should be the god of tricks. “Well that’s not good,” Layla stated and set down her bubbly drink. You shot her a ‘no shit’ look.
“He has something planned and I don’t like it,” you sighed and scanned the surroundings. Not a sign of the mummy god anywhere. “I swear, if he messes with my apartment, I will find a way to kill him.” That’s your place, your little place carved out in this world. You hated when people messed with your things.
Layla laughed ad rested fully on the backrest of her chair. “I believe he won’t dare do that,” she said with honesty. You hoped she was right. Or else.
Later on, after lunch had been consumed, the three of you paid and left for the streets. Though, it wasn’t the winter months, where everyone from all the states migrated to see the lights, Leavenworth was still busy. People bustled about, making you nervous and sticking close to Marc and Layla. People weren’t your thing. Let alone a bunch of them. Yet, this place calls to you and makes you take the trip up here.
Something in a shop’s window caught your attention, you broke away from the trio and made your way into the building. It smelled like old pine wood, one of the best smells. You smiled at that and slipped between people towards the window.
A silver necklace with a gold crescent moon and stars hung from a holder. Call yourself cliché with your whole situation and feelings for a specific god, but it was maginfic. You checked the price tag and cringed. Of course. You pouted, gave it one last look, then moved away to graze through the small shop.
Nothing else called to you. That frustrated you. There was a buzz from your phone. You slipped the device into your hand and noticed a text from Marc. ‘Where are you?’ Shit, right. Whoops. A quick response to explain what happened and where to meet was sent to him. You got a thumbs up in return. You deadpanned at the message before leaving the store.
As you stepped back onto the wide sidewalk, you peered back into the window. The necklace was gone! The others around it swaying. With the amount of people around, you held onto a sadden noise and slugged your shoulders. Welp, that was that. You lost your opportunity.
Though, you didn’t grow up a densely populated area, you knew how to snake your way through the sea of people. It wasn’t long before you saw the familiar faces of Marc and Layla. You quickened your pace then stopped before them. “Sorry, got distracted,” you apologized.
“Find anything interesting? “ Marc questioned as the three of you started on your path again.
“Yeah, but it was too much. When I left the store, it was already gone,” you said and scanned the upcoming buildings for anything of interest. There was one store that caught your attention. That have the best ice cream you have ever tasted.
Marc made an ‘aww’ noise and placed a consoling hand on your shoulder. “There’s always next time.” That, he was correct for. But that didn’t less that face you lost this opportunity. You purposely knocked your shoulder into his.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You smiled at him then felt a certain presence behind you. If you haven’t been around him so many times, you would’ve spooked. Instead, you spun on your heel to face the towering god. You continued to walk backwards and act like you were enjoying the sights. Then, you turned back around and strolled behind the two. “What are you up to, Khon?” you questioned, acting like you were talking to your friends.
Said duo turned their head back to find Khonshu keeping an easy pace with us. You could feel how close he was to you, almost pressed to your back. Yet, the god didn’t say a word.
At every step, you saw the end of his staff in the corner of your eyes. He was almost hovering over you, like a guard dog. That thought made you giggle with a minute smile. Hilarious. You tilted your head up to find the god’s skull within your vision. “What are you doing?” you quietly asked again with a raised brow.
Still nothing. If that’s the case, you continued your pathing with a shrug of your shoulders. You stepped closer to Marc and Layla and rested your elbows on their shoulders. “There’s a few things that we can do tomorrow, if you guys wanna?” you offered.
Leavenworth had a lot to offer. From not only the sights but to adventures. There was horse back riding, rafting, ziplining, etc. You had already done most of the things possible here, after visiting so many times.
This caught Layla’s attention. She perked up and gazed at you. “I would love to! What is there to do besides browse the shops?” You stated the easier adventures possible without needing to book far in advanced. This was sort of an impromptu vacation.
“Horseback riding sounds great,” she said and nudged her shoulder into Marc’s. The man nodded his head in agreement, gaze casting behind you for a second. You pulled away from them to return a pace or two behind them.
As you opened your mouth to respond, someone knocked into you kind of roughly. By the looks of it, she was a someone lived here. Her glare set hard on you. You rubbed at your shoulder and tried to apologize out of curditisy. Instead, the woman beat you to the punch, face pulled into a disgust. “Watch where you’re going, tourist,” she spat out then promptly strutted away.
A sudden gush of snowy wind knocked her right on her ass. The sight caused you to burst out laughing before quieting when her head snapped to you. Uh oh.
She angrily got to her feet, stomping them as she made her way back to you. Before she could get within ten feet though, she froze, almost falling over as she did. You were confused as her eyes peered above you.
Then, a golden staff slammed next to you, making the ground shake. A cool hand held onto your shoulder as the god leaned over you. You tensed at the touch, feeling the way his power wrapped around you like a blanket. The woman was smart to turn on her heel and make a quick escape away. Everyone around glancing at her strange actions.
Marc and Layla came up to after the whole ordeal. The former leaned close to you but secretly peered up at the towering god. “Khonshu, you can’t fucking do that!” he quietly growled and grabbed your hand. Before he could do anything though, Khonshu tugged you back away from Marc.
But, Khonshu didn’t say anything. Unusual for cocky, sometimes rude, god. Marc scoffed and backed off, hands up in surrender. When the two of you didn’t move – you too still shocked about what happened – he walked away. Layla gave you a knowing look and rushed after Marc, trying to talk him down.
Khonshu hummed, grasp squeezing your shoulder. “I swear, if anyone lays another hand on you, I will cut over their arm,” he growled. With the public around you and no known people, you held in your laugh. A smile grew on your face. Sometimes, he says the weird of things. Or he does the weird of things. Like less than five minutes ago.
You patted at his hand on your shoulder then tried to walk after Marc and Layla. Yet, the grasp he had on you prevented that.
Something cold and thin kissed your skin. You tried to peek down but a hand grasp at your chin. “Khon? What are you doing?” you whispered softly, nervous on what he had planned. You still don’t know what he did early.
“Stay still, Stardust,” he said lowly and removed his hand. Khonshu continued to mess with whatever he was doing. In the meantime – not to look like a fool, you gazed out at the mountains as if you were sightseeing. Well, to be honest, you were. The mountains were your home. Of course, you would love to look at them all day.
“What are you doing?” you whispered and fidgeted in your spot. His hands ghosted over your skin, making you shiver. You felt him step even closer as if to stop you from moving more.
Khonshu’s hands still, hesitating in pulling away. Then, the god stepped around you and knelt down in front of your form. This time, you discarded the fact you needed to act sane. Your gaze was set on him, head tilted to the side. His head tilted down, hands pulling a cold chain around your neck.
The god paused, hands still on your skin before he stood back up to his full height. You immediately looked down at what he had down. A gasp escaped your mouth.
It’s the necklace! You squealed, hands shaking at your sides. It was all you could do to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him. A few tourists gave you weird looks, but you didn’t care at all. “Thank you!” But a thought came it mind, a brow falling as you peered up at him. “How did you know?”
A large hand rested on your shoulder, Khonshu nudging you towards the direction of Marc and Layla. “There’s a saying you mortals have. ‘A magician never reveals his secrets.’” You set a deadpanned expression on him then rolled your eyes. You willingly went where he directed, people parting a way for you. A smile bright on your face.
#soft khonshu#khonshu imagine#khonshu x reader#he's really soft in this one#wants to give you a present#how can you say no to him#khonshu#moon knight#marvel#fluff
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ask me to leave and i’ll stay forever ; satoru gojo
synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.
word count; 10.8k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!
a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all
you’ve never seen satoru like this before.
head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.
it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.
he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.
”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”
unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.
”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”
satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.
you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.
but you’ve never seen him like this.
(and it makes you terribly anxious.)
”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”
you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.
he looks so small.
this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.
you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.
a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.
and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.
my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?
give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3
moron.
he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.
moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.
and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.
but he just won’t listen.
”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”
”satoru.”
there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.
and it makes him quiet down.
(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)
as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.
but most of all, you’re worried.
”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”
”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.
but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.
so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.
for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.
so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.
but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.
you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.
stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.
satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.
so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.
satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.
(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)
he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.
and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.
it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.
his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.
there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.
something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.
it only makes you worry more.
luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.
you just want to give some of it back.
satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.
that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.
but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.
still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.
all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.
(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)
and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.
but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.
two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.
you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.
it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.
”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”
your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.
but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.
”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”
”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.
“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”
but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.
”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”
”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”
a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.
satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.
taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.
gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”
there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.
but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.
”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”
another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.
he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.
so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.
”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”
a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.
when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”
this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.
your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.
”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.
to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.
his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.
”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”
using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.
”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”
he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.
”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”
once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.
”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”
silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.
satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.
he wants to be good for you, though.
so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”
the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.
”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”
”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.
”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”
he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.
”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”
as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.
(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)
the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.
yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.
satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.
”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”
”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”
for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?
as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.
and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.
you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.
”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”
satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.
”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face. and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.
”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting, even for a second. ”… satoru.”
he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.
he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”
they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.
but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. a memory of a certain boy, of better times.
(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)
you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”
a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, you seem to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.
the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.
”what did i do to deserve you…?”
you blink. a moment passes.
then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.
you give him a chuckle of your own, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.
”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.
it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.
”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”
and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.
so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.
needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking you for it himself?
you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.
you wouldn’t have it any other way.
finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.
you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.
before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.
stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.
when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.
it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.
still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.
”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”
a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.
”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”
”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”
you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”
”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.
”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”
another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.
”it’s only four, satoru.”
”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”
”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”
”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”
his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.
it’s significantly less scalding, now.
you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”
satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”
”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”
”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”
”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”
”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”
”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”
”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”
a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”
satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.
”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”
another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”
”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”
”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”
”hehe.”
a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.
”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”
you blink. once, then twice.
”… satoru.”
”yeah? what’s up?”
you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”
this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.
”huh? why not?”
”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”
”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”
you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”
”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”
”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”
”but —”
”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”
”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”
you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.
”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”
”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”
you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”
”your baby.”
another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.
“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”
satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.
but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.
(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)
so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.
”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”
”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”
”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”
a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”
satoru is silent, for a while.
”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”
”haah. okay, good —”
”however!”
you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”
you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”
leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.
a tilt of your head.
”… but you’re sick.”
”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”
another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.
”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”
in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.
but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”
”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.
”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”
you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.
”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”
satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”
his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”
”i’m not!”
”you couldn’t even taste it.”
”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”
you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff, trying to appear unbothered. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”
satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.
”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”
you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.
as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”
after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.
”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”
”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”
you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”
”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”
”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”
”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”
“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”
sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. but you’re not falling for it this time.
when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.
satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.
you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.
so you opt to indulge him.
”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”
you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”
”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”
with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.
”you’re good.”
”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”
”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”
”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”
he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.
”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”
”you sure?”
”a hundred percent.”
”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”
”of course.”
”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.
”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”
satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.
”your room is very like you.”
it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.
”… oh? how so?”
“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”
satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.
”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”
he closes his eyes.
there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.
you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.
”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”
a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”
and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”
he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.
”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”
the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.
you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.
you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.
”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.
”… you can.”
he blinks. still smiling.
”stay forever, i mean.”
you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.
this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.
”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”
you reach something.
you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —
a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.
(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)
…
satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”
”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”
he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.
satoru doesn’t get sick often.
his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.
it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.
but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.
yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.
yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.
you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?
”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.
”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.
”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”
for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.
”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.
”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”
satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.
even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.
if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.
living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.
the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.
you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.
maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.
#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk fluff#gojo fluff#jjk x you#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x y/n
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Don't Wormy About Me.
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#jiang cheng#wei wuxian#yu ziyuan#Please allow me to make it clear how important I think the hug between YZY and JC is in regards to several aspects of their characters#For one - it is the resolution and reveal that behind all the harsh words and bitterness...She really did love her son.#A hug is a soft gesture that you would never expect from someone like YZY and the fact she shows JC this affection now -#-Tells us how she knows that this upcoming battle is a death sentence for her.#Her giving away Zidan is honestly overkill but another sign of her truly showing him how she loves him and wants him to survive.#The dread of knowing she's walking back to a fight without zidian and trying to keep up brave face one last time...chilling.#Zidian represents legacy and promises. And this is going to both save and destroy Jiang Cheng as he carries this weight alone.#Heartbreaking stuff! Didn't draw it in the comic because I wanted to draw a silly worm on a string!#WWX tried to help JC out of the knot but got stuck in it.#Those worm on a string tricks are harder than they look!#Also; it's been about a year since the last boat joke - but indeed this is the 11th boat of pd-mdzs. No need to do the math.
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the Liu siblings have no sense of social propriety because of pretty privilege
#liu mingyan#liu qingge#svsss#lqg#scum villian self saving system#think about it though. lqg doesn’t feel the need to act in a socially acceptable way because he has the raw power to dismiss that#lmy (though canonically she’s popular with her peers and isn’t a loner like her simp brother) doesn’t have to be prim and proper#bc she has a lot of soft power in her beauty and she could gut you#like a fish#yknow#so I’m assuming they weren’t raised to really give a shit about all that social propriety#lmy can be polite and stoic from her xianshu peak training. one on one with her brother she is unhinged
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The amount of disdain I have for fics where Percy calls Annabeth “Annie” is only rivalled by the love I have for fics where he calls her “Beth”
#SPECIFICALLY WHEN HE SAYS IT REALLY SOFT LIKE TRYING TO GET HER TO BE VULNERABLE ABOUT SOMETHING OH MY GODDDD#but no I hate Annie so much I have actually dnf’d bc of it#like a one off I hate but I’ll handle it but if it’s CONSTANT? I’m gone#percabeth#pjo#my post#I haven’t even read a Percabeth fic in days I’m literally having a Kanej phase rn why did I even think to post this
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Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
He's not.
They're just... he happened to notice them, once, when Eddie was listening to Dustin talk through how he might want to make his first DM campaign play out.
Steve wasn't even really paying attention at first, just reading some comic he'd found lying in Eddie's room. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen it. Movement.
Eddie and Dustin were sitting at the small kitchen table, Dustin talking about puzzles and traps and monsters and Eddie was smiling, nodding encouragingly, looking more and more exicted. But it wasn't the movement of his head that drew Steve's attention.
It was his hands.
They were resting on the sides of his legs, tapping.
Steve could only see one hand really, but he could see Eddie's other arm jumping the same way, his hands moving faster and faster the more excited he got, until they were just hovering near his legs, flapping in the air beside him as he smiled widely at Dustin. He suggested a few things, to Dustin, Steve's pretty sure that's what he was saying anyway, his ears weren't great anymore if he wasn't focused, and right now, all of his focus was on Eddie's hands.
Dustin slapped his hand on the table, pointed at Eddie and then started scribbling as Eddie laughed, Steve always managed to hear Eddie's laugh, his hands flapping harder, slapping at his thighs.
Steve vaguely hears his name, cocks his head to the side, but doesn't respond, his eyes still locked on Eddie's flapping hands, and then they stop moving. Both of them freezing, the one Steve can see clamps down on Eddie's thigh, fingers pressing into his jeans.
Steve blinks. Tears his eyes away. Looks at Eddie.
He's staring at Steve, his cheeks tinted pink. Steve swallows, gives him a little smile before Dustin has his attention, chatting at him about what he and Eddie had just come up with.
Steve hears about half of it. Nodding when he thinks he should, trying his best to sound interested. It's enough for Dustin. The barely there commitment. And usually Steve is better at engaging with him, even though he has no clue what he's talking about.
But he's distracted. His eyes keep wandering to Eddie's hands. But they don't move again the whole time he's there, Eddie's knuckles turn white as Steve's eyes linger on his hand. His fingers still pressing into his thigh, they drum a quick beat here and there, but his hands don't move.
Steve sighs, drags his eyes away, and tries to keep them off Eddie. Somehow feeling like Eddie is embarrassed, or upset, that Steve had seen... whatever it was he'd seen.
~°~
It keeps happening.
Eddie's flapping hands.
Steve's eyes on them.
But he's careful now. He doesn't stare. Just steals glances when the movements draw his eye. And Eddie always has his hands under tables, or tucked close to his sides, when it happens. Like he's trying to hide it.
Steve doesn't understand why. He likes it. Every time he sees Eddie's hands moving excitedly it makes his chest flutter. Like he's so happy that Eddie's happy it just fills him with warmth.
But it happens other times too.
Not only when he's happy.
It happens when he's nervous.
Happens when he's scared.
The movements are more erratic when he's nervous or scared. His hands flap, shake, clench, and unclench at his sides.
Every time, Steve wants to reach out and touch. To take his hands, hold them in his and tell him he's okay. That whatever it is. Steve will help.
But he hides it. Behind distracting smiles, and under tables, and behind his back, sometimes. But Steve sees him, watches him, and he wants.
Wants to ask. Wants to touch. Wants to be touched.
Wants to feel Eddie's shaking, flapping, hands against him. Wants to be the reason they flap happily at his sides sometimes. Wants to feel them flap happily against his sides. Wonders if Eddie would do that against his back if he kissed him.
Or if he'd do it lying underneath Steve, clutching at his shirt before his hands just taptaptaptapped against his back as Steve pressed him into his matress.
Or maybe he'd hold Eddie's hands, up above his head. Feel his fingers tapping against his hands as Steve kissed him, nice and slow. Eddie would just tap faster, if he was happy, if he wanted that, with Steve.
Steve sighed, deeply, and glanced at Eddie's hands, his left one resting in his lap, thumb twisting at his ring. His right one, hanging down by his leg, shaking happily as he listened to Will and Dustin make plans for their new campaign, and wished he could reach out and touch him. Even just settle his hand against Eddie's, just to feel the joy shake out of his body.
~°~
The first time Steve reaches out and takes Eddie's shaking hand, is at the summer carnival.
It's hot. And crowded. And loud. And they're waiting in line for some ride the kids want to drag them on. People laughing and screaming and crowding around, jostling them and bumping their shoulders.
And Eddie had gone quiet about five minutes ago. Steve keeps glancing down, watching his hands. It takes three more minutes. But they start to shake, flapping at his sides before he grabs at his jeans, wipes his palms, lets them shake again.
Steve leans forward, tells Dustin they'll be over by the benches, and he grabs Eddie's hand, gently slides his hand into Eddie's. Eddie looks at him, blinking rapidly.
"You wanna come with me? Get outta here?" Steve asks, jerks his head to the side. Eddie nods immediately, his fingers clamping down on Steve's hand, hard. But Steve doesn't care, because Eddie's hand shakes, just once or twice, and then it stops. And his hand is warm, and strong, inside Steve's as he leads them to the benches and sits Eddie down.
He gives him a drink of his lemon shake up, snorts when Eddie makes a face at the sour taste, and then sits next to him.
Eddie takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed. He takes his hand out of Steve's, leaving him aching for his touch. Steve just lets him go, rests his hand in his lap instead.
"Thanks." Eddie sighs, after a long moment, his eyes finally opening, they don't land on Steve. Stay locked on his lap.
"Anytime." He says, and he means it. Deep in his chest he means it, he'd do anything for Eddie. Always. Eddie smiles, finally looking at him.
"Can't believe you tried to kill me with that though." Eddie huffs, kicks Steve's shoe with his own and nods at the cup sitting between them.
Steve laughs, watches Eddie smile, his fingers twitching in his lap, his wrist twitches once, Steve's pretty sure it counts.
~°~
The second time he touches Eddie's hands, Eddie's just made them grilled cheese, his signature dish. And he's stitting in front of Steve, his chin resting in one hand, his other hand hidden under the table. He's watching as Steve chews his first bite.
"Weeeell?" He asks, impatient, as always. Steve makes a show of chewing slower, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he hums, thinking. Eddie kicks at his shin under the table, his socked foot not hurting at all. Steve snorts, kicks back, and says,
"It's good. Really good. Best grilled cheese I ever had." He's serious, knows he sounds like he's teasing.
"Yeah? You like it? I didn't burn it? I mean I know you said you like them crispy but I thought maybe I got it too dark. Might have burnt it." Eddie rambles, and Steve just smiles, shakes his head.
"It's perfect, actually. You're a grilled cheese wizard. Or a... grilled cheese... bard. No I don't think that's a thing. Wizard applies more here, pretty sure." Steve says, waving off his own words like they're nonsense, looking toward the ceiling again to avoid Eddie's, no doubt, exasperated look.
But that's when he sees it.
His eyes are on their way to the ceiling when he sees Eddie's hand, flapping next to his thigh. Steve looks back to him, sees him beaming, and can't help himself when he reaches out and grabs Eddie's shaking hand.
But it's a mistake. He didn't know it would be. Didn't think. Had forgotten about that first day when Eddie had caught him staring and froze.
The smile drops off Eddie's face and he tugs his hand quickly away from Steve, hiding it in his lap, scooting back in his chair, away from Steve, his eyes on the table.
"Sorry. I can't- sorry." He stammers, shaking his head, his cheeks are red, his eyes darting around the table top as he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach protectively.
"What are you sorry for? You don't have to be sorry." Steve says, his voice soft, just a breath between them really. Eddie frowns, shakes his head again.
"No. It's annoying. I know it is. It just happens. I can't help it." Eddie's voice is firm, his words sound rehearsed, like he's said them a thousand times. It makes Steve's chest ache, with pain for Eddie, and with anger for whoever told him that any part of himself was annoying. Especially this part, a part of him that Steve is sure is pure joy, made visible, made tangible and expressive.
"It's not annoying." Steve says, and he sounds... mad? A little. But not at Eddie. Eddie's eyes snap up, lock on Steve's face, he doesn't blink.
"It's not." Steve reaffirms, one shake of his head. He moves his hand, slides it across the table top slowly, towards Eddie, and then turns it, palm up, waiting.
Eddie's eyes twitch from his face to his hand and back again. Steve smiles, small, and wiggles his fingers, gives Eddie a nod.
"C'mon. It's okay." He nods his head again, eyes dropping to his hand and then back to Eddie's face. Eddie swallows, sits a little straighter, unwraps his arms from his stomach. Steve sees his arms flex, knows Eddie is squeezing his thigh under the table, nervous. But then he moves, slowly brings his hand up, and places it in Steve's.
He sighs, the contact he's been waiting for finally made, Eddie's breathing is shakey as he watches Steve curl his fingers around his hand, pull it closer across the table.
"It's not annoying Eddie it's-" Steve pauses. Eddie frowns, a grimace really.
"Hey. No. I mean it. I like it." Steve says, and Eddie looks at him, his eyes moving back to their tangled hands over and over.
"You do?" He asks, and he sounds so fucking small. So unsure. So Steve does the only thing he can think of, he stands, drags Eddie to his feet as well, and then presses a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.
"I do. I really do. That's why I was staring." Steve says, breathes it against Eddie's hand, smiles when Eddie's fingers twitch against him.
"I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. But it wasn't because I was annoyed. I promise you that. You believe me?" Steve ducks his head a little, tries to get Eddie to look at him, he's got his free hand up by his mouth, his nail worrying between his teeth. And Steve has to smile, can see Eddie thinking, trying to make sure he does, believe Steve. One moment more and Eddie nods, presses his lips together, and looks at Steve.
"I believe you." He says, teeth worrying into his lip.
"Good. So you- I mean you don't have to hide it. Around me. If you don't want. Cuz I meant what I said. I like it. A lot." Steve feels heat rush into his cheeks and closes his eyes, breathes against Eddie's knuckles for a moment before he looks back up to see Eddie smiling at him. Looking a little in awe. A little breathless.
"You like it that much?" His nose scrunches and Steve just want to fucking kiss him. He nods instead.
"Yeah. I really do. It's like you've got... I don't know... happy little bat wings. Just flapping around you when you're having a good time. I love it. I love-" Steve stops, the words caught in his throat, because that's too much. Maybe. For right now. But he feels it. Has felt it for Eddie for awhile now, the warmth of it humming beneath his skin when Eddie's near him.
Eddie's beaming at him now, tears shining in his eyes, he hides behind his hair, for just a second, before he darts forward, presses his lips to Steve's, a quick press, and then he's gone again, and the space between them is small but still too much.
"Sorry. I've never done that before." Eddie breathes. Steve watches something that could be fear, or regret, pass over Eddie's features like a shadow, and refuses to let it stay there, not even a second longer.
He drops Eddie's hand and cradles Eddie's neck, draws him closer, til their sharing breath.
"Stop apologizing. I want this. You." Steve whispers, pressing his forehead to Eddie's.
"I want you t-"
And Steve kissing him. Slow. Sweet. His hands holding Eddie close. Steve moves his tongue along Eddie's bottom lip, smiles into Eddie's mouth when he gasps, and then deepens the kiss, just so, tilting Eddie's head a little for a better angle. Eddie moans into his mouth, his hands scrambling to grab at Steve's back, clenching in his shirt and unclenching as Steve tilts his world on it's axis.
And then Steve feels it, Eddie's hands, tapping against his back, like he'd thought about since that first day, like he'd dreamed about, on several occasions. Too many to count.
Steve hums into Eddie's mouth, smiles against his lips, their teeth clicking together as Eddie smiles too, laughs into Steve's mouth, his breath filling Steve's lungs as they cling to each other.
See, Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
He just knew they'd feel perfect tapping out happy rhythms against his skin.
And for once, in his traumatic, full of bullshit life, Steve was right.
He's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.
But he does love them.
The way they move, and shake, and show all of Eddie's joys, wild, and uncontrolled.
And his to hold.
#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie blurb#i just really needed to write something soft and sweet and this wouldn't leave my head#living vicariously through these boys#inexperienced eddie#autistic eddie munson#he's a happy flapper!!!#fates endless inkwell#fei#mine#my writing#my fic#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#this is.... so close to my heart#i just want someone to want me ya know???? to see all the weird shit i do and be like ... fuck. that one. thats the one.
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“lucifer is sadistic and mean!! he’s so serious and scary!!”
meanwhile,
he’s just a silly man who wishes for a domestic life with his partner and dog <3
#i love silly and soft lucifer#he’s not this serious guy everyone makes him out to be i mean he conducted a necromantic ritual#TO GET HIS DOG BACK#and then introduces said dog to you because you’re important to him <33#which mirrors the way in which lucifer becomes more open to mc after they become close to his brothers!!#he just wants his favorite people to get along#this devilgram is one of the most precious things i’ve ever seen#family is so important to him!! and it really shone through in this devilgram <33#and i love incorperating that into my writing as well <3#gahhh stories that portray lucifer like this (in-game or fan-made) make me so so happy#gently holds him in my hands and shuts up before i ramble on for too long#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me lucifer#obey me swd#lucifer obey me
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Foggy Minds
Word Count: 4.7K
A/N: I dont know his body!! So I tried to leave it ambiguous and yeah!! i also wrote this just for the ending bit
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It’s a fucking joke. A cruel one. Angels- or at least Exterminators- are known for their cruelty. Raining down from above, a storm cloud that leaves red behind. Even after the destruction and death, the guts and gore that leave a lasting stench, the cruelty isn’t done. The angel Adam still has to bring torment down to Hell.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing is what he is. He can pretend he’s higher than the sinners down below, but he’s just as crude, if not more so than the worst of them here. It’s a tradition at this point for both you and him. He brings hell on hell, and a week later, he flies down once more, calling the club that you work at, demanding for you to be sent to the Heaven Embassy. However, as the next Extermination Day comes close, he’s called for your services once again. You wish you could say no, but he pays quite a lot for you, and you could always use the money..
You hate the walk there more than anything. It’s like everyone knows you’re off to go fuck the Exorcist. You look both ways before disappearing through the doors of the Embassy. Maybe they think you’re getting a meeting with- someone.
The Embassy is empty, and every step you take echoes out in the room. You’re terrified. You always are. It never stops feeling like a trap. Even in the elevator on the way to the suite, you can only stare at the golden doors in front of you, your reflection distorted and twisted.
If you’re going to be honest- you aren’t sure why it’s you who has to come up. It’s Adam- he’s bragged enough about how he can have anyone, and yet, he pays for a sinner’s cunt. You make sure to not feel special, to squash any pride down. Perhaps it’s too tedious to pay for another sinner or hellborn, and it’s best to just get what he knows will be a good fuck. You sigh and look away from your reflection and the glowing numbers. Still, you show up and do your job. You've taken better and worse clients. The angel is just someone in between.
The doors open and you pass a few doors until you reach his suite. You don’t know why the Embassy has so many rooms, and when you tried to ask Adam, he made a comment about how you could have a fuck-a-thon, doing it in each room, and you sneered at the idea.
Your suite- or rather his suite- is unlocked like always. You waste no time, stepping into the shimmering room. It’s livable. A kitchenette on one side, a bathroom with a wonderful shower tucked in the room, and a massive bed pushed to the end of the room. The room is bright, golds and blues, a deep dark wood carved into ornate decorations, and you feel out of place. It’s nice- far too nice for you to show up and defile it with what you’re going to do. The room never ceases to amaze you. There aren’t many places in Hell where the colors are bright and soft at the same time, where things look so pristine and untouched. When you once mentioned to Adam how nice the room was, he laughed and told you that there were far better rooms in Heaven. A part of you still wishes that he would have offered to show you- something, pictures, descriptions, anything.
“Took you long enough!” The angel says, leaning back on the bed. “I pay for your entire time, ya know? From the walk from your whore house to the embassy, the least ya could do is hurry it up. I’m a very important angel, ya know?”
“You ordered me like last-”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want excuses.” His hand waves in the air, and he sits on the bed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” You roll your eyes at him as you walk closer. “Oi! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” his voice is laced with disgust, and you remember that he looks down on you- in more ways than you would care to admit. “Come on, strip.” Your hands go to unzip your skirt. “And make it good!”
You bite your tongue. Your shirt is the first to go. The action is slow, tantalizing as your fingers skim over your bare skin, and your skirt follows suit, pooling on the floor. You step out the fabric, and your heels click on the floor. Adam watches you, his hands scratching the bed covers. You spread your legs over his right, and grab his hands, letting them touch your ribs and then moving towards your back.
You can feel the tips of his claws scratch at the clip of your bra. You press your cunt over his robe covered thigh, and grind over it softly. “Please, Adam,” you beg. “Take it off for me?” Your hands rest over his chest, and he watches as you grind yourself over him, your hands fisting over his robe, and you wonder for a moment if maybe you did a bad thing- if this was the wrong move. But then your bra straps fall down your shoulders, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room.
You hiss when his mouth suckles on a breast, the other breast being pinched and pulled at. He sucks so softly, letting his tongue roll over the swelling bud, teething at it so you hiss and arch yourself further into him. You can feel a wet spot grow, and you can’t help but rock yourself over your thigh. The other breast is manhandled, twisted and pinched that has you gasping and fisting holy fabric in your sinner hands.
You're pushed off and his hands claw over your hip. You get the memo, and peel off your underwear, the wetness of it noticeable, and the only mention of it is when Adam pockets your underwear. You wish you bought another pair with you. The heels are tossed aside, and strong hands push you down from your shoulders. You fall onto your knees with a hiss, and you know what you have to do.
-
“And- And- Oh fuck, that’s it, baby-” He hisses, his head tilted back. The hand fisted into your hair tightens, sharp stinging encouraging you to swallow more so he could let go. “I’m just saying that why would you settle for anything less than-” A moan interrupts his monologue and you look at him through glossy eyes. “Oh fuck. It’s like a fucking gift to suck me off.”
A string of spit and pre-ejaculate connects to your lips as you pull away. It’s thick and white, and you’re gasping for hair, a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and you push yourself to swallow his package, fitting the pair into your mouth as your hand pumps his length. He’s breathing heavily, and you know he's upset at the loss of contact with your mouth with the way that his hand tangles itself into your hair, but his mask is twisted, and you pop them out of your mouth. Your mouth feels dry despite the excess spit- you suppose it’s the salty taste that lingers.
You take him back in your mouth, eager, and begging for him to just spill his seed already. Your cheeks hollow, and he’s heavy on your tongue. Your tongue swirls over a vein, and you can feel him twitching.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he hisses, his hands cradling your head. You hum, and brace yourself, your hands holding at his thighs, bracing yourself for him to thrust forward. His hands tighten, and he thrusts into your mouth. You gag around him, your throat constricting around him. It’s a horrid sound, loud and hollow, and acid threatens to bubble over. As he continues to pump himself into you, spit dribbles from the corner of your lips and you’re grateful that you were ordered to remove your clothes.
“That’s right, take it. Oh fuck, fuck-” a string of curses fills the room, and he’s unrelenting, pushing deeper into your throat. A hand slips to grab at your breast, eyes squinting when you can feel the spit coat over your chest. Your other hand tightens around Adam’s thigh, your nails pinching into him.
Your fingers pinch over your nipple, rolling it over, desperate to take your mind off of the assault of your mouth. His thrusts get deeper and harsher, and he’s still in the back of your throat, holding you down. Curses mutter in the air, sharp and slurring together, and he keeps his eyes on you. The eye contact is far too much, the piercing eyes boring into your entire being, and it must be some type of power play for him. You choose to focus on the base of his cock. With your nose pressed into his pubic bone, you cough around him, and finally he pulls away, his seed laying thick on your tongue. Tears wet your face and mix with your spit and the drops of his seed.
He grabs your chin and you open your mouth, showing the mess that he’s made. Letting go, you stay still, as he taps his cock on your face. It’s tacky with your spit and leaves you feeling much filthier than you would like to admit. You hold the seed in your mouth and he gives a nod, and you make a show of swallowing, and open your mouth to show him. “Did you want me to do a blessing before you swallow?” He teases. “With my holy cum, I grant you the opportunity to fuck me.” He chuckles at his joke.
“Thank you, Adam,” you murmur, hoping that the soreness on your jaw will go away.
“You know, you could learn how to relax your throat. You’d think after doing this for a living, your gag reflex wouldn't be a thing.” You send him a dirty look, and his grin widens. “So fucking sensitive. What did you want me to tell you? That you were good?”
You aren’t sure what mood he’s in at the moment. Sometimes you can tell when he wants to fight with you- where he wants to punish you and call you a sinner as he ravages you, but then there are moments when he wants you to beg for him, to tell him how good he is, how you want his cock more than anything. But at the moment with your skull pounding and jaw sore, you spit out a simple, “Fuck you.” His grin widens, and he hoists you up onto the bed. The stickiness on your face ruins the soft comforter, and you feel too dirty to even touch something so nice.
“I was going to be nice and just fuck you, but shit, you had to talk back.”
A hand grips at your rear, and a finger teases at your hole. You hiss at the contact, and you're glad you’re face down or else you’d never hear the end of it of how flustered you must look. As if reading your mind, he flips you over, your face exposed and your hands immediately cover the lower half.
“Adam-” you squeal, instinctively trying to close your legs only to have them pried apart.
“Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I just wanna look at how wet you got just from sucking on me.” A finger traces against your slick and you watch as he tastes the finger. “Damn, I should have let you keep your panties on if I knew you were going to get this wet.” A finger enters and you squirm, suckling the intrusion further into your softness. “You’re soaked. And all you had to do was suck me off. You know, if I could keep you, I would.” He enters another finger, pushing the two inside until he’s at the knuckles. “I’d give you a nice collar, a nice bed, and all you would have to do is be my little cocksleeve.” He pulls out, and thick strings of slick connect his fingers back to your cunt. He returns his fingers to your cunt, now with the addition of a third. It’s a wide stretch, a sharp pain being overridden with pleasure. “I bet you’d like that. You’d live a pampered life, and all you have to do is keep your pussy spread open for me.”
With a yank, you’re pulled further into the bed. The comforters make a soft noise, but the bed itself doesn’t creak. You watch with half-lidded eyes, focused as he rests on his knees beside you, his cock growing, the scent of it enough to make you go dizzy. You brush your cheek against it, licking at the side of it when he thrusts his fingers into you.
You sit on the bed, his cock pressed against your face, and with a mind too delirious to think of anything else, you pull him into your mind, lazily bobbing his head, as his fingers scissor inside of you.
You breathe heavily, your mind growing fuzzy with the stimulation. He’s slow and lazy, massaging the inside of your gummy walls as he looks down at you taking his cock once more. A hand brushes your hair away from your face, and you pull away, pecking at his cockhead, nuzzling the glistening head against your lips. It isn’t enough for you, and you swallow him once more, humping into his hand when he gives a smart smack to your cunt.
“Turn around,” he orders, and you scamper to do so. You don’t get a moment to prepare yourself, until he’s bullying himself inside of you. Your hands claw at the comforter, and with watery eyes, you see the fabric tear apart underneath your claws. “You’re clamping down hard around me,” he breathes out, and you buck your hips, trying to feel him deeper into you.
Above you, he's heavy, and selfish, pumping into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is harmonized by your moans. He grunts above you, whispering strings of obscenities and few words of praise linger in the air.
“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, “so fucking good.” His breath is hot against you, fanning out into feathered tickles that touch at your body. He’s never been one for intimacy before reaching his peak, always preferring to be lustful, so you never expect him to actually kiss you, but in moments where he rights just at the right spot, you’d wish he do a little more to make it feel something other that whatever this all is.
His body is pressed against your back, hands squirming underneath to grab at your breasts. His hands are rough and unforgiving, pulling and pinching his nails into your soft skin, You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, puffing and huffing, murmurs about how you feel wrapped around him, and you bury your face into the comforter. Your mouth is slacked open, spit pooling down, as your moan helplessly around him, body taut and nerves feeling as if they’re on fire.
“No fucking wonder you’re a sinner,” he seethes out, his thrusts harsh and deep, enough to have you see stars and think about how as selfish as he can, he feels so good. “With a pussy this good, I bet you had everyone lined up for just a taste.” You let out a low whine. “Yeah, I bet you did. No wonder you were hired at that sex joint. Did you have to fuck the owner to get in? Ha?” His tone is wicked, and you’re unsure if it’s his words or the fact that you’re so close as to what is making you tear up. His weight above you shifts, and by your hair, you’re yanked back. You yelp and tighten around him, tears slipping down. “I asked you a question.”
“I didn’t-” you yelp as he continues to bully himself inside of you- “I didn’t hear it, ’m sorry,” you mumble, your scalp stinging with pain.
“Too fucked up on my dick to even think,” he hisses, pushing you down onto the bed. He pulls himself out, and you whimper, shaking your head and pushing yourself closer to him, your cunt weeping for more of him. “A cock hungry slut is all you are, huh?” His cock is pulled out, and he watches you whine, your cunt gaping and leaking slick that makes your thighs glisten.
“Adam, please,” you moan, turning your head to look over your shoulder. You can feel the drool stick to the side of your lips.
“Please what?” he spits out, his eyes flickering to yours, before returning to your ruined sex.
You let a whimper, high-pitched and desperate. You fall back to the bed, your eyes looking forward, and your hand slips underneath you, fingers peeking towards your cunt, feeling the warmth drip onto your fingertips. “I want more,” you tell him, your words muffled by the comforter. “I want you,” you tell him, hoping that he’d take pity on you for a moment.
The tip of his cock brushes itself against your opening, and you clench around it, your body aching for more. “Nah, you have to do better than that.” Your cries are shushed, brows furrowed and you’re turned over onto your back, “Come on, I’ve heard you beg before.” Two of his fingers enter you, thrusting in painfully slow. “You know what to say already.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers twisting the bed sheets into spirals. You shake your head, humping pathetically into his hand. “I promise to make ya feel real good.”
“Adam,” you croak. He pulls his fingers out, and tears gluten over your lashes. “Please, I wanna be fucked.” Your legs tense when you feel the tip of his cock nestle itself inside of you. “I’m just a filthy sinner who needs-” you yelp when he thrusts himself inside of you, the entire lengths filling you nicely- “needs to be fucked by your holy dick.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softy over your skin.
“A little more, honey, and I’ll ruin that demon pussy for you.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softly over your skin, his voice low and sweet for you.
“Adam,” you plead, your hands curving over your breasts, “I need you,” you whisper in a haze. “I need your cock in me, I wanna cum real bad. I need you. I need you to fuck my sinner pussy.”
He gives you a lazy smile, and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Good enough.” He pushes himself inside of you. Your stomach coils into a heat, and you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slip to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs. “You have a fucking grip on my dick. What is it? Are you close?” You let out a broken moan. Your legs kick up, and wrap around him. “If I cum in you, you’re dealing with it.” His grin is sharp and predatory, and it only makes you drag your hands down his arms.
Your hands reach up, and you hold the sides of his neck, your hands curving behind, and you just feel tufts of hair peek from underneath the mask. A hand reaches to grab your wrist, holding it tightly, and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise afterward. “You fuckin’ slut,” he spits out. “You think just because you got my mask off last time, I’ll let you look at me again?”
“Adam,” you whimper out, scratching at the back of his neck with your free hand, “please. I just wanna look,” you slur out. You know you’ll regret saying those things when you’ve sobered from him, but sex always did make you softer, needier. You think that must be why he decided to continue to hire you- to see you pant for him and stroke his ego. “You’re so pretty, I wanna see,” you lament. “I wanna- I just- I wanna look at you when I cum,” you stumble over your words, your fingertips tapping against the bottom of the mask. The golden eyes narrow at you, and you can only look for so long until you turn your attention elsewhere.
His mask is tossed to the side, and his irises glow. The hand that holds your wrist loosens, and you cup over his cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching at your palm. “Fuck- Oh fuck,” you hiss out, your heart beating against your chest rapidly. “I’m gonna- Oh my- Adam! Fuck,” you hiss, the knot in your stomach tightening, a pressure building more and more until you’re sure that you’ll burst.
Even as your body shakes, he doesn’t stop. He continues moving his hips, pushing all of himself inside of you, his breath coming out in pants above you, his smile sharp and face flushed. A hand wraps around your neck, and you arch yourself into it, whining and mumbling at how your cunt is still too sensitive, how he has to slow down, but he coos at you, and he tells you how good you’re benign for him, and you hold onto his wrist with your hands.
Adam places his face close to yours, his lips and breath fanning above yours, and you’re stuck staring at his eyes, unable to look away from the gold in front of you. You lick your lips, and you brush against his. He stares at you, and your face burns.
He gives shallow thrusts, and is still inside of you, and you can feel him. You can feel the heat, and the stickiness leaks out of you. He keeps himself there, and hides himself into the crook of your neck. After a moment, he slips out, and you can feel the heaviness of his seed weep out of you in slow and heavy drools.
You lay in the afterglow, chest heaving and sweat and more sticking to your skin. Your body is on pins and needles, and laying on top of the soft bedding, you could fall asleep right then and there. Nestled into a pile of feathers and gold, you could die- again- and be happy with it.
But then the man- the first man- groans and you remember that this isn't the time to play house. You have a job. Or rather, you had one, and now you have to return. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, and you stare at the bathroom. A part of you wants to take a shower, but you fear that if you even just tasted what luxury is, you’d have to be pried out of the embassy.
With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the body and gather your clothes. The lack of underwear is something that you frown upon, but when you look back to the angel, with the demand for its return, you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. You’ve walked around without it before when customers got handsy, this is nothing. Your skirt is tight, and long enough that only a pervert would tell.
“So,” he trails off, lying on his back, “do you wanna cuddle or something?”
Your eyes widen, and as you flatten your skirt, you thin your lips. “Uh, no. No thanks, Adam. I’m uh- I’m good.” You straighten your top, and tap your heels against the floor, the sharp click echoes in the chambers.
“Whatever,” he huffs, “I was just gonna psych you out anyways.” He waves his hand, and cool air rushes around you.
You let out a sigh, looking at the mirror where you stared at yourself just a bit ago. Your hands play with your hair, making sure that when you leave, it won’t look like you just slept with someone. You hum, and tilt your head from side to side, trying to find some sort of mark that would have to be hidden. However, the cool air- his own magic or blessing- has fixed any evidence of indecency on you.
“The extermination is next month,” Adam sighs. Your eyes flick up, and you catch him staring at you- golden eyes piercing into your own, unblinking and unbothered.
“I’m aware,” you tell him, returning to look at yourself in the mirror. You stand straight and let out a sharp sigh. “I think some of the residents are already panicking.”
“Are you?”
Your stomach knots itself, and you remember when you were first bought by Adam- the nervousness, the disgust, the bile burning your throat. It’s all too familiar at this moment. You shrug. “I don’t think it’s set in yet,” you mumble.
“I’ll come by the night before.” You look at the white tiles- the grout filled with shimmering gold, and the tiles patterned with silver and gold lines. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked like last time.” He doesn’t say the words nicely, it’s more like an afterthought, as if telling you this is a bother, but still, he tells you this, and one thing you've learned about Adam is that he hasn't lied to you yet. You fist the hem of your skirt in your hands, and nod. It’s silent, and then he starts again, annoyance laced into his words. “What do we say?”
“Thank you, Adam,” you tell him in a beat.
“Yeah, well, I can't have my favorite whore die.” His wings unfurl and stretch across the bed. The tips of the feathers reach just beyond the mattress, and you shrug. The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel small compared to him. In the mirror, you can see his reflection, his mouth thinning, and his eyes narrowing. “I- uh- I still have you for ten more minutes.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror. “Get back here. I wanna suck on your tits.”
You stick your tongue out, and your hips sway as you walk towards him, your heels falling carelessly to the floor as you rest beside him. His hands are cold as they peel off your shirt and without a care, he tosses it to the foot of the grand bed. A hand cups at your breast, and you can feel his breath fan over your chest, and you wait to feel his teeth bite at you, but you never do. The wetness of his lips trace over the swell of your breast, a peck pressed against the bud, but never swallowing it. Your chest is heavy with his weight on top of you, and the hand on your breast unfurls and curves over your ribs. His wings expand, and they partially cover you, the softness of them akin to the finest blanket in what only money can buy.
Realization as what he’s doing has your body heating, and you worry that he can tell with the way that he’s laid bare on your chest, and yet, he makes no snide comments. This is far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. With a harsh swallow, your arm wraps around him, your hand reaching upwards to scratch at the back of his head. Your hands knot into his hair, your nails dully scratching along his scalp. He lets out a low hum in response, nuzzling his cheek over your bare skin in approval.
With a shaky breath, you break the silence. “You know, I was thinking, that maybe I’d uh, give that Hazbin Hotel a shot.” You feel his hands scratch over your ribs, straight, and piercing, and they cling to you as his breath hitches. “I’m not sure I believe in the whole redemption thing, but free housing is nice.” You feel him nod slowly, and you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger. He gives you a short answer, one that is mumbled into your skin and doesn't make its way to you, and his wings inch further up covering more of your body as he brushes his lips against the swell of your breast. You don’t look at the time even when you feel that he’s grown heavier on your body.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin adam#hazbin adam x reader#adam x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel adam#i uh#something something he's pretty and awful#i just really wanted to write the last part#but i needed sustenance#i needed food#i had to write them getting there#i think he'd get a soft spot#like he'd like just a few people but would have trouble connecting to them#but i also think he would pay money to like get with a sinner#something about his ego and stuff#how he knows that hes better#but hes still depraved because he keeps going back to one specific demon#please let him return as a demon#i need it#i need him
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The Titans: Secret Files & Origins #2
#one of my fav dick and donna interactions/hugs of all time#this hug has gotta be in my top 3#bc dick is so gentle with her and then just envelops her so softly and comfortingly#ships aside--i don't think dick is as soft with anyone as he is with donna. he really does love her sooo much.#Dick Grayson#Donna Troy#the bestiiiies
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As it goes with every new brainrot I have, it’s time for Kirby crossover again :)
Kirby in one piece! With one piece’s strong focus on dreams and found family, I thought it would fit for Kirby to be a pirate that dreams of sailing to the stars and beyond. Not that this is very achievable by normal means, but we know that it’s at least possible with Eneru and the Skypiea arc :D
More notes in the read more!
Kirby has the devil fruit power of the copy-copy fruit! A paramecia activated by contact and only able to copy one fruit at a time. It can copy logias and paramecias with no problems, though actual ability using the fruit’s powers is up to Kirby to practice and figure out. Zoans can only be copied to partial transformations and cannot be awakened. Kirby doesn’t have much of a mind for haki but has a lot of latent conquerer’s haki that he doesn’t realize— it’s one of the reasons he’s able to make friends so effortlessly.
Meta Knight in this AU is a retired marine, between Captain and Rear Admiral level. He has a bat model zoan fruit that allows him to grow wings, and is a skilled swordsman. He’s retired from the marines but acts a his own separate party that is neither revolutionary, marine, nor pirate, keeping his own fleet known as the Meta-Knights. Their actions are similar to pirates despite not flying a Jolly Roger. They claim territory to protect and occasionally fight other pirate crews, and they claim no allegiance to the world government. They simply go where they are needed. Meta Knight will sometimes sail with Kirby on his small ship, the Popstar, just to keep Kirby out of trouble and make sure the ship is well stocked and well-maintained and able to be seaworthy.
Dedede is the king to one of the small countries that isn’t represented at the Reverie. That means he has a lot more freedom to do his own thing, including setting sail while taking a crew of Dees with him and leaving the country in the hands of some administrative Dees. Dedede splits his time between exploring and sailing and returning home to run his country, with the help of his trusty second in command, Bandanna Dee. Dedede has a penguin model Zoan fruit, and Bandanna doesn’t have any devil fruit but is proficient in coating their spear in haki. They’re the designated save-the-fruit-user-from-drowning person when they’re on deck.
Kirby’s crew changes because a lot of the people he recruits tend to have their own responsibilities. His crew is also full of people he’s beaten. It’s not uncommon for Kirby to sail alone, though he gets into more scrapes than usual with bad weather and rough waves. It can hardly be called a pirate crew, but Kirby has collected all the most heinous criminals under his banner and as such, the world government treats it as a threat.
#kirby gijinka#one piece#kirby crossover#kirby one piece crossover#idk it’s just really fun to think about Kirby in different universes haha#this Kirby design is a lot more silly goofy than my usual designs for Kirby#I tend to go very soft and cute for Kirby designs but I think one piece in general has a pointier vibe#like kirby in this au is a lot more excited about fighting than my other Kirby’s#in the sense that with other kirby au’s that I make kirby tends to be neutral about fighting#like of course he will fight because he’s got the power to do so and has people he wishes to protect and such#but he doesn’t necessarily enjoy it so much as see it as a means to an end#kirby in this au kind of resembles gear 5 luffy a bit in the sort of whimsical vibes#if fighting is inevitable he might as well get some fun out of it yknow#anyways I just wanted to doodle a silly little guy#it’s been a while since I’ve rendered with the softer brush! I kind of miss it it’s a lot of fun
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doodles of my fav sillies
anton belongs to @poicyss
#my brain is a barbie dreamhouse and theyre all just living in it#im especially fond of the second one because my mom used to hold me like that all the time <3#im drawing them a lot lately because im being crushed by the horrors and have to compensate for it somehow#homemade comfort blorbos......#watch me draw anton inconsistently bc i can never decide if i wanna draw him close to how he actually looks#or yassify him and give him soft fluffy hair and kind eyes and defined features. head in my hands#i dont really have a lot of drawing ideas for them bc they dont have like. a canon storyline or anything methinks#its just stuff me and bow toss around and giggle abt thru messages lol. maybe ill draw infant vincent one of these days#i just come up with stuff and draw them doing it. it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside#cuz like anton works for lobocorp as an abnormality BUT hes super duper chill and cute and does his funny little tasks so its fine#AND hes unkillable. auggie is an oc ive had since like 6th grade and i smushed them together. and vincent was for fun but i got attached#i dont have much of a read on anton either bc i think hes meant to be more of an insert character??? if im using that right#on one hand i dont think too hard abt anything being ooc since im not taking it seriously. on the other hand i just hold them in my hands#and stare into space until i can come up with something to draw since i dont have much to go off of. but its fun to build on small tidbits!#i think bow called it an au so i guess??? its an au????? im not really sure. bow if youre reading this im just willy nilly#the only thing i know for sure is that they boink like rabbits. im talking gomez and morticia levels of boinking#maybe ill go back and look at my old doodles for them and redraw em lol#myart#my art#my oc#oc#friend oc#augusta#anton#vincent#sillies family#doodles
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love that henry blake is genuinely just a normal guy . weirdest thing about him is that he’s obsessed with fishing and that isn’t even remotely as bizarre as anything hawkeye and trapper got going on at any given moment . he’s just some guy from illinois in a camp of people who are bonkers and he’s so fucking funny for it
#obsessed with how he’s a colonel . what the hell is he doing there .#what makes it even FUNNIER is that he’s objectively THE BEST OPTION of the 4077th to BE colonel#frank and margaret would run it so strictly that morale and their ability to actually work well would be absolute shit#love hawkeye but let’s be real . his heart bleeds so much he’d let anything slide . would be chaos . probably nothing would really get done#NO ONE should put trapper in a position of leadership … that man would NOT do his job and radar would be even more overworked than he is#with henry in command#i love that henry is a perfect balance between military like frank and margaret but also soft like hawktrap#make fun of him all you want but at the end of the day .. when he needed to be serious he knew what to do#i LOVE him#mash#m*a*s*h#mashposting#mashblr#mash 4077#henry blake#colonel blake#lgbt#lgbtq
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Not to be That Guy but like.
Am I the only one that can't stop thinking about how Tianlang-Jun says about Luo Binghe that he pretends to be cold-hearted like his mother. The hint of fondness there, the heartache in that utterance.
Like it drives me absolutely insane. Imagining her putting on a front of strength, cold and driven and unrelenting. Why does TLJ say that about her. Did she secretly look for solutions that meant reconciling with demons instead of hurting them when her sect wasn't looking? (I wonder this because I feel like his weird fondness for SQQ would lowkey track if it's connected to the woman he once loved.) Did he mean that she was tasked with basically assassinating him and she fell in love with him instead (re: failed step one)? Did he mean that she was fond and doting in her own way (e.g. conceding he was attractive, paying for his exploits and humoring him)? Did he mean that, like LBH, she thought that power would be the thing to protect her--and that it was disguising a person who was deeply and privately wounded? All four????? I don't need sleep I need a n s w e r s
Did she know about the Huanhua Palace Master's skeevy ass intentions before she met TLJ? Or did those only come to significant light after she fell in love with TLJ? Is that why she never anticipated that level of betrayal, because initially she had no intention of being with anyone romantically? And HHPM just assumed she would be under his thumb forever?? Was she furious at her own indiscretion or did she try to use the pregnancy as a bargaining chip, a way to try to stop the immortals of Cang Qiong Mountain from attacking TLJ (plus the bonus of marriage entrapment no takesies backsies this is where LBH gets it from)? Did she try to use that claim on her to dissuade HHPM from his covetous advances, framing herself as tainted so that she could finally escape? Did she dream of a life by TLJ's side, far away from Cang Qiong Mountain?
Like. Literally every single permutation of what this could mean guts me to hell. Do you ever just cry about tianxi because I--[loud bawling noises]
#svsss#tianxi#tianlang jun#su xiyan#like this shit keeps me awake at night#i'm trying to put fic ideas together and every time i go back to that line i just#find myself trying to parse and hone out su xiyan's mannerisms/personality#zzl's descriptions help a great deal but i also love that they're limited in the sense that#1. zzl was clearly scared shitless of/disconcerted with her LMFAO#2. he was suspicious of her (as a cultivator fundamentally) and its fascinating that TLJ did not seem to share this suspicion at all#or one could argue tlj just didn't care beyond his attraction and glee being around her jkahglfdskjhsfkhjg#there is also the hilarious implication that part of what turned tlj on so much about sx is the fact that she could prbly kill him#tlj really said 'i love a woman who can and WILL kick my ass'#'none of that soft power seduction shit manhandle me or nothing'#like he always believed deep down--or at the very least wanted to believe--that she loved both him and lbh dearly#i'm not usually the fix-it fic type but the Way I Need To See Su Xiyan Destroy Huanhua Palace Master's Entire Life.#i just want sx and her boytoy to live happily ever after is that so wrong?#i also think of that person (im so sorry tumblr user i dont rmr who u are at the minute) that said there had to be trust between tlj and sx#because YES. ABSOLUTELY. I AGREE. AND I WANT IT FOR ME#don't mind me just the usual descent into madness anytime i think too hard about svsss#i need to outline damn you airplane and your refusal to expand on LBH's juicy ass backstory#ill never forgive the chinese (joke)
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Love horse farm Konig! Would he still be wearing his hood do you think? If not I can imagine him constantly touching and rubbing down his face when he talks to his darling while he feels exposed.
Much like Ghost he's improvising! He's got a bandana and that feels enough like his hood that he isn't self conscious. He really only wears it when he has to go into town or meet people so he isn't wearing it when he meets his darling.
Fantastic news for her because she gets to stare at him while he carries her around and tries to wrangle her horse. oh wait, I can write this hold on:
When your sweet -horrible- beautiful -horrible, horrible, you hate this damn thing- filly jumps the fence between her pasture and you neighbor's you feel like that must be the icing on the cake. Your life has fallen apart and now your horse is gone. She prances happily through your neighbor's pasture, hardly giving you a glance as you throw on your boots and jump the fence yourself.
As soon as you do she takes off, making a bee line as fast as she can towards who knows what. You're forced to chase after her, thanking God that it hasn't rained recently enough for you to get trapped in the mud. She stops a little ways ahead of you and waits before taking off again right when you get close. You're exhausted by the time you notice she's pranced her caramel ass over to the biggest damn horses you've ever seen. She's barely half their size, and absolutely thrilled to be making such large friends.
You are significantly less thrilled. Those horses look far too big and far too wary of her to be safe. You run towards her, absolutely breaking a very good rule of animal husbandry, and are unceremoniously lifted off the ground almost as quickly as you spook one of the closer giants.
Thick firm arms wrap around your waist, scooping you up and holding you high as a voice gentles the agitated horse. "Sich beruhigen," He says, transferring you to his shoulder with far more ease than you would like, "hör auf auszuflippen." You're too surprised to say anything as a large hand holds onto the back of your thighs. You stare down at the grass, it is very far away. Should you be panicking? You don't feel like you should be panicking.
"Come here little one," He mumbles, and ooh that does something to you, makes something warm settle in your chest. He rustles with something in his pocket, thumb stroking the back of your thigh like he's trying to gentle you. "That's it, nice and easy, I won't hurt you," He clicks his tongue and you know he's not talking to you but shit. Shit! Shit, fuck, this man is corralling your dumbass horse and you're thinking absolutely impure thoughts about this kind stranger.
A stranger that probably thinks you're a dumbass for running at his horses. His hand leaves your thigh and you press your hands against the deliciously firm muscles of his back to keep yourself from falling off his shoulder. A shoulder you can feel moving under you, like it doesn't even notice you're still on it. Christ.
When his hands touch you again it's to settle you back on the ground. He's careful to make sure your dress doesn't ride up in the process, even averts his eyes politely as you sort out your skirt. When you look up from your fussing he's holding out a makeshift lead with your horse on the other end of it (looking far too pleased with herself you might add). You look from his offering hand to his face, and then you are just... staring.
His eyes are so blue, and despite the nervous crease in his brow he looks at you like he can't take his eyes off you either. Strong nose, pink lips, fuck he is easy on the eye. You wonder if he knows how expressive his face is. The lovesick look he fixes you with when you hold your hand out for the lead, it makes your stomach burst with butterflies.
"Let me-" He starts, before clearing his throat and fixing his face, "Let me help you get her back, in case she breaks loose again." And yeah, you could do that.
#Cowboy!Konig#waow new cowboy we love to see it#give it up for Konig he is really going to get to be soft in this one#meeting his future wife and she is a disaster#he is smitten#konig x you#konig x reader#konig mw2#konig fluff#konig modern warfare
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cursed no tattoo machete (I'm sorry for doing this to him)
.
#!!!#I mean one person's cursed is the other one's aesthetic I think this is actually a look in itself and you can fight me on that#see this is what I mean when I say the black lids are an important part of his design#they pull a lot of weight in terms of how his face works and how clearly you can see his eyes#without them his expressions are a lot harder to read especially from a distance#he loses a lot of his sharpness#the white eyelashes though the eyelashes have me weak#over the years I've thought numerous times to myself “why don't I give him cute little blonde lashes those are pretty”#only to realize 0.5 seconds later it doesn't really work in his case#you win some you lose some#thank you! I had a good chuckle when I first saw this it was such an unexpected sight#your style is so painterly and soft looking#answered#gift art#alwaysoutofpaper#own characters#Machete#barefaced early morning Machete before the daily goth eyeliner routine
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Absolutely love the possessive ex Scaramouche ramble in tags, please feed us more of that.
Gladly!! :D
(cw: yandere, extremely toxic ex scara, modern au, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, coercion, obsession, forced marriage, violent/suicidal threats, manipulation, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, implied self-harm)
The two of you were what everyone calls ‘high school sweethearts.’ You met him in the cafeteria when the both of you were first years. Despite the scowl etched on his face, he looked lonely sitting all by himself while everyone was finding tables, old and new friends gathering in groups. He’d ignored you, even scooting further away when you’d attempt to move closer. Even though he seemed so averse to you, you remained, silently eating your lunch. Neither of you said anything, but you did introduce yourself. He scoffed under his breath.
You started to sit next to him for every lunch, and he continued to give you the silent treatment. You never pressed him for conversation, instead choosing to enjoy silence while you ate and admired him from the sidelines. He never looked at you, always facing forwards and toying with his chopsticks, bending them so far until they were ready to snap. Eventually, he seemed to grow accustomed to this routine because many weeks into the semester he turned to address you.
“Why do you always sit by me? Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“Maybe. But I don’t think anyone’s as mysterious as you are.”
“‘Mysterious…’ Yeah, whatever.”
That seemed to be the catalyst because, as sardonic as he was, he’d begun talking to you. And it wasn’t long until he started to warm up to you every lunch until the both of you were exchanging lighthearted banter. Your friendship would only grow from this point onwards until, at the end of your first year during a study session to prepare for finals, where you were both pulling an all-nighter at your house, he’d asked you out. And you said yes, and the both of you had gone from best friends to lovers within the span of a year. The both of you were each other’s first partner, so it made doing things as a couple even more exciting because neither of you had any experience with dates or holding hands or kissing.
Kuni wasn’t a bad boyfriend. In fact, he was very loyal and sweet. He’d stand up for you if anyone was being rude to you or scrutinizing your relationship with hateful eyes. The two of you were nearly inseparable. When you weren’t spending time together in school, you were out doing things together. And when you couldn’t meet up in person, you’d text or call, sometimes talking late into the evening about all sorts of things. You were so immersed in him that you failed to notice the red flags slowly raising over time. But looking back there were a few notable ones.
He never invited you to his house. In fact, you’d never even met his parents, whereas he’d been to your home so often that your family practically became his own. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his family, and if you tried to suggest going to his house for dinner so that he could introduce you to them he was quick to change the subject. For a while you’d push this, more curious than concerned, but eventually you’d drop it when it became clear that he wasn’t going to divulge anything on the matter. That had stung, but you snuffed those feelings in favor of focusing on other aspects of your relationship.
The second red flag was just how clingy he became when the both of you were in your third year, having been together for two solid years. You never noticed it before because you loved him, but when friends had pointed out how attached he seemed—and it was to rather unhealthy levels, according to their observations—to the point where you were the only person he’d ever formed a bond with while at school you started to see the cracks in what felt like the perfect relationship. He’d text you every single day, at every single hour, all the time. He’d call you nonstop, even more so when you didn’t immediately pick up.
The third red flag coincided with the second. When you couldn’t make it to your phone, he was quick to blame himself and those around him for being responsible for your deteriorating relationship. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did those guys bother you again? They probably told you some stupid shit about me, right? Don’t listen to them. Hey, you’re not mad, right? Call me back. I need to talk to you. Just text me when you can, okay? (Name), please don’t leave me. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong. Just promise you’ll stay. Messages of these kinds were what you could expect to receive from him. He’d fluctuate between self-loathing to loathing those around him within seconds, shoving blame onto classmates who’d bully him for being that “weird emo kid with too many piercings” and anyone else who tried to, in his words, “come between you and me.”
By the end of your third year, you started to fall out of love. He was so very dedicated to this relationship, evidenced by how much effort and care he’d put into it, but his clingy behavior was stifling. You’d lost some of your own friends because he chased them away, and it felt like you couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck. If you wanted to go anywhere with a friend or two, Kuni had to be there to accompany you. If you looked at another for too long, he’d think you were cheating. If you didn’t text or call him at certain times, if you failed to pick up, or—Archons forbid—you left him on seen, he’d spiral.
Kuni had this habit of sounding dangerously self-destructive when he feared you were being unfaithful or he thought you were going to break up with him, which meant you’d have to sit on the phone for hours convincing him that you loved him, that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be here for him, that you were sorry for not responding, that he needs to calm down and please, please, please don’t do anything rash. Those phone calls were always so stressful. You cried a lot; you’d beg him to put the knife away when he’d threaten to use it on himself, on you, on anyone who might try to take you from him. And, after a few hours of this, he’d be back to his usual self, as if a switch had been flipped. You could hear his adoring smile in his voice when he spoke, when he’d lovingly whisper into the phone, “I’m happy you’re mine. I love you so much.” And you’d shakily parrot the affirmation, too frazzled to say or do anything else.
One of your best friends Rosalyne, who you’d befriended in the midst of all of this, had been so supportive the minute you spilled the truth to her. Kuni hated her the most because she wasn’t afraid of him. Because she’d shut him down when he tried to pull you away from her. Because she wouldn’t approve of any of his toxicity. Rosalyne would take you on shopping sprees, brunch dates, and jogs at the local park. She was plenty of good to outshine Kuni’s bad, and the more time you spent with her the clearer your head would become. The both of you had plenty of sleepovers together, and she let you rant your heart out while she listened. She’d tell you to break up with him, but you’d agonized over how terrifying that would be. You couldn’t bear to tell Kuni the truth—that you wanted to separate because things had turned so rotten—because you were so scared. Scared of him and what he might do.
Scared that if he really did take a blade to himself it would be your fault. He told you that a lot. That it would be your fault if he did anything. That his blood would be on your hands. You believed him every time.
By your final year, you’d already had a plan for university outlined and you’d started applying to a few in advance. You never told Kuni about any of them because you worried he might apply to each one in hopes of going to the same school as you. And when there was the dance for the graduating class and Kuni had asked you to it, you’d told him you were going with Rosalyne and a few other friends as a group. He didn’t like this, as expected, but you’d been so sick of him and his behaviors that you snapped and spilled everything to him. You’ll never forget the look on his face when you told him that you were done with the relationship and that you never wanted to see him again.
He looked as if he could lunge at you and tear you to bloody ribbons at any moment.
You graduated single and so very refreshed, and your summer had been filled with friends. Kuni didn’t message you at all, which was surprising considering you were certain he’d spam you relentlessly after the break-up. But he never did. In fact, you never saw him again. Graduation had come and gone, and now that you could recover from such a terrible relationship he was becoming less of a burden for you. For a while you were anxious. You kept expecting to receive a phone call or to see some news about Kuni, but neither ever came. Rosalyne told you to stop thinking about him. It would only make you even more paranoid and that wouldn’t do your mental health any good. You were so grateful to have her in your life, but most importantly you were glad Kuni failed to scare her away.
Now you’re a second year in college and things have only gotten so much better for you. You and Rosalyne still keep in touch despite going to different schools. She’d gone to a university in Snezhnaya, while you enrolled in one in Sumeru, and you’ve blotted Kuni from your mind. You’ve made a fresh group of friends while attending classes: criminal justice major Shikanoin Heizou, creative writing major Kaedehara Kazuha, musical therapy major Venti, botany major Tighnari, and so many more wonderful people who have all welcomed you into their circles.
So when Venti drags a familiar face to your usual weekend outing, which is really just a retreat to the forest for drinking and smoking, creeping cold settles into your bones. He looks awkward with Venti’s arm slung around him as the more bubbly of the two drags him towards the bonfire, where you sit with the others roasting marshmallows for s’mores, and it’s a look that is so uncharacteristic on him. What’s even weirder is how friendly everyone greets him—as if they all know him—and you’re completely lost when they turn to you and ask if you’ve met Kunikuzushi.
“No,” you lie through your teeth, forcing a pleasant smile and extending your hand for a stiff handshake, which Venti snickers at. “No, I’ve never met him before.”
Apparently, he’s in one of Venti’s classes—it’s a course he’s taking solely because he needs the credits. Tighnari knows him because they usually work the same shifts at the campus café. Kazuha knows him from his linguistics and philosophy classes. Heizou’s ate with him in the dining hall plenty of times now and they’re also taking the same psychology class. It feels so genuine and yet so fake at the same time. Too perfectly manufactured to be a mere coincidence. But you do your best to push past these suspicions, and when he sits across from you, smiling at you and saying how nice it is to meet you, the warping flames paint his face in devilish shadows. That’s what you think he is when he acts like a completely different person from how he was when you dated: a devil who’s good at being kind and outgoing, noisy and abrupt, and always so foul-mouthed, but in a way that makes him charming. Your friends are so enthralled. They love him and his sense of humor. They love his quick wit. They love how fun he is. And suddenly weekends spent in the forest aren’t so enjoyable.
You do your best to overcome your doubts. For a few months you’re on edge. How he even found you is a mystery. Surely he wouldn’t stalk you and enroll in the same college just to get revenge or…whatever vengeance he wants from you. But when he treats you to coffee, when he brings you and the others pastries every other morning, when he invites the lot of you to study at the library, when he tells the funniest stories while crossed and everyone’s giggling like schoolgirls it really feels like he’s…healthier. Like he’s turned a fresh page in his life and is starting anew. Like he’s changed for the better.
Perhaps he just doesn’t remember you. You’ve changed your style over the years, so it’s possible he’s simply forgotten your image and can’t place memories to your name. Eventually, after soothing yourself with these theories, you begin to accept his presence in the group. He fits in so flawlessly, as if he’s a missing piece to the puzzle, and you can’t believe you’re admitting this, but you like this version of Kuni. He’s confident, not cocky. He’s kind, not rude. He gives everyone space. In fact, he rarely texts frequently in the group chat. And he’s funny! He’s so funny. You don’t think the Kuni from your past was ever as funny as the Kuni who regales everyone with lighthearted stories of how he once took in a stray cat that turned out to belong to his neighbor or how his old job had the strangest customers.
Maybe he truly did change. Maybe all of these coincidences really are coincidences. Maybe it’s for the best that you leave the past in the past.
Finals season looms, and the group hasn’t had time to meet up outside of class. Venti has tried to persuade everyone to come study at his apartment. His roommate won’t care (yes, he will. Xiao hates it when everyone gets blackout drunk and he has to wake everyone come morning), but if you’ve known Venti long enough you’ll know there is no studying that happens at these study sessions. This is probably the reason why he’s had to repeat a year.
With everyone’s schedules packed with academics, it’s difficult to find a time where everyone can get together to study. You think you might just be better off studying on your own, but Kuni’s message of you wanna pull an all-nighter for these lame af finals together?? accompanied with a photo of snacks and coffee, any thoughts of studying alone instantly vanish.
This is how you find yourself in his dorm, sprawled on his bed while he sits on the floor, whacking your dangling feet when they get too close to him. His roommate Albedo is currently out tutoring a few students at the library and won’t be back until much later, so it’s just you, Kuni, and a pile of textbooks and notes. You’ve hung out with Kuni a few times and he was great company during each. You’ve also fallen asleep in his dorm before, when you’d come over to binge a show the both of you enjoy, and you’d lost track of time and had slipped into a dream halfway through the marathon. You’d woken the next morning with Kuni looming over you, grinning deviously and holding an uncapped marker. He’d leaned down and whispered, “You drool in your sleep,” and you’d swatted at him and groused about how you were sleeping so peacefully when he just had to ruin your sleep (and your face) with his antics. And then there was that time when you were so drunk at that one party and you could hardly stand, he’d been there to help. He even stayed with you for the rest of that night, offering his assistance when you became nauseous or needed water or a snack until you passed out.
Despite your initial apprehensions, you consider him a friend. He’s no one nearly as close as Rosalyne or your other friends. He’s just a mutual friend, someone you’ll spend time with when you feel like it, but you don’t truly need him in your life. That, and part of you still struggles to trust him after all of the stress and unhealthy obsession he subjected you to.
“Kuni,” you whine, lifting your head from the textbook. “Can you get me some water? I’m thirsty.”
“Do I look like your maid?” he snaps, immersed in organizing his notes. “Get it yourself.”
“I’m picturing it now and you’re in a frilly dress and—”
“Forget I asked.” Setting his notebook down with an exaggerated sigh, he crosses the distance to the mini fridge and withdraws a bottle of water.
Grinning, you slide off of his bed and reach for it with a grateful hum. He smirks and takes a step back, holding it away from you.
“Seriously…”
Rolling your eyes, you lunge for it and he side-steps you with the practiced grace of a cat. You brace yourself against the wall and swipe at him. Again, he dodges, unscrewing the cap and shaking the bottle teasingly.
“I think I’ll take a sip for myself. All of this studying has left me so parched.”
“No fair! That’s mine!”
“Is it?” He pulls it away from his lips to observe the bottle and feigns surprise. “That’s weird. I don’t see your name on it.”
“Look closer!” you exclaim, but just as he’s about to humor you you pounce, tackling him to the ground—there’s a beanbag cushion that breaks your fall—and the water spills all over the both of you in the midst of the tumble. A slew of colorful words stick in Kuni’s throat and your laughter rings out melodiously. You seize his wrist and hold it down while reaching for the bottle in his other hand, where there’s still some water left. He struggles halfheartedly, relinquishing the bottle with a disinterested scoff, and you pull away from him to down what’s left.
While crushing the plastic bottle into a ball, you notice something on your palm—the palm that had grabbed Kuni’s wrist—and it takes a minute before the skin tone-colored substance registers in your mind.
Concealer.
You peer at him and notice that he’s cradling his arm, and confusion sprouts.
“So funny,” he spits with a hollow laugh. “You owe me a new beanbag if this one’s ruined.”
“Hey, hold on. What’s with the—”
“Forget it. You got your water, so let’s get back to studying. Or do you no longer want to be a perfect student?”
Without thinking, you grab his arm as he’s standing and when you look at his forearm you can see where the water’s started to wash the concealer away. Curiously, you scrub at it while he tries to yank his arm away, but when you unearth a dozen scars littering his wrist and climbing the length of his arm that creeping cold from before returns.
And suddenly you’re brought back to those phone calls—the ones where he’d threaten suicide and murder—and you stumble back as if you’ve been burned, half-expecting to hear those threats once more. Kuni’s staring at his wrist, his features twisted in grim disapproval, and for a moment you think he looks…hurt. Or maybe that’s sadness you see. Whatever emotion it was, it doesn’t linger because a quiet chuckle slips past his lips, and the sound is so very frigid it has your blood crystallizing.
“It really hurt when you said you never wanted to see me again.” Kuni peers down at you, and his eyes that had once been so bright and filled with light are dull and dark. “But nothing hurts more than loving you.”
You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. You’re rooted to the ground, horror slinking through your body and rendering you immovable. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so loudly it’s practically a drum, and a cold sweat washes over you.
“Each time I found myself hating you, I thought it was odd because I love you so much. I can’t possibly hate the one I’ve loved all this time.” He scowls. “But loving you hurts. Loving you feels like chewing glass and drinking poison. Loving you isn’t fair because while you moved forward with your ‘friends,’ I was forced to stay behind and pick up the pieces of what was left of you. So for every moment I couldn’t stand you, I tallied it on myself so that I’ll never forget the times I loved you so much I hated you.”
This can’t be happening, you’re thinking, curling your hands into trembling fists. He changed. He changed, right? This isn’t the same Kuni from before. This isn’t…
“And when I saw how well you seemed to be doing without me, I hated you even more.” Without warning, he’s grabbed your arm and hoisted you up. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes—not that anything could when he’s pulled a switchblade from his pocket and poised the pointed tip at your jugular. “You have poor taste in friends. Those guys suck.”
Tutting, he shakes his head at you like a parent might when scolding a child, and says, “Do you know how fucking tiring it was pretending? You think I care about pastries and stupid campfire stories? You really think I’d ever want to associate myself with that sorry lot?”
“K-Kuni, please let go of me. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—I’m sorry. So please just…”
“And then the first time you see me after all these years apart and you had the gall to lie to my face! ‘I’ve never met him before.’ Bullshit. You just didn’t want any of your loser friends to know our history, right? Because you’re ashamed to have known me, right?”
“That’s not it! I… I was just—I didn’t… I was… I just…”
“I… I… I…” he mocks, shoving you down onto the beanbag. It dips under the sudden weight, and you sink further into it when he points the blade at you. “Stop tripping over your tongue. I should be the one near tears! You cast me aside and then forgot all about me. You abandoned me when I needed you most.” His voice cracks at that last sentence, and your heart skips erratically.
“That’s not what happened! We needed space. I needed space. You were being too—” You stop yourself, unsure of how to phrase it. Too controlling? Too dangerous? Too scary?
“Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook these past...slights.” The blade twirls effortlessly in his grasp, and you heave a relieved breath when he’s no longer pointing it in your direction. “Marry me and we’ll forget all about the past. We’ll start over.”
His demand almost stops your heart altogether. You stare up at him, mouth agape, and mumble a disbelieving, “What?”
“You heard me.” He seems to soften with his next words, and for a moment he looks and sounds like the Kuni who hangs out with you and your friends. The harmlessly fun Kuni who always takes such good care of you. “You’re the only one I’ll ever love, so let’s get married.”
“K-Kuni, I can’t... I really can’t...”
Within seconds the blade has found itself on his wrist, pressing into delicate flesh. Not enough to cut, but if he applies more force you’ll definitely see blood. You choke on a horrified gasp.
“What was that?” He raises his brow at you, challenging you with a calm smile.
Your mind reels in an effort to conjure a plan. What can you even do? If you take the blade from him, will he turn his anger on you? Will you have to wrestle him into submission? And if you do manage to get out of his dorm, will anyone believe you? He’s painted himself in such a pleasant light. Your friends love and trust him! So what can you say? And if there isn’t any solid proof, no one will even entertain bringing the authorities into this mess.
“I’m waiting, (Name). Are you really going to make me add another tally? Do you really want me to hate you again? Oh, but maybe I should start marking you! We can add a slice for each time you failed to love me. That way we’ll both look like used cutting boards.”
You need help, you want to say, but the words escape you.
Instead, you nod hastily and say breathlessly, “Okay, yes! I’ll marry you!” Swallowing your horror, you glance at the blade as it’s lifted from his skin. Thankfully, there isn’t a cut. “I... I’ll marry you, Kuni. So... So please don’t hurt yourself. Please.”
It feels like you’ve been strangled for an eternity, so when he finally pockets the blade the air in your lungs returns and you collapse against the beanbag, chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.
“Good.” He bends down to your height, grips your chin with cold fingers, and forces you to meet his adoring stare. “We’ll look at rings tomorrow. Or maybe you’d prefer bracelets instead? I can be flexible but only for you, so you’d better be grateful.”
You swallow rising bile and nod. “T-Thank you.” You’re not sure why you’re thanking him when he hardly deserves it, but it feels like the right thing to say to ease the tension.
Kuni’s eyes sparkle, no longer a void of endless darkness, and when he leans in to capture your lips in his your heart sinks. You really can’t run from your past, can you?
#genshin chit chat#yandere-romanticaa#yandere scaramouche#scara says he needs you but what he really needs is a therapist first and foremost#adding heizou into the mix!!! he probably takes notice of your change in behavior#and confronts you one on one to ask if everything's okay#and he looks so concerned and his voice is so soft and so you break and spill everything#and he nods while he takes in all of this information before offering to help#he knows the law (he's studying it after all!) so he can help you#but what heizou doesn't tell you is that the law might crush one evil person but it can easily protect other evils :)#especially him who is oh-so-honorable and sweet#you'd never know he wants to be more than just friends#and that he has a journal detailing your every move#but also i like the idea of heizou being a genuine friend and the two of you grow closer while trying to find ways to get scara caught#and taken away from you for good#but yan!heizou just hits so deliciously orz#also also!! adding in rosalyne~~ she went to the same uni as kuni (in snezhnaya)#but when he finally found out where you were he transferred#and rosa only realized they went to the same school when she found out from ajax (who also attends the same uni)#kuni probably worked part-time as a hospital receptionist before he transferred schools#and he's pretty sure the doctor there is a serial killer or he's just on the border of criminally insane (this is dottore after all)#(me looking at every way i can insert each harbinger into this au >:D)
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