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seeingivy · 8 months

Text

labyrinth

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

remember this speak now fic. now reimagine it, except YOU'RE the one getting stood up at the wedding. and then you meet your ridiculous neighbor and fall in love in an elevator months later.

an: I believe it was my beloved @satoruhour who asked me if I could do labyrinth for taylor as gojo! and here I am <333 truly one of my favorites on midnights that makes me so, so emotional I could vomit. anyways, enjoy pookies

You think Suguru Getou is beautiful. On all days, both blatantly and inconspicuously, absolutely and wholeheartedly. When he wakes up in the morning with a messy mop of hair on his forehead, when he slides into your shared apartment with a surprise bouquet of flowers, and when he gives you a cheeky wink every time you're both done screaming at each other after arguments.

Suguru Getou is the first person you’ve loved. The only person you’ll love. He burns hot, bright - like the gazing sun, opening a locked cage you weren’t aware of until he handed you the key. Opening a spur of emotions - intense, extreme, fierce, and great.

It all builds up to this. You and him - at this altar together, despite it all. That every rotten part of you is okay, because Suguru knows and looks past it. That nothing can chase him away, because you’ve weathered it down. It’s your turn - to settle down and it's in the palm of your hands.

Under the palely lit lamps, on this day, Suguru Getou has outdone himself. He’s gorgeous. His hair is nicely tamed back at the nape of his neck, his pink boutonniere pinned to his perfectly crisp suit, and a bright, soft smile on his face as you both beam at each other at the altar.

“In tradition, this is the moment to speak. Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You look at Suguru and laugh - a moment the two of you left in the ceremony as a mere joke - as you look out at the stands. You both joked that one of your friends, like Haibara or Shoko, would stand up to make their last ditch efforts before you two got to continue forward to your vows.

You turn your head to the side to give Shoko a wink, flirt with her one last time to get her to do it. Except when you catch sight of her, she has a horrified look plastered on her face. And when you scan the crowd, the same look is mirrored on everyone’s faces. Your mom, the girl you were best friends with in sixth grade, your neighbor from down the street, Haibara.

That’s when you see her standing there. In her pale blue dress, hands shaking as she talks.

“I’m-I’m not the kind of girl who does this and I-I don’t mean to barge in on such a big day but-”

You feel your heart sink into your chest, the warmth and heat - any shred of elation, joy, bliss you were feeling mere seconds ago draining from your chest. You know what’s coming next.

“But you’re not the kind of guy who marries the wrong girl, Suguru. You-it’s always been you and me. It’s never going to be anyone for me but you. And I know it's the same for you too."

You swallow hard as you push your palms hard into the stems of the bouquet. You can feel your cheeks burning again - except in embarrassment this time.

Does the preacher say something? Is Suguru supposed to say no? Is he even-

You turn over to look at him, his hazel eyes moving to meet yours, the look on his face so blank, so foreign from the boy you’ve known for the past two years that you can barely recognize him.

“Can we talk?” he whispers, nervously eyeing the crowd. You swallow hard, like burning acid is running down your esophagus and give a halfhearted nod. He takes your hand, giving you the tiniest of smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, as you two nearly sprint down the aisle past where Hana is still standing, tears streaming down her eyes.

He slams the doors shut behind him as the crowd breaks out into loud chatter behind you, shameful, humiliating tears falling onto your perfectly powdered cheeks.

“Y/N. I-”

Through the messy blur of tears, when you squint your eyes, you see it. Suguru Getou is beautiful. At all times, but not right now. His face is filled with shame, his shoulders hunched over, and his usual calm, delicate manner all haphazard, panicked. He’s fidgeting with his hands, pacing back and forth, words carelessly falling out of his mouth under his breath.

“You-you want to go, don’t you?” you ask, your voice a mere whisper in the air.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, stifling your sob into the fabric as his shirt as aimless apologies fall out of his mouth, his once warm hands, scalding - burning your arms.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to do that and I would never mean to do it like this. But-but I was standing there and I saw her and it kind of ca-came together-”

“Did you know?” you ask.

“I didn’t even know she was com-”

“Did you know you loved her still?” you ask, your voice more firm.

He looks at you, eyes narrowed, before looking down at his hands, twisting the rings you were supposed to exchange in a few minutes in his hands. And you suppose this reaction - Suguru Getou’s silence, his first time being something other than beautiful is answer enough.

Ten minutes later, he walks past you - your sister, the nanny you grew up with, your college best friends - hand in hand with Hana as they nearly run out cheesing, his initial despair left replaced with bliss as he leaves you in your white dress.

And you know that out of the infinite moments of your life, it’ll always boil down to this one. That you’ll be getting over this - how tasteless, how cruel, how evil the situation truly is.

After a month of being encouraged by people to move forward, to bounce back, you do it in the way people don’t expect. You move away. And three months after the fact, when your pain is still raw in your chest, you meet Satoru Gojo.

You lean against the wall of the elevator, pressing the faded star button, as you scroll through your errands on your phone - buy paint, email landlord, mail ring.

Mail ring.

You reach into your bag, the thought of it possessing a sudden will to see it. You yank it out and press your coffee into the crook of your elbow, focusing on the jewelry - a silver band with a pear shaped diamond in the middle. The ring Suguru’s mom wore when she was married to his dad. The one you were supposed to wear when he married you.

Suguru asked you to mail it back last night. A roundabout way of course - initially filled with concern, deeply sincere and rehearsed apologies, before cutting to the chase. And you question the thought process.

You break up with your first love. Date another girl for two years. Get engaged, plan an entire wedding, walk to the altar. Just to stand up and walk away, because it’s always been her.

And a mere three months later, reach out to ask for the ring back, because he has to propose. Again.

You ponder your options, in earnest. Granted, you’re definitely in the anger stage of your grieving process, corny terms used by your corny therapist, who is trying her best.

One. Mail it back. Tell them to go to hell.

Two. Throw it into the ocean and say you lost it. And then tell them to go to hell.

Three. Don’t respond and pawn the ring for a decent amount of money. Use the fortune to send an ungodly amount of ominous letters to their house, telling them to go to hell.

The elevator bell rings, stopping five floors short of the lobby, as two kids and a tall, pale haired man shuffle in. You give the three of them a polite smile as you slide to the side, opening up the space for them.

“It’s female rage, Gojo.”

“Female rage? I thought using the word female was bad, Tsumiki.”

“It is. But not here.”

“So if I use female as an adjective it’s not a bad thing?”

The girl, barely thirteen you’re guessing, groans in frustration as she approaches the shorter boy, who is quietly leaning against the wall with his nose stuck in his video game.

“Megumi. Tell Gojo he’s being stupid.” she states.

He looks up at the two of them, giving a soul shattering glare, before nudging her to the side.

“On a good day, you’re both objectively stupid.”

She rolls her eyes as she shoves him, muttering how annoying he is under her breath. And now they’re both shoving each other, pushing harder with each consecutive push before the boy bumps into you. You land against the wall and drop your latte all over your clothes, the cold liquid staining your white button down shirt.

You groan, knowing you’ll have to go back up and change because the stain is so blatant, putting a pin in your errands and heading to work. You look up to find the pale haired man, blue eyes widely staring into yours, as he starts profusely apologizing.

“I’m so sorry. We- I’ll pay for your dry cleaning. You know. Kids. They were raised in a barn.”

“We were both raised by you.” they deadpan.

You sigh, lifting the wet cloth off of your shirt as you look up at him, waving your hand in the air.

“Ah. It’s okay, it happens. It’s no problem.”

“No really. We insist. And-and problem solved. You can take my shirt instead!” he says, brightly smiling at you.

You frown, looking up at him.

“You’re like six feet tall.”

“I’m actually six three.” he responds, winking.

You stare at him since he’s now unbuttoning his shirt as the elevator keeps moving down, and hands it to you. It’s pale blue and definitely too big for you, but he literally grabs your hand and places it into your palm, giving you a boyish smile.

That’s when you take your moment to indiscreetly ogle him. For three reasons. First, he’s a stranger who just stripped in the elevator. Surely, a nutcase. Or a sex offender. Two, he’s smiling at you like he’s the sun. And three - he’s ripped. Like full on, toned Greek God ripped.

“Do you want a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“What? No- I wasn’t even looking. And-and take your shirt back. Who just takes their shirt off in an elevator? This isn’t going to fit me and I’ll look like a rodeo clown with this on and-”

He laughs as he takes the shirt from your hands, holding open the sleeves as he instructs you to stick your arms in. You shake your head, which he rolls his eyes at, as he drapes the shirt around your shoulders, moving forward to pull your hair out of the collar.

“You talk a lot, stranger.”

“Huh?”

“You. You talk a lot. Just put the shirt on properly and tuck it in - it’s like oversized and female fashion or whatever.” he responds.

“Quit saying female. You sound like a pervert. And you look like one too.” the boy responds, rolling her eyes.

The elevator door slides open, the lobby bustling in front of you. You shuffle out of the doors, yanking his shirt around your wrists as you adjust it on your frame. You turn your head to find him absent from your side, the three of them still standing in the elevator.

“Are you not getting out?”

“Miss me already?”

“What? No. No, I just- you bothered me the entire way down and you’re not even getting out?”

“Have to go get a shirt. I gave mine up for a pretty girl.” he responds, winking again, as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Five days later, you muster up the courage to mail the ring. It’s packed into an envelope, sans words or writing, because if Suguru gave you silence at the end, he doesn’t deserve your words at the end either.

You lean against the elevator, twisting over the envelope in your hands, as you feel the sweat sticking on your palms, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest that it’s really all over.

It should be the end. But every sinking, disgusting part of that moment - the eyes on you, your family nearby, your dress made to perfection - make you think that you’ll be getting over this your whole life. That you’ll never move forward. And why should you?

The door stops, five floors short of your stop, and the same guy - the pale haired one from a few days prior springs in, a wide smile crossing his face as he sees you in the elevator. He leans against the wall with you, so close that you can smell his cologne - musky and fresh.

“Hi stranger. How was the shirt?” he asks.

“I don’t like the color you’re wearing. Please don’t take it off because I don't want it.”

“I was asking about the shirt from a few days ago. Not the one right now. Though if you’re doing a reverse psychology thing, I’m more than happy to oblige.” he responds, laughing.

You feel your cheeks burn at misunderstanding, reaching up to fidget with the ends of your hair as the elevator keeps moving down. The two of you stay in silence, the consecutive beep on each floor seemingly getting louder until it lands on one.

You make your move to walk out of the elevator, except he’s blocking the entrance and very aggressively pressing the button that closes the door.

“What? Hey, I was getting off on that st-”

“You were getting off at that stop. And now you’re not.” he responds, pressing the shiny button marking the eleventh floor.

You cross your hands across your chest, glaring bullets into this idiot's face.

“Is it asshole day? What’s your problem?” you ask.

“I need a favor. And I’ve been trying to catch you in the elevator for five days now and only just found you. Who knnows how much longer it would be until I saw you again?”

“So you couldn’t ask like a normal person? You just had to trap me in here.”

“Obviously.”

You groan as you lean against the wall, watching the floors beep as they go up again.

“So what do you want, stranger?”

“I’m glad you asked. And it’s Gojo. My kids - you met them the other day - I’m trying to do that whole touchy-feely thing with them so they open up more. And they’re learning how to apologize this week, stranger.”

“So you want me to come so they can apologize to me? And it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say it. But yeah, just make something up about how that day was really bad for you or something so that they feel even worse and sincerely apologize.”

You glare at him as the doors open and he grabs your wrist as he leads you down the hallway.

“Lying is all touchy feely and perfect for processing your feelings right?” you ask, sarcastically.

“Of course! I’m so glad you get it.”

You glare as he sticks his key in the door and then standing behind you, two hands on your back as he pushes you in. The two kids are sitting at the table, the girl with her nose stuck in a book and the boy flicking through his video games again.

You give the two of them a smile as Gojo holds out the chair for you, taking the seat at your left.

“Hi guys. I’m Y/N. Gojo tells me that you both have something you want to talk to me about.” you say, giving the two of them bright smiles.

“Megumi. And he’s forcing us to apologize to you. I personally think he should be giving you an apology for getting naked in an elevator and then waiting for hours going up and down to find you again.” he deadpans.

You turn your head to Gojo. Hours? You mouth. He profusely denies the claim by shaking his head, signaling for you to turn back to Tsumiki. You nod, turning to her.

“I’m Tsumiki. Uh. What do I do first? Oh- OH. I just want to ask if there’s anything you want to tell me about what happened the other day. Like how it made you feel or whatever.”

You try your best to conceal your smile at her bluntness, focusing on what Gojo had asked you to do.

“Well, thank you for asking Tsumiki. In all honesty, that day was…not an easy one for me. It started out pretty rough, like a lot of days do lately and”

You pause, thinking back to that moment. Of that morning - when you couldn’t make your bed perfectly, the sheets still wrinkled, the coffee not tasting just right, struggling to find an outfit and settling for whatever was closest, and that god forsaken sparkly ring. You can feel your eyes burning, your vision blurring as you clear your throat.

“I-I was going to do something that was really hard for me. I-I got engaged. I mean I was engaged and I actually almost got married. Like, walking all the way down the aisle and white dress married. And then I didn’t. And then I-I moved here because everything there reminded me of it and the guy, god that idiot, called me and asked me to send the ring back. And-and he wants it because he wants to use it for the girl who stood up at our wedding. And yeah, I get it, they’re happy and whatever and they want to get married as soon as possible, but god, it-it’s just humiliating to have the same thing happen twice and for things to move forward so fast when I’m still stuck there, you know?”

You feel one of your tears fall straight onto your hand, suddenly aware that you’re crying in this stranger's house and you’ve said too much to a fourteen year old who's supposed to be learning how to apologize. You look up to find the three of them staring at you - eyes wide and pinched expressions on their faces.

“You got stood up at your own wedding?”

“Tsumiki. That’s rude.” Gojo responds.

“It’s okay. Yeah, I did.” you respond, waving him off. He looks wildly uncomfortable at the entire thing - probably because he's one of those emotionally repressed guys whose never seen a girl cry.

“Please tell me you did something crazy when it happened. Like screamed or something, oh my god.” she asks, excitement filling her face.

“Tsumiki.”

“Um. Well, I think I technically broke a bunch of candelabras? Does that count?”

“What?!” she asks, her excitement only growing as she takes your hands into hers.

“Well, after the two of them left together, I went back in. And everyone was trying to console me and whatever and I don’t know it was just weird. Irritating. So I was trying to gesture them all to move away and I accidentally knocked down the candelabras lining the aisle. Except they were all so close together that I pushed one and then they all went falling.”

She leans back in her chair, mimicking the motion as she turns to Megumi, the two of them discussing how loud it probably was. Gojo’s leaning onto the table, cheeks resting against his palms, as he stares at the two of them, a soft smile on his face.

“Tsumiki. Megumi. You forgot something.”

“Oh. Oh! Right. We’re sorry for what we did, really. That day must have been bad and you were probably just stuck thinking about how lonely and lame the entire situation is, like really it’s got to be depressing on so many levels and-”

“Tsumiki.”

“Sorry. Again. For making a bad day worse. And for bringing it up again. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re really cool. And he’s lame. Like most men, obviously.” she says.

“Cool, huh? I’ve never had someone describe my situation as cool, Tsumiki.”

“That’s because you probably know idiots. You’re like the main character of a really cool movie, where you like commit a murder or create a heist or something.” she says, jumping out of her seat as Megumi follows her into the kitchen, the two of them giggling about spies.

You turn to Gojo, giving him a half smile as the two of you watch them in the kitchen.

“You know when I said to make up a story, you didn’t have to add that much detail.”

“What? Oh. That was all real.”

He puts a hand on your head, awkwardly patting your hair as he gives you a weird look.

“Ah. Sorry? My bad. That really sucks, babygirl.”

You laugh at the utter awkwardness of the moment, at this gangly idiots' efforts to console you. You’ve seen every effort of comfort in the past three months - the awkward pinched smiles from your moms friends, your angry friends promising to egg his house, the half glass full righteous parents telling you that everything you lose is a step you take. But you’ve never seen this.

“Gojo. Were you raised in a barn? What’s wrong with you?”

“Sue me. I’ve never had a friend get stood up at her own wedding. What do you even say to that?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if ‘that really sucks babygirl’ is where I would start.”

“My bad. Please let me know your preferred term of endearment and I’ll do better next time.”

You give him a smile as he leads you to the kitchen, splitting the only thing he has in his fridge - an eight foot white sheet cake - with you as you both smile at each other over the counter.

You sit in the stands next to Gojo and Megumi, the three of you splitting a bag of skittles as you watch Tsumiki walk up to the plate. You’re not sure how you ended up here, exactly. The timeline gets muddled in your head. Because that apology led to you returning the next day to show Tsumiki a video of you breaking the candelabras.

Then you were eating dinner with them the next day, all fancy and so that Tsumiki could knock over some candelabras of her own. Then Megumi wanted to do a deep clean of the apartment the next day, which you helped with. And then you picked them up from school when Gojo was stuck in traffic and then he drove all the way to your job with an umbrella so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain and then you just saw him all the time.

And now you’re here, at Tsumiki’s softball game. She’s an aggressive player, the metal making loud cracking sounds against the ball when she hits, her determination to run off even faster.

“Gojo.”

“Hm, pumpkin?”

“Gross. 3/10.”

“Pumpkin is a 3/10 but sugar is a 5/10? You’re ridiculous.”

Ever since Gojo’s babygirl line, he’s been testing out different endearments as he talks to you. You give him a rating out of ten, which he is always offended by.

“Sugar is like old money. Leather jackets, slicked back hair, Danny Zuko.”

“Danny Zuko is ugly. I’m way hotter than him.”

“Anyways. Do you ever think that Tsumiki is a little…intense? I mean, I don’t know she’s all about rage and the thrill and exhilaration and that’s okay but-”

He frowns, looking out at her - a determined, intense expression pressed on her face at second base.

“I guess. But, that’s just because of everything that’s happened. She-she’s used to being so smiley and carefree all the time. And I told her that when she’s with me and us, that she doesn’t have to be anymore if she feels the need to be. And I guess letting go of that, letting everything out is intense for her. And she’s just trying to feel it all.”

You put your hand on his knee and squeeze, giving him a smile as you look out at her too.

“I get it. I used to feel that way when….you know. I guess I just thought it was right to do it the intense way, to fight, to love like a knife, like a closed fist. That if I argued and felt and did all these things as intensely as I could, it would be right.”

He puts his hand on your knee now and squeezes, leaning his head against yours. Tsumiki sprints two bases, scoring a goal as she jumps up and down - her chest heaving up and down from panting. The two of you instantly jump up, hands locked together as you jump up and down just like her and excitedly cheer her name. Over the cheering, he responds, eyes still focused on her high-fiving all her teammates.

“I get what you’re saying. But, I don’t want her to think about love that way. It would kill me if she did. I want her to feel these intense feelings but love should be soft. It shouldn’t be a war, it should be a home. I don’t want her to ever have to fight for it, I want it to creep up on her - build a place in her heart that always stays there. Don’t you agree, pookie?”

You turn to him, glaring at him through his stupid light blue sunglasses. One of the best things about being friends with Gojo? That he so earnestly, so deeply wants the best for Tsumiki and Megumi that it makes your heart hurt. That his love for them is so unconditional, that you just want to witness it - have the sweetness rub off of you.

He makes two sets of dinner each night, because they’re both picky eaters. And every time you tell him to just be more firm, to sit them down and make them eat it, he refuses. Because the thought that either of them would be so stubborn that they wouldn’t eat dinner at all and go to bed hungry is worse than taking the time to make two sets of food. One now, because you always make the other.

He makes Tsumiki watch documentaries about famous female figures - politicians, music artists, writers. Tsumiki’s well versed in every feat of women - from Taylor Swift’s sold out shows to Jane Austens’ impact as a romance writer. He goes out of his way to make sure that she has positive female role models, to try his best to give her things that he can’t blatantly offer. He loves them so much. He loves so much. It’s truly the best thing about him.

The second? That he takes something serious but still manages to make you laugh at the end.

“Pookie, Gojo? Really? That’s a 0/10. You can do better than that.”

“The reservation is under Gojo. It should be two rooms, connected. Four queens.” you say, tapping your knuckles against the counter as Gojo ushers Megumi to the bathroom - who has been complaining of a very full bladder the entire drive down.

The four of you had come down to the closest beach town for Christmas and Megumi's birthday, planning to spend a few days in the area until the new year rang in. The woman hands you two keycards and you give her a smile as you wait by the elevator for the two of them to return.

Six floors later and the four of you are pushing into your rooms, Tsumiki and Megumi immediately flopping on the beds and eating the little chocolates placed on the pillows as you and Gojo roll your eyes.

You unlock the connecting door and push your bag through to find one king bed in yours and Gojo’s room as Gojo joins you at his side. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin shoulder as you both groan.

“Fuck. No blanket hogging, snookums.”

“Disgusting. Negative ten, Gojo.”

He immediately plops his things down onto the left side of the bed and you land on the right, setting out your chargers and taking off your jewelry as you hop into the shower. Eight months ago, you would have been so opposed and appalled at the affair - having to share a bed with Gojo - but you’ve honestly seen too much of him now that it doesn’t phase you.

Granted, when you met him, he literally took his shirt off. But you're so casual now that the boundary of sharing a bed is virtualy nothing. And you've literally done it before.

You get ready in the bathroom while Gojo takes a shower, despite the fact that he’s literally naked a few feet away. You’ve shared his bed when you end up staying too late - because you’re not breaking your back by sleeping on the floor and neither is he. He eats from your plate because you never finish his own and you always steal sips of his coffee even when you say you don’t want one.

One time he used your toothbrush by accident. That however, the two of you never moved past.

You pad into the bathroom, filling up the room with a decent amount of steam as you fill up your scalding shower and indulge yourself in all the fancy bath soaps and salts in the shower. Leaving with muscles soothed and pruney fingers, you towel your hair up and throw on your sweats to nestle into the clean sheets. Gojo’s now sitting on the right side, lazily flicking through the channels.

“Gojo. I was on the right.”

“Yeah, my bad. I realized I totally claimed a side first. I know you hate sleeping by the window because you’re convinced some big bad man is going to come steal you. Now he can come get me!”

You look over at your side table, the things you set up before now switched to your side. They're all laid out perfectly, the way you had left the, except on the opposite nightstand.

“Gojo?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know how to put my stuff like this?”

“Huh?”

“The chargers. The jewelry.”

“Oh. Just noticed that’s all. You spend like a few minutes every night before you go to sleep making sure it’s all right. That your chargers aren’t tangled, the rings and earrings are together and stuff. Just figured I’d put it that way so you wouldn’t have to.”

You smile, cheeks warm at the thought of Gojo paying attention enough to notice that you do that and going as far as doing it for you. After he remembered your irrational fear of getting murked in the night and moved when he didn’t have to. Granted, Gojo’s thoughtfulness is always one of the things you’ve loved most about him.

Oh.

You look over at him, knees hiked to his chest, messy white hair and that loose old t-shirt on his frame as he pokes through your stash of snacks. His eyes are so intensely focused on the movie - Danny Zuko dancing on the screen in Grease - as he nervously fidgets with his knuckles like he always does.

No. No no no no no no no no no no.

You’re falling in love. You’re falling in love with Satoru Gojo, you’re falling in love again and you shouldn't be.

Gojo looks over at you, bored blue eyes immediately filling with concern as he jumps up, arms resting falling against your biceps. You bring your fists to your eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to push them down as he whispers, softly broaching the subject.

“Hey. You okay? The fake burglar scared you that badly?”

You snort through your tears as he squeezes your arms.

Fuck. You’re down bad. Down horrendous. That joke wasn’t even funny and it made you snort.

“What’s wrong, my little tater tot?”

“Five.”

“I thought that was at least a seven. You love tater tots.” he whispers, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rubs small circles into your back, his soft voice vertebrates through his chest.

What happened? When did you get like this? When did you start sharing beds and leaving a toothbrush and a spare pair of clothes at his place?

Why-why is every part of you open with him? Why do you want to open it for him?

You can’t. You just can’t.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” you murmur into the clothed fabric of his shirt.

“Words please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You crumple the fabric of his shirt in your fists, burying down every feeling - overwhelming, endearing, warm and bright - and lie through your teeth.

“Nothing. I-I just remembered. It’s Suguru’s birthday.”

He pulls you out of his arms, bringing up his hands to your cheeks, as he gives you a lopsided small.

“Sucks. Want me to kill him?”

“Obviously.”

“Consider it done.”

You smile as he lets go, dragging you back onto the bed with him. And you both watch the movie - you swooning over Danny Zuko and Gojo telling you that he’s way hotter than him the entire time - until you somehow end up nestled in his arms in the dark, his soft sleep breaths lulling you to sleep.

You're screwed.

You and Gojo pad down to the little restaurant the hotel has the next morning, leaving a very grumpy Tsumiki and so fast asleep he’s nearly dead Megumi in their beds. You and Gojo opt for a booth, sitting on the same side, as you look through the menu.

“Splitsies?”

“Huh?”

“Splitsies. You pick the savory, I’ll pick the sweet, okay?”

You nod, cheeks burning as you look through the menu at the implication, trying your best not to focus on your legs pressed together, his hand so casually placed on thigh like it’s second nature.

It is second nature, he does it all the time. But should he, if he’s just your friend?

Your friend that you’re in love with?

“And for you, ma’am?”

“Oh. Um-”

You scan your eyes down the menu and pick the first thing listed, eggs benedict, earning a weird smile from Gojo as they walk away with your order.

“Okay, my little eggs benedict. You’re paying because you hogged the blanket all night.”

“Three. Unoriginal. And you literally stopped my circulation at one point, so you pay.”

“Ugh. The things you do for love.” he responds, eyes focused on the window to his left.

“Excuse me?”

Gojo looks over at you, a weird expression in his eyes. And you feel your eyes widen when you realize this is another one of Gojo’s jokes - like when he calls you his wife, says that you’re both two parents roughing it through the world - and feel the embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you bury your face into the drinks menu.

He slides his arm around your shoulder, whispering into your ears with a smirk.

“It’s eight in the morning. Are we really going to drink right now?”

We.

“Sh-shut up. I was just looking.”

“What’s wrong with you? You’re being all squirrely and weird.”

“No, I’m not. Yo-you’re being weird. You fucking pervert, always going on about some we this, wifey this shit.”

He drops his hands on the table, squinting at you like he’s trying to discern the writing on your face. And after a few seconds his face lights up, replaced by a devious smirk that you absolutely hate.

“What, Gojo?”

“You just realized, didn’t you?”

“Realized what?”

“That you love me.” he states, matter of factly.

You feel your jaw drop as you stare at him, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as you feel your cheeks burn, his closeness to you making you even more embarrassed. At him saying that, so bluntly.

“I don’t love you, Gojo.”

“Oh, you totally do. Is that what you were crying about last night? Overwhelmed with your love for me?”

Satoru Gojo. Fucking mindreader.

“No. No, I don’t- I can’t-” you mutter, hands in your face as the entire thing bubbles out, your big secret wide open.

You can’t love Gojo. You just loved Suguru. And you don’t love anyone like you love Suguru and you shouldn't with what happened and

Satoru puts a hand on your head, ruffling your hair.

“Y/N. Just, stop panicking. I'm teasing. You don’t have to be all embarrassed and figure out what it means that right away. You-you have a lot of baggage that comes with feeling like this. I’m guessing your first line of defense is to run off or push me away, so I can’t do to you what Suguru did. But - just calm down, okay? Eat eggs benedict and french toast with me and then drive along the coast.”

You stare at him, his expression so calm, so serene at something so serious that it’s off putting.

“Can you do that for me? It is my birthday, you know?”

"Your birthday was like three weeks ago."

"Yeah but it's still my month. You have to give in."

You nod at which he gives a bright smile, squishing your cheeks with his hand as the plates get placed in front of you. You both tangle your arms, the entire elephant you just spilled out ignored, as you share your plates of breakfast.

“Do you like the food, my little strawberry?”

“Yes. And that was a 8/10, not bad.”

“That was horrible. You're blinded by love already.”

The entire thing twists into a maze in your mind. A labyrinth of every moment you’ve ever shared with Gojo, with Suguru, with every complex feeling that comes with love - picking up the kids from school, him brushing your hair for fun, comparing hand sizes, doing a staring contest but instead just admiring each other's eyes.

Which is why when you come back out from your day with Tsumiki and Megumi, tuck them both into bed, and end back up in your room, you’re so anxious it’s all tumbling out of your mouth.

“Gojo.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t do this. This thing- I-I can’t do this. I want to go home. Can I go home?”

“What? Are you okay, you-”

He stands up, leaning forward to press his hands against your cheeks but you immediately back away, flinching away from his touch. He frowns, the motion catching him off guard, as he steps back.

“You want to go home? I mean, I can wake the kids and take you now but-”

“No, no. I want to go alone, I don’t want you there, this is all a lot and-”

“Y/N. I said not to think about that. You-stop thinking it into this big thing it’s not.”

You crouch down onto the ground, hiking your knees to your chest as you cry into your bones, the tears spilling down the side of your legs. You can feel the sobs racking out of your chest and Gojo’s arms holding you still, the presence you’ve relied on for the past eight months burning you.

“Y/N.”

“Gojo.”

“Are you scared I don’t love you back? I- you know I do right?”

You look up at him, blue eyes widening in shock as he pulls you into his arms properly, squeezing hard.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for a while. Don’t- don’t doubt it okay because I do. And-”

“It’s not that.” you whisper.

He pulls back again, hands resting against your cheeks - which you allow this time - as he frowns. He nods lightly, signaling for you to talk as he rubs his fingers back and forth on your cheeks, the touch soothing.

“I’m scared that I love you.”

“Hey. I’m not that bad.”

You laugh, which makes him smile, as he lightly applies pressure to your cheeks.

“I’m scared because I don’t know how to do it when it’s like this. I-I handed my heart over and someone broke it and if you do that, I can’t-

“I’m not going to do that.” he responds, voice firm.

“You love soft, Satoru. You- there’s so many parts of me that are hard, my heart is all rough and calloused over and yours is soft and perfect. I love like a knife, like a battle, like it’s a war and I’m fighting for my life. You love like it’s the air you breathe, like you’re watering flowers and building a home. You-you don’t want to love me when I don’t know how to do that and I’m like this and you should just leave when you can. I’m like a labyrinth, a big jumbled mess that you’ll have to spend forever figuring out.”

He sighs, eyes clenched shut and shoulders tensed up.

“Y/N. You contradict yourself in every sentence and it pisses me off.”

“What?”

“You’re right. I love like it’s air I breathe, like I’m watering flowers and building a home. I’ve been building ours for months now and you really think I’m going to walk out of here because it’s not perfect? I knew this was what I was getting into and I wanted it.”

You can feel your ears ringing, tears rising in your eyes because you know whatever he says next is going to inevitably make you sob.

“Gojo. You, it’s a mess up here. I can't do that to you.” you whisper, tapping your forehead.

“A mess to you, right now. Nothing about you is a mess to me. There-there’s so much that’s happened, that’s twisted all these things that are supposed to be good into bad. But just-just work with me here, okay? We’ll untwist them. We’ll make your labyrinth into a nice little garden with a pond, okay?

You push your face into his shirt, his heart pounding against your ears, as he wraps his arms around you again.

“You want a garden and a pond in our litte love house?” you whisper.

“Yeah. Megumi always stares at flowers when we walk to school, I think we should do gardening when we move out of the apartments. And we can sit there together, you know?”

“Yeah.” you whisper.

“Are you letting me?”

“Letting you what?”

“In. In here and here.” he says, pointing to your head and then your heart, which is violently thumping.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead, before whispering a soft thank you in your hair. You cry a great deal more, his soft words soothing you down, until you’re tangled under the sheets together, every part of your body vibrating with what just happened.

“Go to bed, my love. We have to get up early tomorrow.”

You turn to the other side and he snakes his arms around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“My love? It’s ten out of ten.” you whisper.

You feel him press a kiss to the back of your neck before you both fall asleep, the warmth enveloping you in the deepest rest you’ve ever had.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot@itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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joonberriess · 1 year

Text

s h i n u n o g a e - w a

p a i r i n g : yoongi x reader

g e n r e : husband au.

t a g s : soft smut, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, fiancé to husband!yoongi, this is really fucking soft, domesticity, slight dirty talk, he wakes you up by giving you head, he just rlly loves you

w o r d c o u n t : 1.9 k

s u m m a r y : four times you said I love you, + the one time yoongi says it first. alternatively: five special moments with your beloved husband.

"No need to ask cause it's my darling,"

Soft giggles fill the room, sun light pours in through the large glass windows that take up the walls. There's one window opened off to the side, the sound of birds chirping fill the entire living room up. You stand swaying in Yoongi's arms, right in the center of the room that's filled with all the flowers you have ever loved.

He looks good wearing white, his hair falls over his eyes occasionally but he simply blows it out of his face. You can feel the tight grip he has on you, every time he dips you low he presses a gentle smooch to your soft lips. The "I love you's" are left unsaid, you can see it in his eyes just how much he loves you.

You stare into his eyes with a bright smile, "Is this like a dance practice or something? Trying to make sure you won't drop me the day of our wedding?"

Yoongi snorts quietly and nuzzles into your shoulder, breathing in your soft scent, "You know I'll never drop you love," he turns to lay soft kisses up your neck and then the side of your face.

A soft noise bubbles out of your throat as you turn to capture his lips and bring him closer to you. Yoongi deepens the kiss with a quiet groan and his arms tighten around your waist. "Fuck," he mutters out against your lips, "you drive me absolutely insane."

You smiled softly, eyes fluttering open as you stare back at him, "You always say that." You eye his lips and then look back at him, "I love you."

"I love you too," he presses his forehead against yours and smiles.

"Oh don't you ever say bye-bye,"

Yoongi's eyes were stuck in place, time ceased to exist and the world stopped spinning. It was only you and him in this moment, he didn't even pay attention to the piano and violin playing in the background. Nor did he give any mind to his older brother, his groomsmen, when he congratulated him. It was all about you right now, nothing else mattered in his moment.

You shot him a soft bashful smile, timidly looking into his eyes as your father walked you down the aisle towards him. You looked so beautiful in all white, the veil did nothing to obscure your beauty, you looked like a goddess. He could see the heart locket necklace he first gifted you when you were six months into dating, it's been ages since he last saw that locket (you kept it stored away in perfect condition).

You reached the altar and Yoongi immediately stepped down to gently take your hand and help you up the steps after he promised your father to take care of you. "You look handsome," you cheekily whispered to him.

"And you look like a princess." He chuckled, "Very beautiful indeed."

The ceremony began, the entire time Yoongi had his hand lain over yours as the two of you waited for the moment you'd exchange the vows and rings. You were anxious, heart rapidly beating in your chest. Yoongi sensed your nervousness and he gently ran his thumb over your knuckles to soothe you.

"I promise," Yoongi softly began when he started his vows, "to love and cherish you for the rest of my life like I promised those years back when you first accepted to be my girlfriend. I loved you then and I love you way much more now. I knew from the beginning I wanted you in my life forever and now I get to call you my wife, mine forever." He presses his forehead to yours, smiling when he sees your teary eyes and wobbly smile as he slides the ring on to your finger.

"You may now kiss the bride," and with that he captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

The crowd of guests erupt in loud cheers and whistles. You laugh happily against his lips and look up at him lovingly. "I love you so much.."

"I love you too.."

"I want you to be my last,"

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt a pair of hands gently stroking your hips and then reaching up to cup your tits. You moaned in surprise when Yoongi gently suckled on your throbbing bud, you weren't aware that your husband had his face between your soft thighs and your legs tossed over his shoulders.

"You awake baby?" Yoongi softly whispers when he pulls back.

You reach down to pull the sheets off of the two of you, "Yeah," you softly say, reaching down to gently stroke his fluffy long hair, "how long have you been awake?" You chuckle when he tilts his head to the side and smushes his cheek against your thigh as he stares up at you with lovestruck eyes.

"Not that long either love," he hums, "you were looking so pretty and I couldn't help myself." He presses a chaste kiss on your thigh and then got back to work.

His eyes fluttered closed as he circled your clit when his tongue, lapping at it slowly and pressing down to apply the slightest of pressure. Yoongi slid his hands back down to gently rub your thighs and then slip them under your soft ass cheeks to grip them. Your lips part in a silent moan as your hands come down stroke his hair and push it out of his face.

"Fuck Yoongi," you whisper out as your eyes slip shut and you relax, "like that."

Yoongi's fingers gently prod you open as he slips the long digits inside of you. They fill you so nicely and send tingles down your spine. You push your hips upwards and rock against his fingers, your pussy begins to slick up and make lewd squelching noises. "Yoongi," you whimper and arch your back, gently twisting the sheets and gripping it tightly.

He works his tongue around your clit even faster, flicking it back and forth as his fingers curl upwards and stroke over your walls. Yoongi groans against your soaked cunt, pulling back as he soft panted and watched as his fingers disappeared inside of your cunt. "You gonna cum for me baby?" He lazily smirks, licking his slick covered lips.

"Y-Yeah," you softly breathe out, chest rising and falling as your cunt tightens around his fingers, you're teetering on your orgasm by now, "so close," you bite your lip.

Yoongi moves his fingers faster and faster, watching you closely and right when you're about to cum he stops and slips his fingers out. You whimper in confusion and open your eyes with a confused pout, "W-Why? I was so close," you whined out.

"Want you to come on my cock baby," Yoongi crawls up and gently pins you down, "feels like my cock is about to fall off with how hard it is." He groans rutting against your thighs, cock slapping against your skin occasionally. "Need your pussy so badly." He whispers and leans down to kiss you.

A soft little moan leaves you, your arms come up to gently wrap around his neck and tug him closer. He lays his body flat against yours, hand coming down to grip his cock as he strokes it slowly and lazily slaps it against your pussy. You spread your legs widely for him as he makes himself at home and slides his cock inside.

"Shit." Yoongi sighs out in utter bliss as he pushes all the way inside.

You stare up at him with a teary gaze, "Fuck me Yoongi, please," you whimper, "feels so good baby." You roll your hips against him, trying to get his cock deeper inside of you.

Yoongi started up at a normal pace, pushing in deeply and pressing against you. His cock filled you just perfectly, pressing against each of your sweet spots. Your moans were breathier and shallow, thighs shaking just a little because your pussy was throbbing from the denied orgasm moments prior.

"Coming already baby?" He breathes out, "Can feel your little pussy tightening around me baby. You gonna make a mess on me?" He pants out, hips moving faster and faster.

He speeds up drastically and causes the mattress to shift and squeak. His hips slap against yours, balls pressing against your ass with each thrust. Your moans grow in volume, you scramble to grip his forearms, "Yoongi...!" You cry out.

He growls lowly and leans down to suck dark marks on to the side of your neck. "Go on baby, make a mess all over my cock." He lifts one of your thighs up and tosses it over his shoulder as he grinds into your pussy repeatedly. His cock drives deep into your g-spot, heightening your pleasure.

You cry out in shock and toss your head back, "Yoongi! Oh fuck baby..!" You tremble as your toes curl in pleasure.

You cum with a loud moan, head thrown back and nails digging into his forearms. Yoongi hisses, "That's it baby, cum for me, like that," he whispers in pleasure and slams into you repeatedly. His thrusts jostle you on the bed, you bounce in place and struggle to get a grip on him.

His mouth parts, eyes squeezing shut as he shoves his cock deep inside of you. He shudders in pleasure and slows down to a grind as his cock throbs weakly inside of you. His cum spills into you, filling your pussy to the brim. He pants harshly and leans down to kiss over your neck and lips.

"I love you baby..." He sleepily mumbles.

"Love you too."

"If I had to keep being separated from you like this, I'd rather die,"

You sat next Yoongi enjoying the music blaring out in the arena as the basketball players all got ready for the upcoming game. Yoongi had his hand in yours, thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles for comfort. You pursed your lips and looked around, "Are we heading straight back home after this?" You lean over to murmur in his ear.

"Do you want to go back?" Yoongi says back with a serious look, "We can head home after this unless you wanna stay for a couple more days here in Japan."

You nod with a smile and peck his lips, "Yeah that sounds good love I don't mind." You sit back in your seat and nod your head a little to the beat of the music playing in the background.

Yoongi admires your side profile for a moment before he turns back to what he was doing before you spoke with him. Someone on the mic suddenly calls out to your husband, referring to him as their special guest. "We have the Mrs here too," they say, panning the camera to you and Yoongi as people in the seats above all cheer and clap for you two.

You shyly lean into Yoongi's side and smile for the camera that is aimed at you and your husband. Yoongi sees that your faces are still on the big screen so he leans over to smooch you gently in front of everyone. The cheers get louder and you find yourself laughing awkardly.

"Yoongi are you doing that on purpose?" You say in amusement as you stare into his eyes.

Yoongi smiles at you, shrugging as he chooses not answer. You roll your eyes fondly and lay your head on his shoulder. "I love you Yoongi." You gently hold his hand.

He squeezes your hand gently in return, "I love you too y/n." He murmurs in return.

Forever.

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #yoongi fanfic

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gentaro-kinniecom · 17 days

Text

Do you think you’ll kill for me one day..?

Characters: Madara Mikejima, Nagisa Ran, Himeru, Tatsumi Kazehaya, Rei Sakuma, Keito Hasumi, Natsume Sakasaki, Sena Izumi Shu Itsuki and Eichi Tenshouin (x gn!reader)

C/w: Yanderish types of themes (no gore related, just mentions of killing people), obssesive behavior and themes, mentions of Nagisa’s childhood, mentions of kidnapping, religious themes/aspects (Tatsumi), Rei is an actual vampire this time, jealousy.

A/n: I’m back..and out of the (small ish..) hiatus I’ve been for one month <3 recently I’ve liked this new game called the kid at the back, so I might begin making new works for that game <33 enjoy !

Madara Mikejima

He chuckled, staring at the many photos on the wall of them. He was happy, nothing could ever separate them, at least he made it so. Their question didn’t catch him off guard, as far as Madara knew, no one resided within the 50 mile radius from their lovely home, the one Y/n wanted for so long with him. The coffee that sat on the table turned cold as his hands took hold of their waist, kissing them passionately while smiling

“Of course, my darling. I can’t bear the sight of anyone taking you away from me..”

Nagisa Ran

Nagisa’s eyes widened slightly upon hearing their words. Being held captive for an entire childhood was something he lived with to this day: a burden. One of being a talented idol, hence, why that situation had begun in the first place. However, everytime someone would get too close to his liking, Nagisa began cultivating thoughts: the same ones in which he wanted to wisk them away for good, closing y/n in an environment that only surrounded him.

“…would killing someone be of satisfactory for you, my beloved? If so, perhaps Ibara could take care of that for me..”

Himeru

A soft smile graced his features, looking into their eyes while parting a strand of hair away from their face. (E/c) eyes reflecting a sense of curiosity that seeked to know what was truly behind their loved one. A sudden breeze made Himeru close his eyes, hands intertwined while enjoying the sudden wind that was a perk of being on the school’s roof at the moment

“Is someone bothering you? Himeru..no, I, would do anything to keep you safe, even if it involves getting my hands dirty

Tatsumi Kazehaya

Glaring at the figure that sat on their knees in front of the altar, Tatsumi knew his true nature was already exposed. Soft chuckles bounced off from the church’s walls, ringing in their ear as he approached Y/n’s form, placing a hand on their shoulder, almost reassuring them. After all, he’s hurt many people in the past, what’s one more soul to him that could beg for forgiveness but never truly meant it?

“People come and go, even if I had to plead for forgiveness a million times, I’d do whatever you’d ask me to, my one and only.”

Rei Sakuma

Hands craddled their hair softly, enjoying the feeling and taste of his beloved’s blood, groaning in pleasure at the thought of killing someone for them. A bloody mess, all for them; he’s killed before, countless of times. Mostly for blood but, now that he has them, what more could he ask for? Maybe he could do something about the pesky guys who have tried to touch y/n…After all, the world is better off without them.

“Yes I will, my darling. You needn’t ask for that, I’m willing to do anything to keep you safe by my side..”

Keito Hasumi

A sigh escaped his lips, all he could think about was of all the guys that tried to approach Y/n the other day. His pen now sat neatly on top of his notebook, turning to look at his dearest, Keito’s reason of living and breathing. Keito looked out the window, noticing small droplets of water fall down, gracing the surfaces of where they would land. Pondering for a while, Keito grabbed their hand, thumb brushung against y/n’s chuckles followed by a kiss against the top of their hand

“I’ve…never thought about it in that aspect, you don’t know what lenghts I’d go for you, as long as you’re mine, nothing else matters”

Natsume Sakasaki

Another failed attempt at one of his best potions might be caused by the question y/n had asked him hours ago. His eyes trailed towards the sleeping figure resting on his couch, the same one he’s spent making potions or studying, pulling all nighters just, for, them. Natsume held gently a strand of their hair, caressing it with his face as he sighed, kissing their cheek as he spoke

“Do you doubt it my darling? Rest assured that I’ll always, always protect you, no one will ever get between us.”

Sena Izumi

A scoff could be heard across the room as Sena turned towards them. The practice room was quiet, apart from Izumi and Y/n who’s voices could be heard, along with some casual chirps from birds and rusting of leaves outside. His light blue eyes scanned the room, following their gaze towards the world outside, instead of him. Izumi was jealous of the men who would try to court Y/n, trap them in a loveless relationship..he can’t let that happen, no matter what he has to do to earn their attention. Approaching Y/n, a hand wrapped around their waist, grabbinv their chin and bringing them close.

“In a heartbeat. Anything you desire is my duty to fulfill my love”

Shu Itsuki

His sewing machine stopped suddenly, a new dress had been crafted in the spawn of 8 hours, a work of art, made for his partner. A fitting was held that same night, deft fingers tracing along their body, a sweet gesture behind the obssesive behavior towards them. It’s almost as if, Shu wanted to make them depend on him, which..wouldn’t be such a bad idea, perhaps he could…

“I’ll make sure you hace everything, killing people is..inconvenient at the moment, but if that’s what you wish for, then, I’ll do as you please”

Eichi Tenshouin

The council room was silent, the small tapping of the computer Eichi was writing on had briefly come to a halt. His eyes bored into their own as he smiled, but something about it didn’t feel..quite right. As if, there was another deep meaning behind that smile, perhaps true happiness upon hearing the question? Who knows? All that Eichi cared about was the power he had in his hands to manipulate and change stories into whatever he wanted them to be.

“My contracts will do as I please with a flick of my finger, anything at no cost, so don’t hesitate to open up with me about your desires my love..”

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doodle-pops · 2 days

Text

Feanor Walking You Down The Aisle

Request: Hello, Mina darling, can I please request some small headcanons about asking Feänor to walk you down the aisle? The reader is marrying one of his sons (unmentioned) and she has no family in her life to do it, so she asks Feänor? Thank you for considering, darling. - Anon

A/N: This was fun to write! Thanks for requesting this!

◈ Growing up without a stable family in your life left you with no one. Not once had you ever felt welcomed or a part of the community until you met one of the Princes of the Noldor. A son of the Crown Prince Fëanáro fell in love with you without questioning your background at all.

◈ His family did all that they could to make you feel welcome, not to mention his brothers ensuring that you were a victim of all their daily bullying and antics to make you feel even more like family.

◈ His mother pitied and loved you tremendously, wanting nothing more than to take you in immediately. Nerdanel was ecstatic when she learnt of the betrothment news, meaning that you were about to become an official family. However, there was just one issue at hand, a lack of a father to walk you down the aisle and give you away to your husband.

◈ The only stable male figure in your life was your betrothed’s father and you were unsure if he would be willing to walk down the aisle and give you away to his son. Not once were you on the receiving end of his temper or ill-manners a few people had spoken about, so it seemed all well to make the request.

◈ You’re nervous about the request, so you ask your betrothal if he could arrange a brunch or tea for all three of you to meet as the wedding is approaching. There, you sat, appearing like a bag of jitters before Feanor who was confused at your uneasiness.

◈ In the beginning, everything was running smoothly at the behest of your beloved. Aware of your nerves, he took over and got the conversation rolling between him and his father, occasionally including you at certain times appropriate to throw the question out there.

◈ But you’re unable to for the greater part of the conversation. So Feanor interjects, aware that you have something on your mind and requests if he should depart to give you and his son alone time to deal with the matter.

◈ At his thoughtfulness, your words tumbled out your mouth before you even knew it, and there you confessed your wish to have him walk you down the aisle as your father.

◈ On Feanor’s end, he was appalled that you would have considered him so high in your eyes to fulfil that offer. Being seen not only as your father-in-law but as an actual fatherly figure makes him forego considering and directly accepting.

◈ He ignores the fact that you blurted it out in a vomit of random syllables and removes himself from his chair to usher you into a stance. He is gentle and soft as he celebrates your request with a fatherly embrace and soft words that put him into a chokehold.

◈ “You have brought great joy to me onya. It would be foolish of me to reject your wonderful offer.”

◈ On your big day, any nerves that you had were all washed away by Feanor’s presence at your side as he stood at the end of the aisle bequeathing courage and reassurance that he won’t let you fall or slip up. “It is a father’s job to never let his child fall.”

◈ Your entire wedding ceremony passes in bliss as Feanor takes his time to guide you down the aisle, he even offers his handkerchief to you when you teared up at the altar. During the entire ceremony, he sits patiently with a smile at the memory of walking you down the aisle as his child.

◈ Furthermore, to sink it in that you consider him as a father figure, for the father-daughter dance, you request that he join you on the floor to share that moment with you.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @aconstructofamind @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @addaigio @lamemaster @stormchaser819

#feanor x reader #feanor x platonic!reader #feanor x daugther!reader #feanor headcanon #feanor imagine #feanor scenario #silmarillion headcanons #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth headcanon #house of feanor #feanorians #x reader fluff #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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slythereen · 6 months

Note

Oh my! I really really need to see the rest of your tag commentary for the Essay!!!!!!!!!

breaking: tumblr (rightfully) tries to silence area maniac’s deranged rambling but the people* won’t stand for it!!! (*one pitying anon)

right so regarding tsarinablogs' glorious essay on rbr, ferrari, and the lestappen marketing phenomenon… the only substantial point i had to add is about ferrari. because nat is totally right, it doesn't make sense for ferrari to be actively engaging in promoting the lestappen friendship if the payoff is charles moving to rbr. not unless their only aim is basically damage control and making the inevitable breakup look amicable.

but if you look at the austin lestappen interactions — and the rbr-ferrari interactions in general this season — ferrari isn't really an active collaborator in the agenda. time to get crazy:

the great rbr-ferrari sticker war

yes, we're coming back to my favorite topic briefly (my beloved rbr-ferrari sticker war agenda). this is the most actively involved rbr-ferrari interaction, though. and it was initiated (accidentally, in fairness) by christian horner.

belgian grand prix (nicely compiled video)

we start with christian covering the ferrari emblem on a fan's hat. this is one of those from-a-distance videos, i don't believe it was initially shared by rbr. not entirely an intentional engagement.

ferrari does start the actual engagement on social media by posting the first "sticker war" video and tagging rbr. they also directly reference rbr's yeti stickers tradition (which, as far as i can tell, is new this season with their yeti sponsor and i think belgium was the first gp they mentioned it) (which is curious in and of itself).

rbr retaliates. war is on. eventually, f1 gets involved with a cute recap... and that's when they go from just responding to one another in comments to actually tagging each other.

what else did we have going on in belgium?

a lestappen podium

rbr debuting (i believe) the yeti cooler on socials

carlos infamously having war declared on him by the entirety of f1twt for bully oscar

so, you could say ferrari actively instigated the sticker war. this has no real lestappen involvement and appears to be entirely the admins having fun with one another. it's also very conveniently timed as a distraction for ferrari and an opportune advertising moment for rbr and yeti.

dutch grand prix (max's home race)

a pause in the sticker war for the dutch grand prix. what we do get is rbr posting lestappen on main (the mclaren camcorder saga) and rbr posting some content about their yeti (and the new yeti sticker tradition). (just as a side note: travel stickers to add to yetis is a bit of a niche Thing; very on brand for the sponsorship deal.)

(similarly, a pause in monza — all ferrari, all the time, for monza. we get the lestappen quali podium and charles asking the crowd not to boo max.)

singapore grand prix (ferrari sacrificial altar)

again, we see ferrari instigating the interaction — now with tagging rbr on the posts. interestingly, rbr tags yeti in response and ferrari's comment on rbr's retaliation brings it back to the yeti sticker tradition. with this "attack" actually targeting the yeti cooler, it's making it all look very... yeti-focused.

but singapore is also when rbr doubles down on the lestappen content — and gets more loud about it. the infamous "lecstappen alert" post. we also got some photos of them chatting in the paddock (which, i believe, were not posted by either rbr or ferrari but were out there adding to the Vibes this weekend).

meanwhile, ferrari is dealing with peak ferrari civil war mode this weekend after blatantly sacrificing charles to defend carlos' victory and then not acknowledging it in the slightest in favor of propping up the "cool carlando operation."

japanese grand prix (f1 takes the score)

rbr initiates the on-going war this time around and makes sure to advertising their new suzuka hats while they're at it. ferrari retaliates. and once again, we see f1 doing a recap/summary of the on-going fight. no lestappen in sight once more...

... but rbr also posts lestappen crumbs, in the form of max talking about his suzuka race start from 2022. which means smiling at a video of one of his battles with charles.

after the race, ferrari is back in civil war mode after carlos complains about being "sacrificed" in suzuka and ferrari gets heat for their interesting quali strategy that put them in this situation in the first place. no post-race hi-jinx this time around.

qatar grand prix ("everybody is a ferrari fan")

rbr initiates the conversation again. this time, ferrari's only response is to like the photo. but this was after the sprint race and after max had already been crowned for the third time; not exactly a time when ferrari wants to be adding to the max agenda.

plus, by this time we had already seen the videos and photos of charles congratulating max immediately, before everyone else. this moment wasn't posted by rbr or ferrari, naturally, but it is out there and being spread around by the end of the time rbr starts posting the ferrari photo.

we also saw charles offering max glowing praise and talking about how much max and rbr deserves it, because they still had to fight even while having a dominant car. on one hand, this is a lot of respect for his childhood rival. on another, it's adding to the idea that hey, even with a super dominant car, the driver's talent matters (so if you catch me in a super dominant car in the near future, keep that in mind, media).

carlos had the dns for the qatar race, there were the obvious health concerns going on that definitely took up everyone's attention. no need for ferrari to do any distracting pr and therefore no reason to engage in the lestappen/rbr narrative for the weekend, despite rbr tagging them.

which brings us to...

austin grand prix and the lestappen resurgence

so far we've seen a fairly consistent rbr-ferrari conversation going on around the stickers and yeti sponsorship. but it definitely has tapered off and has shifted towards rbr being the one to engage and keep the conversation moving on social media. plus, we've been getting more and more of charles and max interacting in the background of all this, casually being friends (and being subtly pointed out by rbr).

and if you look at the austin interactions, ferrari isn't as much of a collaborator in the agenda. rbr is the clear instigator and driving force behind all of the lestappen media interactions — and they more or less force ferrari's hand.

obviously, the great lestappen padel date (cough, competition) sets the tone for the weekend. charles and max hanging out, outside of f1, publicly, is certainly a choice. i think they've always been closer than they let on (at least since covid-era), but the "rivals" narrative had them limiting their public interactions... so why now?

and then, of course, austin goes on a mission to overload us with lestappen. and rbr gets on board with that, quickly. starting with the press conference and lestappen gossip session... which, sure, is controlled by the f1. but max sitting next to charles and as far from daniel on the couch as he is? a choice imo.

next up we have our glorious quali session, and rbr starts in on the lestappen on main agenda. they heard us begging for the congratulations photo and they delivered (twice — with christian posting it personally, too).

with max not even being in the quali presser, you could just call this good opportunism. photos showing max being gracious and friendly with charles despite being upset about his lap being deleted is great pr and a great excuse to post about max and make it about max, to a degree.

we get lestappen being lestappen on saturday morning. so far, so good... a great parallel to the shots of max congratulating charles, this time with max taking the p1 (to rbr's delight).

following the sprint (and max's slight terrorism against charles)?

rbr posts lestappen again (three times), this time calling them out by name twice, and emphasizes that this is the second day in a row that they are giving us lestappen content. they tag charles again, but not ferrari this time. this is what i mean by forcing ferrari's hand — rbr has been posting their driver a lot.

and ferrari did essentially the bare minimum to keep up the fun rivalry vibes (responding to the post with the “back at ya” which in and of itself frames it as them just reacting to rbr). rbr is the one who doubled down by responding to that (the “we’re giving you what you want” reply). so while it looks like cute and very sus coordination, i would say rbr is definitely driving it. and rbr is driving it a lot.

(one strange exception: ferrari posting the charles answering questions video and posting him talking about padel with max. idk. you would think that they would cut it, or charles would have had to ask to include it if this is his agenda, or... something. that detail is just an odd one to me and may suggest greater ferrari support of the agenda.)

ferrari’s non interaction could say two things, i think. either:

they want to make it look like rbr is trying too hard and they are just humoring it (in line with ferrari’s stuffy reputation)… or,

it’s not their narrative and they’re doing what they must to not look too stuffy by not engaging at all (esp. after they joined in with the carlando propaganda previously).

i am inclined to think it's the second option, just based on rbr's behavior and the oddity of the sudden increase in content amidst ferrari's civil war and rbr's own internal second seat drama.

the sticking point for me is trying to figure out what ferrari’s agenda actually is with their recent social media approach, then. it seems far-fetched that they are just bad at social media and keep missing the mark. but seeing the vision… idk man.

if they’re being deliberate in trying to enrage fans it feels like it has to be leading to a driver swap. setting up a narrative of "something clearly isn't working, ferrari is doing awful, we need change" and then magically "fixing" it all with a driver line-up change. in my mind, this only works if they are trying to oust carlos — it would explain the stupid strategies and blatant favoritism, as well as serves as a convenient (and true) scapegoat for the shitty car we have this season. charles talking to espn this weekend about the 2024 car direction and how it is leaning in his direction? curious timing, that.

the alternative, of course, is that charles has already signed with rbr or ferrari suspects that he will. then isolating charles to the point to trying to remove their brand from him and be able to stand alone once he leaves makes some sense... however, not a lot.

the issue with taking a deliberate strategy like this is that it is very risky. they risk pissing the fans off too much. they also risk jeopardizing their results, especially if they are letting bad strategy calls go on purpose to drive the malcontent. you'd have to believe ferrari is willing to give up points and risk their reputation (at least temporarily) to commit to the bit.

which... it seems like charles, at least, is looking towards 2024. this year and this car are a wash. max and rbr already have the championships. maybe it's not such a bad time for ferrari to risk it and throw away some races to feed their agenda. but still, they look incompetent as shit. it's a bad look. and this type of strategy only works if they anticipate a radical turn around next season (and can say "look, all that junk last year was just growing pains and transition, fred came in and this is his first year with just him and his direction, and it's all good now").

their recent behavior is just... shitty. and you would think a brand like ferrari would be better than that. you have to believe there's probably an agenda in there somewhere, because it's hard to believe that they are just that bad at media. and there's not a whole lot that really ties into them playing along with rbr.

so, basically... i'm not sure if they really are playing along with rbr at this point. i think rbr has the narrative in hand when it comes to lestappen, though towards what aim... idk. maybe it's all just leading up to some ea sports shit. maybe rbr just wants to capitalize on charles' likability and boost max's reputation. maybe this is more about charles having more free reign with his image and brand lately, and charles deciding to be more open with his friendship with max (and, of course, more open about the idea that other teams want him). maybe ferrari is just along for the ride and doing damage control.

whatever is going on, it's something. there has just been way too much weirdness with charles' behavior and attitudes, rbr's actions, charles not having a renewal announcement yet, rbr's own seat issues, ferrari's very weird media angles, charles making big moves with his personal brand...

rbr lestappen may have felt like a pipe dream at the start of the season, but idk. let's not forget that max once walked back his statement about not being on a team with charles because you can't have two number ones. i believe his new answer was something to the effect that sure, he and charles could drive for the same team. and, of course, charles' response was always "why not?".

in sum: shit's happening. i'm hoping it's lestappen-in-red-bulls shit.

#i may have turned this into an excuse to compile my rbr-ferrari sticker war content #and i may have hit the images limit in this post #it may have gotten a bit out of hand #anyway heres my deranged thoughts about the great rbr ferrari media essay #lestappen #rbr charles #scuderia ferrari #red bull racing #charles leclerc #max verstappen #*delphi #paddock politics #im going to need to adjust my tags on that reblog so i can at least get a politics tag or rbr charles tag in there akflakfna #rip to me and my tag limits #ferrari civil war 2023 #rbr-ferrari sticker war #apparently viewing this in dashboard means the photos lose their side-by-side formatting.............rude.#extremely rude

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sprout-fics · 3 months

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@sliverwolf20 who requested: Aftermath, "I belong to you. Only you... I'll always be yours. No matter what.", Price or Alejandro x reader

The soft, dove gray light of morning filters through the tall windows of your chambers, carrying with it the promise of hours ticking down until your inevitable fate.

The maids around you busy themselves quietly, silent just as you are standing before the ornate silver mirror in the corner of your room. You can hear them talking quietly as they busy themselves fetching pins, jewelry, offering woeful, hushed remarks to each other. You stand still as a statue, observing yourself in the mirror, taking in the red rimmed eyes and dark bags that speak of a night spent restlessly weeping into your pillow.

The wedding dress is a beautiful thing.

You’ve dreamt of this day for so long, told yourself that the day would ring with church bells and heavenly choirs, flowers thrown upon you and your beloved with well wishes meant for eternity. It should be a time of joy and peace, but now the solemn gray sky seems to mirror the interior of your heart.

The war is over, you’ve been told. This marriage to a man you don’t know, kind though he may be, will guarantee peace for a generation. You’ve known since long ago it was your destiny to be used as this- an instrument of alliances and trust, even though your heart will forever remain elsewhere.

With the final battle, you’d waited by the castle gates for days, hoping and praying that each knight that rode home would be your beloved. Yet as the days passed, and the riders trickled down to few, your hope began to wane with the slow dawning of grief. The man you loved, the man who had kissed you gently and spoken utter adorations, had tucked your handkerchief against his breastplate and told you he’d return victoriously, had yet to return. Now, you realize he never will. Instead, you will be wed to a stranger for the promise of everlasting peace, and in the shadow of his memory you will forever grieve the beloved you have lost.

The veil settles ethereal over your face, and it manages to at least hide the brimming tears in your eyes. The maids say nothing, for they too know of your loss. You hear them sniffle and hide their swimming gazes away from you, but they can offer no words of comfort- for they know just how much you and the man who has been taken from you were meant to be.

The church bells ring solemnly on the other side of the castle, signaling the hour.

“It’s time, my lady.” One of your handmaidens whispers to you, and you nod mutely, tearing your eyes from your reflection.

“Just a few moments.” You whisper to her, gently squeezing her hand when she offers it. “I wish to be alone.”

She nods, eyes downcast, and withdraws with the other maids. You’re left alone, staring at your beautiful reflection, and wishing it was any other day than this.

You dreamed of wearing this dress for him, of taking his hand at the altar and for him to lift the veil from your face to kiss you softly. You dreamed last night, in your fitful slumber, of his wolf-ish smile and sparkling gaze. Even now, you think about his calloused hands and daring gaze that has forsaken death many times over. Your thoughts whisper his name for you- mi vida, corazón, cariño, amor, and you try to remember his breath on your skin as you lay bare against him in your bed.

The door opens.

“Please.” You whisper, voice raw. “Just a little longer.”

A pause.

“I thought perhaps you’d be pleased to see me, mi reina.”

When you turn, the tears are already streaming down your cheeks.

“Ale.” You whisper, scarcely breathing.

Your beloved knight smiles at you, weary but adoring, and wastes no time in crossing the room in several broad strides before lifting your veil and taking you to his lips. You taste your own tears there, a sobbing, almost hysterical sound bubbling up your throat as his lips find yours, your cheeks, your brimming eyes, peppering you in blessings as he coos adorations against your skin.

“I thought-” You hiccup, clutching at his stained armor, caring not for the way the blood that isn’t his drips onto your pale dress. “I thought-”

He hushes you with another kiss, tucks you to his chest as you cry, rocking back and forth on his feet as he presses his nose into your hair. You whisper his name in a litany, breathing in the scent of leftover blood from his enemies and the sweat and grime of battle.

“You really think I’d leave you so soon?” He asks, pulling back to wipe a gloved thumb across your cheek, and despite his grin you see his eyes are swimming with emotion. “Especially when some other man is here to take you from me?”

You sniffle, draw in a trembling breath, lean your face into his palm where it rests against your skin. "I belong to you. Only you... I'll always be yours. No matter what." You tell him in a gasp, words tumbling forth, gripping at him so severely you wonder if it would almost wound him.

“I never thought for a moment otherwise, mi vida.” He rasps in Spanish, kissing you with such passion it steals the air from your lungs. “Peace or war, I will always come home to you.”

When the church bells toll once more, and you fall into his embrace, it feels like a vow.

#alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #valentines day fic requests #ask game #alejandro x f! reader

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ravencincaide · 5 months

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Every little girl dreams..

Summary: No one dreams of this type of wedding, let alone wants one like it, and yet that’s the only one you’re getting. Or when you and Chuuya make the decision to stick to your original plan, even if it's the opposite from perfect.

Pairing: fem!Reader x Chuuya

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 9: Deep kissing

Warnings: Cursing and light angst

My attempt to crawl out of the writers block I'm sitting in.

Enjoy~

____

Every little girl dreams about their future wedding. A grand thing with dozens upon dozens of guests gathered to celebrate the union between two souls.The westerstyle church filled to the brim. A priest at the altar and the future husband waiting patiently for his soon-to-be wife. In this grand western style church, the pipe organ begins playing the all-too familiar wedding march.The flutter of flowers and the rustling of the white wedding dress as you walk down the aisle, past rows upon rows of gleeful faces of friends and family all wishing you the best, all envying you as you slowly stroll towards your happily ever after.

Or perhaps you'd envision a traditional wedding at the shrine dressed in layers of silk and fancy kimono swearing your oath more privately, reserved for the gods ears to hear. The celebration would come right after, where your friends and family would cheer for you as you and your beloved feed each other your first bites of cake. You could even settle for a small wedding: a private event reserved for just a handful of guests. Somewhere in exotic or exquisite flower gardens on bright green grass under the open skies. The grand dress, replaced with something simpler; like a suit or even a formal attire.

Yes, there were many things you wanted for your dream wedding. And there were many things you were willing to compromise on for the sake of tying the knot with that special someone. Yet this– this was not something that was a part of anyone's wedding plans. A gloomy bitter seemingly unplanned union that was your reality.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. Your original attire was stained in blood and you were forced to improvise with what you had on hand:your workwear. A dark blue lace blouse with puffy sleeves and white pearl buttons, black skin-tight silky pants and high heels to match. You put your hair up in a bun and decorated it with matching white and blue pearls pins. You made sure to undo the top button in a feeble attempt to look less work-like and chose to forgo your usual black mafia coat. You spend a few moments wiping away the dirt from your heels and removing your chipped nail polish. As if fooling yourself into feeling pretty. you applied a small dot of the perfume sample you found in your pouch on your wrists and behind your ears. The scent was unfamiliar but not awful. You chose to keep your weapons on you however, for a ‘just in case’ scenario.

Then you strolled out of the cabinet-like room you borrowed.

The small wooden church on the outskirts of Yokohama was, like you, in an equally unimpressive state. Most of the wood around the church had rotten long ago; the benches in the mass halls on either side of the isle were broken, scorched or damaged. A few paces away was a gaping hole in the ceiling. Off to the side stood the pipe orgel ready to produce music but with no musician in sight. The altar was the only piece of the church that did not suffer any damage. If anything it looked cleaned and well-polished as if the priest had taken his time to clean this spot up while the two of you got ready.

The door to the right of the altar opened and two men stepped out: the priest and Chuuya.

Chuuya was dressed in his usual work attire which had taken a bit of beating during the previous fight: the clothes were not first freshnes with the exception of a clean white blouse underneath the gray vest. Even his black coat was ruffled; damaged from hundreds of bullets and weapons that had been sent flying towards him. Not injured but not completely unscratched either. The most pristine thing about him were his shoes: newly polished and sophisticated- a glimpse of the Chuuya you’ve always known.

Without a word he took a few steps away from the priest and towards the nearest bench. He tosses his coat onto it, then his guns and weapons.

“ Sweetheart I think we can survive without weapons for five minutes” Chuuya tried to lighten the mood with a joke as he beckoned you over. You followed his example of disarming yourself. Then you took his hand in yours and stepping up to the altar before the priest.

Chuuya didn’t bother lying that you looked stunning, beautiful or breathtaking on your wedding day and you didn’t bother lying to say he looked as handsome as always. You were thankful for this little bit of truth. You did take a moment to wipe away a drop of dried blood from the back of his neck before turning back to face the man with the bible. Chuuya squeezed your hand in reassurance and gratitude, and you did the same.

The priest ran his eyes from you, to Chuuya, and then lingered on your interlocked hands. He chose not to say anything about it.“ Are you two sure you would like to proceed with this marriage union right now and not wait until after the war?”

You looked at Chuuya, expecting him to scream ‘are you a fucking idiot?' 'abort' or ‘too low-quality’ instead he turned to you with a serious look on his eyes and a laidback playful smirk just itching to split his expression into something more familiar, loving and playful. A controlled chaos- a fire burning for you. You replied with a small smile and a squeeze of his hand. You could see Chuuya resisting the urge to drive his free hand into his pocket in a typical delinquent style- an attempt to hide his nervousness. Although it would not have mattered if he did that : with no guests or witnesses. There was no one but the priest to judge you two.

When the priest didn’t start, Chuuya finally broke the silence:“ if we’re going to be on the frontlines with no guarantees, then I’d much rather get formalities out of the way so we can stand together as husband and wife”

You gave his hand another squeeze in agreement before you spoke “ Father, we waited a long time to get married. It doesn’t have to be perfect or expensive, as long as we come out of here united in the eyes of the government, emperor and god.”

“ Have you prepared your wedding vows?” the priest asked with a small frown of disapproval.

“Ehh we’ll just do the traditional ones, right doll?” Chuuya looked the slightest bit flustered. As if he had completely forgotten that there was more to the ordeal than just showing up in front of the priest.

You could feel your heart drop in your stomach, anxiety spiking. Was this really all for nothing? The time you spend getting here all wasted over a forgotten piece of paper? You clutched Chuuya’s hand tighter in your own, while you silently prayed that the priest would still find it in his heart to help you two get married.

Your prayers were answered.

The priest opened the bible and stretched out pieces of paper towards you and Chuuya. Once copy each. “ I had that suspicion and brought copies with me. Alter them how you see fit so they feel more natural. The vows should come from the heart” The priest stood patiently as both of you read the vows through and altered them with a borrowed pen. Then he started the ceremony.

You both stood patiently and attentively listened to the priest: out of the corner of your eyes you could see Chuuya. He was trying his best to contain his emotion, the edges of his lips just itching to spread into a wide grin or nervous laughter. Who would have thought the deadliest and fanciest mafia executive would be getting married, with no friends or family, in such a dumpy church. Indeed the thought made you want to both laugh and cry all at once. Ohh the irony of life.

At the priest's motion you turned to face Chuuya as he spoke his promises of eternal love; in sickness and in health, through sorrows and laughs. Through poverty and bad decisions as well as blessings and good times: “And I promise to love you till death do us part, my Sweetheart”

You turned to face Chuuya as he took your hand in his hand and held it tightly. He then raised your hand and placed a golden band, adored with precious gems and intricate weaving of the metal on your finger.

You gripped his hand tighter, your heart soaring as you recited your vows. As you spoke of your promise to love him no matter the hardships, through sickness and health, through faithfulness and betrayal, through lies and truths. “ and until death do us part, my love”

You did the same for Chuuya, raising his hand, you tugged the glove off. You felt him tense ever so slightly and you squeezed his hand again, reassuringly before slipping the thick golden band on his bare finger. “ Just once, for a few moments, let it sit on your bare skin please” And he squeezed your hand in turn agreeing and accepting.

The priest held his breath before his face broke up into a smile: “ It is my pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife.” His eyes ran from your bright smile with tears threatening to spill from your eyes to Chuuya’s expression which matched your own. Incredibly happy, and unbelievably sad. When neither of you moved the priest urged you to, giving you his permission and blessings: “You may now kiss the bride”

The kiss that you shared was deeper and more passionate than what was appropriate in a church. But the priest merely averted his eyes to give you some privacy. After all this kiss signified both a joyful Hello to a new beginning and a mournful goodbye..

#bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #sweetober #getting married #not a perfect wedding

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crystalofmoon19 · 6 months

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Día de los Muertos (Day of Death) - Striker x Mexican Catrina Reader! 🌼🌹💀

POV: You invited your boyfriend, Striker, to the Día de Muertos celebration with your family. Striker doesn't know much about the holiday, luckily you were there to help him.

"So you're saying you don't celebrate Halloween, darlin'?"

"No, mi amor, I celebrate "El Día de Muertos" with my family."

"The what?"

"The Day of the Dead, as they usually call them on this side of Wrath."

"Oh yeah, The Day of Death, I've heard of that. Is it the day where they dress up like skeletons?"

"Those are called the catrinas and the catrines, mi amor."

Striker looked at you a little confused, to which you just laughed, you had invited your boyfriend to celebrate the "Day of the Dead" with your family. Your grandma was preparing the food together with your aunts and your mom, your dad was preparing the altar with your uncle, your younger siblings were playing while painting their faces like skulls and you and your siblings close to your age were decorating your home. Around him, more people came to see the wonderful altar that you and your family had made together.

Striker, although he had accepted your invitation to spend the night with you and your family, he was still confused about the holiday, he knew of its existence but did not understand the great background behind it.

Luckily you were there to help him.

"What do you want to know about "El Día de los Muertos", mi amor?" .- You said caressing Striker's cheek, which made him rattle his tail like a rattlesnake and laugh a little, you knew how to make your boyfriend happy when he was disconcerted.

"Well, sugarcube, I'd like to know what exactly you're celebrating? And why are you celebrating death?"

"You know what? I think I'd better show you! Come on, Striker! Do you want to see my family altars?" .- You took your boyfriend's hand and your eyes lit up like stars.

"I'd love to, darlin'. Besides, I can't say 'no' to your pretty face."

"Okay let's go!"

You led Striker running out of your house and took him to where your father and uncle were, they greeted you and your boyfriend, you told them that you were going to show Striker your family altar. To which your dad, a little distrustful of Striker, admitted that he doubted your idea, but in the end you convinced him to give in so your dad and your uncle left for a moment; although your father gave Striker a questioning look and made him adjust his hat a little nervously but you comforted him by taking his hand.

"Look, Striker, this is the tradition of the Día de los Muertos, the altar; here we place a photo of our relatives who have passed away and on this day it feels like they come to visit us. Because as long as we remember them, they will continue to live on our hearts!" .- You put your hand to your heart while you continued explaining.

"In addition to the photos, we place candles to light the way of their arrival, we put the cempasúchil flower..."

"The flower of what...?" .- Striker interrupted you, confused about the Spanish name of the flower, to which you just laughed.

"It's the marigold flower, Striker!"

"Oh, good. Go on, darlin'."

"The name of this flower means "twenty flowers" or "several flowers." Its yellow color made our ancestors associate it with the sun. That is why they always placed them in their offerings!" .- You explained, putting a cempasúchil flower in your hair and smiled. Now Striker had no doubt that you were a radiant sunshine in his eyes.

"We also place typical food of the festival such as bread of the dead, tamales, hot chocolate, candy skulls and the favorite food of the beloved one who has the altar. For example, my grandpa loved my grandma's enchiladas, that's why they're here! So you better not try to eat anything!" .- When you looked towards Striker, he was already about to take one of the snacks from the offering. His snake-like appetite may have gotten the better of him but you weren't going to allow him to eat anything.

"Striker!" .- Your hand slapped Striker's hand who was about to steal a candy skull.

"What? We can't waste food!"

"It's not wasted food if it's for those who come to visit us! Plus if you're hungry we can go eat, I'm sure my grandma already has the food ready."

And said and done, your grandma called everyone to eat, with this you indicated Striker to follow you to the dining room of your house. So when they entered, the table was full of delicious food, which included pozole (a broth seasoned with vegetables such as corn, chili and meat), mole (a sauce that is a combination of several types of sauces seasoned with chili peppers and spices), and tamales (food made from corn, filled with various ingredients, cooked in a package of vegetable leaves).

"Hey darlin'?"

"Si, mi amor?"

"Are you sure your family isn't from Gluttony, instead of Wrath?"

"Why do you ask, mi vida?"

"Because I see that you and your family eat a lot, and you have also served me a lot of food." .- Striker said, satisfied with his food but that he still had not been able to finish his plate. To which you just laughed.

"And wait until you eat the bread of the dead with the atole, mi amor."

"IS THERE STILL MORE?"

"Ay mijo, you are so thin, you should eat more!" .- This time your grandma spoke, serving Striker more pozole, which made him throw his head back, although she thanked your grandma for this. You just laughed softly.

"If you're not from Gluttony, then you must have like three stomachs, right?"

"Yeah, something like that." .- You said enjoying your food while your family also ate theirs. Although Striker still couldn't stop looking at the huge appetite your family had, he had seen many Wrath imps be hungry, but you and your family were on another level.

However, Striker did not mind this trait of you or your family, on the contrary he was grateful that your family was very warm to him (perhaps with the exception of your father) since they let him be there as part of one of them, He also felt that this had been one of the best meals he had had in a long time. There were days when he would only eat a can of beans or instant noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and now having an entire feast with you and your family was something that had warmed his heart as well as his stomach.

So Striker took advantage of the fact that no one was looking to hold your hand under the table, which made your cheeks turn pink, and you also held his hand while they ate.

Later, when they finished eating, it was already starting to get dark and you told Striker to take care of your little brothers while you waited in the living room. Clearly the rattlesnake demon was quick to protest.

"Hey, I'm not gonna-!"

"Do it!" .- You gave Striker an angry look and how he already knew that if he didn't obey you it would end up with him sleeping on the couch for a week or more.

"Fine." .- The rattlesnake demon said resignedly as he watched you climb the stairs of your house in the company of your sisters.

"Just wait until I finish getting ready. I won't be long!" .- You told Striker until you went up to the second floor of your house. But Striker knew that when you said that, it was actually going to take a long time, so he just resigned himself to taking care of your little brothers while he waited.

Which wasn't an easy task, Striker wasn't one to take care of children, but your little brothers were getting on his nerves. Since they started running around the room and even though the cowboy scolded them not to do it, they did it anyway and one of them stole his hat.

"Give that, you little one!" .- Striker said annoyed while only your little brother made fun of him by sticking out his tongue and putting on his hat even though it was too big for him.

The only one who didn't seem to cause Striker any problems was your little sister, who was the youngest of the family, barely being about two years old, as soon as she had found Striker's leg she clung to his. For a second Striker calmed down a little for the baby, he even carried her to his chest, everything was fine until the baby started crying.

Striker complained loudly, he swore that he would be careful not to have as many children with you, at least in the amount that your parents had. He really felt that time flew by when he was taking care of your little siblings, although he was able to retrieve the hat from him he still wasn't enjoying this and when he was close to catching one of them that's when he saw you coming down the stairs. stairs.

You were dressed as a catrina, where you had made up your face as if it were a skull, you combed your black hair in a braid and you were wearing a red dress with an opening on your right leg that was decorated with yellow flowers very similar to the cempasúchil flower that decorated your entire outfit. You were also wearing red shoes along with a red hat that matched your dress and was decorated with flowers and pink feathers.

Striker when he saw you, his tail stood on end and his eyes widened when he saw how beautiful you were, you had practically left him speechless by your beauty.

"Y/N! You look so pretty!" .- One of your little brothers said when he saw you.

"Gracias." .- You thanked your little brother as you went down the stairs and headed towards where Striker was.

"How do I look, mi amor?"

"You look like a real angel in hell, darlin'." .- As soon as you approached him, Striker had taken your hand to kiss it, to which you laughed.

"Gracias, mi amor." .- You smiled at your boyfriend, who now approached to kiss you, but you stopped him with your hands while you laughed.

"Eww!" .- Your little brothers said in chorus for the show of affection.

"Not in front of my little siblings, Striker!"

"Why not? They are not your dad."

Without warning your dad appeared and stared at you and your boyfriend, this made Striker eat his own words and with that he distanced himself from you. You reassured your father that everything was fine and with a lot of effort on your part, you managed to get your father to leave you alone, with this done you had fun with Striker for the rest of the night.

There was a moment when you returned to your grandpa's altar, there you noticed that Striker behaved differently than usual, so you asked him what was happening. To which he in response tipped his hat to you.

"Is something wrong, mi amor?"

"I... I'm very grateful to you and your family for showing me the "Día de Muertos" holiday, did I say that right?" .- He asked you, seeking your approval in the pronunciation of his Spanish.

"Yes, that's fine."

"Well, I also enjoyed how well your family treated me, the delicious food I ate, and seeing you more beautiful than ever." .- He said caressing your cheek to which you smiled and took the hand he was caressing you with.

"Oh, mi amor, I'm glad to know that you liked the celebration."

"And I want to show you somethin' too, darlin'." .- He removed his hand from your face to take out a somewhat neglected photo from his jacket pocket and showed it to you.

At first you couldn't tell who it was, it didn't look like anyone you'd ever met, until when you looked closer at the photo you noticed that it was a snake demon. She was a young woman, with a green scale and snake fangs but she had white hair, when she saw her eyes that were an intense yellowish green you immediately knew how much the woman looked like Striker.

"Striker, is that your…?"

"Yes, that's my ma'." .- Striker answered you before you finished asking.

You looked closer and compared her to Striker, the resemblance was undeniable, you were sure that if Striker was a full snake demon she would completely resemble his mother.

"Mi amor, I haven't seen your mother before, what happened to her?" .- You tried to sound as soft as possible, but you still couldn't stop Striker from lowering his gaze a little.

"She was murdered by royalty." - Striker said with some resentment in his voice.

"I'm so sorry, mi amor. I had no idea." .- You put one hand to your mouth and another to your heart surprised.

"It's okay, darlin'. I didn't want to tell you about my ma' before either, because I didn't think you were close to those deceased relativies until now." .- This time Striker sounded a little more understanding, leaving his resentment for royalty aside and he did something you hadn't seen him do before; he took off his signature red handkerchief and handed it to you.

"Striker, what are you doing-?"

"This used to be my ma's and she gave it to me when I became independent enough from her." .- Striker explained, adjusting his hat again while he looked at you.

"Listen, darlin'. Before I met you, I used to think that life was something to be taken for granted, and death was the only way to give value to a life. When I was in a near-death situation I would run away fearing for my life; but when I met you, you gave value to my life and taught me the purpose of this holiday, I remembered ma' and the good times I had with her." .- You noticed how your boyfriend's tone of voice had changed and it was the first time that he was vulnerable to you in this way and you were going to support him.

"Your mother is here, Striker. She will continue to live as long as you remember her in your heart, and when you remember her you will always feel the warmth of her, but it is similar to the love you feel when you are with your loved ones." .- You said, putting your hand on Striker's chest and smiling at him with your warmest smile while still holding the photo and his handkerchief in your other hand.

"Can you feel her?"

"I think… I can feel her."

You smiled as you silently handed Striker the photo of his mother and placed his handkerchief around his neck. The rattlesnake was nostalgic. This gesture had not worn his handkerchief like that since he was a child. It reminded him of his mother, you may not have been a snake demon like her but you still had the same love that she gave and you gave it to him as his lover.

Striker moved much closer to you and you gladly accepted it, moving closer until his lips were a few centimeters away.

"Can I-?"

"Yes, you can." .- It was your turn to interrupt your boyfriend so that you could give him a kiss on your lips and he gladly reciprocated while both of you put your tails together and your hats fell to the ground but that didn't matter to you now.

You had a "telenovela kiss" with Striker, like he was taken from a clip of a Hell-a-Novela episode with Gabriella kissing Alejandro. After the party you told Striker that next year you were going to prepare an altar for his mother and he couldn't but agree with that and even told you that he was going to help you do it as long as you told him how to do it. one.

Thanks to you he not only now had a new favorite holiday and now he could always honor the memory of his mother thanks to you.

#helluva boss #the book of life #helluva boss striker x reader #striker x reader #helluva boss striker #striker #la muerte #la catrina #dia de muertos #the day of death

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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oh my god, the fragment of your short story is very cool and your illustration looks beautiful😍😍😍. I'm always extremely happy when I see Slavic mythology somewhere (I'm from Slovakia). I keep my fingers crossed for your work, it will definitely be amazing

ps: I wish you a early recovery

Beloved Husband

Especially for you, the entire story is translated below

[ warnings: character death, violence, progressive madness, depression, mourning ]

Although it had been two springs since her beloved closed his eyes forever, it seemed to her that just a moment ago she was standing at his side in front of the altar in a small wooden church. She was clad that day in her new linen chemise and kaftan, under which stretched her skirt sewn from long, colourful strips, embroidered by her own hands over many nights.

That morning, her mother herself had collected fresh flowers in the field, from which she later wove a beautiful garland of daisies and forget-me-nots for her. The smell of baking cake spread throughout the room as her sisters helped her dress and prepare to leave her family home.

All her belongings, which consisted of several linen shirts and woollen skirts, two kaftans, one winter coat, two pairs of shoes − one for colder days, the other festive, only for church − hair pins, a set of bedding and a holy picture she had received as a gift from her godparents, fit easily into a small wooden chest decorated with painterly ornaments.

Her beloved was beautiful, joyful and kind, his lips curving into a lazy smile at the sight of her, for he had loved her ever since she could remember. He called out to her when she returned from the fair, when she left church with her parents, he made her laugh by looking at her over the fence as she fed her geese, by telling her made-up tales and legends.

He would come to her parents with gifts, wishing them to look upon him with a more favourable eye, as he was poorer than they were − she was the daughter of a respectable farmer, while he was the son of a simple serf peasant apprenticed to a blacksmith.

Although her guardians at first regarded him with disapproval and reserve, they eventually recognised his industriousness, which also brought him a tangible income. He spent days and nights in the forge, creating things that were not only useful and durable, but also beautiful, appreciated by the villagers and the heirs of the manor houses.

Without delay, he came to the aid of his future parents-in-law when the hinges of their doors and shutters began to loosen and fall off. He forged new ones for them, beautifully fitted, with indentations and swirls, which they later showed off to their neighbours. She watched it all from afar, daring to offer him only her warm, happy smile and a gratitude that filled his heart with fervent hope.

− Wait for me, pretty dove. − He called out to her then, and she laughed, not even thinking of marrying another.

His approach full of patience and understanding eventually won the hearts of her parents. Her father decided, after some thought, that it was good to have such a swift, hard-working son-in-law, who, in addition, was cordial to the women.

He believed that he would certainly be a good and gentle husband, who would not hit or shout at his daughter, and who would also gladly drink vodka with his father-in-law, and would conduct a conversation well, as his mind was sharp and enlightened.

She knew that she had caught God by the feet when they finally agreed to give him her hand, and she did not hide her joy. She thanked her Lord during every evening prayer for the fact that she did not have to marry a drunkard, a scoundrel, but a kind, handsome, hard-working young man, at the sight of whom she felt warmth melt through her heart.

Not even one spring of their marital happiness had passed when her beloved fainted, having returned from the forge all hot and fiery. He coughed terribly and babbled, only making it home with the help of their neighbour. They laid him on the bed together, wondering what to do. Fear then overtook her and she immediately sent for an herbalist who lived a few huts away.

The woman arrived in the evening and, without saying anything or demanding payment, prepared water over the cooker by throwing dried leaves and herbs into it, muttering something at the same time. After these mysterious procedures, she gave her decoction to her husband, ordering him to drink.

She rejoiced, for the colours returned to his countenance, for life returned to his members, for he recognised her, calling her his pretty dove.

Her heart was filled anew with hope. Lying by his side at night, she prayed fervently, thanking God for his grace.

Only in the morning, when the first rays of the sun woke her up, wanting to attend to her daily chores and prepare his morning meal, did she feel that the body lying next to her was cold and stiff.

She was afraid to look at him, and when she finally did, she saw his face, pale and blue, his lips parted slightly, as if he were in fact still asleep. She tried to wake him, at first with a whisper, then with cries and wails, clamping her fingers over his body, but his eyelids never opened again.

She couldn't name what was happening to her. It seemed to her as if her speech had been completely taken away. Her body was left without strength, her mind became blank, dulled. She lay next to him, looking at his face, holding his cold hand in hers, unable to let go of the thought that the only thing left of him was his body.

She didn't understand what her mother was saying, stroking her cheeks and shoulders as they stood over his grave on the day of his funeral. She stared at the simple wooden cross stuck into the fresh, damp earth, listening to the women wailing and crying raucously around the coffin, chanting mournful hymns that only increased her despondency.

It seemed to her that her mind was foggy and sluggish. She drank, she ate, she did her chores, but she did not feel or experience anything. Her body was as if in a state of prolonged shock. In her mind there was still the conviction that her husband would cross the threshold of their home as he did every evening, that he would take her in his arms, speaking of his longing, that they would sit down to supper together, recounting what the day had brought them.

Her parents, seeing the impact of her bereavement and such a sudden loss, ordered her to return to the family home, which she did. From then on, she helped them with their daily chores, as she had done when she was still a maiden.

She would speak to them and be in their company, but her mind seemed to be out of her body, the emptiness that filled her began to be slowly replaced by a progressive rage and irritation, as she noticed that everyone had begun to forget about him. They laughed and smiled, got drunk and danced as he lay there, deep underground, alone.

Shrill thoughts flashed through her head as she lay alone at night under her quilt. Her heart squeezed with pain at the notion that perhaps the gravedigger had not buried him deep enough and his body would be desecrated by wolves or stray dogs or, God forbid, her poor beloved would wake up in his wooden grave and be unable to get out, driving his nails helplessly into the wooden lid.

She would cry aloud then, burying her face in her hands, holding her thoughts and pains deep inside her, feeling that no one else would understand her suffering, that only he, her dearest, if he were still alive, could comfort her.

It was then that she heard him for the first time since the day he closed his eyes forever: the loud, clear rustling of the grass and the quiet cracking of the branches beneath his feet.

She rose quickly, feeling the aggressive, chest-shattering pounding of her heart. A cold sweat ran down her back as she leaned out uncertainly to look out of the window.

There was no one in the courtyard.

She sat still for a moment, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that there was a graveyard beyond the woods overlooking her small room.

The next day she lay down to sleep faster than usual, excusing herself to her family for being unwell, feeling a pleasant tingling in her fingers and excitement at the thought that perhaps her beloved would visit her again, give her some sign, tell her what he needed. No one came, however, and salty tears of regret and disappointment ran down her cheeks as she lay, facing the window, watching the first rays of the sun.

She wandered off to the cemetery in the morning, explaining to her relatives that she wished to place fresh flowers on her late husband's grave. However, when she arrived at the site, she found to her disbelief and dismay that although grass should have grown on the grave long ago, the sand on it was still wet and fresh, as if he had been buried only the day before.

Walking back home along the dirt road, wrapping herself in a warm woollen shawl, she thought of her grandmother's stories. Of how people who had died, called wraiths, rose from their graves to haunt their families, peering down on their children and placing cold, corpse-like kisses on the lips of their wives and husbands.

At this thought she felt heat in her lower abdomen, a pleasant tickling sensation engulfed her fingertips and lips, and she imagined that her beloved had come to her then, that night, wanting to prove to her that he remembered her, that he loved her and could not leave without her.

The realisation that he could wander still in the world without knowing a holy rest both frightened and delighted her at the same time, that their love could be stronger than death, that his desire to stay with her was more important to him than the will of God himself, who had called him to join him.

She stopped and trembled as she heard a loud rustling in the depths of a field filled all around with tall, golden wheat. She lifted herself up on tiptoe, feeling the rumbling of her yearning heart, looking around carefully. Her breathing became raspy and loud, full of excitement.

− My love? − She heard her own trembling, warm voice, sounding as if a mother was calling her child, wanting to give him courage.

However, she saw nothing, nor did she hear any reply.

Nevertheless, the conviction that her husband was still prowling the earth and watching her was growing stronger within her. Candles would suddenly burn out in the rooms she was in, although no one passed by them, doors would open with a loud creak of old wood even though no one was standing behind them. She was awakened at night by a quiet tapping on the windowpanes that kept her awake. She had the impression that she heard someone's footsteps even when there was no one in the room but her.

She whispered to him each time, asking him to appear to her. She would convince him that his cadaverous, pale face would certainly not scare her away, that he still remained her beloved, her only one.

He did not answer.

It seemed to her that she was slowly losing her mind. She was getting thinner and thinner, her face becoming pale, bruises from dozens of sleepless nights surrounding her lifeless eyes. Her parents, worried about her behaviour and the fact that the slightest sound or movement made her flinch as she looked around the rooms, suggested that perhaps it was time to find her a new husband.

− You will have your children, and he too will comfort you with a kind word and a strong embrace of his arms. − Her mother said. She looked at her dully, feeling that her pale lips trembled parted in disbelief. Cold sweat trickled down her neck, her fingers clenched tightly on the material of her skirt.

That night, she cried aloud with her face pressed into her pillow, calling for her beloved, her kindest, cursing him and begging him to relieve her suffering, to prevent her from being given away to any other man, because they had promised each other that they would be together, now and for eternity.

It was then that she heard him again − the quiet crackling and rustling outside her window, someone's footsteps so clear that her heart leapt into her throat. She pulled herself up from her bed and looked out of the window, pressing her palms against the glass. A pitiful, low sob escaped from her throat as she spotted a male figure disappearing deep into the dark woods.

She got up quickly, putting a warm blanket over herself, and slipped out of her family home in only her nightgown, moving after the mysterious silhouette, wanting to shout for him to stop, fearing, however, that she would startle him. Seeing only the full moon and stars above her, she trudged through the tall shrubs, the needles of the pines and the sharp stones beneath her feet hurting her skin.

She knew that in order to reach the cemetery she had to walk straight ahead, and despite her fear, her heart was filled with courage, because for him, for her beloved, she was willing to do anything.

A loud sigh of relief left her lungs when she finally stood at the border of the forest, seeing clearly the outlines of wooden and iron crosses. She froze completely when she noticed a male figure leaning deeply into one of the grave pits. A broad smile appeared on her face for the first time since fate had separated them.

− My beloved! − She shouted with joy, with hope, with relief, drenched in tears, running towards him with confidence, thinking only of throwing herself into his arms again, of speaking to him again, of hearing his voice again.

My pretty dove.

She stopped halfway, feeling her heart freeze, shivers ran along her spine as the man she was running towards jumped out of the pit like a burned man.

She saw his terrified eyes, he was panting heavily as if he was some wild animal, raising his hands high in the air. She found to her horror that she did not recognise either his face or his figure, looking at him in the moonlight. He was older and taller than her husband, dressed in dark, dirty trousers and coat, his large hands black from the ground.

Only after a moment did she notice a long shovel lying next to his feet, a sack lay immediately next to it, she swallowed with difficulty recognising in its contents something that resembled shimmering gold jewellery in the moonlight.

The stranger moved suddenly towards her, grabbing earlier a shovel lying on the ground. She screamed loudly, throwing herself into flight, understanding her mistake, her stupidity, her naivety. She stumbled several times over tombstones and tree roots, her sore feet seeming to scream with every step she took.

Her voice stuck in her throat when suddenly something dull and hard hit her heavily on the back of her head, then again and again; she fell to the ground, panting heavily. Everything around her seemed to spin, she no longer recognised shapes or where she was, warm liquid ran down her forehead, the metallic taste of blood that had flooded her face melted between her lips.

She wanted to scream for rescue to her beloved, to her parents, but she was unable to get the words out. She cried out loudly and drew in a loud breath, bursting out crying when she felt his large, rough hands clamp down on her bare calves, pulling her back on the ground. Her fingers impulsively dug into the sand and grass, fruitlessly trying to resist him, something akin to a grunt escaped her throat.

My God, have mercy.

She was already completely limp when he threw her into the middle of the grave. No sound left her lips as the heavy, cold sand began to fall on her body. Her empty gaze, from which the life was slowly escaping, was fixed on the bright moon disc spreading over her head.

Before the last breath left her lungs, a thought flashed through her dying mind, from which she smiled gratefully at the stranger who stood high above her like death itself.

I will see him again.

_____

Illustrations and text are created by me. Do not repost.

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arsonlookers · 1 month

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If only

If only I confess to you first before ..... you realize you love her would I have a chance? If only I'd gone abroad and didn't meet you, would I have a better life out there? Would I find somebody to love me back? would I finally be loved? If only... I didn't love you...would I become happier? As I stare at you far away to be seen...is it even needed to be far when even if I was the most closest to you, you still chose her...see her... love her...

If only I dare to tell you how I feel If only I told you how beautiful and handsome you are when you stare at the horizon if only I told you how much I love your eyes If only I told you how much I love your hair How cute you are when you have that little smile if only I was there when you met her... so that I can prevent this... If only I accepted my feelings a lot sooner If only I persisted If only I didn't cherish this friendship If only I didn't become the 'closest friend' if only I becomes your first If only I become your lover If only... if only I didn't see you and feel this way for you if only I didn't find you interesting if only you weren't my type if only I didn't find you beautiful charming cold but lovely kind...

If only you had seen me the way you see her...

If only I was at that altar by your side wearing a white wedding gown, making my way to you, making you smile and cry at the same time.

Smiling at the most Powerful man crying being said to be the most cold-hearted person in the empire,

in front of me making my way by your side,

and be your bride.

but even these what-ifs come true...

tell me...

...Would you choose me over her?

...

do I have a chance over someone you clearly are destined to? do I have a chance against the plot you called Destiny? tell me... Do I?

"I guess not... "

With your eyes closed you imagine that it is you who he marries, who he loves, who he will spend his lifetime with.

"just a little bit... please.." you mumble to yourself not wanting to give up on this fantasy.

to give up on him.

Betrayed by the crowd cheering for the two newlyweds far from your hiding spot, the fantasy you oh so built for. gets crushed.

your lonely heart gets crushed as they cheer for the two. "congratulations" "wooohooowww" "congrats!" "wish u the best!" the whole place was filled with cheer and excitement.

You opened your eyes, wanting to see him one last time.

Out there he shines the brightest smile full of love and satisfaction... But that look is not yours... that smile was not for you.. he is not yours... not even a strand of hair.

Tears slip in your eyes as you watch from afar, watching your beloved be married and tied to another woman... You have no control, no power to ever change the fact that he loves her,

that you will be just his

'Closest Friend'

if only....

Hello! onlookers! A Good day where ever, when ever, whoever you are:> for this fic I was originally have thought about Regis floyen from "father I dont want to Be Married" when Regis inlove to Amelia and marries her not knowing that y/n his 'closes friend is in love with him... but then I have plenty of thoughts and characters in my mind that fits this fic.. so that is why i did not specific whoever the characters just the scene and how painful it is... for example claude and diana, childe and lumine,zhongli and guizhong, vanitas...ehem! and plenty more! That is why have the freedom to imagine the characters that you like! kind of dedicated to second leads...which is us hehe Anyway Thanks for reading and have a safe and lovely DAY!!

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itsbeesknees · 1 year

Text

The Old Man is Snoring

Any Papa x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: There is a monster in your bed, and it’s making the most decrepit noises.

Warnings: none, just fluff and crack

Word count: 644

A/N: this drabble is dedicated to all the Papas noses

——0——

You are 99.9% certain there is some sort of monster in your bed.

You’re not surprised, of course— why would you be? You spend the majority of your time worshiping the devil at black encrusted altars, and Ghouls prowl the Ministry on the daily, so the probability of a monster being in your bed isn’t too outlandish. Though, last time you checked, monsters are meant to lurk under the bed, not on top of it.

Silk linens are the only thing that’s keeping you safe from this beast. Which is rather unfortunate, since you’re not entirely sure that a thin layer of buttery fabric is a good enough barricade. The duvet would’ve been a much more reliable option, but that had been kicked down onto the floor during your few hours of untroubled sleep. Curse your rotten luck.

The monster breathes sharply through its nose and you freeze up like a half-wit. By Satan is it loud. When you first had woken up you almost mistook it for a chainsaw, with gears and motors rattling. But it was not a chainsaw, and possibly not human either, because nothing skulking this earth should sound like that.

Is this how Theseus felt? Twisting and turning in a maze, haunted by a beast. Was this monstrosity your Minotaur?

You have the good grace to snort at that, because you are not Theseus.

When Theseus was confronted with danger, it was not in a plush mattress cocooned by fancy sheets. When Theseus slayed the beast, he did so bravely and without faltering. Theseus was heroic, Theseus was gifted a fictional magic thread, and you didn’t possess either of those things.

These kinds of thoughts should honestly be completely redundant, as you are an adult now who is perfectly capable of confronting the heaving creature that’s hogging up most of your pillows. Yes, now is the time to be the knight galloping on a horse, charging onwards into battle. You may not be Theseus, but you can surely act like him.

So you whip your body over to face the thunderous beast, squaring your shoulders and sucking in a fierce breath. You have every intention of slaying the fire-spitting, scaley green dragon. Surely confident that they’d hang your title in the great halls of fame after you conquer such a chilling creature..

You didn’t get that far.

Because, when you finally got a look at the monster, the beast, the dragon, the love of your life, you felt the thorns that guarded your heart shrivel and wither away. He was no creature, just an irritating snorer, who was generally well intentioned.

He did fall asleep in his papal paints again, which perhaps made him look a little bit more cryptic than usual, with all that smudged pigment and whatnot. But regardless, he was your papa, not a monster, and he desperately needed the sleep. Way more than you.

So, gallantly, you trade a moment of dragon-slaying for a moment of peace, resting your head on his chest and listening to the pumping of his heart. Occasionally, another snore will trickle out, sometimes even louder than the one before, yet you pay it no mind.

And when he finally wakes, fluttering open his bicolored watery eyes, you greet him with a tired smile and a sweet kiss to his nose; the culprit of your horrors.

“Did I keep you up with my snoring again, amore?” He asks, blinking blearily and tracing shapeless patterns into the sides of your arm.

“No.” You say, flinching at how groggy your voice sounds. “But I think there was a monster in our bed last night, you should’ve heard it. I almost mistook it for a chainsaw.”

Your beloved pauses, processing the meaning of your words, before recoiling in mock offense as if you had sucker punched him straight in the gut. Then, he promptly pulls you closer, and kisses you in all his morning-breath glory.

—o—

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lvlyghost · 1 year

Text

Some general info for anyone writing Alejandro and Rodolfo that no one asked for

(from your favorite mexican ofc)

Part 2

✨swearing and slangs✨

We can hear them throughout the entire game! For example

“A la verga.” This particular swear word, although it is widely used, it’s not something you say around adults or your family. It’s a really, and I cannot stress this enough, bad word! You use it with your friends (mostly men) which is on spot in the game👌🏻

“A huevo.” We love this one, a somewhat neutral and not-so- bad expression to show excitement or agreement! I totally didn’t giggle like an idiot when Ghost said it.

Still don’t wanna use it in front of your grandmother, trust me!

✨culture, traditions, & more✨

•Mexicans LOVE their families, trust me if you ask alejandro or rudy about them you’ll melt their hearts, and hey… mothers are sacred!

•A highly religious country! don’t be surprised if you find holy images, altars and religious art on the streets! It’s a nice touch if you want to describe their surroundings while taking a walk on the street!

side note! It’s SUPER common to see rosaries hanging from the rear view mirrors in the cars! these two probably have one in their vehicles.🌞

•day of the dead (día de muertos): death, we celebrate it. Ask these boys about their beloved ones that already passed away and they’ll most likely tell you about them with a smile on their faces! The whole country is a sight to be hold during this time🌼

•Magic towns (pueblos mágicos)🪅: Just imagine visiting one of them with Alejandro and Rodolfo! Colorful Streets filled with vendors and all sorts of indigenous art, clothing and candies!

Don’t even get me started with the food! You’ll definitely gain some weight with all the food you’d eat!👌🏻😮‍💨

•Cartels: yes I had to, no, I don’t like it! The game is pretty accurate, violence is a big problem but heeey glad you’re here to help us fight right??😎

✨Pet names✨

Some of my favorites (feel free to use them!)

Cariño - Honey

*Nena/Nene - Babe

Amor - Love

*Princesa/Principe - Princess /Prince

*spanish and its gendered forms. You know…

Hope this was helpful! Might do more, we shall see💃🏻

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod alejandro #alejandro vargas imagine #alejandro vargas #cod rodolfo #rodolfo parra imagine #rodolfo parra #rodolfo mw2 #rodolfo x reader #alejandro x reader #cod x reader

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trickstarbrave · 3 months

Text

hi im insane still so i wrote smth up

its not rly proof read. sorry abt that.

this is from @mulberrycafe's fic fool's prayer. i just have evil!voryn on the brain REAL bad.

Nerevar blinked. He was no longer in his office, but outside in a courtyard. It was…. Peaceful. The rushing anxiety of being in his office was being washed away by fluffy white clouds passing by. It wasn’t cloudy or with an ash storm blowing, as it usually was in Morrowind, especially after Red Mountain’s eruption. A few birds could be heard in the distance too, adding to the soft, peaceful atmosphere.

Nerevar wanted to relax. He was tired. So very, very tired. Tired of running the country and fighting the council every step of the way. Tired of trying to make life better for his people and being blocked. Every time he wanted to try and do something good, there was endless squabbling. Distractions came up instead, as the houses fought with each other, refusing to put aside old rivalries for everyone’s benefit. It was like pulling teeth trying to get anything done--and when he did lose his temper, the councilmen pointing at him and blaming him.

“It’s your fault Red Mountain erupted, when you destroyed the tribunal’s rule.” Some would blame. “Why haven’t the Good Daedra resolved it then? If there is mercy from them, they would have solved the problem. We could go back to VVardenfell. We could be a great nation again. But instead we continue to beg for scraps at the altar of gods. The Good Three have made their point clear: we are to suffer the trials. Therefore, everyone suffers with us. It’s naivety to presume we can help them with stupid acts of charity.”

He had no energy anymore. His limbs felt too heavy to move. Vivec said he admired Nerevar’s ability to always be optimistic and hopeful, but Nerevar was beginning to run out of steam.

Things were easier, in the days of Resdayn; they had a common enemy to unite against, after all. The Great Houses could set their squabbling and infighting aside long enough to drive the nords out, and then welcomed the prosperity Nerevar brought afterwards as they rebuilt the nation.

“Neht,” Nerevar heard Voryn call for him, and he refused to turn.

He knew what this was. Another attempt to win him over. Another attempt to crack his resolve. Nerevar didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He didn’t know how many times he could drive him away. Nerevar hated how Voryn was starting to, in some twisted way, make sense. And even more importantly, Nerevar hated having to hurt the man he loved over and over, even if it was for the good of everyone.

Arms wrapped around him again, a cold chill, as always. “You won't even look at me now?” Voryn asked, nuzzling into his hair from behind.

“I’m tired of these games, Voryn.” Nerevar tried desperately to keep his voice level and firm. “I’m not changing my answer.” Voryn gave a dark, deep chuckle, the type of tone Nerevar adored.

He was afraid if he turned around, he would crack. He was terrified if he looked at the face of his beloved, his resolve would crumble and he’d throw his arms around Voryn, kissing him for all he was worth.

“I’m not playing a game.” Voryn whispered softly in his ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin and making his ear twitch. “I want to give you everything you have ever wanted, Nerevar.”

“No, you--”

“I want to give you a peaceful country.” Voryn cut him off, continuing with that slow, deep voice in his ear, rubbing circles on his stomach. “I want to stop those councilors from using you… Because I love you.”

“This isn’t love!” Nerevar stressed, his hands shaking fists at his side as he actively fought the desire to sink into the embrace.

“Yes, it is.” Voryn whispered again, sharper in his ear. “The love I have had for you for thousands of years.” Nerevar shut his eyes tightly now. “And I know you love this country, Neht. I’ve known all this time. That’s why I love it too. That’s why I want to help you.”

“This isn’t helping me.” Nerevar grit, fighting the urge to scream or sob.

“I want to give you so much more than just a peaceful country too, Nerevar.” That soothing voice was trying to melt the tension off his body, but Nerevar refused to relax. If he did, it would be over, he reminded himself. He couldn’t be weak in front of Voryn with what Voryn was capable of. “I want to soothe all your worries, love and support you in the way you deserve…”

Nerevar refused to respond. He couldn’t find the words--not when Voryn sounded so soft and sweet in his ear, whispering like a gentle lover. It was the same tone of voice he used to soothe all of Nerevar’s injuries in the past, the same tone when he reassured and comforted Nerevar, and the same tone he used when they would make love.

“Ayem hardly even took care of you back then,” Voryn continued, now bringing one hand up to rub his shoulder soothingly. “But she at least helped you govern. Helped keep people in line.” Nerevar shivered slightly as he felt teeth graze his ear ever so slightly. “I can help you with that. I can keep the council in line… All as you will it, my beloved.”

He knew it was a lie. A sweet, sweet lie. If it was Nerevar’s will, he wouldn’t have hurt the Good Daedra. If it were his will, Voryn would have stopped by now. If it was his will…

“I can even give you what she refused.” Voryn smirked against his skin now. “Love, devotion…” Voryn pressed a kiss behind his ear, watching it twitch again. “... And even a family.”

Nerevar’s eyes shot open at that, his heart racing in his chest, only to find himself no longer in the courtyard, but inside the temple. It was in a well decorated room, quite, a tranquil warmth radiating throughout the whole room that tugged on his heartstrings.

In front of him was a traditional chimeri hammock for infants, a little bundle inside it. Nerevar found himself unable to blink, his body all but screaming at him to move. His whole body shook and his legs felt weak, his heart beating even faster in his chest.

“Don’t you want this?” Voryn asked, his voice soft and pleading now, almost saddened. “I can give you the family you wanted, Neht…” Nerevar’s hands unclenched as his hands yearned to reach out. “A beautiful family, as large or as small as you wish… Raised with love and care, in a country that is finally full of peace and prosperity…” His eyes remained fixated on the small bundle, slowly beginning to move.

“Why don’t you hold our son?” Voryn asked him, and Nerevar found himself unable to stop his feet from moving, bringing him closer and closer as the infant began wiggling around and fussing in earnest, having woken up from his nap.

In his arms, they felt even more real: alive and the perfect weight in his arms, filling him with warmth. Soft black waves were on his head, as he blinked up at Nerevar with large, blue eyes and giggled, reaching for him. Tears rolled down Nerevar’s cheeks as he leaned down to nuzzle against the baby, overwhelmed.

Nerevar wanted this. He wanted it so badly it felt like his chest was being ripped out. He wanted a family with the man he loved. He wanted children of his own. He wanted to just be selfish for once, and have something all to himself.

When he was king in the past, he was denied being a father, despite how much he had always wanted to be. His marriage with Ayem, while politically beneficial, was strained in most of the personal aspects. Almalexia had her own lovers and concubines to tend to her, and saw little purpose in sleeping with Nerevar, even to produce a child. Even the Indoril council said they didn’t want to bother with having a child, not when they could pick a better heir that suited their political goals. Instead he was always just told to find someone else to have a child with if he wanted to be a parent that badly.

But he knew that wasn’t possible. He was king, yes, but he wasn’t of noble blood; he lacked the political power to fully protect them. Nerevar refused to selfishly have a child he knew he couldn’t protect and let them get hurt or killed just to spite him by some political enemies.

And yet… That wish never truly died. That desire never went away. It was always there, in the back of his mind, gnawing at his psyche. He was tired of being king only to create more problems and enemies for himself. He was tired of fighting off assassins and attackers. He was tired of going to bed alone. He was tired of giving everything he had for nothing in return.

And then the weight in his arms was gone, as Nerevar found himself not in a nursery but instead in complete blackness instead.

“No…” Nerevar begged, tears still rolling down his cheeks. It felt like his heart was being ripped out and crushed. It had been so real--Nerevar could still feel the phantom warmth in his arms, hear the sound of laughter. “Voryn, please--!” His arms instead curled up around him, trying in vain to comfort himself and failing as he openly sobbed.

“Shh…” Voryn whispered, stroking his hair from behind. “Why don’t I give you time to think about my offer instead?” Voryn asked. Typically, Voryn was pushy in these dreams, trying desperately to make Nerevar give in. Now that he was falling apart in front of him, he seemed to be taking a different approach.

Nerevar didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. Not when he was still grieving. Not when he was crying and sobbing, wishing more than anything that such a sweet dream was real.

“Nerevar!” Nerevar’s eyes shot open again, tears still running down his cheeks, to see a Vivec staring down at him rather than the piercing red eyes of Voryn as he half expected. “Nerevar,” Vivec, seeing as he had finally woken him up, wiped the tears from his face. “It’s alright…” He murmured, trying desperately to soothe him.

Nerevar, his emotions still raw, wrapped his arms around Vivec and sobbed once more.

He didn’t know if Vivec knew why he was crying. Nerevar was too ashamed to say, and too hurt to give a coherent answer even if he wanted to.

He didn’t know how much more he could take of this, even as Vivec held him close, rubbing his back in slow circles, trying to comfort him.

His heart was breaking.

#my writing #nerevoryn #indoril nerevar #vivec #voryn dagoth #im sorry idk whats wrong with me

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