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yunhohours · 1 year

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What You Want From Me

✗ Pairing: idol!bf!chani x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 2k

✗ Warnings: lil bit of angst, reader is passive aggressive and immature (boo tomato tomato don't be like reader boooo), no actually reader is so annoying i'm so sorry, fingering (f. receiving), exhibitionism if you squint, orgasm denial, consent could be considered shaky ig but dw everything is consensual here

✗ A/N: this was a daydream i kept having despite the reader behaving absolutely nothing like me. i had to write it to get it out of my head. here's hoping it rots your brains instead xoxo

You’re checking every hanger in your closet to make sure you’re not missing any potential outfits when you hear Chani from the other room. “Y/n, are you ready? We need to leave.” You can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s hovering by the front door, probably busying himself with his phone while he waits for you. You know you’d be leaving this very moment if it were solely up to him. “I need to stop and get gas on the way.”

You had already finished every other part of readying yourself. You showered, moisturized, attended to your hair, and enhanced your features with just enough makeup to make you slightly more radiant. Chani would swear that you couldn’t be more radiant than when you first wake up, but you like to put in that extra bit of effort when you’re going for lunch with others. You don’t care so much when it’s just Chani’s members, but from what you’ve gathered, there will be at least a handful of company staff members attending lunch as well. You want to look nice in front of people that probably care very much about him.

You finally settle on two possible dresses that suit the image you’d like to present. They’re both the same simple silhouette–nothing too proper but certainly not too skimpy either. You’re only struggling over which color to pick. The black one will make you seem more elegant, perhaps currying favor with the staff members that want only the best for Chani. The cerulean one may give the impression that you’re light and bright–a bit of sunshine for everyone around. Who wouldn’t want that, right? Does Chani want a polished girlfriend or a sweet girlfriend for lunch?

Why don’t you just ask him?

You bounce out of your room, dresses held up in a hand each, and find Chani exactly where you thought he’d be. “Babe,” you announce yourself, causing Chani to look up from his phone. “Which dress?”

Chani’s gaze moves from one dress to the other in silence before he looks back at you incredulously. “Y/n, it really doesn’t matter. Can you just hurry up? I’ve told you we need to go multiple times and now you’re showing me the same dress twice and asking me to pick one. Wear whichever one you want. I don’t care.”

I don’t care. Ouch.

You stand there shuffling your feet for a moment. “I just wanted to look nice for you,” you admit in an almost whisper before you disappear into the bedroom again.

You pull the black dress over your head, tossing the bright, light version of you to the floor. You slip on the first pair of shoes you can find and make your way back to Chani. Don’t want to make him wait another second, you think to yourself.

The car ride to the restaurant is quiet and so is the lunch itself. You don’t say much because, quite frankly, your feelings are still hurt. You cared so much about this lunch because you love Chani, but he couldn’t care about your dress for two seconds?

You know you’re being a bit ridiculous, especially because he has apologized to you multiple times. He apologized to you in the car the second your seatbelts were buckled–eyes on yours and your hand in his as he kissed the back of it. When you still didn’t seem to forgive him, he figured he’d let you have time, deciding not to push the issue and just holding your hand softly in his lap while he drove. You could feel his eyes glancing at you every few seconds to gauge you. Clearly, he didn’t mean to upset you.

Even during lunch, he kept apologizing. Despite being surrounded by members that could tease him and staff that he wants to appear responsible in front of, he kept your hand in his. He’d lean over when everyone else was busy talking and press a kiss to your temple, mumbling another soft-spoken apology even when you didn’t respond to any of the previous ones. He was really trying and Chani doesn’t apologize when he doesn’t mean it. You should just tell him about how it made you feel and forgive him. Hell, you were both wrong when you really think about it. You weren’t being respectful of his time and he wasn’t sensitive to your feelings. Neither of you have the upper hand here.

You’re not sure what you expect him to do or why you can’t get out of your funk, but when you step back into your bedroom and see the blue dress on the floor, you know that you’re certainly not over it yet. You step over it and make your way to the bed, situating yourself against the backboard, legs straight out in front of you. Chani followed you the second you parked the car out front, clearly still intent on getting this issue resolved, but you could tell he was starting to lose his patience. That’s almost definitely your fault. You were acting like a brat–refusing to look at him, talk to him, or even acknowledge his presence at all, really.

He places himself on the bed next to you, his back resting against the headboard too. You sink down a bit, creating some distance from him. Even though you can’t see him, you can feel him burning a hole into the top of your head with his eyes.

“Still not talking to me, mm?” His voice practically falls onto your ears with his position above you like this.

You don’t answer, pursing your lips as your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress. You can’t answer, actually. If you did, you would have to admit that you have been ignoring him on purpose and you’re still not feeling adult enough for that. The silence in the room is suffocating but your stubbornness is unwavering.

“I see,” he finally says after a minute or three of silence. You expect him to get up and keep himself occupied elsewhere, but he doesn’t and you feel frozen. You don’t even want to move for fear that it will pop the bubble of indignance you’ve created around yourself. Chani is not above calling you out. And when he does… he’s almost always right. You can’t have that.

You can feel Chani turn his attention to a bottle of water on the nightstand. He picks it up and takes a nice big drink. Probably calming himself, you suspect. He turns to put it back down where he found it, his other hand sliding itself onto your thigh. Your eyes are immediately focused on his hand and the way it seems to be nonchalantly sliding up the inside of your dress. What does he think he’s up to? Still, you subconsciously part your legs for him, cursing yourself over an instinct you hadn’t expected you’d need to stifle.

You want to look at him. You want to see if he’s smirking about how easily your body gives itself over to him even if seeing that smirk would only make you mad. The only reason you don’t is because you wouldn’t just be mad. You’d be embarrassed.

You follow the trail of Chani’s hand until it reaches its destination: your panties. You almost groan when you realize you wore his favorite pair–a decision made before he hurt your feelings, obviously. His middle finger ghosts over the crotch of the fabric before pushing it to the side. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re struggling not to make a sound or to move a face muscle. That proves immeasurably more difficult when Chani’s fingertip eases itself onto your clit, rubbing slow circles.

He’s so fucking quiet. It’s maddening. You want him talking. Not because you want to talk to him, but because you want to know why the fuck he’s touching you right now. It feels too good to stop him but not knowing his thought process from she’s ignoring me to i should play with her pussy is driving you crazy.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Chani’s other hand rise from the bed, instagram open on his phone. You can’t believe your eyes as you watch him scrolling lazily through post after post, occasionally double tapping a like while his other hand dips down, two fingers grazing through your folds. You can feel his fingers gliding with more ease by the second, your own body betraying you by giving Chani the arousal he surely expected. You clench your jaw when you feel a moan trying to force its way out. Fuck. Why do you always want him so bad? Even when you swear you’re pissed?

Things continue just like this for a few minutes. Chani’s fingers spread your slick over your cunt and you try like hell not to humor him with indications of the pleasure he’s giving you. He circles your entrance, testing it, and your toes curl, seeking grounding from the mattress. He seemingly gets bored of instagram and swipes it away, switching to some game you couldn’t possibly name as he sinks two fingers inside of you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your head tilts up and to the right as you stare at the ceiling, insisting on not letting him see the way your jaw goes slack. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as he pumps his fingers inside of you, your body succumbing to him by the moment. You’re fighting a losing battle but you desperately want him to make you cum. Maybe then you’ll forgive him.

You almost jump out of your skin when the silent room is suddenly disturbed by the loud ringing of Chani’s phone. Your eyes are back on his screen, praying that he rejects the call. You know if he answers it then this little game–is that what it is?–will be over. You watch as his thumb moves towards the “accept” button and you start to feel defeated.

Except he answers it and his fingers don’t leave you. Now you’ve seen it all. Chani does not normally take the risk of others hearing or seeing you two engaging in any kind of physical contact. Yet here he is… talking to Hwiyoung as his fingers curl deliciously inside you, pressing right into that spot you so desperately want him to touch. You stare at the side of his annoyingly handsome face in shock, fingers clutching at the blankets beneath you to try and keep yourself composed. It infuriates you that he doesn’t look at you. You’re finally acknowledging him, albeit only with your eyes, and he won’t look at you?

It’s hard to stay too mad, though, when his thumb finds your clit, joining his scissoring fingers in this quest to overwhelm you with pleasure until you break. You’ve decided that’s what this is. And you hate it, but you think he might just win. You can feel yourself tumbling frighteningly close to an orgasm and it’s getting exponentially harder to choke down the sounds you would normally let out freely. The only thing saving you now is Hwiyoung being on the other side of that phone call.

Your head falls back onto the headboard, eyes closed and mouth open in silent moans. You can hear Chani planning to meet up with Hwiyoung and some of the others to do who-knows-what for work but it’s all meaningless to you because you’re unraveling, your body writhing from Chani’s slender fingers. You feel yourself starting to clench around them at the same time as Chani says, “Yeah, I can come by now.”

And then his fingers are pulling out of you and he’s pressing the end call button as he stands up, sliding the phone into his pocket. He gives you a onceover. You’re gawking at him as your body is still recoiling from the orgasm he dangled in front of it, only to snatch it away. He cocks his head to the side. “Hmm. Seems like you need something? Too bad you can’t tell me what that is.”

He heads in the direction of the bedroom door, picking his keys up from the dresser on his way. He stops before he leaves the doorway, turning his head only slightly to say one final thing to you over his shoulder. “Maybe while I’m gone you can think about what it is that you want from me.”

And just like that, he’s gone and you’re feeling exactly what you’ve been hoping to avoid this entire time: embarrassment.

#th: chani #th: sf9 #chani smut #sf9 smut #kpop smut

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hollywoodsargeant · 1 year

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🖊🧠🍰~

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

AH okay. well of course i will have to pick boyish since i have so many unposted words of that... and it is definitely my main wip of the moment so here is some of oscar taking care of a very drunk logan in high school :) still one of my fav scenes i've written for this

It takes some coaxing, but he gets Logan upright on the edge of the bed drinking his water. In the meantime, Oscar crouches down on the floor to get his shoes off, feeling a bit like a loser doing it, but he— Logan would do the same, for him. They care about each other. They care for each other. He sets the shoes out of the way and stands up, finds Logan laying down again, the empty glass set back on his nightstand.

“Thank you, baby,” he mumbles, words wet and blended together. He presses at Oscar’s calf with a socked foot. “Too good for this world.”

Oscar cracks a smile, shaking his head. “Can you get undressed yourself?” he asks, instead of acknowledging anything he just said. “I’ll get you more water.”

“Not thirsty,” Logan insists.

Oscar doesn’t listen to that, just gets him more. When he comes back, Logan is shirtless and fighting with his own belt, apparently not dexterous enough to get the thing undone. The second he sees Oscar, though, he kind of just flops back against the bed, arms limp, giving him this look, a bit helpless. It makes Oscar feel entirely too fond.

And it’s entirely too intimate, when he puts the glass of water down and undoes Logan’s belt for him, when he tugs his jeans down his legs. Oscar fishes Logan’s phone out of the pocket and puts it on the nightstand, plugs it in. He tells Logan to sit up and drink again before going back to the bathroom for some painkillers, just to leave next to the bed, so they’ll be there in the morning. He shuts the door behind, bathroom light left on on purpose.

Logan has his head on the pillow and is staring at him, still on top of the covers, one hand reaching blindly for Oscar’s hip. “Thank you,” he says again. It half-muffles itself into the pillow.

Oscar smiles, reaching down to ruffle Logan’s hair before he can stop himself. “No problem, mate,” he says, grinning when Logan bats him away. “Need anything else?”

He watches Logan consider it, biting his lip and avoiding eye contact. The hand he has brushing against Oscar’s side falls, and he looks up again, eyes a bit pleading. “Stay?”

Oscar breathes in slow, deep, and not careful enough. “Yeah,” he says without thinking, already toeing off his shoes. “I’ll get the light.”

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

well. maybe this is technically actually a wip but this morning in the midst of my obligatory daydreaming boyish scenes interlude (a real thing) i decided i need to write a lol college au with established liam/logan so that's my idea. it's only technically a wip bc a doc exists (mostly to write down one paragraph before i forgot the wording of it) but there's only like 300 words on it So. yes. :)

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave)

comfort fic... well. to me that is just a fic i read a lot bc it makes me happy so my comfort fic is going to be Porn and it's six weeks by dropdeaddeadass. will not be elaborating. last time i read this fic was uh this morning. thank you

and special mention to and all of my wildest dreams (they just end up with you and me) by choripan (Carlos/Lando) for making me laugh out loud more times than i can count. like when a piece of writing makes me laugh Out Loud multiple times? immediate banger. though this fic also made me cry for the dumbest reason ever aka Logan is a background character and the line "Logan smiled so big his eyes disappeared" exists and i cried for 15 minutes so thanks for that too ig

#ask #ask game #i am going to lose my mind #that entire logan getting drunk ordeal is 7k words #including the morning after scene #WHICH IS ALSO VERY LOVELY!#they sleep in logan's fucking twin bed together. it goes as expected #and no! still not dating! spoilers they don't get together until after high school!#not dating but oscar is doing That #and logan calls him baby have we covered that yet #Yeah #shoutout to that #boyish.miamis

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magnus-the-maqnificent · 2 years

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8,17,25,27,29,35 :D

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

To be honest? Magnus. 🙈 ik this is a bit of an unpopular opinion cause a few other writers I know say they find it hard to write Magnus’s POV buuut it’s easier for me. Idk why tho like it might be because my chaotic adhd brain helps me understand Magnus’s chaotic brain, or maybe because I’ve read tbc too many times but ummm yeah.

It’s also the PoV I prefer writing more lol. No offense, Alec 🙊

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

Mpreg 🙂 there are many many tropes/topics I prefer writing instead of reading and mpreg will never ever be one of those lol.

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Spin-offs by definition are about characters other than the main characters so you know I don’t have any of those 😅

Side adventures hmmmm yeah ig? I’m not really sure what side adventures here means aksjakak but I’m assuming they’re like. Side plots aside from the main plot? In which case yeah I do think of them - mostly for EVR and SMNIYB 🫢 (more schemes and more… *waves hand* you know.)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

Whenever someone tells I’m their favourite author or that one of my fics is their favourite one. I’m just like… there’s so much talent in this fandom and you picked me? 🥺 of course I’ll write the kathony au you want me to write!

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Writing smut for SAS. That was… hmmmmm… not bad but I rarely read SAS because I don’t wanna cringe at myself sjskaks

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Oookay this is very random but. I rarely write ff in a traditional manner (pen to paper) cause then I’ll have to type it all up again and it’s so fucking tedious aksjakak buuut recently I found out that I can use google lens to scan my handwritten stuff and turn it into text SO now I’m considering writing traditionally and seeing if that works better for me compared to straight up typing into a google doc. Like yeah, there’s going to be a lot of editing cause my handwriting is a lil bad buut atleast I’ll get shit done so this might be easier. I’ll try writing in a notebook later tonight and see how it goes 🥰

#blues and then purple pink asks #ask game

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 6 months

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tw's; ocd & csa mention, family issues, maladaptive daydreaming please call me rena!! i'm looking for some opinions & just ranting out ig. i think i grew up lonelier than the children around me. i've never had a sibling, and i've lived in places where most of the time there have been little to no children of my age. i've always thought my family was nowhere close to as bad as much more abusive or dysfunctional families when i was younger, but the more i grow up the more i get to know & realize my house is just as chaotic. my parents didn't exactly have the best marriage, with my dad ( who is dealing with depression & mild schizophrenia ) putting a lot of pressure on my mom who was also dealing with external family problems of her own. being their only child, i guess i didn't get much of a idol to look up to growing up. my mom could be harsh on me growing up, hitting me for various reasons, sometimes valid sometimes not. i remember my dad sleeping in till 12, or 1 in the afternoon and wonder what was wrong with him. all my cousins had a sibling & as of such, i had very little friends and still do. to add on i was SA'd for years by my closest cousin. so yeah, i think you get the idea. don't get me wrong, i really love my parents & they've given me a very comfortable life, with my mom admitting that she might not have been a good mother to me in the past & apologizing for it, but realizing that they had such a troubled marriage is sad. besides, not having much communication aside from my own family who i felt distant from, i resorted to imagination. i write a lot, i love to read, and my creativity is a trait i'm really proud of, but i think that's the root of everything. to escape how lonely i was, i created really elaborate worlds where i was someone better, where things were better for me, in a way i felt strong. and the funny part is it isn't even one where i'm happy. yet some universe where i'm someone else together, going through something waaaaay worse, and surviving through it. i remember indulging in it all the way from when i was 7, to me right now at 18. i have never stopped, and it only got more intense during covid. very detailed, scripted worlds i like to live in instead of the present, only to realize that version of 'me' will never exist, because it's not real. although it's doesn't interfere too bad in my life, it feels like there's something really wrong with me that i can't live without experiencing something that's all in my head. that's all, thanks for reading.

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through and please know that you're not alone. It makes sense to want to escape from these experiences and to some degree escapism is healthy, but it sounds like maybe its starting to interfere with your life.

I think its worth considering that there is still hope to make your reality something you could be comfortable being present for, but it's likely not going to be an overnight process, especially with multiple prolonged traumas. Reaching a place where you feel safe enough to be grounded in your reality may require therapy, if you can access or afford it. A therapist can help you process your trauma, explore the ways you currently cope with your experiences, and guide you along your healing journey.

I hope I could help and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw sa #tw csa #tw incest

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that1stargirl · 7 months

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i feel so odd. like yesterday i spent half the day daydreaming about something then i thought i wanted to write it down but held off doing it immediately because i told myself i wanted to do schoolwork😭then i never did the schoolwork instead my mind drifted into wanting to write down the daydream just to finally start writing it at like 3 am😭

moral of the story just do what you want ig.

cuz by the time i was writing it i fear i forgot half of it😭

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kaaytea · 2 years

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Potions and Prophecies

Miyuki Kazuya x reader

Synopsis: Despite being a wizard, there is one magical substance Miyuki will never believe in—Amortentia. Now the quidditch-obsessed boy is caught in a predicament, one that has to do with the exact substance he turns his nose at.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: strong language, slight Kurasawa if you squint, injury, Hogwarts au

A/n: Funny how I say I want to take a break from Miyuki and still find myself posting content for him...anyways, happy first day of my small Halloween celebration!! I loved writing this, it's a bit different bc I've never written in 3rd pov for a insert fic, but ig I'll see what you guys think :)

*DISCLAIMER* I IN NO WAY AGREE OR SUPPORT R*WLING'S BELIEFS. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN! TRANS MEN ARE MEN! I HIGHLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO READ UP ON TRANS RIGHTS, AS WELL AS ALL OF THE OTHER PROBLEMATIC THEMES SHE IMPLEMENTED IN HER BOOKS (XENOPHOBIA, ANTI-SEMITISM, ECT). THIS ONESHOT WAS PURELY MADE FOR FUN AND NOT INTENDED TO PROMOTE THE AUTHOR OF THE ORIGINAL SERIES!!

"Right then," professor Slughorn announced, grabbing the mismatched student's attention as they slowly settled at their tables, all blinking curiously at the potions professor. "Now that everyone has arrived, I would like us to dive straight into today's lesson. No need to get your cauldrons out, today is purely for observational purposes."

Miyuki watched Slughorn blabber on about the selection of potions on the table at the front of the classroom; occasionally he would scribble down a note or two but he mainly sat with his head against his hand and a bored expression.

Don't get him wrong, Miyuki loved potions class—it was his favorite out of the classes he was taking this year—but his mind had been elsewhere the past few days and a lecture about Felix Felicis or Wolfsbane wasn't exactly helping.

Miyuki's week so far had been entirely dedicated to developing an anti-Gryffindor strategy for the Slytherin quidditch team; more specifically, an anti-Narumiya Mei strategy. The start of Hogwarts' quidditch season had been an utter disaster for Slytherin by getting absolutely slaughtered by the Gryffindors. Mei had promised he and his team wouldn't be holding back this year and that first game proved just how serious he was about winning the cup; the Gryffindors played far more violent than usual, truly leaning into their brash, implosive house characteristics—hell, even Kuramochi had almost taken Miyuki's head off with a bludger a few times during the match.

Miyuki looked at the green-haired Gryffindor sitting beside him. Mochi looked as equally bored as Miyuki and had opted to doodling on the edge of his scroll. Centuries long house rivalries aside, Miyuki and Kuramochi had formed the strongest—but no less weird—friendship ever.

"Miyuki."

Slughorn's voice made him jump in his seat slightly, he quickly looked over to the stout professor in hopes of looking somewhat engaged compared to his previous daydreaming.

"Perhaps you could tell us what the last potion is?"

Miyuki strained his neck slightly to get a look of the cauldron's contents from his seat. The pearlescent sheen and swirling steam rising from the pot gave him the answer instantly.

"Amortentia," he said, "It's branded as a love potion."

"Correct!" Slughorn beamed, all the more satisfied with a favorite student answering right. He shuffled over to the potion and moved it to the middle of his table. "Amortentia doesn't create actual love mind you. Instead, it makes a powerful—almost dangerous—infatuation." Slughorn stepped away and looked over the class. A select few girls blinked starry-eyed at the potion, forbidden hope swimming in their consciousness as they stalked the liquid.

"Amortentia's scent is different for everyone as it's based on what you find attractive," the professor stated, "That is why I would like you all to come up by table and record what exactly the potion smells like to you."

Excited whispers rippled through the class like a stone dropped in water; small squeals and happy sighs escaped the mouths of the hopeless romantics speckled throughout the classroom.

"You will then be writing an essay, two scrolls long, about Amortentia on my desk by Friday morning." The happy cheers crumbled at the topic of actual work. Short grumbles and complaints rang through the group of sixth years.

"First group, make your way up please!"

The two students—a pair of Slytherins—hurried up towards the front of the classroom, excitedly whispering to one another. Miyuki's eyes followed their movements like a lazy cat before heaving a sigh.

"What's up with you?" Kuramochi mumbled, side-eyeing the Slytherin before turning back to the drawing of a dragon he was enchanting to flap its wings.

"I just think it's pointless to study Amortentia," Miyuki said, eyes trailing after the little ink dragon flapping around on Kuramochi's piece of parchment. "It's not like it's actually accurate."

Kuramochi snorted at Miyuki's response. At first, the boy thought Miyuki was joking, but when he turned to look at his face he was flooded with disbelief.

"You're serious?!"

Miyuki nodded.

"Miyuki you fly on a broom for sport but don't believe a potion does what it's intended to do?!" Kuramochi kept his voice to a whisper, his eyes flicked over to where Slughorn was happily chatting with a Gryffindor, almost as though he were afraid to find out what the potions master would do if he discovered his favorite student doubted a potion.

"Maybe it's the muggle ideology in me, but no I don't."

"Muggle ideology?" Mochi questioned, "Are you forgetting your dad is literally a wizard?"

Miyuki just rolled his eyes and leaned even more onto his hand. "Really? I never would have guessed!" Fake amusement dripped from the boy's voice causing Kuramochi to whack his arm with the closest book he could reach, Miyuki just laughed at the Gryffindor's irritation. "I did spend time with my mom before she died you know," he said when Kuramochi's attacks died down, "Coming from a muggle, her outlook on magic stuck with me."

Kuramochi hummed in response. Miyuki's mother was a touchy topic so he took it as a sign to steer clear of that corner of the conversation.

"I still don't get what exactly you don't believe about Amortentia though. How couldn't it be accurate?"

"You know—it's like a mood ring or horoscopes," Miyuki sighed, "They just take the surface level characteristics of you and market it as some deep astounding discovery."

"A mood what?" Kuramochi looked utterly lost, staring back at his friend in confusion due to the unfamiliar words.

"Right, forgot you’re not familiar with muggle stuff. Uh...ok it's the same concept as divination. Tea leaves, studying dreams—that sort of thing."

Kuramochi's nose scrunched up in distaste at the mention of the subject, "Ok yeah I get it now—let’s maybe not mention divination for the rest of the day because Sawamura already babbles about it enough."

Both boys shuttered at the mention of Sawamura Eijun's obsession with divination. He was a lovely Hufflepuff to be around, but he had no loss for words when trying to convince someone that he could tell your future with a glass ball.

"Don't get me started, yesterday he told me I would meet the love of my life through a book after looking at the coffee grounds in my mug."

Miyuki's deadpan look only made Kuramochi laugh even harder; just as Miyuki does, Kuramochi found his friend’s misfortunes a prime source of entertainment.

"Miyuki. Kuramochi."

The boys looked up to where professor Slughorn was waving them over for their turn with the Amortentia. Miyuki slid off his stool and shuffled behind Kuramochi up towards the front of the class; he really didn't want to smell some potion he already knew the result of, but Slughorn praised the ground he walked on, so he decided it would be best to humor him.

"Now then, don't go putting your whole face into the cauldron, it can cause for a terrible migraine," Slughorn laughed in little wheezes. Miyuki and Kuramochi just awkwardly chuckled along, sharing a look of concern with one another.

Kuramochi went first, breathing in the scent of the potion before scribbling down what Miyuki thought said spearmint—it was hard to tell with his handwriting. Just as Kuramochi went to step away he froze, his nose scrunched up from whatever scent had met him and scratched down one last thing: Earl grey tea.

Like a machine, as Mochi headed back towards their shared table, Miyuki took his place. He stared down at the pearly potion, scowling on the inside but emotionless on the outside as he watched the steam twist and swirl up towards him. His first breath was met with the scents he expected: the cooking mirin his mother used, the leather of his keeper’s gloves, broom polish, and rosemary.

Just as he had expected. Scents that briefly describe him and his interests, nothing revolutionary. It was impossible for a meer potion to dive deeper into a person's consciousness and gather their true attractions.

Similar to Kuramochi, just as Miyuki finished jotting down the scents, a new one emerged—one he couldn't instantly place. It was softer than the harsher things he had written down on his parchment; welcoming and warm like a hug, like the very embodiment of sunshine had flooded through his body. After a few more seconds he was able to distinguish what the scent actually was—marigolds.

Confused and slightly concerned, he messily scribbled the flower down and hurried back to his seat. On his way back he briefly made eye contact with Narumiya Mei, who cheekily stuck his tongue out at him as he passed only to get a thwack to the back of his head by his friend, and table mate, (y/n). Miyuki ignored Mei's childish instigating and sat heavily down on the stool next to Kuramochi.

For the rest of the class period, Slughorn gave a short lecture about Amortentia, giving the students a minimal amount of information so that they had a general understanding of the concoction, but not enough as to write their essay for them. Miyuki couldn't focus on the words and information spilling from the professor's mouth. His thoughts—once ruled by quidditch strategies—were now being overloaded and filled with the simple name of a flower.

Where did this damned plant come from? What part of his subconscious involved the small orange flower?

The only time he had encountered marigolds was in the garden of the old, crotchety woman who lived in the house besides his. Even then, his encounters with the neighbor had been less than pleasant which definitely couldn't warrant an attraction to the flowers that speckled her flower beds.

The emergence of the marigold scent just further proved to Miyuki that Amortentia was exactly what he thought it was—a hoax for people betting their lives on the prospect of love.

Potions was the last class of the day for sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins; the loud clanging of the Hogwarts bell signaled the few hours of freedom the students were granted at the end of the school days. For Miyuki, the bell signified his mad dashes from potions to the Slytherin common room where he would throw off his school robes and replace them with his emerald green quidditch jumper. From the common room tucked away in the dungeons, he would then race up to the Great Hall, wolf down whatever food was being served for the night, and get down to the quidditch pitch in time for evening practice.

As Miyuki burst into the Great Hall—quidditch bag slung over his shoulder and shoelaces untied—he bumped straight into someone, causing the person to stumble and fall flat on their butt.

"Ah sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he apologized to the person—who he now saw was (y/n). Miyuki reached out his hand and they graciously accepted his help up.

"It's alright, Miyuki," they said with a shy smile. Their eyes flicked to the bag with his quidditch gear before meeting his bespectacled gaze again. "Good luck with practice tonight, I can't wait to see what your team pulls at the next Gryffindor-Slytherin match!" And with that (y/n) sent him one last smile and a small wave before hurrying over to where Mei was sitting.

As Miyuki stood there watching (y/n) run off he swore he could smell the marigolds again—it was like the god damn potion was following him.

Miyuki walked over to the Slytherin table and slumped down in the spot across from the Slytherin team beaters—the Kominato brothers. Miyuki slowly piled food onto his plate now that he finally had a short moment to relax, but he couldn't help his eyes drifting over to where (y/n) was laughing at something Mei had said.

"A little distracted tonight, are we?" Ryousuke's smooth voice rang out in a teasing way, a cheshire smirk spread across his lips.

"I haven't exactly had time to think about anything but quidditch," Miyuki said, sticking his fork into some food on his plate and taking a bite, "I need to put together a strategy we can use against Gryffindor by our next game."

Ryousuke just hummed from where he was languidly leaning his head on his palm, "I wasn't exactly referring to quidditch."

"What were yo—"

"I'm heading down to the pitch," Ryou cut in, standing up from the bench and grabbing his bag from the floor. "See you two at practice."

Miyuki shook his head out of confusion and bafflement as the older boy walked from the hall.

Perhaps putting off an essay that was two scrolls long wasn't the smartest move on Miyuki's part. In his defense, Slytherin and Gryffindor were granted extra practice hours in preparation for their game Saturday which left little time for schoolwork. His only problem was it was now Thursday and the essay was due tomorrow morning.

The Keeper reluctantly made his way to the library during his free period. He was lucky the vast room was fairly empty at this time of day, the only students there being a few seventh and sixth years. The emptiness made the place a little less stuffy than it usually felt. After setting his things down at a table, Miyuki started weaving through the towering shelves stuffed full of books. He skimmed his fingers over the hundreds of decaying potions books in the room, on a mission to find one fully about Amortentia. After about ten minutes of continuous searching, he spotted it—a worn mauve book with light pink detailing around the spine. If there was ever a book about Amortentia it had to be that one. With his attention fully absorbed in grabbing the book, Miyuki failed to notice the other student reaching for it until their fingers bumped his as they both went to pull the object from the shelf.

Slightly startled, Miyuki looked to his right to find who he had just bumped hands with; his heart involuntarily fluttered at the sight of the figure beside him.

"We seem to just keep finding one another, huh?" (Y/n) said, their voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he breathed out. Miyuki's hand retracted from the potion book, his eyes never leaving the glittering ones before him. "You can uh— take the book."

(Y/n)'s index finger hooked the book's spine, pulling it off the shelf and into their awaiting hand. After obtaining the mauve book they turned back to Miyuki with a shy expression, "How about we share it?" They said in a melodic tone, "I assume you need it for Slughorn's essay too, right?"

Before Miyuki could even respond (y/n) was already moving towards the table he had placed his things at, leaving him to stand dumbfounded in the middle of the grandiose bookcases. His only response was a soft 'sure' that no one but him heard.

As Miyuki sat down at the cozy table—Amortentia book splayed open and pages of notes scattered about—he struggled to calm the irregular beating of his heart, his hand shook nervously each time he dipped his quill into the inkpot on the table; his writing came out shaky and illegible. He couldn't tell why his body was acting this way, but then it hit him—or more accurately, a scent did.

Marigolds.

The marigolds scent was back and it was strong. Almost as though the source was sitting right infro. . .

Miyuki sat staring down in shock at where his hand had ceased writing as his thought trailed off. The Slytherin's eyes slowly glided over to where (y/n) was blissfully flipping through the book on Amortentia.

They were the source of the marigolds.

He didn't know what to do, it was as though thousands of bells and sirens were going off in his brain, all of them ringing at different pitches to form a garbled mess. Time had frozen as every instance he had ever interacted with them flooded to the forefront of his mind. Every laugh, smile, greeting, or brush of their hands started to weigh on him; seemingly insignificant actions that weren’t looking very insignificant anymore.

Through the keeper’s mild crisis, a certain Hufflepuff's words spoke from the back of his mind.

“You're going to meet your soulmate through a book, Miyuki Kazuya!”

It couldn't be. There was no bloody way that Eijun and his silly tea leaves had been right—that that stupid potion had been right. Miyuki took one last glance at the person beside him and forced himself to work on his essay.

Yet for some reason, there was a little, unnoticed piece of Miyuki's heart hoping that what he had uncovered would turn out to be true.

The Great Hall on quidditch days was always chaotic. The teams, clad in their house-colored quidditch jumpers, scurried around trying to get organized and shake off their nerves —some shoveling down breakfast while others looked as though they'd be sick at even the thought of food. The team captains always scanned the hall to double, sometimes triple, check to make sure their entire team was present.

For students not on the quidditch team, mornings before a game were less stress-inducing, but instead filled with house pride and hearty cheers. Bets and wishes of luck were thrown between the two teams as their housemates and friends anxiously waited to start heading down towards the stands.

Miyuki hadn't taken a single bite from his breakfast that morning, instead opting for a mug of black coffee and a mind filled with romantic turmoil. He had spent the past two days thinking about his sudden realization in the library; being pulled between the two blatant, but possibly coincidental, facts and his strong disbelief of any and all things divination and fortune-telling.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cup of hot tea being innocently pushed in front of him; the strong earl grey aroma made his nose involuntarily scrunch up in distaste.

"I'm not drinking that," he said flatly, not even looking up from where he was pushing around his, now soggy, bowl of cereal.

"C'mon Kuramochi let me tell his!" Sawamura whined.

Miyuki looked up at the Hufflepuff sitting across from him; the boy’s freckled face was pulled down into a pitiful attempt at guilting his victim into complying with his wishes.

"No."

"You're no fun," Sawamura groaned.

Not one to be discouraged easily, Sawamura reached over the table and snatched Miyuki's empty coffee mug, despite the latter’s protests. With a triumphant look the boy whipped out a small book from his bag—Dahnus Decan's Pocket guide to Divination and Dreams read in bold iridescent writing across the cover.

Miyuki let out a sigh as he watched Sawamura flip frantically through his book—mumbling something about stars and injuries as he went.

"Isn't that a bit sacrilegious?" Miyuki said, referring to the two scarves hanging from the boy’s neck—one Slytherin and one Gryffindor.

Sawamura looked up, blinking mindlessly at the older boy across from him, "What's wrong with me wanting to support my friends?"

"Nothing, Nothing," Miyuki dismissed with a wave of his hand, "It's just a bit ironic of you to wear the scarves of the two houses with the worst house rivalry—how did you even get those anyway? You're a Hufflepuff."

Sawamura put his book down and picked up the end of the Slytherin scarf with a large smile, "This one I stole from Furuya when he was napping, and this one—" he said gently grabbing the end of the Gryffindor scarf, "Kuramochi gave me!"

Miyuki hummed in understanding as Sawamura instantly went back to flipping through his book. The Slytherin's gaze drifted over to where Kuramochi was sitting at the Gryffindor table, his green hair contrasting harshly with his maroon quidditch jumper. The two of them made eye contact to which Miyuki sent him a shitty grin and an exaggerated waggle of his fingers in greeting. In return, Kuramochi flipped him off followed by a sweet smile.

"Ok, I've got it!" Sawamura yelled, breaking the small moment Miyuki and Kuramochi were sharing from across the hall.

"Distractions will be your downfall!"

Miyuki frowned, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Sawamura shrugged, snapping his book close and placing the coffee mug back in front of the Keeper, "Coffee isn't as accurate and is way harder to read compared to tea leaves."

"Of course how could I forget," the Slytherin muttered, leaning against his hand.

Sawamura wasn't fazed by Miyuki's less than enthusiastic response and instead scrambled to gather his things and stood from the bench.

"Haruichi and Furuya are here!" He cheered before turning back to look at Miyuki, "Good luck today, I'll be rooting for you guys!"

With a final wave, Miyuki Watched the bubbly Hufflepuff dash over to his friends; the boy’s loud laughs easily being heard over the consistent drone in the Great Hall.

Now alone, Miyuki sat like a pessimistic blob in the sea of green and red; happy calls to friends and competitive taunts being passed around like a plate of fresh cookies, contrasted harshly with his lone self.

Not wanting to blemish the rest of the school’s excitement, the Slytherin keeper stood from his uneaten breakfast, left the Great Hall, and headed straight for the quidditch pitch.

He immediately noticed the frigid bite in the air the second he stepped foot outside and started his long trek across the school grounds. Unlike the subtle transition of months, the weather always changed rapidly—one day you could be basking in the gentle warmth of late summer and the next you were bundling up in thick layers.

In the safety of the Slytherin locker room, Miyuki slipped on his quidditch robes and all his keeper's padding; experimentally flexing his fingers in the snug, leather gloves to help the material settle comfortably against his skin.

In a swift motion, Miyuki turned on his heel and made a beeline for the doorway to retrieve his broom from the broom shed—perhaps a few laps around the stadium would help clear his mind.

Unfortunately for him, his plans came crashing to a halt as a person rammed straight into his chest as he walked through the changing room entrance. The force was strong enough for him to trip over his feet and fall backward, the unnamed student grabbed onto his arm in a wasted attempt at preventing him from falling, only to get pulled down with him—their face smooshed firmly into his chest from his hand cradling them close to cushion their fall. When he looked down at the student he was embraced by the smell of marigolds and an anxious laugh.

"Maybe we should both wear bells to keep this from happening all the time," (y/n) said through laughs. Their face burned hotly at the sight of Miyuki staring down at them—glasses askew and hair ruffled. Instinctively their hand reached up to straighten his crooked specs; Miyuki stiffened slightly at their advances, his reaction causing them to realize what they were doing and clamber off of him.

"I'm really sorry about knocking you over," they said, extending their hand out to help him up, which he graciously accepted, "I was so focused on getting the Slytherin banners out I didn't even think to make sure no one was in here."

"It's alright," he responded, hand going up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, "I was a bit distracted too so. . ."

The pair stood looking at each other—marigolds and quidditch leather dancing through the air, trapping them under its spell. Unknowingly they shifted closer to one another, bodies millimeters away from touching. The pair were completely absorbed in the other, their eyes darting from feature to feature as though they were desperately trying to set the person in front of them to memory.

"I uh," (y/n) stuttered, breaking the almost chemical attraction pulling the both of them together, "Good luck today, Kazuya."

All Miyuki could muster was a soft thanks in return, his soul still star-struck from the feeling of their warmth.

He hurried out of the changing room and towards the broom shed, his green and silver robes billowing behind him.

What the hell was happening to him?

Miyuki proved to be even worse during the game—his fingers twitched from the loss of (y/n)’s, the insistent marigold smell stuck to his senses and melted his stomach into a pool of nerves. He couldn't get focused. Marigolds, Sawamura's silly little prophecy; it all kept pushing back into the front of his mind each time he tried to train his eyes on the quaffle.

A loud ding resounded around the pitch as Mei scored another point; the Gryffindor supporters cheering ballistically as their token player secured an even larger lead.

Miyuki frustratedly pushed his bangs away from his face, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. When he opened them they locked onto Mei. The blonde stared back at him, his brows furrowed as he sat suspended in the air analyzing Miyuki—an almost worried expression glinting in his eyes.

Miyuki sent him a cocky smirk, one that Mei briefly returned before it morphed back into the straight-faced look he bore seconds before.

Mei had just started to open his mouth to call something out to the keeper only to be cut off by a whistle from madam Hooch, signaling him to circle back towards his side of the pitch.

The quaffle was thrown in from Slytherin's side, the chasers weaving and fighting madly for a grip on the leather ball. Flashes of green and red were all Miyuki could make out from the speed the players were going at; the shiny surface of the quaffle was only visible for seconds at a time in the tangle of limbs.

Miyuki's concentration on the chasers completely distracted him from one of the more fatal elements of quidditch. Just as he watched a Gryffindor chaser hurl the quaffle towards Mei, a voice of warning called out to him—one that didn't reach him quick enough.

"MIYUKI!"

The Keeper turned just in time to see a bludger fling straight at him, colliding harshly with his left shoulder and knocking him off his broom, leaving him to plummet straight towards the sandpits beneath the hoops. He landed with a heavy thud; a splitting pain shot from his right elbow and ribs, choking out a breath as his lungs struggled to bring in air.

His eyes started to droop as his body sent itself into a state of shock, the sharp pain that had been so persistent before slowly faded as his mind shut down. The shouts from the stands and startled screams faded away as he lay there limply in the sand—the last thing he saw before passing out being blurs of green and red rushing towards him.

"Stop crowding him! He fell off a fucking broom!"

"He looks dead."

"Furuya don't say that!"

"Maybe if you all shut up you'd notice that he's waking up."

Miyuki groaned as his conscience started to reconnect with the world. His body felt like it had been hit by a train. Scratch that, it was like he was mauled by a bear then hit by a train. His muscles felt like they were being torn apart by a paper shredder as he shifted to sit up in his bed. He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the bright light, on instinct he went to rub them only to find his left arm strapped securely in a cloth sling. When he looked up he was met with a blurry view of the entire Slytherin quidditch team crowding around his bed.

"We lost, didn't we?"

"You could have died and the first thing you're worried about is if your team won the match?!"

Miyuki looked over to the source of the voice, squinting to try and get his less than perfect eyes to focus. Surrounded by all the green, and wearing Slytherin quidditch robes, Kuramochi stood at the foot of the hospital bed—the only giveaway of his misplacement being the slivers of red peeking from beneath the robes.

"Why are you wearing Slytherin robes?" The Keeper questioned aloud, muttering a soft thank you to Haruichi who handed him his glasses. Now that Miyuki could see properly, it was almost comical to see such a proud Gryffindor in the silver and green.

"They were only letting the team visit you so I snuck in," Kuramochi said, crossing his arms.

A pleased smile spread across Miyuki's face, "Awwwww! Were you worried about me, Youichi?"

If Miyuki weren't currently injured Kuramochi probably would have put him in a headlock by now. Instead, the boy stood there stewing in his exasperation.

"You got hit by a bludger and fell out of the sky, of course I was fucking worried!"

Miyuki was slightly shocked at Kuramochi's response. Their friendship wasn't all that touchy-feely, so he must look pretty bad for the boy to get this antsy. Miyuki scanned over his team, all of them had strained looks as they shifted uncomfortably around his hospital bed.

"How bad is it?" His voice came out quieter than he expected, the underlying fear surfacing as the team's anxiety spread to him.

Ryousuke stepped forward slightly from the ring of green; the older boy didn't ever show much emotion but in this situation, it made Miyuki even more fearful as the short Kominato stared him down.

"You've got two cracked ribs and minimal bruising. You broke your elbow too but Pomfrey fixed that up in an instant," Ryousuke paused slightly, he wet his lips and sighed slightly before continuing. "The bludger dislocated your shoulder. Madam Pomfrey is keeping you here till Monday evening and you're off the starting line up until she says it's safe for you to play again."

No one moved or spoke as they watched Miyuki digest the information Ryousuke had just laid on him, his mouth hung open slightly in disbelief and all light evaporated from his eyes. He was completely and utterly crushed; Miyuki had nothing without quidditch.

"Miyuki," Ryousuke's voice came out gentler than anyone had ever heard before—a few team members even turned their heads in surprise. "Stop worrying. Yui will fill in for you as keeper—just focus on resting right now."

The older Kominato's words seemed to be the team's cue to file out of the hospital wing now that they were sure their teammate was ok and that the hard news had been delivered. Each member gave him well wishes as they walked from his bedside—Kuramochi sent him a sad smile and promised to come visit after dinner.

The hospital wing seemed so much larger when it wasn't filled with Miyuki's few friends; the distant clicking of shoes on the stone floors and laughs echoing throughout the halls only deepened the empty feeling seeping into his body.

He was alone, injured, and had just been torn away from his greatest love in the world—quidditch.

To top everything off, not having quidditch to keep him busy meant Miyuki would have a lot more free time. Free time that would most definitely be used stressing over his current prophecy-Amortentia dilemma.

From the corner of his eye, Miyuki spotted a head of blonde peeking from behind the tall wooden doors at the entrance of the hospital wing. After a quick scan of the room, the blonde Gryffindor swiftly walked across the wing and sat himself in the chair next to Miyuki's bed; with an elegant flick of his wand, one of the privacy curtains whipped around the bed to shield the pair from any nosy beings that happened to enter the hospital wing.

"Come to brag about your win?"

"Oh hardly," Mei sniggered, lounging back in the wooden chair. "This game was no victory to me—especially with the way you were playing today."

Miyuki frowned at the boy’s words; his shoulder lit with a dull pain.

"I-"

"Don't even try," Mei huffed, easily cutting Miyuki off. "We've been playing quidditch together since we could walk. I've seen you on your off days, Kazuya. Today was something completely different."

There wasn't a trace of malice in Mei's voice, but the hard glare the two students were holding gave the impression that they were seconds away from hexing each other.

Miyuki sat there staring back at his childhood friend, analyzing the blonde's blue eyes for the source of his sudden interest in Miyuki's lackluster performance earlier today.

"I'm cut from the team until my shoulder is healed."

Mei's steely gaze faltered slightly at his words—the Gryffindor quickly compensated for his momentary breach in resolve, his nose scrunching up and brows furrowed.

"There's something else bothering you. Stop trying to hide it. I know you better than you think."

Miyuki broke their stalemate, bringing his hands up and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh as he contemplated his fate.

"Do you believe that Amortentia is accurate?"

Miyuki looked over at Mei when he didn't respond immediately. The Gryffindor was staring at his bedridden friend like he had just sprouted ears and a tail—which wasn't a rare occurrence at Hogwarts.

"You're thinking of our potions essay while I'm trying to interrogate you?!" Mei shouted, his left eye twitching in annoyance.

"No," Miyuki protested, "Well...kinda, when Slughorn asked us to record the things we smelled there was something I wasn't really expecting."

"Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to continue this twenty questions thing we have going on?"

"Marigolds," Miyuki stated, "I smelt marigolds."

"Mari—" Mei cut himself off as something dawned on him. The boy’s eyes slowly widened before his head whipped up to meet Miyuki's gaze. "(Y/N)?!"

The Slytherin tore his eyes from Mei's, his lips twitched and his uninjured hand fidgeted with the cotton sheets chaining him to the hospital bed; having it said out loud caused all of Miyuki's suppressed emotions to surface, his ears tinting a bright scarlet to seal the deal.

Mei's shock had very quickly transitioned into amusement, his expression had melted into one reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. The boy's smirk widened as he reached over and continuously nudged Miyuki's side.

"You like them, Kazuya~" he teased, breaking into triumphant laughs when Miyuki slapped his hand away. "Godric, I can't believe this is happening—you know I was convinced you'd die alone with how quidditch obsessed you are."

"Wow thanks, Mei," Miyuki said in a flat tone.

Mei grinned and scooted his chair closer to the hospital bed, "So when are you confessing? Oh actually! (Y/n) and I were supposed to go to Hogsmeade next Saturday, I could conveniently not show up and you can take them on a date! Or I could always—"

"Mei!" Miyuki practically shouted, cutting off the impending long-winded ramble the blonde was about to embark on. "I'm not planning on confessing to them."

It was like that simple sentence had sucked all the joy out of the Gryffindor; one second he was planning Miyuki's wedding, the next he was about to explode in a fit of rage.

"WHAT?!" He shrieked, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish as he stuttered out words. "You can't just not confess!"

"I shouldn't date a person just because a potion and some tea leaves told me to. Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"But it's destiny, Kazuya!" Mei wailed, grabbing onto the Slytherin's arm—who immediately tried to shake him off.

"Merlin, you sound just like Sawamura," Miyuki mumbled as he pried the boy off his side.

Mei pouted slightly and crossed his arms with a frustrated huff. In an instant, his expression changed, like he had just remembered something vitally important.

"You know what?" He paused, his mouth hung open as he thought over whatever was in his head. The look of confidence swiftly left Mei—his shoulders deflating like a decrepit balloon. "Nevermind. I'm a good friend so I can't tell you that."

Miyuki watched Mei scramble out of the bedside chair and gather his things before the boy whipped out his wand and commanded the privacy curtain to spiral back to its original spot. Mei turned sharply to look back at Miyuki—who continued to squint up at him in confusion.

"Quidditch won't give you everything in life, Kazuya. Sometimes it’s worth it to take a chance."

And with that Mei turned and left the hospital wing, leaving Miyuki—once again—completely alone.

Pomfrey released Miyuki from the hospital wing just after dinner on Monday evening, leaving the boy to trudge all the way down to the Slytherin common room by himself. He felt a sense of dread flopping down onto his bed; the thick, emerald green comforter did little help at cushioning his heavy thoughts.

Any other day he would be down on the pitch, a place that felt more like home than his actual one. Now his keeper's guards and quidditch jumper—folded neatly and placed on the foot of his bed, most likely done by a teammate—gleamed at him in a taunting manner.

Like his own personal hell, he sat there, watching the items remind him of what he could, what he should be doing.

The emptiness of his room eventually started to swallow him. Miyuki was a fickle creature who liked his space, but not a space that would cause him to go mad. The trapped, fruitless atmosphere started to suffocate him; he needed to escape the feeling of uselessness and he knew exactly what that answer was.

The boy frantically scattered about his room, grabbing a pencil and as many papers he could carry with one good arm; there was no time for him to search through his bag for his quidditch notebook—in fact, the idea hadn't even occurred to him.

Even if he couldn't play quidditch he could still observe the team and work on defensive strategies.

The Slytherin keeper went barreling down the corridors of the castle, dipping and cutting through the halls he knew a teacher or Filch wouldn't halt him to scold his insistent running. His surroundings blurred together like one of those impressionist paintings as he ripped through the castle like a tornado.

The door out to the grounds came into view, he could feel the cold breeze drifting in from the open door—the portal to his freedom after days of being glued to a bed was right in front of him.

In the final stretch towards the doors, a figure rounded the corner where the three halls met. His attention was so captivated by the outside that Miyuki hadn't noticed the person until he was ramming straight into them; the papers he and the person were holding spilled across the floor like a bucket of water, both parties following suit in crashing to the ground.

"Oh my gosh! Miyuki, are you ok?!"

The person's voice was frighteningly familiar, a voice that was closely followed by the aroma of marigolds.

Miyuki looked over to where (y/n) was sitting on the floor. He watched their eyes trail over him, their gaze briefly getting caught on the cloth sling his left arm was still securely wrapped in.

"Yeah—yeah I'm fine," he said, hoping to ease their worried expression. "I'm really sorry about running into you."

"It's alright," they responded, waving his apology off with a warm smile. "I did the same thing to you so it's only fair."

He attempted to return their comforting look, the pair of them staring back at each other with similar giddy feelings bubbling in their chests.

"I-ah...let me help you pick your stuff up!" (Y/n) stuttered out. The student scrambled onto their knees as they sorted through the papers, placing them into neat stacks.

Not wanting to be completely rude, Miyuki picked up the paper that fell beside him. The white parchment had neatly printed script at the top spelling out Amortentia followed by a list of objects and scents—two of which were quidditch gloves and broom polish.

"I didn't know you liked quidditch so much," the Slytherin said, handing the paper back to its owner.

(Y/n)'s eyes just about popped out of their head when Miyuki uttered those words; their face burnt hotter than the torches lighting the halls.

"I didn't know either."

Miyuki watched them closely as they nervously nibbled away at the skin of their bottom lip, their hands shook slightly as they picked up the two stacks of paper and reached out to help him up. He didn't know what happened but a rush of adrenaline and anxiety rushed through him, the high feeling made his mouth move faster than his mind.

"Do you like marigolds?!"

It came out sort of like a shout, the volume made (y/n) jump slightly before they processed his words. Instantly, Miyuki felt sick over what he had done; not even two days ago he had said he wasn't going to confess and yet here he was—if he could he'd probably punch himself right now, maybe it'd knock some sense into him.

"I do—it's actually the scent of my shampoo," (y/n)'s brows furrowed, "Why do you ask?"

"Same reason you have quidditch gloves written on that paper."

A small, surprised gasp left (y/n); they bit down harshly on their bottom lip to hide the grin fighting to surface.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Kazuya's body; the stifling secret had been eradicated—and from the glittery look in the eyes of the person opposite him, he'd say it was well-received.

"You were heading down to the pitch?"

Miyuki nodded.

"Good we can head down together!" (Y/n) held onto his things and led the way out the door leaving Miyuki to hurry to match paces with them. The early October wind blew softly around them, chilling their fingers and cheeks as they walked in a Comfortable silence.

As the pair continued down the path—treading over crunchy leaves and the dusty autumn ground—Miyuki's good hand brushed theirs continuously. Their fingers bumped and brushed until eventually Miyuki shyly linked their fingers together.

He decided then that he never wanted to let go.

Maybe he should start putting more faith into this whole magic thing.

#miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya imagine #miyuki kazuya oneshot #daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace oneshot #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of the diamond #ace of the diamond oneshot #diamond no ace x reader #diamond no ace oneshot #diamond no ace

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Bloodlust /// Sanemi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: A naive demon is waylaid by the Wind Hashira.

A/N: Might fuck around and get back into KNY…Sanemi is one mean bastard, and I’m here for it. Be warned—this is pretty brutal (not by canon standards, but still). ngl I’ve missed writing stuff like this 🥺

Tags/warnings: sadomasochism, noncon, hatefucking!!!! is def the best way to describe what happens in this fic, threats, violence, demon reader & demon things, primal, degradation, outdoor sex, bloodplay & marechi kink stuff, yandere? obsessive fixation ig, some creative liberties have been taken with canon

You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be weak.

Strength came with the territory when you were turned into a demon, along with the hunger: all-encompassing, oppressive, like you’re starving every second you’re not eating. Apparently you’re better able to control your hunger than other demons, not that you’ve met many—none, actually, other than the one who turned you. He was the one who told you to exercise control, who told you that you’ve done well to stealthily pick off prey that wouldn’t be missed instead of attracting attention. He was the one who told you about demon slayers.

You almost laughed at the idea at the time. A group of humans who tried to resist demons? Tried to kill them? How? Every human you’ve encountered since you were turned—hunters, mostly, men who’d wandered into the woods looking for something to eat—has been pathetically weak against you. Life as a demon is simple. As long as you stay in the shadows and avoid the sun, you have nothing to fear.

Sometimes you daydream about making your way to a village and gorging yourself, but you don’t mind the hunger so much. You can get by on scraps. And besides, the demon who turned you warned you not to go overboard. He said to stay away from the humans’ notice—not that the threat of some human calling themselves a “demon slayer” bothered you. You know how strong you are; you can feel it in your blood, your muscles, your bones. You don’t understand how a flesh-and-blood human could threaten that.

You don’t understand…until you meet him. The Wind Hashira. You should’ve listened to the warnings about demon slayers.

Bitter.

It tastes bitter, and you try to ground yourself on that taste, the sharp, bitter-wet flavor of the grass and dew and earth because the slayer is shoving your face into the dirt and the copper from where you’re biting into your lip and holding back the sound of your voice. Not that he cares, probably. But you don’t think you could take hearing yourself moan for a human while he carves the shape of his cock into your pussy.

How did you…get here? Facedown, barely holding yourself up on your elbows, chest and stomach shoved into the grass with your back arched up and your kimono ridden above your hips… Fuck, you can barely remember the fight, his ability, him wrestling you into the earth and shoving his weight down on you and bringing his blade to his own arm and—

—his blood, so rich and thick and sweet that even recalling the smell of it sends a wave of heat through you and you whine under your breath. The hunger overtakes everything else you’re feeling, but only for a second before with a twitch of his hand the Hashira brings the edge of his sword to the tender skin of your throat. “Ah-ah,” he rasps out a laugh even though his voice is heavy and strained. “What was that? Are you starting to like it?”

“K-Kill you, I’ll—kill you,” you snarl, but you and him both know the threat is empty. You tried. And you failed.

“Fucking demon whore,” he spits, and the blade slips just enough to draw a hair-thin line of red across your neck, earning a yelp from you even though you don’t dare move any more for fear of letting it cut you deeper. When you go still, he grunts and you can hear him shifting position in the grass, angling your hips up so his cock can sink in again. “Asking for it…fuck…”

“I wasn’t—nngh—ah, ahhh, s-stop—you can’t—” Your words are coming out in babbles, barely intelligible but it’s his fault. He’s pushing up at your womb, pulling out in short, quick thrusts and slamming his cock back into your cunt so hard and rough it’s like he’s knocking the breath out of your lungs. It hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, an ache deep in your core and accompanied with a heat and tension that you hate even more than you hate the pain, because it means he’s right. You—no, your body, your traitorous pathetic weak body that submitted to his so easily—it’s starting to like this.

“How’s it feel?” He’s mocking you, fisting his fingers in your hair and wrenching your head back so he can look you in the eye. “Does it hurt?…it hurts, right? Good.”

“—i-it doesn’t—“ You don’t even believe it yourself.

“Yes…it does. Guess even a demon bitch like you can’t take me that easily.” Somehow the slayer’s hips keep pumping deeper, pushing his fat cock through your walls and against the entrance to your womb until you’re certain your unnatural healing can’t keep up with the bruising in your cunt. Your fingers are scrabbling in the grass, digging clawed nails into the earth—the little nick on your throat has already knitted itself back up, but the tension in your pussy is a dozen—a hundred—times worse.

“—stop, let me go—“ Debased. Lower than an animal. You’d be begging if you thought he would listen.

“‘Stop’? How are you going to...ungh, make me stop? Want to try to fight me off again?” He pulls out (you hate the way your cunt feels when he does, hot and slick and empty) and his grip on the sword slackens, easing up enough to give you a scanty inch of movement. “Go ahead, give it a try.”

The slayer’s taunting you—just like you taunted him at the start of this, when you first challenged him, when you thought he was a human—and, and somehow he is, still human and yet just as much a monster as you are. More. You’ve been cruel, you’ve done evil things, but you did them to survive. Fuck, you shouldn’t—shouldn’t have taunted him, shouldn’t have boasted, should’ve stayed hidden in the dark. You didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to be this strong.

Your muscles are shaking from exertion as you brace your hands against the ground, trying to push up against the weight of his body so you can right yourself, but it’s futile. Within a second (less than a second) of your attempt to move, one of his scarred hands slaps over your wrist and crushes it back into the dirt, grip so tight you swear you can almost feel your bones grinding underneath. You snarl, try to twist yourself away from him but the hilt of his sword slams down flat against your other hand so hard you feel a dull pang of surprise that nothing actually breaks.

“So weak…try that again and I’ll use the sharp end.” His chest is moving back on top of yours, and you recognize the silent rhythm of the movement.

He’s laughing at you.

Weak. You know it’s true. You thought you were so strong, but compared to this Hashira you’re nothing. Pure unadulterated defeat is written in every cell of your body, and whatever animal instinct you have left from your human life is telling you to roll over and accept that he’s the predator, and you’re nothing more than prey. But the mockery, the ease with which he holds you down, the goddamn fucking laughter sparks a fresh wave of hatred and you thrash and squirm underneath his body. “You’re dead, you—I’ll kill you, I’ll tear you apart, they’ll be picking bits of you out of this forest for weeks—“

The red haze over your vision is so heavy that you barely notice the blade tilting into position—not over your skin, but against his. You only register what he’s doing when the glint of sunlight on the blade reflects brilliant white, and you catch a scarlet line of blood beading against it. You pull back, eyes going wide, trying not to inhale but your lungs betray you and,

oh ohhh fuck it smells good smells so good you want it you want it so fucking bad you’re going to die if you can’t taste it you need it you need it you NEED IT.

Your muscles go slack. You’re salivating already, dizzy from hunger, so intensely focused on the smell of his blood that you can’t help your compliance as he pulls your hips up into place and slips his cock back into your pussy. Only when it starts to hurt again—a dull soreness now, because he’s slowed his pace to push his thick shaft into you inch by inch—do you feel that same prickle of hatred and disgust, but who cares who cares that you’re getting fucked because the smell of his blood is driving you out of your mind with need.

You no longer have the self-control to hold back your voice, and when the slayer hears the pathetic little mewl dripping out of your mouth from the sensation of him filling you up, he laughs again. But this time you don’t care, you just want him, want his body, his blood. Your jaw snaps open and shut on instinct and you whine, pleading, because you’re past the point of believing that you can beat him.

“You like that? Want to taste?” His voice is softer now, but the vein of mockery still runs clear through every syllable.

Your head jerks up and down desperately and then he draws his hips back and slaps his cock between your aching walls, pushing a huffed “uhhn!” out of your lips—but you don’t pull away. You can tolerate this, if it means getting to taste that blood dripping down his fingers, over the sword grip still held in his palm, just to be wasted on the grass. Out of your reach.

“So docile now…think I could get used to this,” the slayer sighs, adjusting the position of his thighs so he can thrust into you lazily and deeply. “F-Fuck, you’re—tight, you know that? All hot and sticky inside…”

“—let me have it, need it I need it, why—“ Your head is spinning, feels like you’re…what? The intoxication is hitting some note deep in the recesses of your memory, a past life you aren’t supposed to be able to recall. Bitter taste on your tongue, liquid pouring, fuzzy edges bordering your vision. Drunkenness.

“Little demon bitch,” he growls, tapping the blade lightly against your neck when you snap your teeth at him again. “Said you were going to kill me, yeah? But now you’re moaning like a whore…”

You try to muster a denial, but you can’t.

The slayer’s other hand twists underneath the two of you to press up on your lower belly, pushing into the place where his cock is nudging up against your womb. You keen at the pressure, the slow friction against that little patch in your cunt that makes you slicker every time his cockhead passes over it. “Feel how deep I am in your cunt…? I can—feel your pulse on my cock, fuck.”

You can feel it too, your heartbeat echoed in the twitches of your pussy around his skin, quick and fluttering from the drunken stupor his blood has forced you into. Every sense is heightened, and the weight of his hand pushing up on your belly just makes it worse…or better. You’re not sure.

He swallows, and with his body on top of yours you can feel his heavy breathing puffing out over the bared skin of your neck. “Can demons even cum? If you can get wet, then you can cum too, right? I bet I can…bet I can make you cum, you fucking whore. Wouldn’t that be nice…get you creaming on my cock, make you my little fuckpet…”

His hand slips down from your belly to rub roughly at your cunt, pushing into your skin to seek out the little button at the top—and the feeling of his hands on you like this, the sharp jolt of pleasure somehow sends a splinter of clarity through your delirium. “No,” you wail, hearing how wanton you sound and hating it. “I can’t I can’t, please, please don’t make me—“

“Quiet.” His thick forearm wraps around your neck, tightening against your windpipe and cutting off your voice. “Learn your place, demon—the only reason you’re alive is because you’re a nice wet hole for me to use. So when I tell you to cum—“

His pace picks up, hips knocking yours deeper, splitting you apart while he swirls his fingers around that sweet spot—and then the smell of copper gets thicker and he’s pushing his bloody hand against your mouth—

“—you cum.”

You’re not sure whether it’s your cunt or the taste of his blood smearing over your lips that does it, but as soon as he says the word you shatter like glass. The heat is brutal horrible delicious and so overwhelming you’re surprised you’re conscious through it—every hair is standing up on end and your body pulls tight like a bowstring, arching your backside into his hips so you can feel every inch of your cunt sucking around him.

It’s bliss—sickeningly sweet, burning like fire through you—without thinking, you eagerly lick the scarlet liquid off his hand and fuck somehow, somehow, it tastes even better than it smelled—feels like you could live off just the blood in your mouth but you want more, you’d die for it, you’d do anything, and your teeth are bared ready to puncture his skin deeper when—

Cold steel slides up under your jaw, almost nicking one of the veins pumping blood up to your hazy brain. “Keep—ahh, yesss…d-damn it—keep still,” the slayer rasps. “No teeth.”

He’s not finished.

Every muscle in your body aches for you to ignore him, but the knowledge of how easily he could separate your head from your body makes you obey, dragging your tongue over his still-bleeding cut instead of biting down. You can hear the noises of damp skin against skin issuing out from where your bodies meet, but you’re not sure whether it’s from you lapping at his fingers or his cock pressing in and out of your sopping-wet cunt. Probably both. Not that it matters.

The slayer’s head lowers—you know it by the angle of his cock inside your twitching pussy and the faint tickle of his hair brushing against the skin of your neck—and then you feel his teeth sinking into the side of your throat. They’re blunt, of course, as harmless as any human’s, but the primal dominance of the action sends a shudder through you.

“Not bad…looks like demons are good for something after all. I think I might just keep you,” the slayer laughs. His voice is too close—you want to flinch back, spit at him, bite—but you can’t. You’re helpless.

You’re weak.

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alycosworld · 3 years

Note

hello lovely! “🧸/💮” anon here:D omgomg i was daydreaming as usual and i like wandered really deep into my day dream it was absolutely magical now i will be jotting this down in detail in a post later on my account BUT i need u to use yr amazing and magical writing skills to bring my day dream to life!!!!o(≧v≦)o okok! so I’ll be separating the request into sections below!

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

purpleೃ⁀➷people

pinkೃ⁀➷genre

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

OKOK SO- basically just a really cottage core aesthetic life by idk a really magical forest??ig??? BUT ITS REALLY PRETTY OK LIKE EXPECT TONS OF CRYSTAL FLIES AND BUTTERFLIES LOST OF PLANTS AND WILDLIFE AHHHH— OK AND like making this a albedo x NB/GN!reader bc like he gives me very aesthetic vibes idk how to explain it- u can elaborate as much as u want abt it just PLEASE make it super like idk VERY LIKE ROMANTIC??? REALLY PRETTY I WANT TO LIVE THAT PERFECT LIKE FAIRY LIFE WHERE I DONT HAVE DEPRESSION- just make it super detailed (but if u dont want to its fine!) make it just really fluffy😩😩 yes lots of fluff please-

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

PLEASE PRIORITISE YR MENTAL HEALTH OVER THIS AND GET LOTS OF REST AND DRINK LOTS OF WATER AND EAT ILYSM MWAH MWAH ONLY DO THIS IF U WANT AND FEEL FREE TO PUSH THIS TO THE BOTTOM OF YR TODO LIST<3

A Question from Klee!

Albedo X Reader

A/N: AAA SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG - NOT THE BEST AT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION SO FEEDBACK FROM ANYONE IS APPRECIATED UHH HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!! <33

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Why do you love Albedo, (Y/N)?" Klee asked absentmindedly, but the question tore you from your mundane thoughts.

You and your beloved Albedo had moved away from the cosy but crowded town of Mondstadt city to a quieter part of the land. There was nothing wrong with the little place you both grew up in, but after things began to get more serious between you two and Alice moved back to look after her daughter more often, Albedo proposed to share a residence. Some workers were hired and instructed to build the cute cottage you had always dreamed of, and your boyfriend was more than happy to indulge in your fantasy. Since then, you two had mostly been away living a quiet life, only coming back when Albedo had work or when Alice had to leave and Klee was placed under your care.

On this particular occasion, Albedo had gone to retrieve some old projects and work from Dragonspine, and, being the considerate boyfriend and older brother he was, decided to go alone as to not inconvenience either of you. Now you and Klee were just walking or "exploring" the area near Whispering Woods and Starfell Lake.

She continued to march ahead of you, only stopping when she realised you weren't following.

"Huh? Is something wrong?" Klee asked, and you shook your head to put the girl at ease, a smile appearing on your face.

"No, nothing. Your question was just a bit unexpected." You said.

"Oh! That's okay, you don't have to answer unless you want to." Klee said.

"Well, why wouldn't I love Albedo?" You asked.

"I don't know. But I wanna know the reason! Is it because he's smart or nice or something else?" Klee asked.

"I think...well, there's definitely a lot of reasons, but if I had to sum it up..."

"...Albedo makes me feel loved."

"What do you mean?" Klee asked.

"Here, let me give you an example of this one time..."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Sunlight streamed in though the crack in between the curtains, perfectly hitting your cheek and allowing you to feel the warmth of the day but not reaching your eye to disturb you.

"Albedo...?" You questioned, not feeling anything next to you under the covers. You peeled one eye open to see a slightly indented pillow instead of crystal blue eyes and messy tufts of golden hair.

"In the kitchen, Bunny." He hummed from another part of the house, prompting you to carefully push away the covers and slip out of the tempting grasp of your bed. You didn't bother trying to look presentable, you were in your own home, after all. Instead, you shrugged on one of Albedo's white button up shirts and loosely did up a few of the buttons. You ran a hand through your hair and took a look in the standing mirror with one plant at it's left side and another dangling from the ceiling on it's right. You opened the windows to be met by the colourful sweet peas and ivory gardenias on the outdoor sill, a few stray vines crawling up the side of the house and just barely onto the glass.

Making your way out of the bedroom door, you were gently hit by a wave of different smells, all of them blending together. Food and flowers, yesterday's quiet rain and other things that you weren't entirely sure of, but smelled pleasant nonetheless.

You gently wrapped your arms around his torso, messy blond hair tickling your face as you rested you head on the back of Albedo's neck.

"Good morning, Love. Are you hungry?"

"Mhm." You smiled lazily, breathing in his scent.

"Go take a seat at the table, I'll have breakfast ready on a moment."

The day carried on and all the events that took place came straight out of idyllic artwork and fairytales. You and Albedo went flower picking, befriended a little brown rabbit, had a all through a calm forest and held a picnic in said forest for lunch. It was picturesque at the very least.

Everyday with Albedo went similarly. Well, maybe not with the fancy picnics and cuddly animals, but he made you feel like you were his everything. And you were, he wouldn't settle for making you feel like anything but a queen. And you did the exact same to him, making him feel more and more human everyday. Instead of being two halves to a whole, you were just two coexisting beings, helping each other grow and enjoying everything along the way.

And as you both returned home that day, you took a short bath before making it to your bed and sinking into the soft mattress and pillows, a few locks of Albedo's soft blonde hair tickling your face as he inched closer and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Had a good day, Love?" He asked, and you could only nod.

"Thank you so much, Albedo." You smiled softly, and he only chuckled in response.

"No need to thank me, Bunny. You're more than deserving of all this happiness." He smiled, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.

"Ah...I feel like getting a canvas out so I can capture your beauty, Love. I don't want to forget it." He said, and you rolled your eyes playfully. You knew he had made many paintings and drawings of you for that same reason, but the thought that he wanted another warmed your heart.

"No, don't go. There's no need to capture it, I'm or going anywhere." You assured him, before tucking your head into the crook of his neck and snaking your arms around him and gently grasling his form.

"Alright, I won't." He chuckled.

"Good, now go to sleep." You mumbled, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. He followed soon after, and you both enjoyed the silence, save for the soft sounds of breathing and heartbeats.

"Albedo?" You asked, knowing that he was still awake a few minutes into the silence.

"(Y/N)?" He replied.

"I love you." You smiled, almost giggling at how giddy you were when he replied.

"I love you too. Goodnight, Love."

"Goodnight, Albedo."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"I'm not entirely sure if that makes sense, Klee, but he makes me feel the happiest I've ever been, pretty much. I feel loved. He's just...your brother is the most incredible guy I've ever met. I love him." You smiled.

"Oh? May I ask who you're talking about, (Y/N)?" Albedo asked, popping up behind you and Klee from nowhere and pretending to have only heard the very end of the conversation.

"They were talking about y--!"

"Kaeya. The Cavalry Captain is just the perfect guy, wouldn't you agree?" You teased, making Albedo roll his eyes.

"Well then, maybe I should return to my research and call your dear Kaeya over, hm?" He replied with a grin, making you laugh.

"No, no, you know I'm talking about you." You smiled, giving Albedo a sweet kiss.

"You had me worried for a moment." Albedo responds jokingly, making you laugh.

"I would never, you know that." You playfully hit his shoulder.

"Of course, Bunny, of course." He smiled, before remembering Klee and picking her up, carrying her on his shoulders as he childish giggles filled the air.

"How about some fish blasting now that I'm free? Klee, what do you think?" Albedo asked.

"Yeah! (Y/N), you come too!" Klee beamed.

"Of course!"

"Let's just try to avoid getting caught by Jean, okay? We don't want a repeat of last time."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

#genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #gender neutral reader #genshin albedo #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo imagines #albedo fluff #🧸anon #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact oneshot #albedo oneshot #albedo x gender neutral reader #albedo x you #albedo x y/n

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dumbass-mha-simp · 3 years

Text

Elliott x GN!Reader

Your New Playlist

Kinda sad? Ig angst but not actually like, bad angst yk.

1k words

Stardew Valley

Warnings: crying, mentally beating yourself over a crush, self-sacrificing but not in a death kinda way, cussing (I think like one f word), Elliott is a theater kid you can't convince me otherwise,

I wanna do a part two, would anyone be interested? I know how much us Elliott simps want fanfiction. I'm probably gonna start on it anyway lol.

Yes I actually made this playlist smh ikik, you don't have to listen to it ofc but his aesthetic really fits my music taste, at least I feel so. I write my fanfiction as gender neutral as I can but if you ever spot any mistakes I'd love to fix it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elliott's POV

My feet took me across the path leading to Leah's house. The gentle cotton clouds stretching their wisps across the blue sky, bright enough to blind me as though it were the sun that it surrounds. The gentle new Spring breeze froze my cheeks lightly as my eyes closed to avoid the same chill from the past winter.

Fresh Spring flowers and hidden vegetables encircled her yard as I made my way to knock against the dark wood door that always seemed thunderingly loud.

Leah peaked through the window by her door before I can see her face light up and reach for the door.

"Hey, c'mon in!" She opens the door wider to let me pass through. "How are you doing?"

"If I'm honest, a little troubled." I sigh looking forlornly to the floor.

"Come sit." Leah pulls me to her table and sits in the accompanying seat. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Leah, what does it feel like to you before you admit you fancy someone?" I look up into her listening eyes before her face changes into slight shock.

"Hmmm." She brings her hand up to her chin as she ponders. "Well, you miss being around them when they're gone. You constantly find ways to connect anything back to them, like `oh they'd love this`, or `I should check up on them.` You care about their opinion more than others and you want to learn about them, even if it's the uninteresting things."

I slide my arms down onto the table, placing my head on top of them. That sounded exactly like what's happening. I had read about it a million times, falling gently in love with a close friend. Perhaps that interest to become friends was always attraction.

"I can't get enough of Y/N." I muffled through my folded arms sighing once again as I turned my head to finally look back up at Leah, the light stinging my eyes.

"Well maybe I could help you with getting more of them?" Leah smirked as she grabbed her phone from her pocket.

I lifted my head slightly panicked. "What are you doing?" I rushed out.

"Relax, I'm not telling Y/N. But they shared something with me. They have a wide music taste yes?"

I had heard some of their music. While they made us lunch, while they partake in their hobbies, when they hum near silently late at night on the beach. I nodded back thinking of how they never seemed to be signing along to a song similar to the others. Unpredictable, and absolutely captivating.

"Well one of their tastes in music is very folk-y and they mentioned how those songs reminded them of you. So they made a playlist of songs that remind themselves of you." Leah said looking down and scrolling through her phone.

They made a playlist about me. They actively want to remember and listen to things that remind themselves of me. I feel I might faint. Was this something that was common among friends? Was this nothing more than an act of kindness? Or something they decided to do on a whim?

"Here give me your phone I'll send it to you." She holds her hand out expectantly.

I quickly go to pull out the hardly used device. I had never had much use for it but if it could bring me any step closer to Y/N I wouldn't hesitate to learn.

Leah downloaded a music app, laughing at how I had no applications. Before leaving it opened on the playlist. "The Lonely, Ocean-Accompanied, Writer." It read. I reread it a couple times to convince myself it was real. A lovely name, but is that how they see me?

"Chill out, Romeo." Leah giggled. "I can practically see you overthinking everything. Just relax and listen to the songs, maybe they'll tell you something."

I wrapped my arms around her neck, hugging her closely before leaving to listen to the playlist.

~~~

As I shut the door behind me I pressed my back against it. I've never felt so scattered before. I looked for the volume button, turning it up before hitting play.

The songs, quiet but emotional. As though you had just lie down on the grass to cry or relieve tension or reminisce. They felt like a memory I had trouble recalling.

The songs seemed to renew me, before I heard one I distinctly remembered hearing before. From high-school theater club, a time in my life that was fond to me. I do remember Y/N telling me they loved musicals, hearing them hum along to Heathers while I wrote.

A song unlike most others on this list.

"When He Sees Me" from Waitress.

~~~

Y/N's POV

"Oh, Yoba. What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door, And I can't close it?" I belted out the lyrics as loud as I wanted, the tears streaming down my face unwavering.

The good side to owning your own farm is you could scream along to your songs without people to complain. You had been replaying this part of the song for awhile now. He was all you could seem to think about.

Your head was swarmed with thoughts of Elliott. Some where he reciprocated your feelings and others where he shut you out. Every time you built a daydream where he loved you unconditionally you trampled it with the thoughts of his rejection.

You brought your knees up to your chest, resting your head between them as you cried.

~~~

Elliott's POV

We had had conversations about musicals, perhaps that's why they chose this song? Maybe they thought since my school had a play of Waitress that it'd fit. But I know they liked other Waitress songs, why weren't those added? Only this one.

After that song came another, "I Hear A Symphony" one I've never heard. As the song started all I could see was Y/N. I could hear them singing along, their smile, their eyes averting to mine for the thousandth time.

Y/N was my symphony.

The powerful, breathtaking ocean couldn't compare to the awkward farmer that ran across town just to give me their best sweet pea flowers and be the first thing I saw as I left my quaint cabin.

They brought the motivation and inspiration for 8 hour writing sessions, they brought me food when they knew I'd forgotten to eat between writing the book and planning on what to write next.

They were something I could never dream of losing. I wished to live the rest of my life with their support.

If telling them my feelings means I'd lose them, then I couldn't dream of making such a selfish decision.

~~~

Y/N's POV

I trudged my way into town. After last night's crying session my eyes still felt a bit dry, if I'm honest I cried when I woke up as well. The loneliness felt suffocating in such a lonely little house. But I needed some new seeds. The stone path drawing all my attention as I walked.

As I walked into Pierre's it wasn't hard to tell that people could see something was off. After buying my seeds I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning around to find Elliott.

"Y/N are you feeling alright? You look as though you've been distressed lately." You motion to him to follow you and walks out of the store behind you.

You take a deep breath as you start to tear up a bit more. He reaches for your face as he lifts it up, looking at the pooling tears.

So many things, the things you could have said. But they didn't come up. Instead a vision of his face of discomfort at your confession. You couldn't bear it. You couldn't tell him.

"I've just been stressed. I'm sorry for worrying you, Elliott." You sigh, attempting to put up a fake smile as you wipe your eyes. He retracts his hand as he looks guilty. Fuck does he feel like it's his fault?

"Well I'm willing to listen to your troubles if you ever need." He also puts on a strained smile as you both part ways.

"This is for the best." They both whisper as they leave.

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