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taesancore · 13 hours

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—HEY ANGEL

kim donghyun x f!reader

📜 .ᐟ part one of the bnd as one direction songs series!

📜 .ᐟ synopsis: in which you were oh so curious about your sunbae, kim donghyun

wc: 2k, lowercase intended

“seriously, just go talk to him if you find him cute!” hanni replied as you continued to stare at him. kim donghyun. your senior and the main RJ for your school’s daily radio show. it wasn’t just the fact that you found him cute—scratch that, angelic. it was the fact that he was quite literally a walking talking enigma of some sort.

his mind was a one of a kind, you had thought when you first heard his deep voice talk about through the poem you wrote. you had sat up with a start in the middle of the break period as he continued to read out the poem you had submitted out of boredom (mayhaps to also spread your winter blues to everyone else for fun).

“wow, this person must really hate winters, they’ve described the sadness in how all the plants tend to die due to the cold” he had mused. back then you didn’t have an inkling of who he was. but his words, they weren’t even anything wise or profound. his simple take on your depressing poem had you wondering, just how was he so positive?

“i don’t know…on the bright side of it, i think winters can symbolise a time of rebirth and rest don’t you think? the flowers grow back looking much healthier and prettier after winters, in the spring. everything has a bright side to it right? even the most harshest of winters have beauty in them”

you had crept up to the broadcasting room as he was just beginning to conclude the show for that day. your curiosity had gotten the best of you, dying to know who had read your poem and turned it into a warm ray of hope amid the cruel winter. hearing the shuffling behind the door, you quickly hid behind the wall near the broadcasting room as the door opened and—

oh. oh wow. he was beautiful. was it his large doe eyes? or the slender shape of his nose? or the way his rosy pink lips had a natural quirk to them even when he wasn’t smiling? you weren’t sure what about him was beautiful. but at the same time everything about him was simply angelic, to put it straight. you were lucky he didn’t catch you gawking at him while he was bowing politely to the people who greeted him, as he walked away.

you learnt that he was kim donghyun, the one who was in charge of the break programme along with your senior han dongmin. the two of them hosted it under their RJ names leehan and taesan. their show consisted of them played rock or metal songs that dongmin often enjoyed dissecting musically while donghyun read out different letters, thoughts or writings that students sent.

“it’s not that hanni” you sighed, finally taking your eyes off him as you faced your friend. “…..i want to talk to him” you finished poorly.

“then do it!!” she said exasperatedly.

“how do i explain it to you?! i wanna know him as a person you know? he always somehow makes my poems seem like a ray of sunshine in someone’s cloudy life, and he sees things so positively all the time? i wanna be him and see life though his eyes once”

hanni was left gaping at you after you finished your speech.

“wow you’re in love”

“oh shut up i’m not”

the next day you had prepared another poem for the week, yet another pessimistic one. at this point you weren’t sure why you were writing these sad poems (maybe it was to just hear donghyun read them and state his opinion) but you loved the thrill of being an anonymous listener of gongfourz programme.

tiptoeing near the box where the letters were submitted near the broadcasting office, you barely had time to turn around and walk away after dropping your poem in the box, before you bumped into a sturdy chest.

“careful there” came a familiar voice from above you as you steadied yourself. you held back an embarrassing gasp as kim donghyun’s curious eyes met yours.

fuck, they were probably home to a thousand galaxies weren’t they? you didn’t realise you were staring until he chuckled softly, snapping you out of your reverie.

“i’ll get going then” he smiled, brushing past you into the broadcasting room, leaving you standing there still staring in his direction.

“what if he saw me put my poem in his box?? hanni i’m doomed!” you were currently wailing at your best friend who was calmly sipping her coffee. it was a free period for you as your teacher wasn’t present, giving you enough time to mentally prepare yourself for leehan and taesan’s broadcast. and it also gave you time to cry about your first encounter with him…which wasn’t exactly the best.

“relax y/n, so what if he does?” she questioned.

yeah…so what if he does? you wondered for a minute.

“i don’t know…it’s not like i like him anyways, you’re right” you said to yourself as hanni snorted.

“you don’t like him? sure honey” she snickered as you scowled.

“don’t even try lying to yourself here, you get so excited before his broadcast starts, look at him every time he enters the lunch hall hell you even eat your food at a snail’s pace to leave the hall at the same time as him” she finished befit you could defend yourself, smirking at your dumbfounded reaction to her speech.

“how do i prove it to you?” you mustered weakly.

really though, you didn’t like him…you just liked his brain. god it even sounded stupid in your head but that was the truth! his way with words really did render you speechless at times and dare you say made it flutter too— no. no it didn’t.

“talk to him then” came hanni’s reply. well.

“that you know i can’t!” you whined. “oh the radio’s starting! quick!” you ushered hanni into your regular seats in the classroom as the last remnants of one of taesan’s favourite song faded, the guitar riff still ringing in your ears.

“now let’s see, the first letter! kim donghyun sunbae you’re a greek god— why thank you” he exclaimed politely as taesan burst out laughing.

“you sure you didn’t send that?” hanni elbowed you slyly as you shot her an annoyed look.

“haha very funny.”

“next up, oh my little poetess sent another poem!” my poetess. you loved the little nickname he gave you, it never failed to bring a warm feeling inside you.

“hmm, looks like you’ve had quite the experience with some people on earth, considering how you’ve written that hell is up here itself” his mellow voice floated through the speaker in the classroom as you attentively listened.

“however, maybe hell isn’t the only thing that’s up here? i have a feeling that there are angels in disguise on the earth you know”

“are you referring to yourself?” taesan joked as leehan’s chuckles came from the speaker.

“maybe, but i’m referring to my poetess as well, i’m not gonna lie i’m very curious about you” he replied as hanni let out an excited gasp.

“oh my god?! he wants you so bad” she giggled at you who was still jaw-dropped at his words.

“oh don’t be silly, he doesn’t even know me!”

“are you really flirting with one of our anonymous writers han?” taesan’s amused question made leehan chuckle again.

“if you see it that way then sure. i however do think my poetess is one of the angels in disguise you know…sometimes i wish i could see the world from her view as she makes even the most heartbreaking things seem ethereally beautiful”.

the entire classroom was silent, taking in the senior’s words. you were sure some of your classmates who were his fangirl were glaring daggers at the speaker, probably cussing out ‘his poetess’ in their minds. you? oh you were a blushing mess, you were sure you had no feelings for your senior but now? you suddenly weren’t so sure anymore.

“hanni” you said in a small voice.

“i think i’m gonna talk to donghyun sunbae”.

the next day you had prepared another poem, one that you had penned during the early hours of the morning due to the lack of sleep. you couldn’t help it, you had to do something about the weird feelings you were starting to feel for him, he was a senior for gods sake!! your poem was quite simple this time, talking about how the heart tends to make stupid decisions by catching feelings, ignoring the advice of the head (totally not inspired by your current mood).

upon reaching the broadcasting room before class started, you patted your coat pocket to reach out for the envelope….which you didn’t find.

oh no. oh no no this can’t be.

you frantically pulled out all your pockets, searching the floor beneath you if you accidentally dropped it anywhere until-

“looking for this?” came a low voice from behind you as you whipped your head around.

your worst nightmare had come true for there was kim donghyun, with your envelope in his hand. he smiled at you, a smile that told you that he knew everything already.

“sunbae! good morning!” you bowed down hastily, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze of your own.

be confident. stay calm. stay cool.

“it’s nice to finally meet you my little poetess” he greeted you, walking closer as he handed the envelope to you.

“w-what are you talking about?” you shuffled away from him, stuffing the envelope back in your jacket while still maintaining the eye contact.

“no need to pretend now, i saw you earlier you know?” he said amusedly.

“…fine it’s me” you gave in, looking everywhere but at him now. his smile widened slightly as he tilted his head.

“aren’t you my junior? the one who stares at me during lunch?”

you felt your face burn at his words as you glared at him, yet you couldn’t find a suitable reply because…you did stare at him.

he laughed a soft laugh, and you may have melted inside because hearing it in real life and not through the rusty old speaker in your class felt so heavenly.

“it’s not like that..” you finally managed as he quirked an eyebrow.

his feet moved forward, while yours moved back.

“…i’m curious about you too, sunbae” you finished as you found your back thud against the door of the broadcasting room.

his eyes glimmered with an amused glint, drawing you deeper into their endlessness as you struggled to acknowledge the barely there distance between you two.

“and what do you find curious about me?” he mused, lips tilting upwards into his signature little smirk. or smile. hell you weren’t sure at this point because all you could think about was his warm scent floating around you.

“your…brain” you mumbled, not breaking eye contact this time.

his brain. really. god you sounded like a loser there, so much for confidence.

he laughed, a beautiful sound that bounced off the walls. you stared, ears blushing red as he threw his head back. that smile oh wow.

“you’re quite the funny one” he giggled once he calmed down, still smiling widely.

“no im being for real! you always turn my gloomy poems into something happy! just how do you manage to do that?? and the nickname, my poetess? it keeps replaying in my head everywhere, god you’re everywhere at this point it’s making me crazy!” you burst out, breathing heavily as you felt a weight lift itself off from your chest.

shit. what had you done. your eyes widened as you watched donghyun’s expression go from amused to flabbergasted to something undecipherable…almost soft?

“okay my poetess, how about this? you can satisfy your curiosity by getting to know my brain better hmm?” he said, smiling at you as you furrowed your brows.

“what do you mean—how?”

“meet me after today’s broadcast? it’s a date y/n” he grinned, eyes disappearing into little half moons as he finally stepped away from you.

you were left staring at him for the second time this week as he sauntered away into the broadcasting room, the door shutting behind him with a soft sound, not louder than the booming of your heart though.

hmm. you decided that you liked— no scratch that, really liked the sound of your name when he said it.

a/n: man i’m too sleepy rn to check for any errors and this is mid asF but let’s be fr, don’t we all love leehan’s brain :3

#⌗ my works❕#boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader #bnd x reader #leehan boynextdoor #kim donghyun #donghyun x reader #bnd leehan #leehan fluff #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor scenarios #bonedo x reader #bnd scenarios #leehan bnd #boynextdoor headcanons #boynextdoor imagines #leehan imagines #Spotify

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dragonflylady77 · 2 years

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I was tagged by @emeraldwitches

RULES: Make a new post and spell out your URL with song titles then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL. I picked songs I like because what’s the point otherwise?

d - Deutschland (Rammstein)

r - Rodeo (Lil Nas X, feat. Nas)

a - A Feast of Friends (Jim Morrison & The Doors)

g - Giftig (Rammstein)

o - Ohne Dich (Rammstein)

n - Nouveau western (MC Solaar)

f - Five To One (The Doors)

l - Long White Cross (Pluto)

y - Youngblood (5sos)

l - Light My Fire (The Doors)

a - Adieu (Rammstein)

d - Daffodil Lament (The Cranberries)

y - Yeat’s Grave (The Cranberries)

7(7) - Seven Nation Army (The White Stripes)

Um for some reason there are zero Muse songs on there, which is odd because they’re one of my favourite bands but I guess their songs I like don’t start with the letters of my username.

Tagging some people: @queer-coded-camaro-driver @billys-bitchh @iwigyousub @lovebillyhargrove @disdaidal @ariesbilly @ouizzyharringrove @inchronicpain @tundrrra @cieldepeanut @cometsinspace @wixterirox @c0bblenygma @grey-sides

#dfl answers #music question #get to know me #dragonflylady77 #yes im listen to rammstein a lot #i listen to muse when i write if you must know

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fbfh · 9 months

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makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him.

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that.

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.”

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband.

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle.

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly. Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face.

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle.

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?”

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet.

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful.

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.”

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face.

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life.

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself.

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting.

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?”

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little.

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick #rodrick x reader #rodrick x hyperfeminine reader #hyperfeminine reader #diary of a wimpy kid #diary of a wimpy kid x reader #doawk #doawk x reader #yeah no idea where the book thing came from #i literally wasn't even a horse/unicorn kid growing up #i was more into faries #like i liked the horse girl aesthetic ig but i never really got into it #but it's fun #i almost accidentally named a character after a member of paramore so im glad i caught that lol #stay tuned

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leossmoonn · 2 years

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Muse

masterlist

pairing - xavier thorpe x fem!reader

type - smut, 16+

note - i haven’t even seen the show yet but I’ve consumed so much xavier content I feel like I can write a smut fic abt him 😅😅

summary - you wake up to xavier drawing you, leading to something more

warnings / includes - language, oral (f receiving), soft dom!xavier, some body worship, insecurity mentions, thigh riding if you squint. lowk i have no idea if the reader is allowed to sleep in xavier’s room but for this fic she is 🤫🤫🤫

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“No, this isn’t right. Almost… no. Is her nose rounder or more pointy?”

You toss and turn as you hear your boyfriend’s mumbling.

“Oh, great, she moved,” you hear him sigh.

Your eyes flutter open, sleep weighing them down. You slowly reach your hands out from the warm blankets, rubbing your eyes before stretching. Your back pops and ankles crack as you extend your body over the bed, catching Xavier’s attention.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, worry evident in his voice.

“No, I was already waking up,” you shake your head. “But did I mess up your drawing?”

A light chuckle echos in his room. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh, really? Because I heard you having some trouble finding out what shape my nose is. From how much you stare at my face, I would’ve assumed that you would know it by heart now,” you tease him, smiling as you stretch once more.

“You’re already so perfect in real life, I wanted to capture that in my drawing,” he states.

You let out a breathy laugh as you smile. You peek open your eyes to peer at him, seeing as his hair is pulled back into a half-pony tail. “You know the way to a girl’s heart, Xavier.”

“You know I try my best,” he quips. You close your eyes, turning onto your left side and cuddle the pillow. You hear Xavier move to the other side of the bed, sitting down beside your legs.

“Trying to get the right angle?” you hum. “Yep. Would you like to see what I have so far?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say, forcing your eyes to open. You sit up on your elbows, jaw becoming slack as you look at his drawing. “Xavi, this looks nothing like me.”

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You must be drawing your other, more pretty girlfriend,” you snort, laying back down with a thump.

Xavier rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. You know you’re gorgeous.”

“Not when I’ve just woken up,” you scoff.

He sets his drawing down on his desk, walking back to his bed. He sits down closer to your head, cupping your cheek. His thumb gently moves your face out from the pillows. You nuzzle into his warm touch, glancing up at him.

“You are so wrong, Y/n,” he says softly.

Your ears suddenly feel warm and you shy away, sinking into the bed. “You’re only saying that because I’m your girlfriend.”

“You have no idea how much I talked about you before we started dating,” he chuckles. “Enid and Ajax couldn’t stand being around me.”

You smile a little. “Oh, really?”

“Yep,” he grins. “Well, what did you tell them?” you inquire. “And make sure to tell me in full detail.”

“I’ll try. We wouldn’t want you to get a big head now, would we?” he teases.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Get on with it.”

He smiles and leans in, his lips inches apart from yours. “For starters, I would say how pretty your eyes are and how cute your smile is. And I would compliment your makeup and how skillful and creative you are with it. How amusing it was to see that little smirk you get after correcting someone in class. I would say how nice your voice was to listen to, and how intimidating you seemed,” he explains.

“How am I intimidating?” you ask, a little smirk on your face. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he remarks.

His other hand sneaks underneath his blankets, finding your bare thigh. You suck in a breath, watching his face in anticipation.

“I also used to say how great you looked in a button down.” his hand skims up higher, the pads of his fingers ghosting over your panties. “I would comment on your skirts nicely frame your ass. How sexy you look in your stockings.”

He presses his first finger over your clothed clit. You let out a little gasp, trying to regain your composure.

“You would say that to Enid and Ajax?” you raise your brow.

He shrugs lightly. “I said those things to myself instead.”

You hum in reply. “Anything else?”

“Just how you are the most beautiful, intelligent, creative, strong person I know,” he grins. You can’t help but smile with him as you see the outer corners of his eyes crinkle.

“You are so sweet, Xavi. Thank you for saying all those nice things about me.”

“Would you be open to me showing them to you?” he asks, his voice now low. He stares deeply into your eyes, making your heart drop to your feet.

“How would you do that?” you ask, playing dumb.

He doesn’t answer. He closes the gap between you two, kissing you softly. You pull your arms out from under the covers, reaching for his shoulders and neck. Your right hand cups the nape of his neck, your left hand burying your fingers into his soft and tangled hair. You sit up without breaking the kiss, you press your chest up against his. His hands grip your waist, fingertips sliding under his shirt that you’re wearing.

One of your hands drop to his thigh, reaching for his pants. He pulls away quickly, grabbing your hand and holding it away from him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says. You frown in confusion, “why?”

“Lay down,” he commands. His eyes bore into yours and suddenly feel obligated to do anything he says.

You lay back down, watching as Xavier slips under the covers. He towers over you, one hand resting by your head while the other is playing with the bottom of your shirt.

“I told you I was gonna show you, didn’t I?” he asks.

You smile widely, nodding excitedly. “You indeed did.”

“Don’t worry about me then. This morning is about you,” he says.

“Luckily me,” you hum.

He shakes his head. “Lucky me.” he dives down and kisses you again, his warm hand slithering up your shirt. The pads of his fingers skim over your hardened nipple. You sigh in reply, eyes fluttering close as his kisses reach your neck. He sucks a bruise right below your ear.

“Mm, I better not have to cover this up with makeup,” you say.

“No promises,” he whispers, irrupting butterflies in your tummy. He lifts your shift up and you lift your arms up, helping him slip it off. He takes a look at your almost-naked figure. Your red panties are still on, hugging your hips perfectly. He sucks in a breath and smiles, something he does every time he sees a part of you, or all of you. He never fails to do it, and it never fails to make you feel special.

“Lucky me,” he mumbles to himself, taking in your beauty.

“Xavier,” you whine. Although you love the attention, you’re a little too horny than you’d care to admit. You need him.

“What, pretty girl?” he asks, his eyes flipping to yours. “Don’t just sit there. Do something,” you answer.

He chuckles, “you are so needy in the morning, you know that?”

You shrug, “you’re fault.” “Oh, is that so?” he cocks his right brow.

You grab his hand that’s on your boob, bringing it down to your panties so he can feel the small wet patch. His dick strains against his pajama pants.

“See? You’re fault,” you say. “I feel so bad,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Guess I should do something about it.”

You roll your eyes as he keeps playing games. If he didn’t love seeing you struggle and beg, he would already have his head between your thighs. But seeing you whine and huff is equally as rewarding than making you come.

“Please, Xavier. We don’t have long until we have to go to class,” you beg, pulling at his shirt.

“Well, since you said please,” he hums. He brings his head down to your boobs, putting his mouth on one as his hand encompasses the other. You sigh lightly, resting your hands on his shoulders. His tongue flicks your nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and third finger.

Need grows in your tummy. You buck your hips up, meeting his thigh that’s between your legs. Your voice shakes as moan, lifting your hips up again. Your clit rubs against his thigh, almost giving you the satisfaction you crave.

“So needy,” Xavier mumbles against your skin.

You reply by grabbing at his shirt, your fingers hooking around the waistband of his pants. “Want you, Xavier. Need you,” you breathe out.

You watch as his cheeks become rosy. You smile to yourself, your hands slithering under his shirt and running over his chest.

He begins to kiss down your chest, not being able to take it anymore. If there’s one thing he wants most in this moment, it would be to make you shake and scream him name.

“You are so perfect,” he hums against your skin. He places passionate but feverish kisses across your body, hands grabbing at your thighs and ass. You look down at him, not being able to contain a smile as he covers your whole body with his love. He kisses your hip, sucking softly on the skin near your pussy. He’s so close, you can almost feel his tongue on your clit.

You push your hips up to his face, his nose bumping into your thigh.

“Patience, princess,” he mumbles, his hot breath fanning over your skin. Your underwear dampens and he chuckled as the wet spot grows darker. He hooks his fingers onto your underwear, pulling them off painfully slow. It feels like a million years as you watch him drag them down to your feet. He discards them onto the floor, settling himself between your thighs.

He starts to nibble on the inner corner of your legs. You huff impatiently, tangling your fingers in his hair and trying to move him to where you want him. But he’s stronger than you. One of his hands takes yours, pinning it to the bed. Wet kisses line your legs. He sucks down on one of the most sensitive parts of your inner thighs, making you jolt.

“Please, Xavier. Please,” you gasp. “Please what, pretty?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours.

You groan internally. He looks so sexy between your thighs. Those big, innocent green eyes staring up at you. His pupils are blown and you can see your own reflection.

“If you don’t tell me what you want, I can’t give it to you,” he hums.

“Eat me out, please,” you moan pathetically. You feel his cheekbones raise against your skin as he smiles.

You watch as his mouth attaches to your clit. Your head lulls back in relief and pleasure. You feel his tongue flick your clit, rubbing circles against the throbbing bud. He brings his mouth down to your slit, slipping his tongue into your hole. He swirls his tongue, shaking his head from side to side.

His tongue lips a stripe up your pussy and lands back onto your clit. He sucks softly but firmly, taking the hand that isn’t holding yours and slowly inserting two fingers into your pussy. Your lips gush liquids, making a little puddle on his bedsheets. He begins to move his fingers inside of you, his tongue lapping around your clit.

“Fuu-uck, Xavier. Just like that, yeah, ju-just like that,” you praise, your hand gripping his hair. His pony tail falls out from your fingers and moving his head. His hair falls onto your skin, tickling you slightly.

You let out a breathy giggle. It gets swallowed up by a moan as he adds another finger. You spread your thighs, your muscles clenching his fingers. Your moans get louder, egging Xavier on. His lips suck on your skin as his tongue licks up and down your clit. His fingers move inside of you faster, more of your juices spilling out around his fingers. The only sounds in the room are your moans, your pussy, and his panting.

“Xavier, baby. I-I’m close,” you stammer. Your thighs enclose around his face. You begin to ride his tongue, your nails digging into the back of his neck. He lets go of your hand that he’s holding, gripping onto your thigh. He holds your leg close to his cheek, wanting - no needing - to be engulfed by your scent and taste. His fingers dig into your skin as his hand that’s fingering you begins to move faster.

“Ah, ah, ah!” you pant, your chest puffing up and down. Your tummy tightens and you feel like your bladders about to let lose. Your body comes to a stop, all the muscles in your body tightening. You come so hard, the hand that’s on his bed almost rips the sheets off.

He watches your face as you unravel, feeling his own underwear become wet with pre-cum. You’re so beautiful. The way your head is titled back, your mouth wide open. He loves the way your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure. He can’t help but smile, not being able to stop admiring you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you ramble. He slows his movements, stopping his fingers but keeping his tongue moving.

“Ohmygod, fuck. Xavier, please,” you begin to pull away from him, the stimulation almost painful.

He stops, sitting up on his knees. He sucks his fingers dry, running his other hand through his hair. He looks down at the puddle you made, a prideful smirk taking over his features.

“Someone was really wet,” he says. “Your fault,” you say.

“I guess it was,” he chuckles. He dives his head back down, kissing your calves all the way up to your face. You bask in his love, your body tingling in each place he kisses. He holds your sides gently, his hands snaking to the small of your back. He kisses you sweetly. You can taste yourself, your tongue running across his bottom lip to capture the tanginess.

“That feel good, gorgeous?” he asks against your lips. “So good,” you breathe out.

“I think we should start every morning off like that, yeah?” he suggests

“I’ll be exhausted every day, then,” you chuckle. He shrugs, one of his hands moving to the underside of your boob. “As long as you’re exhausted from me.”

“Oh, shut up,” you snort, rolling your eyes and pushing him away lightly.

“You would love that, too,” he smirks.

You shake your head with a big smile on your face. “You wish.”

————

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captjprice · 7 months

Note

Could you write a smut fic where Captain Price is absolutely obsessed with the the F!reader? What I mean is that he's head over heels in love with her. Also could you add lots of praise? 🤭

Captain Price x FemReader

He's absolutely smitten.

a/n: i love doing requests omg. pls send in more

mentions: smut, eating pussy, he's a munch, praise, PRAISE!!!!, domprice, subreader, he's sooooo down bad, sweet nicknames

It had been absolutely no secret for the rest of the task force that you and the captain had something going on. It was fairly obvious, even just in the beginning. Those shared glances and sweet laughter in each other's presence was enough to make even the others melt.

It had gotten worse, lately. His gaze went from admiring you to practically undressing you with his eyes, or both at the same time. It's not like he could help it, right? You were just so amazing. Wonderful. Perfect. You were everything he wanted. Strong, independent, yet still had a soft spot. Sometimes he has to do a double take at you to remind himself he's not dreaming and that he, infact, has his own angel sitting right there by him.

He's so loving, kissing your forehead or squeezing your waist. Anything to just remind you that he's there. The two of you acted like a couple, yet you weren't. But everyone could see it wasn't going to take much longer.

And he wanted you, so fucking bad. He finally made up his mind in one of Shepherd's meetings. He'd tell you, and he'd take you.

So now you sit, arms crossed as you listen to Shepherd moan about a mission that you've already got the intel explained of a million times. You glance at John out of instinct, giving a small smile to which he nods back. You notice he stares at you a lot, simply letting his gaze rest on your details until he's confident he could repaint them in his dreams. He shifts in his seat, getting a little more comfortable. He notices you staring back, of course he does.

To tease, he moves his hips again, manspreading on the chair as he holds eye-contact with you. Fuck. It makes you fluster, and you avert your eyes back to Shepherd. Your thighs press together and John wishes he could bury himself between them, right now. He wouldn't mind taking you infront of everyone, showing all of them that you were his— Even if they all knew. You manage to keep yourself at bay, distracting yourself with other thoughts so you don't look back at John.

When the meeting finishes, you know you're going to get a load ontop of you. You shuffle out of the meeting room with the rest of the task force, not even batting an eye as John joins you in the walk back to your quarters. His arm slithers around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Sorry," He says with a cheeky grin, looking down at you. John knows you like the tease despite the way you don't reply to his very not-sincere apology, because you lean into his side anyways.

He hasn't fallen this deep in a while, he realizes as he follows you into your quarters. "Why— I didn't tell you to come in?" You mumble in confusion as he takes a seat on your bed. You've no idea why he follows you like a puppy sometimes. "Do you want me to leave?" John asks, having his signature sweet smile on his face as he kicks off his shoes. "Come here," He cooes, opening up his arms. You stare for a moment. There's no real reason to refuse him, right? Despite him being your superior... But he's the one initiating it. So it must be okay.

You shuffle forward and settle on his lap, your thighs on each side of his. Your hands glide along his shoulders to behind his neck. "What do you want?" You ask with a small smile. "Me? No, nothing, love. Just missed you." His words made you laugh, as you've not been a minute without one another. "I've been here the whole time," You retort, to which he shakes his head and lets a finger trail across your jaw. "Mmh, but not on me, love." John muses, his hands moving from your waist to your ass, resting there. "You're so beautiful, christ.." He says, admiring you again. The tension of his gaze makes you squirm and blush, and he gives your bottom a firm squeeze to remind you to stay put. You do just so.

And you lean forward to rest your head against his shoulder, just humming at the warmth. John feels a familiar nervous feeling in his stomach as he remembers he was going to tell you. In his own way, ofcourse.

"I think it could work." John confesses, and the look in his eyes tells you everything. "We could separate work and.. us, you know? Communicate.." He really wants it, of course he does. You were the best thing that had happened to him in a while. And obviously, you wanted this too. "So you want to try?" You suggest, and he hums in response. "If it goes sideways, then.. well. We could always be friends." John suggests, even though he's lying straight through his teeth. He wouldn't let you go now. You know this too, but in a way, it's.. attractive. Knowing you had the captain head over heels and drooling for you.

"Love?" He chirps, and you raise your head in response to his worried tone. John tilts his head, "Have you ever.. thought about this being.. more?" He asks, and it's a dreaded question to you. You enjoyed not having a label on what the two of you had, just having fun, but this would come up eventually. Your fingers rub circles into the back of his neck as you look up at him. "Ofcourse. But it'd be complicated.. Right? You're my captain."

John nods to your words, because you're right, but he's too deep in. He wouldn't mind breaking the rules for you anymore. He knows you wouldn't really mind either, more worried about his job than what the others would think.

"I want you," You blurt out, your hands moving forward to rest on his pants. John pulls back, looking at you with amusement. "Yeah?" He lets his hand wander up your thigh. You nod eagerly in response to him. "How could I ever deny a pretty beaut like you?" He cooes, sitting upright as you reach for his belt. He stops you with his hand, shaking his head. "Don't you want to go first, love?" His words surprise you, and your eyes widen. "Oh, I-.. You don't have to if you don't..-" You trail off as he chuckles, pulling you to lay down next to him. You feel butterflies fill your stomach as he crawls over, pulling your legs apart and sitting in between them.

You smile and lean up, giving him a chaste kiss. A chaste kiss that evolves when he squeezes your ass again and pulls you a little closer. "I don't really think this changed anything," He whispers huskily with a grin. "You were mine the whole time." You let out a breathless whine, kissing him again after he said that. He was absolutely yours, and you were absolutely his.

"Not really true," You respond through kisses. He lets himself fall back onto the bed, having you straddle his hips. "Are you trying to challenge me on something, love?" John asks with a chuckle, grabbing your wrist to yank you towards him. "That's dangerous," He mumbles absentmindedly, pressing his lips to your neck. You moan softly, leaning closer to him. For once, you want more than just kisses and love bites.

"You trust me, yeah? I want to do this, baby. Gonna spoil you silly with my mouth." He says sweetly, his hand rubbing your leg. You can't really object to that, can you? You've been with a decent amount of men, none of them had been willing to put themselves aside for your pleasure, but of course he did. Your cheeks burn red and you nod, slowly shuffling your pants off and kicking them to the floor. John kisses your knee, then moves up towards your thigh.

You take in a little breath, looking at the ceiling. Fuck, you're hesitant. Confidence hadn't really ever been an obstacle in intimacy, but now you were getting nervous.

John notices you trailing off, and when he reaches your inner thigh he nips at the skin. You whimper, looking back at him. "That's it. Look at me." He hums, "Nothing to worry about, love." He reaches your panties, seeing how you've already soaked them. You whine at his breath on your pussy, instinctively trying to close your legs.

He makes an annoyed noise, and his hands grip your thighs to claw them open again. "Stop acting like this. I'm a grown man, not like the boys you've had before." John grunts. His words make you nod, and you try your best to keep your eyes on him as he gently tugs down your panties. When he's thrown them to the side, he just stares at your pretty cunt like it's the most delicious thing in the world. You watch through hazy eyes as he presses a kiss just above your clit. "You're doing good, love. So brave." John says, continuing to litter kisses around your folds.

"I'm going to devour you so good, baby. Wonder what you taste like," He whispers, before licking a long stripe along your clit. Your back arches and you moan, reaching to grab onto his shoulders, hair, anything. John hums, pressing his face into your pussy. His beard makes you jolt at the sensation even more, "Oh, my god!-" You shriek as he continues running his tongue along your clit, devouring you like he's got nothing better to do.

Your pants and little noises make him chuckle, keeping his mouth on you. One of the hands holding your thighs open runs down, and he presses his middle finger into your sopping cunt, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels how you clench. As he pumps in and out of you, he takes his mouth off of your clit for a moment, leaning up to kiss you sloppily.

"Taste so good, love. So well for me." He whispers, nipping at your neck before returning back between your thighs. "Gonna marry you, pretty thing." John grumbles before using his mouth on you again. You can only whimper in response— Too caught up with the new sensations and the fact that your captain was between your legs.

You're close, he can feel it too as you clench more and more around his finger, and he adds a second one to quicken the process. He hums as he continues to eat you out, almost making it seem like he's doing it for his own pleasure. You gasp when you feel the coil in your stomach snap, and your legs twitch when you cum, making a mess of his beard and fingers. You babble something absentmindedly, tugging at his hair.

You're barely able to come down from the orgasm, because John doesn't seem to let up. He continues his assault on your clit, still pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your whimpers turn to high-pitched moans, and you try to pull his hair again to make him stop.

He laughs against your pussy again, continuing until you can't find the strength to pull at his hair anymore, and you lay back to let your second orgasm wash over you. "J-... Mmh, fuck! John!" You squeal, trying to kick him off to just give you a few seconds of rest. Your moans continue, even when he pulls back with a cocky grin. He puts his hands on your knees to stop your restless legs, moving closer to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you clench around nothing.

Fuck. You wouldn't mind this every night.

"Are you mine now?" He asks with an attitude, pulling back and sitting next to you, pulling you onto his lap. Your back rests against his chest. You look up at him to the side with tired eyes, and nod. "Yeahh, you're so easy to win over, aren't you, love?" John asks, one of his hands ghosting over your inner thigh. You don't even bother to protest when his fingers catch your clit between them, you just whine and let your head fall back against his chest.

"You're doing so good, baby, just one more for me? Please, angel.." He whispers in your ear as he rubs slow circles on your aching pussy. You nod weakly again, one of your hands grabbing onto his arm. "Mmm, you're doing so well, all wet for me." He says, continuing to spurr you on as his fingers speed up, working your clit to oblivion. "Maybe next time i'll breed you, let you use my cock." His words make you gasp, and you can feel yourself on the edge. "You'd be so good on my cock, wouldn't you? Lovely girl," You moan loudly in response, and he leans to press his lips to yours as you cum for the third time.

John works you through the orgasm gently this time, pressing little kisses to your neck. "You did well, love." He whispers softly, pulling his hand away from you. He sets you down next to him, leaving to retrieve a towel and wipe the mess from your thighs and the bed. You just stare at him tiredly, wanting to kiss him all over and make him feel just as good as he did. John presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. "We should rest," He gently slips your panties back onto you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you flush against him.

You were off with mere minutes.

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod mwii #cod x reader #john price smut #price x reader #john price #captain price #price smut #cod smut #captain john price

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dianneking · 1 month

Text

The Affair - Chapter 2 (Larissa/Reader)

Hello everyone, here's the second installment to this little fic. Writing has been slow-going but the kind comments I got on chapter 1 both here and on AO3 were a great motivation to put in the work when I had the time and brainpower to do so. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature Tags: Alcohol consumption, Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Seduction, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader, Power Imbalance.

AO3 link in title below

< Previous Chapter - Next Chapter (tbc)

Chapter 2 - Private Booth

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.” She murmured in your ear and you heard a breathy laugh exiting your mouth, feeling as if it came from miles away.

You weren’t sure how the evening had evolved to this point, if you had to be perfectly honest. You were sure you both had been the picture of professionality at the start of your dinner together, sitting primly at the table in the private booth, ordering a light meal and talking about lesson plans and your previous work experiences.

You had been nervous, but except for the unusual setting, it hadn’t been that different from countless other meetings you’d had with principals. And, you mused as you took a bite of your salad, to be honest you appreciated having this conversation over food for once instead than in a stuffy office.

Was it some sort of cultural difference that outcasts had? Or was it a peculiarity of the woman sitting in front of you? She seemed like someone who was more than able to disregard rules if she wanted to.

You found yourself liking that, despite your usual aversion for rule breaking.

Then…then Larissa (she had asked you to call her Larissa at some point, you were sure of that) Larissa had offered to share a bottle of wine “to toast together at a fruitful collaboration” and you had had half a mind to turn the offer down, but found yourself agreeing. Why the hell not? It had been ages since you drank some good wine, and your principal looked like the kind of woman who’d only choose good alcohol.

“You have great taste,” you had commented, sipping on your first glass, and it had been at that moment that you had felt the energy in the booth starting to shift. She had dabbed her mouth on her napkin, and let her eyes roam over your figure for a handful of seconds more than it was polite to do before replying, “Oh of course. I very rarely lose my time when it’s not worth it.” Her lips had curved up in a smirk and you had had to take another sip of that wine to give time to your suddenly galloping heart to slow down a bit. Surely she was still talking about the wine, wasn’t she?

But then the conversation had moved on and you thought you had imagined the flirty undertone. Surely she wouldn’t be the type to do something like that, would she? Even if you hadn’t actively sought out gossip, surely you would have heard if Nevermore’s principal was a serial seducer, right?

Larissa had been an extremely pleasant conversationalist, and often you found yourself invested in the latest anecdote from one of her travels, or her opinion on one subject or another. You laughed at her recounting of the antics of her students, and were amazed at the lavish traditions of Nevermore that she insisted on educating you on.

You could have listened to her talk all night long, looking at how her face danced with emotions, how the passion she had for her job and her loyalty to her school shone in her voice as well as her eyes. And the way she ran her tongue against her teeth every now and then had you completely mesmerized. You were hanging on her lips and had given up feeling self conscious about it. You wanted to know more about this mysterious lady. You wanted to know all that she’d be willing to tell you.

And you were acutely aware that you still hadn’t discovered what exactly had happened that had left her for several months on sick leave. The students talked of an attack of undead to the school but you were sure those were exaggerations, and that there was a less…fanciful explanation. Teenagers are known for making a big deal out of small mundanities. Even taking that into account, it seemed like mysteries surrounded this woman, wrapping around her like the subtle yet lingering scent of her perfume.

“You smell amazing.” You had blurted out, and almost clapped a hand over your own mouth, horrified at your sudden boldness. That was not something to say to your boss who apparently still had the power to fire you if she somehow found you lacking!

But she hadn’t bristled, nor had she seemed in any way angry or offended. She had simply chuckled lightly, and busied herself with swirling wine inside her glass with slow, hypnotic movements.

“Thank you, dear. It’s Ambre Nuit, by Dior, obviously.”

“...Obviously.” You had parroted back, even though you knew nothing about perfumes and even less about Dior. Your eyes were glued to her hand, still cradling the bowl of the wine glass. You had not noticed until now just how long and tapered and beautiful her fingers were. How effortlessly they curled on the glass shoulder to loosely swirl its contents. A part of you wondered how those hands would feel on your body.

“You know? You could smell it even better if you came to sit beside me…there’s plenty of space on this bench…” her voice had trailed off, and it might have been the wine coursing in your system, but this time you felt like you could almost taste the promises in her voice.

And that’s how you had found yourself squeezed besides her on the bench, your thigh pressed against hers, the fabric of her dress and of your trousers the only thing separating your skin from making contact with hers. You were acutely aware of how dimmed the lights had been in the private booth, and how the waiters had stopped coming around after they had delivered your desserts.

A perfect setup, suggested the romantic part of your brain, a part that was often overlooked and laid dormant in the day to day routine.

A perfect trap, countered the more cynical part, who couldn't help but wonder how many times had the beautiful woman beside you put on this show for her latest prey.

It just all seemed so effortless for her. She mixed her flirting (it had to be flirting by now, right?) with more easygoing topics, she kept topping your glass off with that lovely wine, as well as drinking just as much herself. One part red flag, one part irresistible temptation.

And it was at that point that she had leaned over, and you had felt her breath hot on your ear, and you were sure you had drank way too much wine because just that little puff of air made your skin erupt in goosebumps and your head spin.

“I must admit this is highly unprofessional of me, but I cannot help but find you incredibly alluring, darling.”

“I must be dreaming” you said before your common sense could stop you, the tingling of your giggle still in your throat.

But not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined how her hand felt as it fell on your thigh, light as a feather, but making your skin burn white hot even through the fabric..

“Well I suppose I’ll have to pinch you then.”

---------------

Want more? Here's my fanfiction masterlist

Taglist: @barbarasstar @peggycarter3 @aemilia19

#dianneking writes #dianneking fanfiction #dragonmist fanfiction #larissa weems fanfiction #gwendoline christie fanfiction #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems fanfic #larissa weems x y/n #netflix wednesday

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itsyourvalerie · 3 months

Note

I’m sorry if this is a lot or if you already have a lot of requests or if you don’t do romantic Alastor

but Succubus fem reader with brother-like angeldust about her crush on Alastor and maybe confession- that part is up to you

Hi! Thank you so much for the request! It was actually my first one :)

This is my first time writing anything so i hope you like it!

---

alastor x succubus!fem reader

warnings: none

---

You were a succubus with a heart of gold, though your innate allure often caused misunderstandings. Despite your captivating charm, you had always felt a bit out of place in Hell. That's where your unlikely friendship with Angel Dust came in.

Angel Dust, your brother-like confidant, was always there to listen to your woes and offer his own brand of raucous support. He had a knack for making you laugh, even on your darkest days.

One day, as you lounged in the Hazbin Hotel's common area, flipping through a magazine, you couldn't shake the persistent flutter in your chest whenever Alastor, entered the room. His aura was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Angel, noticed your gaze lingering on Alastor. He raised an eyebrow and leaned in, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got a little crush on the big boss, huh?" he teased.

You rolled your eyes, attempting to brush off his comment. "It's nothing, Angel. Just admiring his... uh, style."

But Angel Dust wasn't convinced. "Come on, sis. I've seen the way you light up when he's around. Why don't you just tell him how you feel?"

Your heart raced at the suggestion. Confessing your feelings to Alastor seemed like an impossible feat. After all, he was a powerful demon with a reputation to uphold, and you were just a lowly succubus.

However, with Angel's encouragement, you found yourself mustering the courage to approach Alastor one evening when he was alone in his office, surrounded by vintage records and the soft glow of candlelight.

"Alastor," you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Radio Demon turned to you, his scarlet eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, Y/N. What brings you to my humble abode?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. "I... I wanted to tell you something," you confessed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I... I've admired you from afar for quite some time now. Your charisma, your wit... everything about you captivates me."

Alastor listened intently, a small smile tugging more at the corners of his lips. "Is that so, my dear succubus?" he mused, his voice like velvet. "Well, I must admit, I find myself drawn to you as well. Your allure is undeniable, but it's your kindness that truly sets you apart."

You blinked in surprise, hardly daring to believe what you were hearing. Could it be that Alastor felt the same way about you?

Before you could dwell on it further, Alastor closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. You could hardly contain your joy as a smile spread across your lips.

#alastor x female reader #alastor x male reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel alastor

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hanibalistic · 1 year

Text

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 3440

warning | brief mention of injuries / use of spanish phrases translated from the internet :( let me know if i'm wrong about anything! / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie

note | not the proudest of my writing here. also, a disclaimer that the events in this fic will deviate from canon haha

parts | one, two, three, four

"Uncle Aaron, I think we forgot to get detergent."

"You forgot to get detergent. I didn't forget nothing."

Miles's shoulders slumped in distaste. His frown mirrored the quiet complaints he spilled out of his mouth as his fingers tugged at the grocery bags dangling on them. He must have been delirious to still forget an item written on a piece of paper and to think the word 'detergent' wasn't even crossed out on the grocery list his mother gave him. It wouldn't be too big of a deal, but he imagined his mother would be mumbling about it as she set the table for dinner.

The doorknob fumbled a bit before the door swung open. The brightness in your eyes dimmed upon seeing Uncle Aaron's furrowed brows, which reminded you of the cautionary tale he kept retiring about being aware of opening doors to unknown knocks in case of danger. You still had difficulty getting used to a dangerous Brooklyn because yours was bright and sunny, and it had its very own Spiderman. Miles had laughed when you told him about your Brooklyn, asking if there was a ranking for crime fighting bug of the week; Spiderman today, something like Ant-man tomorrow?

“If I’d been a serial killer–“

“Which you are not,” you sang with vague cheerfulness as you tried to take the groceries from his hand.

“Hence the question being hypothetical–“

“Miles! You’re home!”

“Mi vida.” It was not audible. He opened his arms habitually and let you dive into his embrace. “How’s your day? Did you glitch?”

You perked up from where you buried your face in his shoulder and examined the bracelet permanently latched around your wrist. Gwen was the one who put the finishing touches on it, and she was so excited about the product that she came over in the middle of the night to hand it to you. It has been about two weeks since you began wearing it, and you have not glitched once. You told Miles it should be safe to conclude that the bracelet worked, but he always asked for good measures anyway.

“I helped around the house, as always,” you replied. Fixing the bracelet, you felt a soft magnetic pull against the tips of your fingers that touched the metal. You let go of it and rested your chin on Miles’s shoulder, sighing in contentment at the mere solidity of his body. “I didn’t glitch.”

Knowing that he was not being paid attention to, Aaron decided against scolding you for cutting him off twice. Instead, he rolled his eyes and turned to the kitchen, where Rio was shifting through a stack of sealed envelopes. He placed the groceries on the square table in the middle of the kitchen and smacked his teeth, looking pointedly at Rio as he nudged his head toward the apartment door.

Rio didn’t have to look to know you two were stuck in each other’s arms by the door. She smiled, shifting through the letters carefully with a shake of her head. “He is happy, Aaron.”

“Happy enough to cut me off my sentence,” he scoffed before adding, “twice.”

“I’m sure they will apologize if you say something,” she mused. “Especially [Name]. They’re a good kid.”

Aaron’s eye twitched in dismay. Rio was right—you were a good kid. He couldn’t hate you enough to delude himself into believing otherwise, and of course, he didn’t actually hate you. Besides the apparent naivety he suspected came from living in a safe Brooklyn, nothing about you was blatantly dislikable. You were helpful, albeit not the brightest learner. You listened well, which could be a product of being in another’s hospitality. And, most importantly, you were Miles’s safe place. For the first time in years, Aaron could see his nephew find time to be the teenager he was supposed to be. You practically breathed life into him, which worried Aaron the most.

You were a second chance that Miles was unwilling to let go of, but whether you return to your Earth was not his decision. What would happen to him when you leave? You would destroy him.

“I got the groceries, Mrs. Morales!”

Rio dropped the envelope in her hand and smiled upon your arrival. "Mi amorcito!"

You tilted your head with a thoughtful grin after you put the grocery bag next to all the things Uncle Aaron had taken out of the one he was holding. When Rio flashed you a questioning look, you shrugged. "Miles called me that before. I didn't know what it meant."

A choked-out cough sounded from behind all three of you, and standing by the kitchen sink was Miles, gripping the edge of the sink and coughing out the water that ran down the wrong pipe. Rio covered her teasing smile with a hand, but her shoulder moved to the gentle beats of her lighthearted chuckles. Aaron stared at his panicking nephew, a tinge of judgemental pity laced in his eyes.

Slamming his fist to his chest, Miles swung around to glare between the three of you before his eyes landed on your curious face. “What are you talkin’ about?”

"When did he say that to you?" Rio asked.

You rolled your eyes skyward. If you remember correctly, it was during the first few glitch attacks when you would break down from the sheer pressure of it. He had encouraged you to sleep with him on those nights, and you gladly accepted the offer. It was during one of those tearful nights, you believed. He had whispered it when he thought you were asleep, with teary hiccups still occupying your body's consciousness, and you remembered he had been stroking your hair to lull you to sleep. Everything about him was tender during those nights—his touch, voice, and presence. Unbeknownst to you, its cause was that he physically could not muster any energy when you suffered.

"He must have thought I was sleeping," you said, then you looked sheepishly at Miles, who returned it with a sneer. “I wasn’t asleep yet.”

“Clearly,” he muttered.

"I didn't take you for someone who would sneak into people's rooms when they're sleeping?" Aaron chimed in.

“I didn’t!” Miles groaned in embarrassment. “They cry like hell whenever they glitch. What was I supposed to do?”

“I did cry like hell when I glitched,” you said in agreement as you turned around from the kitchen cabinet where you were stocking the cleaning supplies. “I was the one who looked for him, actually. I couldn’t fall asleep alone. The glitching was terrible.”

Aaron’s eyes darted between you both. Miles reached out for you, his arm moved boldly, but the tip of his finger that touched your shoulder to get your attention was timid and boyish. He exhaled when you smiled at him, and the faintest smirk only you could discern to be a curve of contentment grew on his face as you walked near him. You scrunched your nose into a tight-lipped smile when he muttered something only you could hear, likely giving an unnecessary explanation for his comment on you crying like hell.

The rate you two could engage in your own world was almost admirable if Aaron wasn’t so cautious of Miles’s growing feelings for you. But watching as you two helped each other stock the kitchen cabinets, shoulders brushing and shoving playfully, he knew he couldn't do anything.

"We forgot to get detergent."

Rio gasped. She glanced at the washing machine filled with dirty clothes waiting to be cleaned, one of which included her work uniform, and she sighed. She would have to wear the one she did on her last shift. “I guess I’ll make a run to the store after my shift ends,” she mumbled with a thoughtful hum. “Or I can do it later on the way to the bank. I needed to deposit something.”

“The bank closes at six,” Aaron said questioningly.

“They have a drop-off box that opens through the night. It’s super convenient,” she clarified with a finger snap. “I’ll just stop by briefly before my shift starts. I might forget tomorrow.”

“Your shift starts at twelve, right?”

“Yeah,” Rio nodded, “overnight.”

“You gonna eat dinner with us?”

“I will,” she nudged her head toward where you and Miles were bickering about the washed dishes, “if those two would step away from the stove so I can cook something!”

The two of you froze up at Rio’s demanding tone. Quickly organizing the knickknacks on the dish rack next to the stove, not forgetting to scoff at each other about storing the utensils, Miles ushered you out of the kitchen with his hands clamped over your shoulders. Uncle Aaron watched your backs disappear into Miles’s room, and he saw your ridiculous faces trying to hold back from laughing at what he could only assume was an inside joke, as nothing was amusing about this situation. He gulped—he couldn’t do anything about Miles’s feelings for you.

The only thing more dangerous than a teenage boy in love is the person he is in love with. Taking you out of the picture would do nothing but bring Miles out of the canvas with you, leaving two vacant spots once close together. If you left, you would destroy him, but more importantly, he wouldn't hesitate to follow you everywhere. If you jumped the universe, he would jump the universe. If you got stranded in purgatory, he would strand himself in limbo. If you went to Hell, he would go to Hell because, at some point, it stopped being a biblical state of eternal torture. At some point, Hell is not a place; Hell is just where you are. And Miles would follow you there, always.

You jolted up with the television screen flashing at your face. Even in your sleep, your body subconsciously remembered there was something you need to do. Before Rio left for her shift, which was just a little after Miles and Uncle Aaron left for the occasional hangout, she gave you a sealed envelope to deposit into the bank mailbox because you insisted that you were going to head outside for a short walk of fresh air anyway, so you might as well help you with this tiny task. Except you fell asleep on the couch after getting ready and woke up at one o’clock in the morning.

Scanning the quiet apartment, it was easy to tell nobody had returned home yet. Rio wouldn’t be home until early in the morning; Miles tended to get home around two to three o’clock when he was off with Uncle Aaron doing who knows what. Leaning your head against the couch cushion, you drew a mental map of the path to the bank before closing your eyes. If you jogged, a round trip would take you roughly fifteen to twenty minutes. Not a problem!

Sliding off the couch, you reached into your crossbody bag that was big enough for a phone to feel for the envelope Rio gave you. It was still in there. You zipped the bag and patted it twice for safety, then fixed your jacket sleeves in preparation for the chilling night breeze. Turning off the television and the living room lights as the last step, you grabbed the house key lying in a bowl with some loose change and left the apartment.

Keeping up a light jog was easy under this cold weather and the dark streets. You liked walking at night, but you were never outside this late. There were no cars or people, much unlike the bustling morning you preferred much more. Uncle Aaron’s cautionary tale repeated in your head and increased your speed through the empty pedestrian road. The more you stayed outdoors, the more you thought it a bad idea to be outside at this dead time.

“What? What is–what?” you muttered as you moved your body about.

Glaring at you was the metal deposit box enclosed in the bank walls. It took you a hot minute to find it because it was behind a wall off the side of the building where the ATMs were. You thought it was a terrible design choice only because you couldn’t find it immediately; it would not have been if you managed to. The second hurdle came when you realized the handle to the mailbox wouldn’t budge.

“How do you open this?” you laughed as you gave the handle another pull. When the metal texture began hurting your skin, you let go to loosen your jacket sleeve until it reached your palm so you could use the thick fabric as a shield. This time, you put a leg up on the wall to use it as leverage. You pulled again. Nothing happened. Huffing in dissatisfaction, you pointed at the mailbox as if it could understand you. “You’re really–mhm!”

The swift kick to the wall could be heard. Miles perked up to where the soft rummaging noise came from and squinted his eyes behind the prowler mask. He scanned the area carefully, looking for any signs of people to find none. He remained tense even as he dropped the matter—gritted teeth and clenched jaw over a bank heist only a few days in planning. He has done this many times before. Maybe not robbing a bank specifically, but criminal activities were no longer a stranger to him as they were. He would even say he enjoyed it; he liked being strong, and it was a source of easy money. However, the main reason why he turned to a life of crime was to distract himself from the death of his father and you. Now that you were here to repaint a corner of his world with colors again, being a prowler was losing its appeal.

"Miles."

He snapped out of his trance at his uncle's impatient voice screeching through the earpiece, and cleared his throat. "Sorry. What's up?"

"What's up?" His uncle sounded incredulous. "Are the bombs set up?"

"Oh–uh, yeah." He peeked out from behind the bush to check out the blinking red light he set up at the foot of the gate. "They're all set up."

"And you? You got your head in the clouds just then.”

“I’m fine, Uncle Aaron,” Miles clarified with the kind of grit that would have gotten him in trouble usually. He took a deep breath. “Let’s detonate them so we can move on from here.”

The other end shuffled and scratched; its noise muffled the careless footsteps behind the ATM wall.

“Detonation in three….”

You pouted when you shoved the envelope in your bag, still mumbling about not finding an opening to the night deposit box. It was a good enough reason to give Rio tomorrow when she returned home from the hospital; that metal handle would not budge!

“Two…”

Miles perked up at the familiar figure trailing slowly by the bank entrance where he set a bomb device. His ears did not deceive him when he thought he heard footsteps somewhere, and neither was Uncle Aaron wrong about his head being in the clouds! Nobody should be out to the bank at this forsaken time, but his surprising lack of attention made him miss the slow walker—he tilted his head—a slow walker wearing a jacket he remembered he also owned.

You blew raspberries as you patted your bag twice for safety measures. When you looked up, you met eyes with a figure in a purple suit. His stance seemed agitated, and Miles was. He cursed under his breath when he recognized your face, his legs already bringing him out from hiding. What were you doing here? You should be at home!

“One.”

“Uncle Aaron, no!”

The ground shook under your feet, but what made you lose your balance was the impact of the sudden explosions that came in three—bang, bang, bang! The bank building was collapsing, or perhaps it was only in the process of being destroyed? You didn’t get a chance to see clearly. You could hear the alarm bells, though. It wasn’t the wailing kind; it was the kind that rang non-stop.

Meeting with the ground was not an extraordinary experience for you, but it felt worse than being pushed in this case. Face planting on marble tiles was mentally more endurable than outdoor brick floors. At least you thought that way for now. A groan left your lips as your brain was overloaded with sensations; you absorbed too much, from the alarm noises to the growing pains at the bottom of your body. You groggily looked to where it came from and saw glass shards sticking to your legs through the fabric of the pants. Great. Turning away from them, you noticed your bracelet scratching up tiny sparks, and you couldn’t bring yourself to wonder if you’d broken it.

“Oh no–shit! No, no, no, ¿por qué estás aquí?” Miles unmasked himself, showing his anxiously darting eyes. His hands hovered over your body indecisively, but he felt his fingers inching toward your face where blood trickled down the side of your skin. Miles needed to look through your hair for the source. Curling his arm under your neck, he lifted you to his chest. “Oh no, oh no. Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento–no quise hacerlo.“

You stirred upon his voice phasing in and out of your muffled hearing. Even with the migraine, you could recognize his voice. He was spilling words you didn’t understand, but some of the vocabulary you knew he had said to you before. Mi cariño, mi corazon…mi vida—he whispered that to you today when he came home from school. He probably didn’t think you heard, but you did. You exhaled, then an exhausted whimper pushed itself out of your mouth when the breathing hurt your throat.

He quickly regained his composure upon seeing a sign of life, immediately hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to his chest, and leaping away from the falling debris. The sight of you bleeding and injured was all too familiar to him. But instead of letting the flashbacks stop him in his tracks, he planned to do something he couldn’t last time—saving you or at least trying to save you.

Returning to where he was hiding, away from the burning building, Miles scanned his surroundings. “Uncle Aaron! Uncle Aaron, help!”

“Miles!” Aaron emerged from the shadows. “We have to go now, we don’t have time–“ he stopped at the sight of you in Miles’s arms–“what happened?”

“They were here–I don’t know why! They’re not supposed to be out here at this time!”

You remembered how he carried you, which seemed to always be bridal style. It wasn’t as if he did it all the time, though. His hand on your back felt much weirder, too, like he was digging claws into your skin to keep you in his arms. If your senses had gathered better, you would have teased him with the hope that he hadn't gotten tired of you joking about his feelings for you. Licking your dry lips, you rolled your head to meet his chest. It heaved with each word he hollered beyond the fire, the alarm bells, and the disagreement coming from his uncle. They were arguing about where to go. Miles clutched your body closer to him every now and then. He was hell-bent on bringing you to seek medical treatment, and his uncle was not.

“Gwen is waiting!”

“She would want me to help [Name]!”

“We triggered the alarms, so law enforcement will gather here!” Aaron argued. “The police can bring them to the hospital just fine! We need to stick to our plan!”

“[Name] is dead on record. We can’t just bring them to the hospital!” Miles said. “I’m taking them directly to mom.”

A foolish boy. “You’re gonna throw away everything we built.” It was more than just doing crimes, it seemed. There was a bond, a mutual trust built in the process that was on the verge of collapsing. “For that.”

Miles widened his eyes in disbelief. He had his doubts about the way his uncle felt about your existence. Still, he held out hope that the aloofness resulted from the great unknown of the multiverse and Aaron’s personality rather than that he thought your presence was a nuisance. Supposed he was wrong. The casual dehumanization was all he needed to decide how to proceed. Miles hopped a few steps back, his brows furrowing and his grip on your firm.

“Tell Gwen I’m sorry.”

Aaron clicked his tongue. “Tell her yourself.”

#this is a self indulgent romance fic first and foremost >:( no logic!#gonna take a break from this for a moment though #miles morales imagine #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 33 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

As it turns out, the Underworld provides a whole slew of services designed to deal with circumstances just like this. Medical care, emergency home repair–and body disposal, all for the price of a handful of gold coins.

You sit with John as a man your lover so descriptively calls Doc sews up Wick’s wounds. There is blood on your face, and your silk pjs. Dog sits on your foot, clearly anxious about letting either one of you out of his sight. In the same spirit, John’s good hand is clasped in yours, or yours in his–neither of you have been able to let go.

Another man known simply as Charlie orchestrates the removal of the collection of corpses through the house. Yet more tattooed tradesmen work on boarding up the blown out window in the kitchen with a big piece of plywood.

It’s a miracle, really, the house didn’t burn down.

“Thought you’d left all this behind you, John?” asks Doc, making a neat knot in the former assassin’s side.

“So did I.”

“What will you do?”

“The same thing I always do when I’m lost. Talk to Winston.”

The two men share a snort of laughter you don’t entirely understand.

When Doc finishes with John he gives you a bottle of pain meds, and a bottle of what are, as far as you can tell, pharmacy grade amphetamines. “In case he has to work again.” You take them with wide eyes and a nod, praying to whatever devil might be listening that that won’t be necessary.

You’re fairly certain that no one up above is interested in any of you anymore.

You killed a man.

You killed a man with a gun to save John, and you do not feel sorry at all.

Numb, perhaps, but not sorry.

John groans as he adjusts himself on the couch. You reach out to steady him, helping him best you can. He is heavy, and you look at the stairs with doubt. “Maybe we should sleep down here tonight?”

He blinks at you, undoubtedly thinking you incredibly naïve. “We can’t stay here, baby. It’s not safe.”

“Where will we go?”

“We’re going to the city,” says John, sounding weary as a man twice his age. “I know a place. Can you drive?”

You have to admit you’re a little dizzy from the whiplash. In the span of a few hours, you’ve gone from being locked up like a princess in the castle, to murdering a man, and now John is going to let you drive?

He must read the blatant surprise on your face. He doesn’t like it, his grip tightening on your hand. “These are bad, bad men who would eat you for breakfast. You’ve got to stick with me.”

You bristle at this, because even though you absolutely should be thinking about escape? You’re not. You were thinking about how you were going to manage taking care of him in this state, and it pisses you off that he’s still so fucking worried about controlling you that he can’t see the writing written in blood on the wall.

Or at least, written in blood, on the kitchen floor.

“You asshole,” you say for the second time tonight. It wins you a lordly scowl that for some fucked up reason thrills you to the tips of your toes. But it’s too late to turn back now. “Were you there, when I fucking shot a man for you? Maybe this is just business as usual for you, but it’s fucking new to me.”

He clenches his other fist on his knee, seeming to count to ten with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he finally grinds out. “I know…Are you alright?”

You guess that you put up a good enough front that he forgot that maybe he should ask. Good on you. Maybe.

“No, not really,” you answer truthfully. “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”

He actually has the grace to cast his eyes down, seeming to really think on what you’re saying. “You had a choice,” he muses quietly, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. “In the kitchen.”

You stroke Dog’s head for something to do with your other hand, which is shaking. Your thundering heart beats painfully in your chest. From the corner of your eye you take in this anomaly of a man. This man, who kidnapped you, who has been playing mental games with you for months, who has kept you prisoner, who has taken your body to heights you never even knew were possible, who has spoiled you, who has adored you and degraded you all in the same breath–this man, who somehow, you know you love with your whole heart.

“John…” He tilts his head to look at you, his eyes glazed with pain. You’re not sure if it’s physical or mental at this point. “Did you really think I could shoot you?”

Perhaps he did, because in his mind, the only acceptable answer to a wrong against you is murder.

Perhaps in the brutal world he’s occupied since he was just a child, it is.

Suddenly he can’t meet your eyes. “Maybe I would deserve it, y/n.”

The fact that he knows that is definitely a good sign.

But the tricky truth is–it wasn’t all bad. And the good? The good was almost worth the bad, you dare to think now that you’ve survived it. You know better than to say that, because you know you are in the midst of a negotiation right now.

“I love our life together, when you’re sweet to me, John. I only want to murder you when you boss me around. And I only mean that figuratively.”

A huff of laughter escapes him; there is a glimmer of hope in his miserable dark eyes. You know it’s insane, after everything he’s done, but you feel sorry for this man.

“If you would just treat me as an equal, instead of constantly trying to control me…” I’ll be your ride or die. You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud yet. He already has enough power over you. “Do you think…that’s something we can work on?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, when slowly he nods, bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them. “If you don’t want to murder me after everything I’ve done to you…maybe anything is possible.”

You on the other hand, can only blink. Did you just hear what you think you heard?

That blood-pressure induced ringing has returned to your ears again. The explosion and gunfire surely didn’t help, but somehow this is far more momentous to you. Your surprise for the magnitude of this admission surprises you, and you must show it in the lift of your brows. It makes him smile ruefully; you’re not sure why the sight of it squeezes your heart so.

You are not so stupid as to think this traumatic event has healed him miraculously, knocked some loose screw back into place. The mind doesn’t work like that. But just maybe, it did put some things into perspective. You are allies now against a mutual cause, rather than enemies of each other. And just maybe, when you tell him that you don’t want to leave him, he will actually believe you from now on.

“Anyway…I can drive the Rover…” you say with confidence, even though you are still utterly flabbergasted he’d even give you the opportunity. “I don’t know about the ‘Stang.” The Mustang you think you could manage in an emergency, but it’s been a long time since you had to drive a stick, and being responsible for his baby doesn’t sit well with you.

“That will do.” He grumbles, mostly to himself, “I’ve got to teach you to drive. There is so much I need to teach you.”

You’re not sure what he means by that. You are too tired to hash it out completely right now, but you sense that something, a whole lot of something, has changed in the past few hours between you.

He makes to get to his feet with a groan–and can’t quite. “Maybe I am too old for this shit,” he grouses.

“John, you got shot, stabbed, and fought off ten heavily armed assassins. I think you can count tonight as a win.”

Again, that bitter huff of laughter escapes him. You help John to his feet, trying to steady him as best you can. If he’d injured one of his legs badly you would be so fucked; there was no way you could carry him.

“Um…who were they?” You realize you haven’t even talked about who was just trying to kill him. You suppose you already think you know the answer, but then again you could be wrong.

“Camorra goons, I’m pretty sure,” hisses John, clearly in pain. “Guess I should have kept someone alive for questioning…I’ve always been bad at that.”

You press your lips, because it shouldn’t be funny…but if you don’t laugh about it, you might cry. Your life has been so weird lately, it almost just seems par for the course in a way.

“John…” you chortle and sigh. “Surely the d’Antonio kid gets the picture now? You’ve killed everyone he’s sent after you? Why can’t these assholes just leave you alone?” Why the prince of the Camorra would court such trouble is beyond you.

“Good question.” He groans as he takes a step, his good arm slung over your shoulder. “The young ones, especially the second or third generation, think they have to prove themselves. Or maybe…he loved his mother and wants me dead. It’s a faint possibility.”

“Italian boys and their mothers.”

John chuckles a little, then winces. “Please, sweetheart,” he entreats you. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Maybe you are a silly creature, but hearing the endearment for you warms something in your heart that had been left out in the cold for too long. “Fine,” you agree, even though humor is absolutely your biggest coping mechanism. “Tell me what we need to do next?”

“We need to pack.”

“Ok. What?”

“Suits, and guns.”

You guess in a nutshell, that was the essential distillation of his world, once upon a time. Now, quite against your will, you both are being kicked back into it. By the look in John’s dark eyes, for some reason you have a feeling it’s the Camorra who are going to regret it.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year

Text

paper planes

brother to fushiguro tsumiki. (unofficially adopted) son to gojo satoru and you. nephew to a host of sorcerer uncles and aunts. (unwilling) assistant to the white-haired idiot. and, finally, ringbearer at your and gojo's still-undetermined wedding.

one teeny-tiny boy with one too many identity is what fushiguro megumi is - until he isn't. with lots and lots of sniffles and sniggers...

▸ gojo satoru x fem! reader; established relationship; post hidden inventory arc; manga spoilers; proposals; adoptions; alternate universe happy for everyone except toji lovers (sorry ＞︿＜)

▸ two fics in a week, wow. guess this is what is called a brainrot, huh? read this post by @/mintmatcha on tumblr and started writing this lol. but the plot of this story is miles, tons, eons away from that post, i swear. also, this fic is set in the same universe as blue hawaii but you need not read that first to read this. treat this as a stand-alone if you wanna! 😊 anyways, gif, divider and characters ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"yeah, yeah, i've got it all planned."

a discreet eye roll is all megumi gives as he goes through the menu card in his hands. a little distance away, he can spy tsumiki and you seated at a table, you tying his sister's long hair into braids while the latter laughs, probably at a joke you cracked.

a tiny smile rests on the little boy's face at the sight - which vanishes when he feels a large hand tousle his hair. you had spent hours and hours righting his hair into a proper shape; why must this idiot always mess everything up?

megumi looks up to find his guardian looking down at him with a shit-eating grin; though he can clearly see the nerves it's covering.

idiot.

phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder, gojo mutters a "one sec, suguru," and crouches down to the boy's eye level. the latter gives back an unimpressed stare.

"decided what you wanna have, 'gumi? remember mom and sis there asked you to choose for them today."

megumi feels an urge to say you two aren't his real parents - but stamps it down instantly. the both of you have been as good as real parents can be to their kids - or maybe even better. the boy has read books, watched movies and listened to his classmates talk about their families; the tiny urchin-head knows.

with a huff, he points at the double chicken fillet burger box - it's tsumiki's favourite and you too don't seem to dislike it. with a nod, gojo rises and placing his orders, returns to the call, beaming expression again directed at megumi.

"yeah, yeah, don't worry, man," he speaks into the phone, then drops his volume to a mere whisper, "'my little kiddo here is a born actor. he remembers the entire plan, step by step - don't you, buddy?"

megumi gives an imperceptible nod, itching back to get back to the table. he already would have - needless to say, the little munchkin prefers your company to gojo's, way way more - but their orders have not been delivered yet and the boy promised to be-

a little tap on the shoulder draws him from his musings and he cranes his neck up to find gojo frowning. "no, megumi didn't want to discuss the plan with me before leaving. no, he doesn't like you better- hey," the man looks at him, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose revealing his indignant gaze, "you wanna discuss with uncle suguru one last time?"

an indifferent shrug is all the reply he gives.

while uncle suguru isn't the best uncle he has, he isn't the worst either. the others are- oh, wait. the others include uncle kento and uncle yu. they are literal angels compared to him. so... maybe... he is the worst... never mind. it's too late to back out anyways.

grumbling, gojo hands him the phone. "hello uncle," megumi greets just like you and tsumiki have taught him to. the man behind mutters something along the lines of ''traitor" or something; the boy pays him no mind.

"hey champ," the voice floats over the line, pleasant, kind and the way people talk to babbling babies. megumi's bored face turns irritated. "let's discuss the semantics one last time before boarding your flight, okay?"

"yeah, okay," megumi says, and casting a sideways glance at his bundle-of-nerves guardian, continues, "we're going to reykjavik," he looks at gojo, silently asking if he pronounced it correctly. the man sends him a thumbs-up with an encouraging grin.

the kid continues, "the plane will land at noon day after tomorrow, which is mom's birthday. first, we will go to the hotel. then, after resting, in the evening, we will head out in a car to watch the northern lights. and then-"

"-when it's the right moment, your dad will pop the question to your mom and you'll click the camera. got it, mr. future ringbearer?" finishing the rest of the sentence for him, the man at the other end asks, sounds of pans clacking and food sizzling in the background. nana-chan and mimi-chan must have woken up.

megumi nods. "yeah, got it, mr. future best man."

a chuckle comes in response to his comment. "you're a lot like your mom, y'know?"

"yeah," he mumbles, waving back to you and tsumiki, a little smile on his otherwise-impassive-but-always-adorable face, "i know."

"good," the man says, then pauses when a loud crash booms through the air and through the phone, a set of two wailing voices following it not soon after. megumi can quite literally picture the wincing frown his uncle is wearing as he says the next words in a hurry, "okay, 'gumi. talk to you later. bye, and best of luck! satoru's counting on his little assistant."

"yeah, thanks," he responds but is too late - the call is already cut by then.

giving the phone back to gojo, who's tapping his sneakers-clad feet on the floor, he looks back ahead, wondering when the hell heck their token number will be displayed and when they will get their food.

to the kid's great relief, it doesn't take a lot of time.

before long, the four of you are seated around the table, gojo stealing a sip from your drink and you stealing fries from him, all the while tsumiki giggles loudly at your antics. megumi smiles, before he hides it behind the burger which he takes a bite from.

the four of you really look like a family, don't you?

"hey, guys, can i have your attention for a sec, please?" your sudden question startles him from his mind. the boy turns to find you with your usual grin, albeit a smidgen of anxiety can be found in the way your fingers drum on the table.

megumi shares a look with tsumiki and gojo. they look as confused as he feels. "do i have your attention, people?" you ask again, manner growing a tad solemn unlike your usual, though the affection is still evident in your tone.

gojo and tsumiki nod immediately. you turn to him, gently smiling, "can i have your attention too, 'gumi? please?"

the boy nods his head instantly. "yeah, yeah. sure," he replies, scooting his chair closer to yours. you send him a relieved smile. "good, 'cause what i'm going to say next is very important. so, listen to me carefully, 'kay?"

all three of them are eager to nod in affirmation and anticipation.

scouring through your backpack, you retrieve a couple of pretty important-looking papers, and placing them back on the table, clasp your hands atop them. the kid spots gojo shoot you a worried look to which you respond with a reassuring smile.

the man's frown fades a little.

gaze now darting from one kid to another, you begin, "you two know, right, we love you very much?"

"yeah!" tsumiki exclaims, but is quick to fall silent when megumi shoots her a glare. you proceed, lips pressing into a thin line, "but we cannot adopt you two, in spite of how much all us want it to happen. we tried to, many, many times. but those higher-ups just won't let us do that."

a second passes - one wherein his young brain registers your words - before, lower lip wobbling, the boy casts his gaze down upon his light-up sneakers.

is this where you'll say he'll be sent to those zen'ins? away from his sister? away from you and gojo? away from all his uncles, aunts, nana-chan and mimi-chan?

megumi feels a hand card through his locks gently. looking up, he finds you with a soft smile. "but the thing is 'toru and i didn't let them defeat our purpose. we thought, you two can choose to be my clan's wards. not 'toru's, because of fucking - sorry, please forget i said that word - i meant, idiotic clan politics. so, what do you think?"

megumi turns to his sister, a pensive look plastered on her face the way it is on his. gojo adds, a tender smile in place of his usual stupid grin, "no pressure, kids. the both of us won't love you two any less and will be equally fine in case you choose not to."

"you guys can take how much ever time you need to think. there's no hurry," megumi hears you say, your warm hand rubbing circles on his back, as he turns back to his half-eaten burger.

a long moment passes.

passengers enter the cafeteria, they leave the cafeteria. the four of you remain seated, quietly munching on your food.

the boy finally removes his gaze from his now-empty tray and sends an inquiring, confused, hopeful look to his sister. tsumiki smiles back with a tiny nod. the little kid feels his heart burst with joy.

"we want to," the two of them answer in unison, and within a fraction of a second, megumi finds himself swept up in a warm hug alongside his sister, by you. "thank you for giving me, for giving us a chance," he hears you mutter quietly in a tear-choked voice. the boy simply pats your back the way you do to him. he soon feels another set of arms wrap around the three of you.

megumi thinks he has never felt happier or safer than in this moment.

a while passes with the four of you in this manner, enwrapped in an embrace, before you all finally pull away from each other.

the boy returns to his seat, rubbing his eyes. a minute passes in composing all of yourselves before you state, munching on another fry, "so, step one, including tsumiki and megumi into my legal family is done and successful. thank you, my loves."

tsumiki beams back at you; megumi returns a tiny smile. you grin at them - which, the kid watches, turns slyer as you switch your focus to your boyfriend.

the little boy stares at you, then stifles a snicker - he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen next. his gut instincts are rarely wrong, after all.

"but, 'toru..." you drawl, grin giving way to a smirk as gojo smiles back - perplexed but loving all the same. "for the step two, making you my legal family too, guess i need to wait to say 'yes' until the northern lights viewing two days later... don't i?"

a beat passes, then another, and another.

a loud gasp sounds from tsumiki. megumi turns to his dad - who's gaping wide-eyed at his mom now, the man's face whiter than his ugly hair - and smirks. just like the imp the goggles-wearing idiot always calls him at home, despite you repeatedly telling him not to.

gojo looks back at him, shock written on, engraved into his features.

"though i didn't really help you propose, i'm still the ringbearer, right?"

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fics #jjk imagines #gojo drabbles #gojo fics #gojo imagines #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kit posts 📝

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misc-obeyme · 1 year

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Solomon Alone

Okay I am having some health issues, but I've been feeling pretty good today. And since I have some energy, I'm also kind of on a roll with writing tonight. I don't think I've ever posted two things in one day, but hey I'm just gonna go with it.

It's another Solomon story because I'm obsessed with him. This is a pretty short one about how he might be feeling after Lesson 12. This is assuming he doesn't have ulterior motives or anything.

It's a bit different from my usual fluff... I would say this one is all angst, but listen I don't question my muse when that slacker finally shows up.

Solomon x GN!MC

Warnings: Hurt/angst and SPOILERS for Lesson 12 of Nightbringer

Solomon watched as you lost consciousness. He heard himself asking Thirteen what to do, heard her say she couldn't help. He heard the brothers crying out your name, hoping you would somehow wake up. He saw the look of anguish on Lucifer's face, even as he held the grimoire that you had handed over to him.

Through a fog, Solomon helped the demons bring you out of the reaper's cave. When they were prepared to bring you back to Cocytus Hall, he told them to take you to the House of Lamentation instead. He convinced them that you would be most comfortable in the spare room there.

And Solomon went back to Cocytus Hall alone. He walked through it in a daze, not at all registering the environment around him. His mind was fully occupied by the sight of you falling to the ground, struck by the magic of the fountain.

When Satan came to talk to him about researching curses, Solomon listened. He agreed to help Satan look through all of the books they could find on the subject. It was a welcome distraction. It slowly pulled him out of the fog that had clouded his mind. He spent hours and hours reading through those books. All day and all night, he tried to find the answer to what had happened to you.

Because now that he was thinking a little more clearly… wasn't all of this his fault?

Solomon was the one who brought you to Thirteen's cave, to the Fountain of Knowledge. If he hadn't done that, if you hadn't been there when you made that promise, then you would still be awake right now.

That guilt was something he couldn't afford to think about too much. He threw himself into the research to prevent it from crushing him entirely. Not now, not while you still needed him.

He could face the shame of what he had done when you were awake again. He knew he would have to. He wouldn't be able to look into your eyes or see your brilliant smile without also feeling the heaviness of knowing he had caused your suffering.

It was easier with you resting at the House of Lamentation. He must have known that subconsciously when he convinced the brothers to take you there. He knew each of them would be spending time by your side, taking care of you. It allowed him to stay away so he could focus on fixing the mess he'd made.

It was only one of the many reasons he had sent you with them, though. The fact was, there were seven of them and only one of him. He couldn't take care of you the way they could. He could try to give you everything he had, give you all of his love, all of his knowledge, every part of him. And still they would always be able to give you more.

Solomon was sure you'd have an opinion on his thoughts if you were here to express them. Even so he felt himself reverting back to being nothing more than your teacher. You were his adorable apprentice and he would always be proud of you. He would do all he could to make sure you knew the magic you needed to survive and thrive in the Devildom and the human world.

He would teach you all he could no matter what, but he knew he couldn't hold onto you forever.

Solomon sat alone in his room at Cocytus Hall. A room you had poked your head into to ask him about this or that. A place where you sometimes looked for him to talk to him about your day or ask him questions about things that were on your mind.

It seemed like anywhere he went in the hall, there you were. The ghostly memory of you, standing in the kitchen making breakfast or sitting in an overstuffed chair in the library, reading. He saw you everywhere and the reality of your absence pulsed through his bones, settling into a dull ache. He was so good at ignoring this pain while he worked, it was days before he admitted to himself just how much he missed you.

And while working and researching was the only thing that was keeping him from falling into that pain, there was a little voice of doubt in the back of his mind. He couldn't help having the suspicion that your curse would break without him. That it didn't matter how much time he spent going through piles of books, that in the end it would be your tie to the brothers that would wake you up.

That once again, he would only be able to stand by and watch as magic beyond his control altered you and your life.

More than anything, Solomon was afraid that he couldn't save you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer lesson 12 #obey me solomon #obey me mc #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x mc #solomon x reader #obey me x reader #obey me angst #obey me fanfic #misc writes

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kentocalls · 14 days

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gojo satoru | mine regency!au (bridgerton), sfw. i started bridgerton s3 and well ✨inspired✨ brief mention of panic. not proofread...i will write a part 2 (spice) later. Prince Suguru will get a story as well is Duke Ryomen. if it's cheesy and sweet that's on purpose. okay bye! taglist: @actuallysaiyan @g-kleran

The room is all too untidy, you fret about the mess you’ve created. This is the last time you listen to the writing of organized folks. You understand in theory, color coordinating all your gowns and jewelry and shoes is ideal. It makes for faster selection, you’d have more time to set your hair and makeup but there is an issue. And that is you indecisiveness.

Now now, you pat yourself on the back for deciding to place your favorite dresses into the large armoire decorated with blue flowers. And delegating the less adored gowns to the back closets but selecting which gowns, shoes, trinkets belong where is getting too much.

That and buzzing, bumbling, big man parading himself around your room. Your dearest friend has returned. After a year away, his carriage pulled up a mere three hours ago and he’d instantly darted to your father’s home and not his.

His babbling about Italy has been nice. He calls it a trip and you can’t help but frown. It wasn’t a trip, it was a year long. Didn’t he miss you? If he did, why didn’t he write? Instead he’s flipping through all the post-cards he would’ve sent but doesn’t freely hand off.

And you want to jest, want to poke at his stories and pull the cards from his hands but if you don’t clean up before the first ball of the season, you’ll never find the right dresses for the whole program. Nor the shoes or gloves. Thankfully this last minute organization hasn’t made way to your hairpins.

“And there is this cool cream, something whipped heavily and deliciously. My darling, listen…” You nod along, he watches you roam from side to side. Eyes eager and pleased to rest on your form. The cards are a clutch, something he uses to hide behind when you do spare him a glance. He was gone for eight or nine months. The longest he’s ever been away from you. He cannot believe he survived such torment. Granted, he had visotrs but you were not one of them.

You are his dearest one, his closest friend, and you must pay him with full recognition.

He craves his fill, must have it, it’s why he shuffles his postcards back into his long jacket and blocks you from hanging his favorite light blue gown and pulling you into a dancing stance. “Oh, so you have warmed up to touch.” He muses.

“Satoru!” you purr and he clicks his tongue.

“I see you’ve taken company with Suguru again.” He still holds you close, moving to a song only he can hear.

“Prince Suguru was kind enough to check in on me multiple times after the lake…incident and your disappearance.” Your voice falters at the end as does Satoru’s grip and you gently shoo him back to what he claims is his favorite seat. The one angled towards your bed, the sunlight graces it with warmth and leads you to entertain rumors that maybe Satoru is other worldly. But his grip on your hand is firm, the mischief in his eyes clear, you cannot give into him, no matter he mere man or angel.

And Satoru itches, fingers resolute in want, if he could pull you into his lap he’d fully captivate your attention but that’s a line he can’t cross.

You are his best, doting, lovely, gentle friend. He has called you his darling with esteem, ensuring the entire ton knows how full with good regard he is for you. He will not have anyone dismay your reputation. He will not break your trust. But his touches do linger, more so now that he has return from Italy.

You had been so innocent in your proposition during your second season and no prospects of marriage, claiming it’s your shyness getting in the way. And maybe it was. You were quick to tense whenever a male reaches to hold your hand or place an arm across your back as you walk or fumble conversations of the flirtatious nature. You didn’t want a ruined third season, where you were named the diamond, you needed help and who better than your friend, the most coveted, Duke Gojo Satoru. And the Duke had easily stepped in, continues to step in. Being a good, dutiful friend.

He’s simply following your request, to help ease your anxieties with touch.

You bestow this honor on him and only him.

So it’s only natural he remove himself from the seat and follow you closely, handing you dress after dress and talk your ear off. He’s been gone for so long, has to relish in the moments of freedom before your father’s carriage will round the corner. Despite family friends, you knows no one will understand the innocence of your meeting with Satoru. He is a Duke, an eligible bachelor, being alone with you for hours on end does not bode well for either of you. Even if he is simply, humbly, here to talk. Nothing more.

“Don’t you want your gift?” Satoru pouts, you’re sitting on the floor now, unladylike but that’s what Satoru prefers. No airs between you two, society forgotten in the tiny walls of your room. Satoru is not a Duke and you are not an eligible bachelorette, the diamond of last season. No here, he’s allowed to be your friend, steal your time and attention freely. (You’d never go to his place unchaperoned. Would never have your hair such a mess or dress so wrinkled.)

Your eyes perk up, a smile that warms his heart. A part of him wishes to hide it away from the rest of the ton but alas, the first ball will make it known you have captured the sun. Perhaps you’ll be named diamond again.

“Really?” You ask, almost childlike. As if any fiber in Duke Gojo Satoru’s being is capable of traveling far and wide without bringing a slice beauty back for you. He nods, drapes himself in your bed and wiggles his eyebrows and laughs at your scoff as you resume deciding which shoes belong in the prestigious armoire and which will go to the back closest.

He dangles a beautiful white and blue sapphire necklace in front of your face, the light catches the gems and sends stars across your room. “This is so exquisite.” You say mesmerized, it’s fit for a Princess, fit for a Queen. Fit for a Dutchess. Satoru muses, eyes never leaving your happy face.

Please Satoru pulls the necklace away from the light, gently lays it back into the jewelry box with matching earrings and firmly clears a section of your armoire, ignoring your protest. “This will not do, my darling, there isn’t enough space here.”

“I want all my favorite things in here.”

Satoru moves back, assess the armoire, it was a gift from him when you debuted three seasons ago. It’s held up but he can tell it needs repainting and new handles. You’ve tried to be careful to it but alas, your diamond season left you almost running out of dresses. Satoru happily obliged, gathering many fancy gowns and gems from far away lands. His only hope was that you’d return the favor when his sister is ready for debut.

“This will not do at all. I’ll have a new one made, a larger one.”

“No, you will not, I like this one!” You are standing now, wedging yourself in between Satoru and the furniture. And he forgets how attached you get, forgets how easily you mind of all his doting and spending. “This has served me just fine, will suit me just fine. Besides, flats in London are much smaller than here, so I wan-“

“London?” Satoru has pushed himself onto almost all your family trips afar, he would surely remember London.

“Oh…the…there is interest from a Viscount?” You start voice even, you don’t have to be careful with Satoru, he’d take all your secrets to the grave but you can’t let on that you are unsure about this new development. Satoru would squash anyone who makes you uncomfortable and right now you’re not sure about the Viscount.

You move away from Satoru, stepping over the mess of shoes and start to box the dark green ones away.

“A Viscount from London?”

“Yes, Viscount Nanami. He is considered an upright citizen, owns a publishing business, and teaches at schools on the weekend. Hasn’t looked for a wife until apparently I caught his eye when we visited Spain. Mentioned something about how struck he was by my keen focus on a painting. I don’t recall anyone around me, I do recall the painting. It was of a lake.” Satoru is half paying attention, he knows you, knows you would be well informed of everyone in the ton. And your mother, clever Lady, would never allow an interest from a strange man.

But no, no, no that’s not what causes him to alert, it’s the “He is well read, though he prefers more serious literature…Authors names I’m not sure how to pronounce. He’s sent me a few books too.”

“Well read?” If Satoru’s tone is less than inquisitive and more accusatory you rush past it. Standing and roaring about your room, it’s much more tidier now and the armoire is filling up. Satoru’s eyes half notice the dresses the dresses, shoes and gems that have been deemed worthy of the armoire are one’s he’s gifted. His heart fills with pride. But he does frown are other dresses he hasn’t gifted, they seem a bit too modern for your taste but that thought flees as soon as you mention “We’ve been writing, his penmanship is spectacular.”

Spectacular his rear, the only writing Satoru’s eyes are able to decipher is yours, you write in a unique fashion that is easy and flows beautifully. And Satoru knows penmanship, has spent countless ours at his desk forced to read note after note as part of his Dukehood.

What has this Viscount Nanami done to earn praise from your lips?

If Satoru spots ill hidden letter that happen to fall into the trash bin, well his Duke has always warned you about keeping your windows open. The wind is petulant at best.

👑

The evening is bustling, many new debutants, a new season and the Queen resolute on Prince Suguru’s marriage has left everyone buzzing. Your mother is helping dress you tonight, eager to see the new corset dress that Viscount Nanami has gifted. It’s a deep cobalt blue that pairs nicely with the necklace Satoru has gifted you. Your mother does not mention the necklace only traces its delicately.

“Satoru…Duke Gojo has returned then?” You nod and hold your breath as your dear maid LillyAnn has mustered the strength of five men and is pulling the drawstrings of the corset so very tight. You can barely breathe, but that’s how it’s supposed to feel.

“Mo….mother I do not think I can breathe.” She pats your face and powders your nose some more. “It’s the latest fashion, only Lady Ryomen and a few others have one. You will stand out beautifully, perhaps be named diamond again.”

“It’s my forth season mother…” you try to not sound sad, you aren’t. You are more than capable of handling yourself should spinster life be what comes. However, your brother will also want to pursue a wife and you do not want to hinder his chances or be a burden. You have been given more freedom than most other Ladies. Adored by your family since your first steps, educated more than most men, even worked with your father in his business.

“My delicate flower, this will be your year, I can feel it.” Your mother’s hands are tender, soft and comforting. You stand a bit too quickly, waltz across the room too fast before the dizziness catches you. Pairs of hands steady you by the window chair and LilyAnn is off to fetch a glass of water. Through the windows, your mother’s eyes catch the bouncing platinum head of Duke Gojo Satoru, even under the evening light he shines brightly. Perhaps his eyes wander to your window but he dare not look or linger, your mother cannot confirm. Your mother wonders if she’s indulged too much, the friendship between you and Satoru is special, she hasn’t seen such trust and care between other duos. But you are not a couple, Satoru has never made intentions to court or wed you known. Oh, how anger finds your mother’s fists.

You are tender and kind, you would not impose anything on the Duke who does not understand the reason you’ve been left unattached after three seasons are his eyes.

“Mother…I…I do not think I can breathe.” You can be late to the ball, your mother decides. Latest fashion or not, your mother cannot have you passing out at the first ball of your forth season…you won’t recover from two fainting incidents.

👑

The Dutchess Ryomen throws a wonderful dashing and beautiful ball. The dance floor is darker than others, allows for more hushed conversations and stares to be returned secretly. The adults complain but you quickly find Lady Ryomen and offer her your thanks. Complement the decorations and her dress, where others are miserly with their praise you are eager to make her acquaintance. She has tamed the untamable Duke Ryomen Sukuna, a man feared and rumored to be dangerous and yet he treats his Lady with such regard.

You do mention the punch is needing more fruit though, a good hostess should receive accurate information on her meal preparation after all. This is her first ball and you want it to be a hit, you like Lady Ryomen, although the Duke is scary. The Dutchess does not have many friends but finds no reason to be weary of your kind words and heart. It is only the pair of azure eyes and the form that carries them that makes her a bit uneasy.

But you are quick to glare at Satoru and drag the Dutchess (and by extension the Duke) away, give them tips on hosting duties and free yourself to find your mother.

You will not be dancing tonight, you have made two rounds and guarded your dance card with the swiftness of eagles. You need to get home, this dress is too tight. London fashion be damned. “Darling, I’ve just heard Viscount Nanami has invited us to his home this summer. Oh I must speak with Lady Yu about this, her son is rather close with the Viscount. Be sure to greet Lord Haibara, yes?” And poof, she’s gone. Off to be the best mother out of the lot and leaving you unattended.

Even in this low lighting you can feel the eyes of the ton on you, the corset dress adding dips and pushing your bosom to new heights. Heights you fear will not matter since you cannot breathe. No matter, off you go to find your carriage, perhaps you can use one of the butter knives to loosen a stich or two.

Alas, your plans are interrupted as the Queen’s eyes have landed on you, it is only polite you courtesy and make pleasant talk. You have half a mind to introduce yourself to her, thank her for naming you a diamond last season and then what? Are you…are you supposed to wish her a successful season? Are you to mention the Prince? Oh gosh, where is your Mother, she is the talker. You don’t know what to say to a QUEEN.

She assess your form, asks where your dress is from and you reply honestly that it’s a gift from Viscount Nanami, that he is from London and you will spend the summer there. There’s a hushed gasp and a smirk on the Queens lips. Before she nods and is gone. You feel like you did something wrong, you always feel like you did something wrong. The only person you can speak easily to as you do with Satoru, sometimes is Prince Suguru.

You two were pushed together all last season and it resulted in no success but a fond friendship. But the Prince is busy dancing his night away, his name is gracing many dance cards tonight. And Satoru is…well where is he?

The things Satoru likes about balls are far and few. He likes dressing up, showing off his long legs and physique. He likes the music and food. Always eager to try new delicacies and hear the ton gossip. He despises everything else. The hungry mothers, the seemingly always eyelash batting Lady’s and Lords who seek his company to gain from his reputation. Can’t a Duke simply exist?

He finds himself munching treats on one of the many stairwells that adorn Duke Ryomen’s mansion. He doesn’t like the man but can respect wealth. Satoru has all but finished his latest goodie and figures he could make one more round, maybe dance with two eligible somethings and call it a night. He hasn’t seen you either! He needs to make sure you’re not speaking to anyone unsavory. Although, he knows, your mother has likely kept you close to her. There’s a Viscount after you now, the ton exhilarated with the news.

He does not expect to hear your gasps and rushed footsteps. You lose a pretty heel on one of the steps but don’t stop, continue rushing forward towards the carriages and what, what has caused this?

He drops any and all remaining delectables and rushes to you, hands eager, his own breath held. What’s happened? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? Gojo Satoru will harm any human who dare—

“I can’t breathe.” You gasp out, his eyes fall to your choked breathing, your chest rising and falling in a staccato pattern, the corset creating new dips in the sides of your body that look painful. “Sa…to..ru..I..can’t…” It comes out in huffs. He shoves away memories from a year go, pushes away the lake incident and hands move to find the paring knife he stashed into his outfit.

He has pulled you away from the main stairwell, toward a hidden passage, shadows cradling both of you as Satoru deftly cuts at the side of your dress, hand quick to inspect your exposed flesh to ensure he hasn’t cut too deep. Another hand finds your cheek, forcing your eyes to him. “Breathe my darling, eyes on me, breathe.” He mimics a slow breathing pattern as your lips push a tiny exhale out, the staccato eases and deeper, smoother pattern arranges itself. Satoru’s hands do not leave your form, they remain firm, grounding, strong.

“That’s it, that’s it, good. My darling, good.”

You close your eyes, keep breathing, lean into his hand on your cheek. Hating how you know his touch so well, that regardless of the many times he’s held your hand, cupped your cheek or traces his fingers down your arm, held you, it does nothing to make you less nervous with others. It only works if it’s him, his hands, his touch, his eyes.

Your eyes to witness how unfairly the moonlight cascades on him. His eyes are storming, he himself has stopped breathing. Your hand moves before you think, your gift is a tremble of his chest, a soft exhale as your palm graces his cheek. He leans into the touch. It’s tender, intimate.

Nothing friends do.

The thought crosses your mind suddenly, irrevocably haunting how beautiful he looks. How your skin now burns where he’s holding you, how you are probably losing your breath again but the reason is so entirely different. Holy graces of heaven, has Satoru always been this? How have your eyes failed to study him?

“Satoru…” your voice honey filled, eyes almost linger on his lips, and why hasn’t Satoru noticed this about you? The way your voices laces his name with a boon he didn’t know it had.

He feels a breeze, pulls you close, too close.

Pull away from him, push away from him. Please, he needs you to be the one to keep the line. Satoru has only once denied himself sweetness and he can’t again, not with you, here, now, radiating—

“Now, now” A voice, you both jump, Satoru quick to pull you behind, aware how compromising your current state of dress is and he’ll be damned if another lays eyes on your skin.

The moonlight favors Prince Suguru as he saunters towards you, a gentle smile in your eyes but a menacing smirk in Satoru’s. “The Duke Ryomen has such a large residence. Terrible if one were to get lost, no?”

“Ah, Prince Suguru, hello!” It’s awkward but when are you not when other men are concerned, but Suguru is fond of you. The one flower that keeps Satoru buzzing around and around and you and yet the two of you are none the wiser to what has bloomed.

“My heavens blessing, what luck have I been bestowed, dearest Lady—“

“Cut it out Suguru.” Satoru sounds annoyed, but Suguru is a Prince. You cannot, do not speak to a Prince like this.

You move to place yourself between the two. Aware there has been some rivalry that strained their friendship. However, Satoru does not let you leave him entirely, keeps his hand on your side, hiding the cut on your dress, grip firm on the fabric and your skin. “Satoru was helping me find my carriage, it seems in this is a large residence, I have lost my way.”

“Oh dear, I would be happy to escort you,” He moves to the side, hand outstretched but you do not move to take it. You cannot move to take it. Not only is Satoru keeping you from moving but the dress is not going to last if you slip away from Satoru. You place your hand to where Satoru is keeping your dignity.

“Well you see, I’ve…” how do you word this so it does not sound indecent? How do you ensure both you and Satoru are not compromised. The Prince is always been kind to you, especially where Satoru is concerned, you are all close in age, he always has kept some familiarity for you in his heart. He is not a bad man but…you were diamond last season. In theory the Prince and you should have been betrothed but…

The Prince’s eyes go to where your and Satoru’s hands are, he carefully, slowly unbuttons his top coat. The movement makes you gasp, you don’t notice the daggers Satoru’s glare is driving towards Prince Suguru. He moves gracefully, drapes the coat over your shoulders, you make quick to use the belt to tie your dress in place, start to button up the coat and what? Satoru let go?

You turn to face him, Prince Suguru murmurs something but it’s lost on you. Your eyes do not leave Satoru’s, your head does not turn to face the stairs until it’s impossible to view Satoru’s form. This feels wrong, this feels so very wrong.

You are sat in the Prince’s carriage, on your way home. The Prince sits next to you, eyes closed, legs wide but not enough to touch yours. You think of Satoru’s face, his touch, his eyes, a new sensation hits your face. My darling, breathe.

You’ve been his darling since childhood, it’s a nickname, something close to what one calls a pet. He didn’t mean it like lovers do, has never meant it like lovers do. So why, why are you blushing? He…he said it like he usually does, right?

“I think I’ve done something wrong.” But the Prince does not press further.

👑

Your skin was too soft. Too soft.

Your eyes full of trust and hope and when they lingered on Satoru’s lips.

Wait.

No.

That’s his mind making things up. Some unholy demon pulling at his deepest desire, to have you run to him over and over. To have you whisper his name, to capture his attention to let him touch.

It burns Satoru’s hand all night, the moonlight, the necklace shining bright and failing to match the gleam of your eyes. It’s always your eyes. Once your orbs find his the world stops, racing thoughts come to a halt, the peace he feels when your around is…normal. Isn’t it? He bargains. Nothing changed, nothing.

You were not any different, neither was he.

He kicks off his comforter, hastily downs a glass of water and then the whole pitcher.

Replays the event over and over where time stood still, you were close. No, he held you close, too close. He hasn’t done it has he? Has he crossed the line of decency, of friendship? Has he made you want more than he intended? Haven’t you made him want? No, no, no. You are innocent in this. This is his own vice, his own strayed nature, it’s his problem. His fault, fuck, he want more.

You deserve a better match, a proper and prime man.

He thinks of Prince Suguru and this mysterious Viscount but they aren’t good enough either.

The Viscount bought you a death trap of a dress. Fuck, Satoru writes a petition that night, to ban all corset dresses forever and ever. They are the devils spawn, an endangerment to natural breathing patterns, painful, grotesque, monstrous! Any man purchasing one for his betrothed should be fined and jailed!

Betrothed.

The world echos in Satoru’s mind until he crashes into his bed, betrothed. You? As the Viscount’s? There was no formal delectation, you would’ve told him. The Viscount can dream. You do not belong to him.

👑

It’s an all too stuffy affair but you’re happy to be at the castle and not in a corset dress.

The Viscount Nanami had apologized purposely and corrected the error of his easy, has sent a stunning set of new gowns and jewels. It has your family brimming with pride and hope. You will be wed before the end of summer it seems. Lady Haibara has already confirmed the astute figure of Viscount Nanami, her son Yu has given a firm statement of character.

Things are all but done, this summer you will go to London and confirm the engagement.

“I bore you?” his velvet voice breaks your clouded thoughts. Prince Suguru’s mother, the Queen, had insisted you have tea with him. This is your seventh formal meeting, both of you are exhausted by these attempts but what isn’t there, isn’t there.

“You are too considerate, Prince Suguru. My apologies, my mind wandered…”

“Again?”

You exhale, placing the cup of tea down and turn to face him, hungry for knowledge, eager for information. Prince Suguru is a master charmer, he can command the attention of all without slipping a single word from his full lips. And he knows how to receive attention, knows how to read intentions, you want to learn, you need to decipher if you’ve missed something.

“The Viscount is…serious in his pursuit it seems.” The Prince nods.

“It…it would be best to put what-ifs behind me, envision a new life in London, yes?”

“Ouch, we haven’t even had lunch and I’ve been rejected.” He draws a laugh from you, lightens the atmosphere completely. “My mother will not be pleased. She likes you the best you know.”

You deflate, “Me? Why? I fumbled all my words with her.”

“Exactly so, she like’s your nervous. Means you’re considerate and thoughtful.”

Now you hum, “And is that why you don’t like me, I’m too nice.”

The Prince does little to hide his shock, surprised by your boldness. Maybe he isn’t adept at reading others, he takes you in. It’s a bit more than flair for your usual sense of fashion but you are radiant. The particular shade of outfit is not only well balanced but luminous against your skin.

But a bitter chuckle escapes him. Everything you’re wearing is a statement of who is and has truly ever been yours. He wonders when you’ll notice that this blue gown is one of a kind. No other Lady or Lord wears this fabric, no other family is allowed to mix colors near this shade. Hell, Prince Suguru himself has seen the law be written that all modiste’s are not allowed to even attempt a blue color similar to that of the prestigious Gojo family and yet; you are adorned in it every time he sees you. Alongside the bright blue jewels that beautify your neckline, ears and hair.

And somehow, your family’s intricate golden lacework stands proudly across all of Satoru’s silver accessories. His walking canes are second to none, the watches he loves to whip out and whirl around cherished and polished every night, and the watches! Prince Suguru himself has only been gifted two watches total from your family and it seems Duke Satoru has eight gifted in his name. Your family doesn’t even work in silver, has refused multiple requests, but for the Duke Gojo Satoru it seems there is a softness.

It baffles him.

How his mother, the Queen, cannot see who you truly have made yours, and the unspoken claim you so openly accept.

But he hears your mumblings of some stupid Viscount in London and Prince Suguru wonders if there’s a spread of ignorance in the ton. For all the time you and the Duke spend together, how are your hearts the farthest?

👑

Three days.

Duke Gojo Satoru lasts three whole days before he’s broken into your home, well after calling hours are over to speak. When he enters your room he finds you and your mother sitting for tea; LilyAnn holding two dresses in her hands. He pulls over a stool from your night table and joins the judgement. You want to speak to him but your mother pushes ahead, you must pack for London. If you do not have enough worthy clothing then she must meet with the dressmakers in haste.

“We are getting a head of ourselves dear Mother, the purple and blue are both fine.” Satoru hums, he likes the blue better.

“The purple, LilyAnn, and no-no, none of those will do. They are too light under the London clouds.” LilyAnn drops your favorite blue gowns to ground.

“So much for organizing.” Satoru whispers and shoot him a hush. You have only four notable gowns per your mother, who is not pleased.

And then…it’s awkward. You, Satoru, your mother and LilyAnn sit eyeing each other.

“Duke Gojo, we’ve distracted you enough, Is…is there a pressing matter?”

“Not at all, I think we should select shoes too, there isn’t much time left. Summer is a mere six weeks away” He’s being cheeky and you almost shove him off the stool but your Mother is here. That kind of affection is for when you and Satoru are alone.

Affection? Is that okay to have, for Satoru?

“Now now, I’ve already ordered her new shoes. They will arrive the day before we leave.”

“Splendid, you are every thoughtful My Lady. If I may, I’d like to address your daughter in private? I won’t be long.”

Your mother agrees, dragging LilyAnn with her. “You know their ears are pressed against the door, Duke Gojo.” Satoru rolls his eyes, you always maintain formalities when others are around. He hates when you call him Duke.

“My Lady, they need not be. I am here on the purest of intentions.”

“Like always.” He grins wide.

“Like always indeed! Are you going to Lady Rengoku’s ball?”

“Of course! Lady Rengoku always has the best—“

“Excellent.” And with that Satoru stands and leaves.

Your Mother and LilyAnn stand shocked outside your door, all three of you confused.

The Duke never inquires about balls, much less your attendance at such events. Your Mother has a look and you simply shrug. Satoru would never purposely harm your reputation or ruin your chances with the Viscount.

👑

Stupid stupid stupid.

Satoru wasn’t supposed to ask that, what he was supposed to ask was if you wanted to marry the Viscount in London. That is what he wants to know. No, needs to know.

You see, an overly smart, annoying Prince has visited the Gojo residence and laid a claim you are to be wed before your return from London. That somehow, somewhere, the Viscount has announced his intention to court you during your trip and swiftly turn a meeting into engagement and wedding. The buffoon hasn’t shown his face here at all and seeks to wed you!

How dare he lay a claim to you! Satoru does not know how courtship in London works but he is not impressed.

Have you even been asked? Have your wishes been respected in this? What tasteless gossip that a Prince came to deliver to him.

If the Duke’s eyes linger at your window, if he wishes to turn back around and ASK what he came to ask, it’s lost in the night.

What right is he seeking here?

👑

Lady Rengoku’s ball is masterly conducted, the food, the music, the timing of social activities. Perfect perfect perfect, save for your dance card being full of names. Suddenly you are being dubbed the unofficial diamond and everyone wants time with you. It’s exhausting, you’ve fumbled so many conversations and no one seems to leave you alone.

It’s only Lady Ryomen who pulls you into the lavatory for some reprieve. You learn more about her, she asks you to look after her visiting sister, a free spirit who wants to climb a mountain. It’s a feat you’ve not heard many Lady claim, you promise seek her out and cheer her on.

When you do escape the lavatory, the Queen is resolved in pressing you next to Prince Suguru.

He makes for good company, pleasant and non-pressing. But a man nonetheless, has you nervous, you don’t like his ever so light touches and can’t stand how roaring his laughter is. It fills the whole room, eyes turn and gaze. More gossip, it’s not what bothers you. Perhaps if Viscount Nanami were to hear of suitors he’d show up and make an actual appeal to you rather than keep all formalities between himself and your father.

You are frowning openly now, Prince Suguru takes you to a walk in the garden but when you lift your head he’s gone. You are left to roam Lady Rengoku’s estate freely. Perhaps this is kindness from the Prince, both of you are not going to wed after all.

You stop by a patch of blue flowers, hands delicately touching the sleeping petals. You wander enough to learn that there is a pool on the plot. The Rengoku’s clearly have more money than you’ve heard. The water shimmers under the stars, a hue of cerulean and you hate it, you hate it the second it reminds you of Satoru-no. Don’t be kind to him, call him Duke. Duke Gojo. That’s what he is.

You cannot think of him as familiar. No matter what ache it causes your heart, no matter the confusion that drowns your mind, no matter the waves of emotion that ripple through your body. Your focus is to wed and the best chance at that is the Viscount.

This mysterious, proper, dashing stranger. Who took one look at you many moons ago, spoke no word but has laid the road for you to be his. The panic you’ve stuffed down has simmered and roared, echoing through your limbs.

You cannot marry a stranger, you do not want to marry a stranger.

And perhaps it’s this madness or this anger that drags you closer and closer to the pool, closer and closer to the water. There’s no one around, it is not safe and you are so mad, you want a way out—

“What are you doing?” The Duke. Satoru.

Strong arms wrap around, pull you free from the waters enchantment but it does nothing to calm the rage unleashed in your heart. Panic boils over and you fight him, he’s not supposed to be here. He asked you about this stupid ball and wasn’t here. Hasn’t been here after the lake incident that ruined the season you were crowned diamond, disappeared when you needed him most and what right does he have to hold you like this?

“Unhand me at once, remove your hold.” You pull at his arms. “Breathe, my darling, breathe.”

You shove at him. The intensity freezes him. You successfully pull away. “Don’t.” Your voice shaky, “You are not to call me that.”

“I can fix it, whatever it is, I can fix it.” Confidence fails to fill his voice, he doesn’t like seeing you like this. Doesn’t want you vexed, doesn’t wish you stressed. Please, let him take you into his arms, let him hold you, like he always has when tears well up in your eyes. If not for your sake then his, let him hold you please.

“Satoru- Duke! Duke Gojo. I…we should not be seen alone. I cannot be compromised. Please return inside.”

Duke Gojo? DUKE? You haven’t addressed him as such in many years, this formality is ugly. His chest begins to tighten. What has he done? He takes a step back.

“Darling, my dearest friend, what…has caused this?” he is frantic, body buzzing with no where to direct his energy, no where to hide his fear. He’s going to lose you, he cannot lose you.

“Dearest friend.” you mock, “I am set by everyone’s intention to marry a stranger. I cannot stop it, this train is moving faster and faster towards me and I can do nothing.”

“Not nothing, let me—“ Let him what? There’s a million thoughts in his mind and the most prominent one is that he needs to comfort you, needs to get your breathing under control, let him hold you please please please.

“Please, just go Duke Gojo.” Your hands are balled into fists, eyes firmly piercing the ground. You are still too close to the pool. The visions of the lake are pouring into him, he will go, he’ll leave, only when you are calm and safe. Away from the dangerous abyss of blue.

Tears fall when he calls your name, ever so slowly he moves close, you want to fight him, you truly do— its in both your best interest to keep away from one another. Or maybe just yours, you’ve fallen for him and it’s not his fault. He’s done nothing to harness your resentment and anger. You cannot marry a stranger when there’s another man in your heart.

You are in his arms, hiding in his chest, stealing seconds, moments, escaping the world. “I don’t want to marry him.” His grip tightens. Satoru is aware you’re both out in the open, not in the sanctuary of your room. He’s not free to dote his affections here, fuck he’s messed up. If he’s caught now, but he can’t pull away, not when pain echos through your voice. Not when your chest crumbles in his hold.

You make to leave his arms, you need to pull away need to move before he conjures a plan and you get sucked into it. This isn’t grade school, where pranks involve breaking all the teachers chalk or stealing more than your share of chocolates from the canteen. There is more at stake than upset stomachs. “I can’t marry him.”

But a kiss to the top of your head melts away protest. “You won’t.”

👑

By some unbelievable mistake there is no compromise, Satoru holds your hand the entire way to your carriage, ensures you get home safe and eyes watch your home the entirety of the night. Your thoughts consume him. The pained voice on repeat, over and over. He needs to fix this, he needs to fix this, he needs to figure out how to fucking fix this. It’s the same itch that drove him to Italy. The same want, the same need.

The lake incident nearly drove him mad. Had it not been for Prince Suguru and his knights Satoru would’ve surely killed every single “well-mannered” Lady who had pushed you into the dark deep well of water. He barely found you, that disgusting lake, devoid of light and movement. Fuck if his eyes hand’t trailed after you, if he was a second slower, if he hadn’t gotten to you.

It enrages him to know what your face close to death looks like, it enrages him to know you likely have night terrors, that there will always be a chill in your bones. All because he was careless, all because he had teased something stupid to the ton and suddenly you faced the blunt of his words.

He had crossed so many lines that night. His hands roam his face and pull at his hair, he’s so fucked. The madness is rushing to his head.

That night, he had charmed LilyAnn to let him into your quarters, had to make sure you were okay with his own eyes despite the assurance of prestigious doctors. Promised he’d take a look, promised he’d sit and watch. Make sure your comforters don’t drop to the ground, promised he wouldn’t do more than keep gaurd. But you had woken in a fright, dazed, gasping. He had you in his arms, you gripped so fiercely, the violent fear cascading through your body. How you clung to him, how you pushed into his space, how he kept you close. He promised you were okay, promised he’d keep you safe. Over and over, a mantra until the threat passed, when sleep claimed your eyes, he should’ve left then. Should have ignored when you asked him to stay, asked him to be yours for the night. He was only supposed to watch.

He wasn’t supposed to climb into your bed and hold you. Wasn’t supposed to relish in how felt right you felt, your skin, your weight, your breath against his chest. There would be no other after this. Once your gentle snores started he should’ve left, not have the audacity to kiss your forehead, shouldn’t have pulled you even closer and utter ‘mine’ over and over again until sleep found him.

It wasn’t a confession, you wouldn’t remember.

Then sun rose, and he spent the next year in Italy trying to forget.

He wasn’t going to come back, couldn’t bring himself to act normal. He fucked it up anyway didn’t he?

Satoru’s eyes catch as the light flicker and your bedroom illuminate. The windows are frantically opened and he sees you shudder and fight for air. It’s the same terror isn’t it? It’s the same dream that won’t be soothed regardless of how much you caress your arms or pray.

How is a Viscount going to understand that? How is a Prince going to mediate your fears? To bring you ease and smile?

That’s Satoru’s responsibility, isn’t it?

👑

You wake to a late breakfast. The night proved to be unkind and the drowning of the lake broke you from the deepest slumber. You could’ve sword you saw the light on at the Gojo residence too, but you might’ve made that up. Your head is a mess, between the newly discovered feelings for Satoru and supposed proposal from the Viscount…you need food. Things are always better after food.

The usual sounds of the morning are not present. Typically your mother is doting on your younger brother and your Father is hastily attempting to leave the manor for work. You worry your head silly with the actions of last night, Satoru’s embrace, his words, his kindness. He truly is a wonderful friend and you’ve…you’ve indulged too much in fantasy. Misread his kindness, his care.

As you head down the grand staircase, it’s adorned with cream and blue flowers. And your housemaids are carrying even larger arrangements, they seem to never end. Your mother and father hold a card in their hands, stand in the foyer like visitors.

You take the card from them, “The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of Duke Gojo Satoru and…” you.

“My darling~!” his voice echos in the foyer, your parents sigh deeply. Your mother asks LilyAnn to set another plate for the Duke and wanders off to the dinning room. Your father makes to follow her before pausing and whispers, “You are happy with this?”

Your smile is all he needs before he trails after your mother, insistent that the wedding date needs to be moved so he is back from his Greece trip.

The Duke Gojo Satoru strolls into your home, a tiny blue box in hand as he pulls you into his arms. “Du-“

“Satoru.” He insists, lips finding your temple.

“Satoru, are you…sure?” You want to marry him, but he cannot be doing this out of kindness, he cannot be doing this because of his limitless affection.

But Satoru has spent a year pretending he isn’t yours, a year trying to reason that you aren’t his. That someone else, someone better would make you happy, make you smile, make you comfortable. But there is no one who can adore you like him.

“I want to marry you, if you want to marry me.” Unfair, truly unfair how his eyes hold the entire world. His body tenses, he holds himself firm, tall, bracing. You can’t say no, don’t say no, please please please don’t say no.

“You’ll be mine?”

He’s always been yours, “Only if you’re mine.”

“Then,” you turn away from him, “I must make haste, inform Viscount Nanami that we will not be spending the summer in London.”

And Satoru, ever in need of your warmth follows you, “The Viscount has already been informed, as well as the Queen, by extension Prince Suguru, Lady Haibara, Lady Rengoku, Lady Ryomen, the ton…I’ve sent invites everywhere except the Muzan, we hate them.” He waves so carelessly, takes your shocked look to memory before opening the blue box glittering with the rarest jewel, a ring perfectly sized to you.

“Mine?” He asks, slipping the ring onto your finger, holding your face in his hands. “Yours.”

#gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #regency!au #april writes #gojo satoru mine #they're idiots in love idk #sfw jjk

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the-marshals-wife · 2 months

Text

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #ocean master x reader #orm imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #patrick wilson #aquaman imagine #orm fanfic #aquaman fanfic #my writing #strangers like me from tarzan is 100% orm-coded and i couldn't resist using it for the title #aquaman

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mouschiwrites · 3 months

Note

HIIII!!!

I recently found your page and I must say, I freaking LOVE your writing!!! :D Can I request Cole x f!reader who's a musician? I am a proud cello player and I thought this would be TOO CUTE!!

Thanks <3

You're so right, this is adorable!!

Ninjago - Cole with a Musician s/o

A dancer and a musician? DELECTABLE

You're both definitely music nerds to some extent

Cole's into a broader spectrum of music (rock mainly, but he likes jazz and classical and R&B and.... okay he just loves all music)

But if anything that means he just helps you explore more genres!

For him he likes different kinds of music because they give him unique feelings, which makes him dance differently

And he assumes it's the same for you when you play :)

So he'll suggest new songs or genres to you

He won't directly request you to try and play them, he just shares music that inspires him and lets you do what you will with it, even if you just listen to it

But when you do try to play a new song, he is ALL OVER IT

Like, a song that inspires him played by the person he loves? A WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF INSPIRATION

You really do inspire him a lot :)

Not just because you're beautiful and amazing and talented and so so special and *gets pulled off the stage with a shepherd's crook*

But because you make music that is all of those things too!!

And we all know how much Cole loves music

When he's feeling uninspired, sometimes he'll ask you to play something

Always gets him out of whatever creative rut he's in :]

Or it just calms him after a tiring day; he'll also ask you to play then

If you do live performances, you can BET he's first in line for tickets

Always gazes at you from the audience, love practically seeping from his eyes (along with tears)

He literally jumps up for a standing ovation when you're finished

And he always showers you with gifts after; a huge bouquet, chocolates, a sweet card, plushies...

And of course he takes you out for a treat after, too; whether that be a full fancy dinner or just some ice cream

He's your biggest fan, and you're his beloved muse <3

Thank you for this request! And thanks for reading, take care doves <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago headcanons #cole brookstone #cole brookstone headcanons #cole brookstone x reader #cole x reader

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sixosix · 11 months

Text

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness.

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

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