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strawberrysturniolo · 3 months

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i love the whole ‘best friends who ‘accidentally’ had sex’ type of concept and it really fits chris 😭 like imagine attending the end of the summer cookout marylou and jimmy have every year, you and chris decide to have wine coolers because why not?

next thing you know….

never grow up // chris sturniolo

summary: you and your childhood best friend reunite after months apart. after a couple of drinks, secrets start spilling, leading to lust that has been put on the back burner for years part 2

Chris and I have been inseparable since the day we met. With us living on the same street growing up, we were always together. If there was a picture taken of one of us as a kid, chances are the other one was in the background trying to photobomb.

Watching Chris and his brothers make the move to LA was hard. I sat back and supported my best friend, but it sucked knowing that our fault routine of being together after school and having sleepovers was coming to an end.

It all happened so fast. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.

The love I have for Chris is unlike anything else in the world. I love Nick, and I adore Matt, but it’s different with Chris. We connect in different ways. We trust each other differently. I’ve never had a friendship like it, and I don’t think I ever will. We always joked about being in each other's weddings. He wanted me to stand with all the groomsmen, and I told him he could stand with the girls.

We had our lives planned together, and I never thought I’d have to see us fade away from each other.

We try to talk as much as possible, but with his ridiculous sleep schedule mixed with his work life and time zones, it’s mostly scattered snapchats that keep us from forgetting what the other person looks like.

A tradition growing up was going to his house for the end of the year cookout. When we were little we would play in the pool, seeing who could collect the most shark toys and torpedoes that we launched into the bottom, and as we got older it turned into chicken fights, then us floating around the pool, asking each other questions about life.

“Do you ever think about what would happen if your husband didn’t like me?” he had asked me on a sunny day in Massachusetts when we were 16.

“Yeah,” I said, dragging my hand through the water to cool myself down. “I’d tell him to fuck himself, and if he doesn’t love my best friend like a brother, then I want no part of him. You’ll always come first.”

He gave me that classic, cheesy grin of his and then splashed a wave of water against me, knocking me from my float.

He’s not coming this year. He’s busy at work in LA. I can feel him drifting away.

As I help his parents set up some of the food trays, I hear their side door open by the kitchen. I don’t bother looking up, knowing guests have been coming and going all day. It isn’t until two arms wrap around me from behind that my eyes shoot open.

“Miss me?”

Chris.

I spin around, staring at him with my jaw dropped. I can see his mom out of the corner of my eye, smiling at us. She must have known about this. I’m sure he told his mom.

“Oh my god,” is all I can bring myself to say. My eyes start to well with tears. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas. I missed his birthday. He missed me. Our times were always off.

He squeezed me as our bodies clung to each other. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry, Sunny.”

Sunny. The nickname he gave me when we were little, which came from Sunshine. We were 8, swinging on a playground. He had a bad day. We played together after school and he told me whenever he feels sad, his day always gets sunnier with me around. He always was able to make me feel loved and appreciated as his friend, and as we got older, that only grew.

I know he loves me. He just needed to chase his dream. That doesn’t mean he loves me any less than he ever did.

“I missed you so much,” he says, holding me even tighter than before.

“I missed your voice.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I need to make an effort to call you more. I’m just so-“

“Busy,” I finish for him. “I know.”

His face falls. “Yeah.”

I don’t want him to feel bad for what he’s doing. He deserves something so amazing. He’s worked so hard for it.

“You’re here now though,” I smile. “Can we just pretend like you’ve been here and you never left?”

He smiles softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

I sit by his side for hours, smiling at him as he fills everyone in on what’s he’s been up to. He’s the talk of the town. Everyone is amazed to see him and his brothers do such big things.

Everyone erupts into laughter when Chris tells his stories, and when Matt and Nick add on more anecdotes, the house is filled with pure joy and love for these boys we watched grow up.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Chris says, excusing himself. “You want anything?” he points to me.

“Whatever you get for yourself is fine,” I nod, adding on a thank you before he leaves.

He comes back with two Pepsi cans. I notice they’re already opened, but I don’t think anything of it. Knowing Chris, I fully expect him to have drank some of mine, and that’s him trying to be funny.

My face puckers at the taste of wine in my can.

He emptied the Pepsi out and poured wine in it instead.

He smiles next to me, trying not to laugh.

A memory of us from when we were 14 comes back to me, and I know that’s what he’s trying not to laugh about.

“Chris! We can’t take their wine!”

“My parents have like 20 bottles. They never drink. These are all Christmas gifts from other people. I promise they won’t notice,” he assured me.

I watched as he poured the glasses half full. It seemed like far too much.

“Try it,” he said, nudging a glass to me. “It’s disgusting.”

I took a hesitant sip. This was fucking awful, but I found myself drinking more at the idea of the thrill. We were doing something we weren’t supposed to, which made the alcohol taste even better.

A half hour later we were both stumbling up to his bedroom, and I managed to make it to the bathroom before throwing up, almost missing his toilet.

He held my hair back and apologized for giving me alcohol. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone we drank. And he never did.

“Doesn’t taste as bad now, huh?” he asks, snapping me out of my memory.

I roll my eyes and take another sip. He’s right.

Once everyone leaves for the night, my family stays back to help Chris’ parents clean up, and my parents were offered a plethora of leftovers.

When Chris showed up, it was a no-brainer that I would be staying here tonight, so he led me upstairs while everyone else said their goodbyes.

“Shhh,” he hushed me as my giggles flooded the hallway. I’m definitely tipsy, but I’m completely coherent. I think most of my giggles come from the fact that he’s back in Boston. I’m just giddy and happy.

“Sorry!” I apologize anyway, even though he’s not bothered by the sound of my laughter. He smiles at it. He loves it.

He lays out a pair of pajamas for me like he always used to. It’s an old shirt from our high school with his lacrosse number on it, and a pair of his boxers.

I find myself thinking about the girls he had been with that were jealous of what I had with him. Me and Chris had never even kissed, so to think he would be accused of so much more with me was ridiculous. He never failed to stand up for me though. He could have the number one girl, someone perfect for him, and he’d say goodbye to him if they said one bad thing about me.

We will always be rooting for each other no matter what.

“Tomorrow we should actually do some stuff around town,” he says as he changes into something to sleep in. “I’ve been traveling all day and I’m so fucking tired. I just want to lay in bed.” He finishes his statement and flops down on the bed, laying his head next to my thighs.

“I really missed you, Chris. A lot,” I respond, ignoring his suggestion.

He sits up next to me, looking down at me in his clothing. “I know, Sunshine. I missed you just as much. More, probably.”

I felt safe with him again, a feeling that had been lost as we spent months and months apart. I craved moments like these, where we would stay up together and laugh.

The mood in his room shifts when he says, “What ever happened with you and Aaron?”

He knows what happened. I told him before I told anyone else.

He broke up with me with no explanation, and I was left heartbroken and confused. I wanted nothing more than a hug from Chris, but 3,000 miles kept that from happening.

“We’re not talking anymore,” I remind him. I really don’t want to be talking about boys right now, but it seems that’s the topic of conversation that is interesting to him most. “Any girls that have your attention in LA?”

He shrugs. “Not really. They’re cool, some are cute, but I don’t know. I don’t think I wanna do anything with any of them.”

Chris has always been very anti-relationships, but that never stopped him from having his fair share of fun. He always made sure they were on the same page that it was just benefits, sometimes not even friends. I am curious what turns him away from exploring with girls in LA. “Why not?”

“They just don’t have what I’m looking for. I want someone who understands me and what I want, but only a few people get that,” he explains. “I don’t know. I don’t want to waste my time with someone if I know from the jump that it feels like a waste. And I think about you, and how we are, and I don’t think I’ll ever be that close with anyone else. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to think about someone ever taking your place.”

“You can set limits,” I suggest. “But don’t keep yourself from meeting people because you’re worried about me feeling replaced. I won’t ever feel that way. I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, that’s not the only reason you’re a problem in it.”

There’s an ache in my chest at the thought of me being a part of a problem in his life.

“What?”

“I just– There have been issues before… in the past… where girls have felt threatened by you,” he says, looking down at his fingers, where he picks at the dead skin nervously. “That’s not your fault by the way. It’s dumb. I just… I don’t know.”

I pull his hands away from him. “I love you, Chris.”

He smiles at me and says, “I love you too.”

Somehow, his feels different.

I check the time on my phone, putting in beside me and announcing to him, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Just like we always did, innocently of course, I placed the softest and quickest peck to his cheek closest to me.

I did this as a kid, mostly because Chris would freak out if his mom didn’t give him a kiss goodnight. He insisted that it kept the bad dreams away, and he would ask me to do the same for him when he spent the night at my house.

So I kissed his cheek like always.

I tried to.

But Chris moved his head.

His lips graze mine. There isn’t much contact, but there’s enough for me to know that we just kissed, barely.

He knows exactly what he just did, yet he’s looking at me like he’s shocked.

I’m not drunk, but maybe this is acting as liquid courage. That’s what I tell myself when I fully grab my best friend’s cheeks and press my lips to his. He lets out a deep breath against me, holding the back of my neck and fisting a handful of my hair.

What are we doing? I’m kissing my best fucking friend. My best friend of 15 years.

I’m lost in my own head, completely out of it until I feel him lay on top of me, pinning my arms over my head with one hand as he kisses down my neck with the other.

I lift my chin, giving him more room to kiss me.

He finishes placing wet kisses to my skin, then puts his lips back on mine. His full lips overtake mine, but we form a rhythm that has my chest tightening. He kisses me slowly, but the more tongue we add to the mix, the louder it sounds.

We make out for some time. I lose all track of it. I don’t even know if I’m in reality anymore. My hips aimlessly lift up to try to find something to create friction against. I almost forgot who I was kissing until he pulled back and said, “We’re entering dangerous territory here, Sunshine.”

“What do you want to do then?”

He falls silent, and I fully expect him to lay down next to me and pretend this never happened.

He does the opposite.

“I would never be doing this if it wasn’t something I had thought about for years.”

My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest.

Everyone who watched us grow up together is in this house.

And he’s pinning me down to the bed kissing me in the same room we used to play in.

“Then do something about it,” I taunt.

He loves this invitation.

Going zero to one hundred, Chris sits up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it beside me. I’ve seen him shirtless a million times. Hell, I’ve seen his bare ass. This is different though. So much different.

He puts his lips back on mine as his hands slide to the bare skin under my shirt. Without a second thought, I remove it, completely forgetting that I don’t have a bra on.

His eyes focus on my body, his jaw slacked and his cheeks turning red.

“Holy shit.”

I instinctively try to cover myself somehow. He grabs my arms and pulls them back down.

“No no,” he shakes his head. “Let me admire you, pretty girl.”

He kisses me softly down my chest, flicking his tongue over my nipples before sucking them into his mouth, all while he’s rubbing his hand on my inner thigh.

I shift my hips, positioning his hand right over where I need him the most. He stares up at me in awe as I give him this sign of approval, and without wasting any time, he dives his hand into the boxers around me. His underwear. I mimic his movements, dropping my hand through the waistband of his shorts and swiping my thumb over the tip of his hardened cock. He winces at my touch, gasping out of desperation.

“Please,” he whines. “Don’t start something you can’t finish. I’m begging you.”

I yank his shorts down, having the same reaction to his dick that he did to my boobs. I lay below him in shock, mostly baffled by the fact that he’s hung, but also the fact that we’re in this situation.

When he gets nervous from my staring, he places soft kisses to my lips again, like he’s trying to put my attention elsewhere.

“Sunshine,” he pants. “I can’t… If we’re gonna do this… I can’t wait,” he breathes out. “I need you now.”

I stroke him slowly, watching his stomach heave. “Have me then.”

In an instant he has my boxers and underwear on the floor in one fluid motion, spreading my legs and laying between them.

“Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me,” he whispers. He touches my dripping folds carefully, then licks his finger clean. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Always have been.”

I’m in my most vulnerable state. Not only am I naked in front of a man, but this is the guy who has watched me grow up. He has seen me through every stage of life, and now he’s about to be touching me, fucking me.

“Chris,” I say his name quickly, urgently, like I’m running out of time to say anything.

He looks down at me, pausing from where he was lining himself up between my legs.

I love you.

He smiles and says, “I know,” before putting my legs over his shoulders and pushing himself inside of me.

My fist clenches a nearby pillow as my body adjusts to him stretching me out. Chris gasps out in pleasure and shock from this entire experience. He drops his face into my neck, letting me hear his soft moans as he feels me clenching, throbbing around him.

When I give him the okay, he starts thrusting into me slowly, both of us silent, letting the sound of our skin finding each other ring in our ears.

I’m having sex with my best friend.

He places a kiss on my thigh, where it rests next to his face. Then, he pushes one of my legs out, spreading me open more.

“Fuck!” I cry out, the sound quickly masked by Chris’ mouth, where he places his lips over mine again to shut me up.

“Gotta be quiet, Sunny,” he warns me. I nod, and he puts his hand over my mouth, making sure I keep the volume down.

His dick hits every spot perfectly. His body clings to mine as our orgasms are in sight. I find myself begging for him, moaning his name, something I never would have expected from us.

Chris sits up on his knees, pressing my knees to my chest as he pounds into me, his face staring down with a dominant gaze, watching his dick fill me as my cum drips around him.

“Fuckkk,” he groans. “Such a dirty girl.”

All self control leaves me when I don’t bother hesitating as I respond with, “Yours.”

He nods, speeding up his pace. His thrusts become sloppier, much sloppier. “All fucking mine,” he reminds me, then pulls himself out of my pussy and strokes himself through his orgasm, letting himself finish on my lower stomach.

He quickly gets a towel and cleans me up before he places his head on my boobs. My hands dig into his hair, running my hands through his loose curls.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Sunshine, you know that?”

I smile to myself, but I also know that we completely fucked up us ever having a normal friendship after this.

My best friend and I fucked.

And he doesn’t do relationships.

“You’re my favorite,” I whisper back.

He places a kiss to my stomach, and I can feel the smile on his face when he does so.

I don’t smile. I know that with our decision tonight, we lost one side of our relationship.

We either become romantic and it gets fucked up and we lose a friendship too, or our friendship becomes awkward and crumbles because of this.

Neither of us thought about that before we got ourselves tangled up in each other, and I’m doing everything I can to forget about that fear and focus on the boy I’ve been in love with for years laying on my chest.

tag list: @secret-sturniolo @chrisloyalgf @strnilo @draculaura123 @jellybeanbby @qwertytit @55sturn @sleepysturnss @creamoncreamoncream2 @sturnvvz @swaggygirlboss123 @angelworldspost @patscorner @ducksturniolo @mattitties @luv4kozume @mbbsgf @freshloveforthefit @ripmattitude @gamermattsgf @strniololoverr @urmom2bitch @sturnitup @luvmila444 @st7rnioioss @sturniolosreads @pepsiskiess @alorsxsturn @sturniolopepsi @sturnsgasoline @sturns-posts@sstvrnioloo @strawberrymilk4k @ratatioulle @kiibichio @nickmillersn1gf @milesfordays11 @l9vesick @mattsturnzzz09 @mattnchrisworld

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

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allthingsgofestival · 7 months

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Suki Waterhouse

Hometown: Hammersmith, London, UK

First kiss: Strange

Tips for school photo day: Clean teeth, fresh outfit, experiment with the hair

High school Suki vs. today Suki: High school Suki was a lot more athletic and stretched a lot more than Suki now. Less acne now, and a slightly sunnier disposition.

High school fashion staple: Mary Janes

High school fashion statement: How dangerously low you can get your school skirt or trousers

When you think of a typical American high school experience: I think of Bring It On or something like that. Dancing cheerleaders. All that stuff. It seems so alien. I think of prom. We don’t have prom in England. It all seems like a magical fairy world. Everyone’s in love.

High school superlative: Definitely class clown

Put one of your songs in a high school movie: D.E.B.S. with either "Blessed" or "Good Looking." It’s my favorite movie of all time. I watched it the other night. That would be the best thing.

Tumblr Class of 2023 @ All Things Go

📸: Brooke Marsh

#suki waterhouse #tumblr yearbook #tumblr university #all things go #all things go festival

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mooishbeam · 4 months

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『♡』 The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+

notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chain—unfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall.

Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldn’t dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest.

It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps he’d walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time.

Or maybe he’d allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service.

It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasn’t a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did.

Life hadn’t torn you apart yet.

Your eyes didn’t break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. He’s aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; it’s what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, “I’m a big fan of this brand!”

Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, “Shouldn’t eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.” A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. “Are you a doctor in the daytime?” You chuckled and bagged, “Sorry, slow day.”

He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. “Oh! Thank you” you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches he’d been struggling to sew since that moment.

Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes he’d enter for a snack, and you’d discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you?

He’d snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didn’t matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasn’t exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldn’t shake.

You leaned over the counter on your elbows, “Did you know there’s over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?”

“I didn’t, but that sounds like a lot of options.”

“Mhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.”

“I’m sure. I don’t really go out to restaurants often, so…”

“Me neither”, there’s a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, “maybe we could go together!”

He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasn’t possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, “Hah, sorry, I overstep-“

“I want to.” You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. “O-oh! Great!”

Toji’s first date with you had been a disaster, though. He’s heavy handed by design, and it’s no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental.

You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, “It's okay, just try not to hold so tight.”

He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. “I appreciate your enthusiasm” you giggled.

He was afraid to even hug you—he might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. “I’ll see ya around.” Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him. Every aspect of you, foreign but comforting—little breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose.

It was heaven on Earth.

Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs.

Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement. He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, you—the image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldn’t stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. He’d never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. He’d be selfish, just this once.

One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. It’s his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. You’d take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasn’t let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early.

He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny “Good morning.”

“Ya could’ve woke me up” Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin.

“You’re a late sleeper, and I haven’t made breakfast in a long time.”

“Ya don’t have to do a thing, y’know.”

“I know. But I wanna do this for you”, and he grins. It’s quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face.

Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light. He worries that he’ll end up on the same road as him or he won’t be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. You’re always learning, and Toji’s still processing the basics. It’s complicated, he trips and falters; yet you’re there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health.

What was he if not for you—his pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. You’d given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands.

“You can let go if it’s too heavy.”

I can stay here forever.

#jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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chemdisaster · 5 months

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after an entire season spent with zero friends, in a sunnier, lighter repeat of last life, scar wins.

with the phantom blood stains of another lost fight in a distant, long-gone world on his knuckles, scar fights a friend to the death and wins.

somewhere far away, wounds hidden underneath a wizard's cloak start to heal.

somewhere even deeper, grains of sand are washed away from the nooks and crannies where ancient memories lie.

#i'm so isnane #god helsp me #gtws #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #secret life #secret life smp #slsmp #trafficblr #life series #textdisaster

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oumaheroes · 1 month

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[8] + fruk? idk, it sounds like something they'd hardly tell each other but I figured it's a challenge you could enjoy solving. :) i love your writing btw. Thank you for sharing it with the world. <3

[8] 'I love you'

Both of these asks are so so old but I enjoy a challenge, Anons! Took me a while but I got there in the end. Hope you like!

Characters: France, England, FrUK

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

Love Is...

'You're not entirely intolerable.'

England says this to him in warm candlelight, yellows and orange hues dancing gently on his cheek and across his nose. On his back, no less, looking up at France with wine soft eyes amongst expensive coverlets and pillows of a borrowed palace bed.

France's hands are busy, one supporting him, one not, and thus he knows there is some bias to England’s words.

If it were darker, less candlelight and more masking cover, maybe they would be more true. England had always been gentler in the shadows, safer when he feels he can't be seen.

'Shame the same cannot be said for you.' France says in reply, and bites him hard on the shoulder.

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

'You can be useful.'

France sounds surprised.

England clenches his jaw. 'Fuck you.'

'I'm serious.' France twirls the pointed end of his share knife into England thick wooden table. 'There may yet be hope in regards to you being anything of value.'

It is France's own knife, at least, that he is blunting. Gilded- overly so, so it's almost more decorative than usable. Almost. France does so like to find those lines and tease them.

The remains of a meal are pushed aside, a map open and curling long between them instead like a dried up sea. England wants to grab the knife out of France’s hand and jab it in his eye but he doesn’t. He needs France, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, needs his help sweet talking the French nobility and keeping his King in check and so refrains from lunging across the table. Swallows bitterness down and looks from the maimed table to the map.

The French coastline looks alien upside-down but England doesn’t ask France to turn it around.

‘So.’ France’s voice is silky and low, ‘Can you deliver on your end?’

England thinks of his own King, thinks of his endless envy that is great enough to engulf his nation’s pride. He nods.

France clicks his tongue, ‘What a surprise.’

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

‘Where have you been?’ A nation who will one day be England pouts and crosses his arms across his chest, ‘I’ve been waiting here for hours’.

‘It wasn’t hours.’ A nation who will one day be France looks about the bank of the tree where England is sat in distain, ‘The ground is wet.’

‘You’re late.’ England insists, ‘You said you would be here by noon. And wet ground is better to write in.’

‘It’s still noon. Couldn’t you have picked somewhere sunnier? The ground hasn’t dried here; where will I sit.’

‘Are you stupid?’ England holds out an arm and gestures to the shadow it makes upon the floor with another. It is slightly longer than noon would provide, ‘Does that look like noon?’

‘Do you want me to help, or not.’

‘No.’

France sighs, ‘Fine. Do you want me to do this the easy way or the hard way.’

England kicks at a small stone and it bumps a little ways down the small pathway along the edge of the wheat field he’s been biding his time in. This France knows, because there’s chaff caught in his hair and dusting amongst the mud of the dampened hem of his cloak.

‘I already know how to write letters,’ England grumbles, ‘Rome made me learn his, and they’re exactly the same as your ones. Why do I have to do this all again.’

‘Because after Rome, you learnt some barbarian ones, and now I want to make you presentable. These are things any decent, proper nation should know.’ France dusts down England’s hair, ‘And it’s very hard to bring you up to par when you keep avoiding my visits and moving from castle to castle.’

England shakes his head and looks away.

‘You should stay with the King,’ France says pointedly, ‘Not move about the strongholds like a vagabond. You shouldn’t show your earls too much favour.’

France sees England hold himself back from speaking. He knows what England wants to say and is relieved when he keeps the several possible and difficult arguments to himself. An improvement, but maybe only because there’s no one else to hear.

‘Move.’ England says suddenly. He picks up a stick that France had failed to notice, propped up ready to go against a thick root, and waves him out of the way and off the flat dirt road. He begins scrawling in the ground in rigid, sharp strokes. ‘If I write “go fuck yourself” in Latin, Norman, and French, will you do so?’

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

‘I don't always hate you.’

France says this so quietly that England almost didn’t hear him. He wouldn’t have done, if he didn’t know France’s voice and his habits so well. He halts, the quiet palace yawning open unseen down the darkened passage ahead.

From the corner of his eye, England sees France shift where he leans in the archway. He was so still that England hadn’t noticed him as he walked, his dark shape held like a statue in shadows. Now that he knows he’s there, England can almost see the glint of silver threads in the moonlight, fine clothes on a man made just as much from the dirt as he.

A shift of fabric as France moves again. England stares ahead and does not look at him.

‘You may not believe that, but it’s true.’ France offers quietly. ‘I don’t like to think that you believe otherwise.’

‘I don’t like that you make me believe so.’

A pause. England can hear the sounds of the evening: distant footsteps on flagstones, the rustle of trees in the orchard beyond the stone courtyard walls. The smells of thousands of past summers on the warm breeze, blurring the edges of the era and turning the night endless.

The moment stretches, full and expectant. Then, a sigh.

It passes.

France does not reply, and England walks away.

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

‘Are you coming with me?’

France snorts. ‘I am offended that you would ever think that I would.’

‘Oh fuck off. Come on.’ England’s eyes are dangerously captivating, ‘You’re just as bored as I am.’

‘Unlike yourself, I am able to find joy in the finer things.’

‘Francis, this is the worst fucking ball we’ve been to in centuries.’

France winces, ‘Yes, but the food is at least good. And the people here are-‘

‘All over fifty.’

‘We are over fifty. And they’re-’

‘Boring.’

‘Important.’ France corrects, ‘They are important, my dear.’

England scoffs and looks across the lacklustre and lethargic dancefloor, couples with outdated clothes and dour expressions stiffly moving in their formations. He swirls his wine in his glass and points with it shamelessly, ‘Important for what, exactly.’

‘To be seen by. To talk politics with. To encourage away from silly decisions that will ruin my skin for the next decade.’

‘And the younger important people? Or heaven forbid, any fun ones? Where are they?’

France shrugs with one shoulder helplessly, ‘The Viscount is... particular.’

England raises and eyebrow and France shrugs, ‘Fine. It is dull. He is dull, and these are all his dull friends. What do you want me to say, the money is here but the life is gone. I’m not blind, Arthur.’

England adjusts the lace of France’s collar, straightening it from where a point has curled under itself, ‘Well, I’m going to the inn on Perry street. That’s where the kitchen boy told me-‘

‘The one with the hair, or the one with the funny leg?’

‘The one with the teeth.’

France shakes his head, ‘Poor boy. Sugar is a terrible thing, I wonder when people will pick up on that.’

England rolls his eyes and downs his wine. France winces, ‘That was expensive.’

‘Good. I’m off.’ England kisses his cheek quickly, the powdered hairs of his wig tickling France’s neck, ‘Have fun somehow being the most interesting thing in the room for a change.’

‘Ha ha.’

France watches England carelessly drop his very expensive glass onto a passing waiter’s tray and tuts at him, ‘You’re too over-dressed for a common inn, you’ll get mugged.’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘I’m sure you will. When I find your naked corpse in a hedge tomorrow, don’t tell me I didn’t tell you so.’

‘I tell you your make-up makes you look like sun bleached fish every day, and yet you still wear it.’

France huffs and turns away. He hears the clip of England’s shoes as he slips behind a curtain until his steps soften, sights fixed on the dancers. The crowds in the edges of the hall, in the dark corners where candles cannot find them, have a low murmuring buzz that heaves itself above the orchestra enough to give life to the odd word of two. None of them give France any hope.

Once he is sure no one noticed England leave, France downs his own wine and pushes himself away from the wall to join him.

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

‘Be careful.’

England blinks, confused.

It is dark, moonlight all they have to go by, and they are watching British soldiers pour out from and over French beaches into hungry, waiting boats. Months of planning, countless sleepless nights and hours held stressed and tense in the wait for scraps of coded information has lead them here, to this. To men running through waves, to home so close and yet so far, and a flight through the dark to get stranded soldiers home before France falls.

England feels hollow. His chest feels concaved, an empty feeling of something like relief rotting and curdling there at the thought that this momentous victory is in the grand scheme of things, nothing at all. A huge success merely only for how difficult any small victory is. And still a failure because... because-

France’s hand brushes his. England swallows and entwines their fingers together.

‘You’re the one who should be careful.’ He says.

France squeezes his fingers. ‘If-‘

‘Don’t.’

‘-If.’ France’s grip tightens, ‘If, Arthur. Just be careful. I’ll be fine. It’s you who-‘

France breaks off.

‘I won’t.’ England says. He takes a deep breath in. ‘Not me. Not yet.’

‘I would be deeply embarrassed for you, if you do. It’s shameful. To a child, and one raised by Gilbert, no less.’

England snorts and smooths his thumb over France’s knuckle before he breaks them apart. He tugs down his uniform, wishing for gold trimming and a deep red coat, and smooth wood of a longbow.

D-Day unfolds in the muddied, darkened shallows of Dunkirk beach, and two empires watch the world turn over and into something new.

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

‘Move over.’

France wakes to a knee in the small of his back. ‘A.. Arthur?’

‘Francis, move.’

Bewildered, France obediently shuffles over and there’s a gasp of cold air as England lifts the covers to climb inside. ‘What are...?’

‘Shh!’

France hears the heavy drapes around his bed being rearranged, then gets another knee in his back as England burrows down next to him.

France turns over. In the darkened room and behind thick curtains, England is nothing more than a source of warmth and the feeling of being watched. ‘What are you doing here.’

‘This is my castle, isn’t it?’

‘It’s one of your King’s castles, yes.’

‘Well then.’

‘But you weren’t here.’ France whispers, When we arrived. ‘He is very upset. He says you shame him.’

‘He shames me.’ England’s cool hands find themselves under France’s back, ‘The grandson of a usurper has nothing to do with me.’

‘Arthur.’ France cautions, but then stops. It is not the time, nor place. Nor, he knows, his place, really, to say anything at all. He places his hand on the cool skin of England’s arm and squeezes it, ‘I’m happy you’re here now. Apart from all the dirt you’ve likely tracked into the bed.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘I can smell it. You smell like outside.’

‘Outside doesn't have a smell.’

It does. Brought in to a human space where it doesn’t belong, the night air that clings to England’s hair and skin is earthy and cool. Fresh and foreign amongst wood fires and the fresh thresh on the floors.

‘I changed.’ England insists, seemingly having taken France’s lack of answer as an argument, ‘I do have nightclothes, you know. I’m not a savage.’

‘Hmm.’

England wriggles his fingers under France’s back to the soft parts of his sides and France can’t help but yelp as they tickle.

‘I was in York but heard you were leaving.’ England says, ‘Did you want to go riding before you go?’

‘We go Tuesday.’ France whispers, conscious of the servants littered about the room asleep. How England crept past them all or even got into the castle so quietly in the first place, he’ll never know. ‘We’re almost ready.’

‘So, do you want to go riding, or not.’

It is Sunday. There will be a lot to do before he goes back to his own lands, lots of packing and planning and then talking to people and France is exhausted just thinking about how much of it he will be needed for, let alone the voyage back across likely windy seas.

‘I don’t want to share. I want my own horse.’

‘Fine.’

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

‘Here.’

England looks up from his laptop to find a cup of what might be soup held aloft before him.

France waggles it, evidently deeming England too slow on the uptake, ‘Take it.’

England does, cautiously, and moves his laptop aside to safety. ‘What’s this for.’

‘You.’

‘I could infer that.’

‘Could you? I never want to assume.’ Before England can tell him not to, France settles himself in the seat opposite. The booth England has hidden himself in has a wide table down the middle which takes up most of the room, but France moves himself into the tight space far more dramatically than is needed.

The soup is hot. England pops the lid off- carrot and coriander. His stomach clenches at the smell, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. ‘Where on earth did you get it? They stopped serving dinner hours ago.’

‘I know. You missed it.’ France shoots him a pointed look, ‘I went to a café down the road.’

England looks down and swirls the soup around the Styrofoam. It’s thick, good quality. ‘I’m not paying you for it.’

‘Ah yes, because that is why I went.’

England glances at his laptop. France shuts it. ‘Now, whilst you’re eating, listen to me. I have a story for you.’

England takes the spoon that France offers and stirs. He wonders if France has any chocolates in his pockets, ‘Is it about the look Antonio gave-‘

‘Yes.’ France leans forwards eagerly, ‘But shut up. Let me talk.’

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

‘It’s... it’s large.’ The scientist at the front of the room looks shrunken, weighed down and wizened. He runs a hand through his hair, glasses glinting in sterile, overheads lights. ‘It’s large.’

France looks up and catches England’s eye. He looks tired, old.

Scared.

Question lights flash on around the room, every national and political delegation with something to say or ask. The scientist seems to freeze, overwhelmed by where or who to turn to first, and then people start shouting all over each other, nations and their politicians alike.

‘What the fuck is this?’ France’s president holds her hands to her mouth and shakes her head slowly from side to side, ‘This cannot be happening.’

‘There is nothing we can do!’ France hears the scientist say over the braying clamour, ‘It’s too late, it’s-‘

‘Francis.’ England is there, at his shoulder. ‘Come on.’

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

‘What the fuck have you done to yourself?’

France sniffs and turns away, ‘That’s none of your business.’

England snorts and hangs his hat and coat on the stand, ‘You look like you’ve fallen off a horse.’

‘You look like an unkempt vagabond.’

England looks down at his finely pressed suit and trousers and then back to France. He is on his sofa, studiously reading a book and not looking at England making himself comfortable in France’s livingroom. His leg is before him on a padded stool, swollen at least twice the size, and there is a purple bruise blossoming upon one cheek.

England comes around the back of him and brushes soft golden hair away from France’s shoulder. ‘I could do better.’ he says, gently thumbing the fragile scabbing of France’s bottom lip.

France swats at him, ‘Go away. I don’t want you here.’

‘Wrong place wrong time? Or did you try to speak sense again to someone who actually has some.’

‘Arthur, stop.’ France catches England’s wrist and kisses the inside, ‘You’re too unsympathetic to understand.’

‘Hmm.’ England kneads at France’s shoulder and then heads to the kitchen, ‘Would it help you to know I’m planning on telling everyone you fell ice skating?’

France lets out a bark of laughter, ‘Oh? And who on earth would you tell.’

‘Anyone who will listen.’ He collects a glass and a bottle of wine, along with some bread and some of the expensive cheese that he knows France always squirrels away in his pantry whenever he can, and takes them back to the living room.

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

‘If you could be anywhere, where would you be.’

Soft music from a Spanish restaurant down the road, warm ocean breeze. Anywhere and everywhere, all at once.

Besides him, England sips warm ale from a can he smuggled through customs and shrugs, ‘Home.’

‘That’s a boring answer.’

‘That’s the truest answer.’

‘And where again would Arthur go, if he could leave England behind.’ Francis watches Arthur from the corner of his eye, sees the fragments of him outside of all else that they always are.

‘I can’t leave England behind.’ England says, ‘So there’s not much point entertaining it.’

‘I’m trying to have a serious conversation.’

‘Then don’t ask a hypothetical question.’

Francis sighs, and retreats. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and watches the smoke drift away into the dark.

‘But if you’re asking time.’ England tilts his head, considering. Behind them on the seafront, students between bright club front lights in loud, drunken clusters, ‘Now, I think. Maybe a hundred years ago, at most.’

‘Really?’ France is surprised, ‘I would have thought-‘

‘Boring answer,’ Arthur says, and the rest remains unfinished.

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

‘Don’t you fucking die on me.’

Of all the places England expected to die, this was actually what he’d considered the least likely. In Calais, oft contested, right by the sea, and entirely calm. No war or battle to take him, no disease or crop failure to push him along. He can see Dover in the distance, his white cliffs so close he can almost feel them in the bones they represent.

But above them, burning and close, the sky roils.

France lies in his lap on the grass of his garden, eyes wet and smiling. ‘That’s not fair, you can’t say that to me. That’s what I was going to say to you.’

‘I’m serious.’ England swallows down something bitter and painful in his throat, and brushes the hair from France’s face, ‘You’re not allowed to go first unless I’m given that honour. Keep yourself awake.’

France freezes, eyes wide, ‘What-‘

‘I know you too well,’ England says, and dips his head to kiss him. There is a golden chain around France’s neck, old and reliable. On it hangs a much-used pendant, once again filled and ready. Still full, he hopes.

England fiddles with it in the hollow of France’s neck and sees the burning heavens reflected in his eyes. ‘We’ll go together.’

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

‘I love you.’

On a nameless bit of a terraformed Earth that might have once been a small kingdom in the northern sea, a man called Francis pauses at the hydro sink, half washed cup in his hands. A man called Arthur stands next to him with a dish cloth and when Francis turns to him, Arthur stares back, face inscrutable.

Arthur does not mince words. He has always spoken his mind frankly, regardless of how offensive or tactless his thoughts may be. He has never tailored himself to a situation, never presented himself as anything he is not. But softness and open vulnerability is not a texture he can wear upon himself. Not because he doesn’t have any, Francis knows, but because he expects that Arthur doesn’t know how. Some core part of his personality that gets lost from his heart to his tongue, or given spikes along the way.

Maybe that was what caught Francis’ attention in the first place, all those years ago on the transport ship to Earth. The parts Arthur kept to himself more than the parts he did not. Arthur spoke kindness and care in actions, not words, and words were what Francis had heard far too much of.

Francis looks away and makes sure to keep his face just as blank, just as unconcerned.

‘I love you too.’

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blakeswritingimagines · 8 months

Text

Grumpy Cregan With a Sunshine You

It's certainly an odd experience. You are a delightful person, but he finds that your optimism can be…trying. You constantly want to spend time together and make small talk when all he wants to do is focus on his work. In the end, he's learned to accept and even appreciate your bubbly personality. After all, your sunny disposition is a perfect complement to his more serious nature. And who knows - maybe you'll rub off on him a bit too.

Well, it's like the sun shining on you while you're standing on a mountaintop surrounded by a bunch of clouds. The clouds are constantly moving and trying to block out the sun making it hard to breathe and see, but whenever the sun breaks through, it warms your heart and lifts your spirits. It also has its advantages since the clouds keep the sun from getting too hot or direct for long periods of time. And the sun gets to see the clouds from new angles and feel the fresh breezes coming off of them, so overall it's a good combination.

You know how they say opposites attract? Well, it's true. Having a partner who always sees the glass as half full can bring a welcome ray of sunshine on even the darkest of days. But, sometimes, he worries that his gruff manner might bring you down. You always reassure him that it doesn't and that you love him just the way he is, but he can't help but think you may be trying to spare his feelings. Sometimes he feels like a grumpy old man surrounded by a world full of playful children who don't understand.

It's not that easy on him. On the one hand, he always has to have a dark, brooding attitude for everyone to see…but on the other hand, he finds himself giggling at random, silly things you'll say. That's the danger of dating someone so optimistic and upbeat. You might find yourself becoming a bit sunnier yourself. In short, dating someone so sunny and sweet isn't an easy task, but it has its moments of joy and warmth.

It's like a constant battle of wills. He will get more stern, which will make you even louder and goofier. He will become more stoic, and you'll become even more exuberant to fill the silence. He will roll his eyes silently at one of your jokes, and you will just give him an even wider grin out of sheer delight. He will sigh after one of your corny antics, and you will respond with an even louder laugh and an over-the-top display of affection.

He loves to see how you look at the world. When you see something, you'll point out how beautiful it is or you'll find something special in it, and it makes him look at things in a different way. It makes him appreciate things more. The world is a better place when you can see the beauty in the small things. It is also sometimes good to have someone to balance you out. It is nice to have someone who can bring light to your darkness and to bring joy to your days.

It is both a blessing and a curse at times. For someone like himself, one who tends to be more reserved emotionally to be paired with a ray of sunshine such as his partner can be both comforting and infuriating at times. He is not one who enjoys opening up and baring his soul to anyone, yet he knows he must do that when it comes to the one he loves. But at the same time, to be paired with someone who is so filled with love joy and happiness can be overwhelming and taxing at times as well.

Honestly, it can get a bit frustrating. You are very energetic and are always up for something while he is more reserved. But you are not one to let him get away with being a grump for long, which he thinks is why you both work together. You are the perfect complement to his grouchiness.

Well, there are days when he feels like he's a burden to you since he's so doom and gloom all the time. And there have been times when he's wanted to just break down and cry about things that are bothering him. You always manage to cheer him up and bring a smile back to his face with your sunny disposition and optimism. He'll admit, that dating a ray of sunshine is a challenge, but it's also an adventure, and he wouldn't have it any other way. The ups and downs make it worthwhile.

It is hard to put into words the emotions that come with being in such a relationship. Sometimes the joys and love that he feels when he is with you are immense. You seem to wash away all the darkness and misery and allow him to feel like he is whole again. But at other times, this very same person can seem to overwhelm him with your constant optimism and joy and it seems as though he is fighting against you, even if he has no intention of doing so. There is an emotional rollercoaster that comes with such a relationship as he is not used to being loved in such a strong way.

He also appreciates your patience and understanding when it comes to his mood swings. Even though he can be quite moody and hard to deal with at times, you don't take his tantrums personally. You understand that this is just how he is, and you accept him for who he is. Of course, you do still get annoyed sometimes when he acts like a complete grump. But the fact that you are willing to put up with his grouchiness and still love him all the same is one of the things he adores most about you.

He is not one for overly romantic displays of affection. He does not enjoy things such as holding hands or whispering sweet nothings in someone's ears. His preferred form of affection is through simple acts such as providing for you and doing things for you such as cooking, cleaning, or organizing. He also enjoys spending quality time with you, whether that is going hunting together or simply sitting down for a good meal and some drinks. He has also found that simply having a partner who is always there to listen and provide moral support is a type of affection that he truly appreciates.

One of his favorite kinks is being used as a prop for the fantasies of you. For example, allowing you to use him to experiment or to live out certain scenarios you may have. He enjoys being your canvas or your outlet to explore your desires, whatever they may be. That type of trust and willingness to submit and surrender is a huge turn-on for him.

He also enjoys being a bit of a voyeur. Being able to just watch you is such a treat and being able to watch you take pleasure in your own body while he watches only brings him more joy.

He always has been a fan of some more hardcore forms of play, such as bondage and domination/submission. He enjoys the power struggle between you and himself and the trust that he gives you when he submits to you completely.

He also enjoys the feeling of vulnerability that comes with this kink. Being entirely at the mercy of you and submitting to your wants and needs, he finds it to be quite exhilarating and arousing. When he can let his guard down and allow someone else to have complete control over him, there is a certain thrill that he feels and he finds that to be quite enjoyable.

He loves to feel wanted and needed by you. He enjoys being at your command and being ordered to do the things you crave. It makes him feel wanted and loved and desired. He also loves to surprise you with things that you did not expect. When he takes the initiative and does something unexpected for you, he wants it to make you feel special and cherished and that is what is most important as far as he is concerned.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon

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deadfor7yrs · 9 months

Text

lucy loves lockwood's smile SO MUCH its adorable

so here's every time she admires his smile or waxes poetic about how much of an effect it has on her in the books (this will be long):

Lockwood ignited his smile; its warmth lit up the evening.

When he smiled at me, a warm light seemed to suffuse the room.

Lockwood gave me a radiant smile. […] I soon learned that when he smiled like that, it was hard not to agree with him.

He sat back and smiled - and this time it wasn't the full megawatt version, the one you obeyed despite yourself; just a warm, companionable grin.

He wore that slight half-smile he reserves for dangerous situations; the kind of smile that suggests complete command.

He grinned; it was that warm smile that made everything seem simpler, ready to click perfectly into place.

The radiance of his smile filled the room.

It was the old Lockwood smile again; the landing grew much brighter.

Then he gave us his sudden radiant grin, the one that made everything seem okay.

He flashed her his fifty-percent smile, the reassuring one.

Lockwood really smiled, then. The sudden warmth of its radiance made my misgivings seen mean and needlessly hostile. (lol)

He grinned at me; I grinned at him. A swell of joy rose in me, displacing the ache of my muscles, my burning lungs.

Lockwood smiled at me. "Thanks, Luce. Nice one." It wasn't quite the way he'd looked at me that moment during the chase, but it echoed it; warmth rushed through me.

Then he was beside us, grinning that old grin.

As I met his gaze, he smiled - and that smile was a world away from the hundred-gigawatt version you saw in the papers. It was warm but somehow hesitant, as if it hadn't been used recently. It was the smile I'd hazily imagined a hundred times; only now it was real, solid, meant just for me.

His smile broadened, carrying me with it. It became a sunnier place, that little landing.

For the first time, the old grin extended its wat fully across his face. Its radiance bathed me; that was something else that hadn't changed as all.

He smiled at me. The warm feeling was back.

Behind his gappy grin shone the old Lockwood smile, and that smile and those words together swept everything else aside. All guilt and queasiness were gone, and I was conscious of nothing other than the thrill of being there with him.

His smile made me feel a little flushed.

His smile was as bright as ever, his energy lit up the stage.

As we filed in, he turned and smiled. It was his old grin.

Lockwood's smile was wolf-like.

As he met my gaze, his smile became a grin.

Lockwood put on a fair attempt at his most gleaming smile.

Bonus: Lucy smiling at Lockwood:

That was where he always was - at the forefront of the group, standing between us and the darkness. How poised and graceful he was. His presence gave me courage, even in a place like this. I smiled at him. he couldn't see me, of course. It didn't matter.

As always, I found myself smiling after him. As always, the room felt a little darker after he'd left.

#i simply had to compile them all in one place #she's so gone #lockwood and co #save lockwood and co #lockwood & co #save lockwood & co #locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #bring back lockwood and co #bring back 35 portland row #george karim

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mymegumi · 6 months

Text

SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

#txt!writing #lowkey word vom lol #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x y/n #jjk fluff

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odyssean-flower · 7 months

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Everything Shall Return to the Sea Chapter 1 (Yandere Neuvillette x GN Reader)

Summary: A lonely soul rescues a mermaid on the beach and finds their life changed forever. Warnings: Angst, reader has depression, obsessive yandere thoughts Note: This was written before the 4.0 update

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

The morning chill was seeping into your skin, despite the towel you had wrapped around you. However, you paid it no mind.

You were sitting on a bench, watching the sunrise at the beach. The sun had yet to emerge from the horizon, and the sky was still a deep blue, dotted with stars here and there.

There was no one around, too early even for the early-risers. And yet you sat there, alone, gazing at the horizon idly.

You were here on vacation, though your somber mood and days of mostly holing up in your cabin make it far less deserving of the cheerful and relaxing feelings that the word brought to mind.

Truth be told, you didn’t even know why you decided to come here. You had been riding the train when you saw an advertisement for a beach vacation. Something about the bright blue ocean and white beaches tugged at something in your heart, something that you thought had long died. So, you ended up renting a beach cabin for a week.

Honestly, now that you were here, you felt like you did something incredibly foolish. A change of scenery wasn’t going to miraculously transform your mindset or your life. All you did was feel lonely in a sunnier location.

Loneliness was your only constant companion throughout your life. Your parents died when you were young, and you had no other relatives. You grew up in an orphanage, always overlooked and ignored by the other kids and adults, and only ever had fleeting, shallow friendships. You didn’t really have any hobbies either. Even now as an adult, you never connected with anyone at your job, with your days mostly consisting of going to work and returning home.

Still, at least this scenery was beautiful. The horizon was lightening before your eyes, turning from blue to amber, heralding the sun’s slow rise. The stars gradually disappeared one by one. The gentle crashing of the waves and the faint cries of seagulls served as pleasant background noise as you gazed ahead. The damp sea breeze grazed against your cheek and ruffled your hair.

Right now, you could almost understand why people found the beach so relaxing.

If only… you thought. If only I can just exist in this moment forever…

But of course, the world wasn’t so kind. The sky gradually lightened, the sun making its slow ascent above the waters. There were more people now, some of them shooting you weird looks for being here so early. You decided that it was time to head back.

As you walked along the shore, you suddenly spot something lying in the sand up ahead. You didn’t know what it was at first. It was long, its upper half white and its lower half blue and glittering. It also seemed to be moving faintly, though that might just be the waves. A beach toy? You thought.

You steadily approached it, but the closer you got, the more you wondered if you were hallucinating.

The “beach toy” was larger than you thought. It would probably tower over you if it were standing up. Its upper half resembled the torso of the most handsome man you had ever seen. His long white hair, mingled with what looked like blue streaks of hair, was fanned out beneath him. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes long enough to brush against the tops of his cheekbones, and his chiseled features and torso reminded you of a classical statue. His alabaster skin shone in the sunlight. As your gaze traveled down his body, his human-looking waistline melded into iridescent blue fish scales. The scales tapered to a point before flaring out into translucent fins.

It was a mermaid’s tail.

You were looking at a mermaid.

No, you idiot, you laughed at yourself. This is probably some kind of super-realistic toy or an elaborate art installation.

It really was a beautiful piece of work, though. It looked so real, like it could open its eyes at any moment. You found yourself kneeling down and reaching out to touch the tail. It was smooth beneath your fingertips. Smooth, warm, and pulsing.

Your hand jerked back and you whipped your head towards the mermaid’s face. Its eyes were open now, and looking at you. Though his gaze was weak, you could sense the scorn and wariness directed at you.

The mermaid’s mouth opened, but only a faint gasp came out. You stumble back when you saw what you took for lines on his neck flutter. They were gills.

Your thoughts were racing through your mind. No way, no way, this has to be some kind of prank. There’s probably a hidden camera somewhere…

You look around. There was no one around as far as you could see, no one running up to you and telling you that this was a joke. It was almost too quiet.

“Are…are you really a mermaid?” you tentatively ask. The words sounded ridiculous, but there was no other conclusion. You briefly wonder if this person was just wearing a fake mermaid tail, but his skin blended into scales much too smoothly for that, and nothing could explain the gills.

The mermaid regarded you for a few brief moments. You could sense his annoyance, probably at how long it took for you to come to the realization. His head moved up and down imperceptibly. A nod.

“Okay…” Holy crap, I can’t believe this is actually happening, you thought in a mixture of fear and surprisingly, joy. I’m meeting a real mermaid! “H-How did you get here, sir?”

The mermaid only stared at you. He didn’t even open his mouth this time. Maybe he can’t talk on land? It was then that you notice the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The mermaid was weak. It must have been washed up onto the beach during the night and was stuck here, unable to push itself back into the sea.

Now you knew what you had to do. Still not quite believing the situation, you told the mermaid, “Okay, I get it. You want to go back to the sea, right? I’ll help you.”

The mermaid’s eyes widened slightly like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Did he think I was going to take him away and sell him or something, you wonder idly.

Although, dragging him back into the water looked to be a formidable task of its own. For one thing, he was massive, so it would take a considerable amount of your meager strength to move him. There was still no one around. It was all up to you.

A part of you thought, I could just leave and call for help. The last thing my life needs is to get involved with a magical creature, and I’m nowhere near capable enough to help him. Not getting involved with others and keeping to yourself was how you survived. But it was overpowered by the weak but desperate gaze aimed at you. You’re the only one who can help me, the mermaid seemed to be saying.

He needed you.

That thought spurred you on, and you got to work. You gently but firmly grasped the mermaid’s tail–which made him twitch a little–with both hands and started to drag the mermaid back into the sea. He was heavier than you expected, and you almost fell on your butt a few times, but you made gradual progress. You kept apologizing to him as you dragged him through the sand. It felt criminal to treat such a beautiful otherworldly creature like this.

The mermaid’s eyes were fixed on you as he watched you struggling and wheezing. You really wished he would close his eyes again. His stare was unnerving. You’ve never been looked at like this by anyone, much less a beautiful mermaid, and it was just your luck that it had to happen when you were sweating and gasping for breath.

Finally, when the sea was up to your knees and the tail was fully submerged in the water, the mermaid’s strength seemed to return. Now supported by the buoyancy of the water, the mermaid turned around and dove beneath the water. You watched in awe as his tail moved in a synchronized rhythm, his long white hair streaming behind him.

The mermaid’s head surfaced a short distance from you. He didn’t say anything. You couldn’t read any emotion in his eyes. He was simply looking at you like he was waiting for something.

Suddenly, a strange urge to ask him to take you with him rose up within your mind. You had no idea where it came from. It was a preposterous idea, of course.

Instead, you simply gave him a small wave. The mermaid didn’t return it, only staring at you for a few moments longer before slipping back beneath the waves.

You stared at the spot where he once was until the ripples disappeared.

You never saw the mermaid again for the rest of your vacation, even as you went out to the beach every morning to stare out at the waters, trying to catch a glimpse of white hair or blue scales.

You didn’t know what you were hoping for. You had no idea what you were going to do if you saw him again. Try to talk to him? Take a picture?

Maybe you just wanted to feel like you were chosen. You were the one who found him, and you were the one who saved him.

Maybe, you just wanted to feel that connection again.

The mermaid occupied your mind even long after you returned from vacation. Who was he? What was his name? Where in the sea did he live? Were there others like him? Were there others who also saw him?

These questions soon turned into a hidden passion. You began to spend your leisure time researching mermaid legends, collecting mermaid pictures, and even attempting to sketch that beautiful mermaid you saw. Your ears perked up at any mention of mermaids. It was a good thing that you lived alone and kept to yourself, or other people would have thought you’d gone mad.

You scoured the internet for any information on mermaid sightings. Most were completely bogus, but after some time you managed to find a forum about mermaid sightings in the area you visited in some hidden nook of the web. It was a small forum where other mermaid enthusiasts eagerly shared theories, stories, and blurry photos of what could either be mermaids or giant fish.

At first, you simply lurked, but the easygoing and welcoming nature of the forum users eventually convinced you to share your own story. None of the other users had seen that white-haired mermaid before, but the response was more passionate than you expected, as you answered the bombardment of questions. Though some were disappointed that you didn’t take any pictures, everyone was more excited about the fact that there was someone else who shared their experience. No one doubted your story at all.

The forum soon became a place you frequented as soon as you got home from work. The other posters became familiar friends to you. Their posting habits, their active hours, and even the details of their life they shared became ingrained in your memory. And, as you were surprised to discover, the same went for the others.

Your fixation on mermaids gradually faded. The forum became a place to vent, ask for advice, and simply to talk to someone. You started to share more and more about yourself, talking about things you never told anyone and, through the responses you received, you discovered things about yourself that you never existed.

You were still mostly invisible at work, but now it no longer felt like you were in free fall. It felt like there was a safety net beneath you now.

When the other users threw you a virtual birthday party, you sobbed.

So this…is what it feels like to be a part of a community, you thought as you watched the familiar, dear faces sing “Happy Birthday” to you.

The mermaid books on the shelf behind you were dusty from being untouched for months.

In the depths of the sea, far beyond where the sun’s rays could reach, a lone mermaid was gazing up at the surface.

His long white hair billowed around him as he stared upwards unblinkingly. The blue horns–signifiers of his high status–jutting out of his hair gave off an eerie glow. His hand was absentmindedly touching the end of his tail–the same spot that you grabbed.

Even now, he still couldn’t get your eyes, so filled with loneliness, out of his mind. The warmth of your touch still lingered on his scales.

He never liked humans. He disliked their smiling faces as they tore through his people’s habitat and disturbed the peaceful creatures living in the depths. However, he never did anything to them, because that would put his people in danger.

He disliked humans…but then there was you.

The hesitant touch of your hand on his scales that turned into a firm grip, the defeated eyes that came alive as you tried your best to rescue him, the soft apologies that spilled out of your mouth…

All of that stirred something in the mermaid’s heart. Something he didn’t know existed.

Unbeknownst to you, he had come up close to the surface every day during your vacation as well. You never saw him, because he stayed right below the surface, observing you. You looked so frail as you stood at the spot where you found him, your toes barely touching the water. Sometimes you would take a step forward like you were about to go into the sea, but you would always stop and walk back. That was a relief for him. He didn’t know what he would do if you really did it. Then he would wonder why he was even worried about a human at all.

He didn’t really have any intention of revealing himself, but seeing your disappointed look as you walked away after another day of not seeing him almost made him want to emerge from the water. Those sad eyes…what had you endured to make them like that? And why did he want to know?

“Lord Neuvillette!” One of the other mermaids called to him. Neuvillette reluctantly turned around after a few seconds.

Neuvillette didn’t understand these feelings that tugged at his heart, but he did know this: he wanted to see you again. No matter what.

#genshin impact x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin impact #my works

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bittersweetresilience · 5 months

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a softer world and night in the woods: part two, meanings

(part one) (part three)

#🌃#night in the woods #mae borowski #gregg lee #angus delaney #bea santello #a sunnier world

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yatonekoami · 3 months

Text

Take my hand, don't let me go.

Featuring. Kanata Yatonokami, Nayuta Yatonokami, Kei Miyama, Shion Kaida x GN! Reader.

What does it feel like, to hold his hand?

Tags: romantic fluff, headcanons.

♡ KANATA YATONOKAMI

— His hands are considerably svelte, despite the roughness and calluses brought by a life of hardships.

— Just as the rest of him, he really doesn’t pay much attention to them, and yet it’s undeniable they are pretty.

— You wonder, how come his skin is always silky smooth when he doesn’t bother with hand creams and has no qualms with getting his hands dirty to protect the ones he loves (read, you and Nayuta) or get his job done.

— You pout as you ask him exactly that, as you walk hand in hand through the cluttered neighborhood in the slums; the last rays of crepuscular light filter through the buildings, clothes hanging on a drying thread decadently beautiful when they sway on the wind.

— Kanata was always beautiful, but, in this light, he looks nothing short of an angel. A fallen angel, discarded by lady luck and the fates, now descended into your arms, his decaying tainted wings soaring to sunnier skies by your side.

— “Not fair… Why are your hands so soft?” You ask, lips scrunched up as you come to a stop and slot your fingers between his.

— Cozmez’s elder blushes at the contact of your two palms.

— “Adorable.” You think, closing your fingers around his.

— “It’s not like they’re that soft.” He grumbles, looking to the side, locks of silver lilac blooms merging with the dusk sky.

— “They’re pretty too…” You trail off, gently grasping one of his hands in between your two, as you tenderly caress the protruding tendons and veins.

— “H-hey, stop it!” Your boyfriend wails, face not unlike the ruddy hue of the setting sun.

— You smile softly, putting his warm palm against your cheek.

— “Your hands are so pretty, Kanata… Just as you are.” You mumble, leaving a kiss to the inner side of his wrist.

— And because Yatonokami Kanata was easily flustered, despite the frown he showed the world, he takes the back of your head and leans you close to his chest.

— His heartbeat is wild, much in the way he is, a rose with steel thorns and midnight petals, some of them wilted; yet to those who approach it with care and true love in their hearts, it awards them with the sweetest scent and a whimsical view.

— You’re never letting go.

♡ NAYUTA YATONOKAMI

— Like Kanata, has naturally pretty hands.

— Slender than Kanata’s, with veins slightly more marked in color, the blue hue reminding you of the skies he called “not as beautiful as you.”

— Sometimes, you give him your bow hair tie to keep it for you. And of course, your lover likes wearing it around his wrist. You can’t resist holding hands with him when he does that, swinging them happily as you walk. It’s adorable how he chuckles every time his eyes inevitably focus on your smile.

— You find it so cute how Nayuta’s hands get easily red with the cold.

— And because he definitely has a mischievous side, he always adored holding your face when his skin was freezing.

— You gasp, a whine of “Nayuuutaa!” escaping you, his cute laughter enough to make you think you would let him put his freezing hands beneath your shirt.

— “You always warm up my heart and my hands. You’re cute.” He says, effectively leaving you speechless.

— Your face buries in your boyfriend’s chest at the remark, he really is going to be the death of you.

— Other times, when you two are just hanging out on the rooftop, you love seeing his fingers splayed out against the bright blue sky.

— As if reaching out, hoping to catch a drifting dream, you love to stretch out your own hand next to his, pinkies touching.

— It’s funny, how the gesture is enough to make your own heart flutter, when you’re the one who initiated it.

— Your cheeks burn, not unlike the blinding sunshine above, when you realize Nayuta’s lavender gaze is set on you.

— Because who cared about blue skies and sunny days when he had you by his side?

— Not him, that’s for sure, the moment his lips tease the corner of yours.

♡ KEI MIYAMA

— All of him is the embodiment of perfection; a picture perfect angel, seemingly descended upon this earth just to grace you with his candid light.

— And the way he holds you is no exception.

— His hands are soft, gentle; the hands of a man born to create melodies, light dancing at the tip of his fingertips with every added note.

— You adore his svelte fingers entwined with yours, the memory of wintry leaves swaying across a sunny sky so vivid when his hands hold yours.

— The way his phantometal bracelet envelops his wrist makes you jealous at times, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath it, caressing his peachy skin in that area.

— Your lover’s reactions are demure, elegant, much like everything he does, but you never miss the rosy blooms flowering on his cheeks when you two are intimate like this.

— It’s undeniable 1Nm8’s leader has beautiful hands, and you love making him try on your own accessories.

— Maybe you’re a fool, but you can’t take your eyes off his slim fingers when you put one of your silver rings on them; you hope one day, you’ll wear matching ones.

— “My love? Is there anything wrong?” He asks, when you fall silent, those slate eyes framed by the rays of sunrise searching for your gaze in concern.

— You start, hand squeezing his with tenderness.

— “Nothing, nothing…” You trail off, a subtle smile tugging at your lips. “Just thinking about the future I suppose.”

— He returns the smile, turning your hand around in his soft grasp.

— “I hope you saw me in it.” He utters, thumb running over the back of your hand.

— You wonder how someone's touch can be so affectionate and leave your stomach all knotted up, the trajectory of butterflies over aurora skies aflutter up your heart.

— You finally nod, playing with your ring still around his finger.

♡ SHION KAIDA

— Mans is canonically attractive; let’s not forget he seduces men and women of all ages.

— And, of course, he will use his hands to charm you, among other things.

— You were drawn in by his otherworldly aura at first, that ruby gaze fixated on you, half-lidded, as if you were the only one that existed to him in that moment.

— And well, how could you resist him? Not when his tall frame slightly bends over to whisper in your ear how pretty you are; not when his voice lures you in like a siren’s song.

— Not when his manicured hand trails over the edge of your jawline, dark polished index nail delicately tracing the edge of your painted lips.

— You know he is danger spelled in shades of moonlight over pomegranate seeds. And yet, you can’t resist his pull.

— The way his hands, lean, yet stronger than they look, hold your waist while his lips fervently lock with yours drives you crazy.

— You love trailing the contours of his sculpted bones when you two are just relaxing, the phantometal piece he wears on his left pinky hypnotizing you.

— And not only that, but on occasions like this, he often manages to leave you flustered; sometimes it’s him tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering on your cheek for longer than necessary; other times it’s him putting his claw-like ring on your middle finger, whispering “for my rose” as he leaves a kiss behind your ear.

— Your favorite, however, are the tranquil nights in which you can relax together, his more vulnerable and sensitive side coming out in deep conversation while you paint his nails.

— A starry sky awaits for you just outside the window, but you’d rather lose yourself in the moonstone hue of his long fingers and the constellations he strings together with the emotions only you are privy to.

#paradox live #paradox live x reader #paradox live imagines #paradox live the animation #paralive #paralive imagines #paralive x reader #kanata yatonokami #nayuta yatonokami #kei miyama #shion kaida #kanata yatonokami x reader #nayuta yatonokami x reader #shion x reader #kei x reader #fluff #hailey writes

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sakkiichi · 10 months

Text

MOONDUST.

He is beautiful in the water under the caress of the moon.

Scaramouche / Wanderer x gn! reader.

genre/cw: pure fluff, lots of tenderness.

word count: 1.1 k.

tags: @bunny-rambles

The faint glow of the Violet Court and the small torch burning by your side reflect on the water.

Waves. What memories do they carry? He wonders.

Gentle ripples, lapping at the eons old coast in a tranquil ebb and flow.

If one were to rise their gaze, they would observe a stella of glowing rusty hues riding in the horizon, the clouds overhead mingling with the cherry blossoms scattered in the breeze from Amakane Island.

They’re perfectly visible from the wanderer’s vantage point, alongside with the distant city lights.

He turns away from that last sight; no corner of his hollow heart has space left to wallow in memories of a world that was shattered before him so early into life.

Instead, he’ll keep looking forward. After all, he always preferred the images before him, since you started occupying that spot often.

“Kuni,” you call him, turning your smiling face to him. “Dinner’ll be ready soon.” You gesture to the little fire before you, a pot of delicious smelling shimi chazuke cooking on a low flame.

Mirrored midnight eyes soften when you turn your back to him again.

When he was with you, Inazuma City felt so… distant. Akin to a soft silken cushion, your presence always tended to soothe his fall into the darkest pits this world has known.

Every time you were by his side, Kunikuzushi didn’t have to blindly search the endless night for the tattered pieces of a puppet without a heart.

You caught him mid-air, as if he had remained unbroken, a pristine doll everyone coveted.

Suddenly, the wandering eccentric feels a light weight on his foot, a pale red crab interrupting his rumination.

He gently picks it up, returning it to the humid sand.

“New friend?” A familiar voice laced with tenderness despite its amused lilt asks him. You offer your lover a bowl of his favored chazuke, still simmering. “I think he liked you.” You point out, following the retracing crab with your eyes.

“You think so?” The wanderer asks, hands brushing yours when he takes the plate from you.

“Mhm,” you lean your head on his shoulder. “You’re more likable than you give yourself credit for, you know?”

He chuckles, shifting his position so that you’re more comfortable.

Likable. That’s probably one of the last adjectives he’d consider himself to be, yet when you’re the one saying it, it doesn’t feel so off.

A balmy silence settles around the both of you, comfortable, dusk clouds sifting through the darkening sky. In the distance, stars seem to light up one by one. As a layer of deep indigo veils the firmament, your silhouettes are shadowed against the sand, the dawning moon bright above. Gentle waves caress your bare feet, a welcome coolness in the fiery summer breeze.

And much like the first time you journeyed with the eccentric wanderer through Sumeru’s vast rainforests, you take his hand.

“Let’s take a bath, Kuni.” You utter, a whistling melody of uncharted stars in the softness of your tone.

And maybe for tonight, Scaramouche will let himself believe in wishing upon comets.

Your lover’s hold on your hand comes in grounding ripples, the chill of his skin electrifying; the strong but tender grip he has on you, like the warmth of a flickering flame out in dark storms.

And because it’s you, the wanderer finds a certain calmness in letting himself be lead into the expanse of liquid moonlight right before you.

By silver light, you dip your body in the crisp water, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into you. It’s as if, in this moment, instead of the puppet’s strings tugging in opposite directions, breaking apart damaged shards of him, they’re all being swayed in the same way, a flower scented breeze as the dancing partner steering him to sunnier shores.

Small waves crash against you two and the beach, their song a great soothing heartbeat that keeps the couple afloat.

Flecks of moondust seem to cling to Scaramouche’s lashes, cheeks and shoulders when you gaze at him.

His eyes glow almost magically in the mirrored sky he’s swimming in, akin to vibrant violet blossoms against a moonstone backdrop. Strands of hair that merge with the universe flutter around his pretty face, those lips of his a tantalizing dying star, you, the satellite forever spinning around him.

“You’re so pretty like this, Kuni.” You breathe, fingers combing through the horizon caught between the porcelain and ebony outlining him. “You’re always so pretty.” You add, after, forehead finding rest against his.

Your partner’s hold on your waist tightens. His touch once memorized you as if he was ready for you to slip through his fingers and vanish.

Now he knows you’re his constant.

Crimson butterflies draw on his masterfully crafted cheeks at your words, in a vicious flight through the set of his jaw and serious expression.

Cherished. The wanderer guesses that’s the word he’d use to define how he feels when he’s with you.

And yet, can he allow himself such indulgence? He may not consider himself to be on the morally good side now, if ever, but he’s aware of his less than ideal actions.

“I love you, Scara.” You spell in wisps of shifting starlight, a confession engraved eternally in the changing waters.

He lets out a sound in between a scoff and a derisive laugh.

“You remember everything I did, everything I’ve done, right?” Is his choked out question. And still, under the veiling ocean, his arms tighten a little more around your form.

“I do.” You state, your eyes level with the indigo enigmas caught in his. “And you could recount it to me, every horrible thing you did, every atrocity you committed. Nothing would change. I’d still love you, I’ll love you in spite of it all.” You seal your vow with a kiss to his sharp jawline, your head resting in his shoulder.

It feels safe, it feels right.

A melancholic chuckle curtained by cynicism rumbles through his chest.

Love. How many eons, lives, names, have passed since he last felt that emotion, and forgot about what it meant shortly after?

The wanderer sighs; maybe memories of the past are still too clear for him to recall them painlessly. And perhaps, looking forward and learning the meaning of ‘love’ anew is what the imaginary heart you made beat is trying to tell him.

Under the caress of the moon, he was beautiful.

Under your touch, his lips catch yours.

Salty with sea-water, and intoxicatingly addicting in the underlying sweetness he only used with you.

‘I love you too’ is written in molten moonshine when his eyes lock with yours once more.

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 2 months

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BakuDeku | A Rainy Day Together ☔️💚💥

I wrote one of these for DabiHawks last night, and felt inspired to give BakuDeku a little rainy day love as well :) Enjoy! - RRUH

------

Katsuki groans when he sees the weather report for the day: cloudy and overcast, with an 80% chance of rain. He had been looking forward to a day at the park with friends - plans for a game of basketball and a shared bento box on the dewy grass had been swirling around his mind all week. All those plans were quickly going up in smoke as the first thick rain drops pelted down on his kitchen window.

"Shiiiiiit." He sighs, texting his group chat to postpone their plans for a sunnier day. The rain is picking up - battering the tiny apartment and sinking Katsuki into one of his gloomier moods. He slumps over to his couch and buries himself in his favorite weighted blanked. His boyfriend Izuku had gifted it to him earlier in the month - a housewarming gift when he had signed the lease to his very first apartment. He wraps himself up and lets weight of the material sink onto his chest. He's longing for the sun, willing the clouds to part and -

There's a knock on the door. Katsuki looks up in surprise - the rain is pelting the door with a steady rhythm. Whoever is knocking on his door must be absolutely soaked. With an effort, he wrangles the heavy blanket off of him and trips his way to the door. He throws open the bright white storm door to see his favorite person in the world - Izuku. His freckled boyfriend is beaming up at him from the stoop, soaked to the skin and trying his best to shield bags of groceries from the torrential downpour.

"Kacchan!" Izuku glows like the sun, letting Katsuki pull him into the threshold. He drops the grocery bags to the ground with a splash.

"It took you so long to answer - I thought maybe you had forgotten to put on your hearing aids again." Izuku reaches into Katsuki's fluffy hair and runs a finger along his right ear, checking that the hearing device is in its rightful place.

"Nah - I was just zoning out. Really bummed it's raining. I was looking forward to catching up with the guys from 1A over a game of basketball. It's all gone to shit now." He gestures out at the downpour, locking the door behind Izuku.

Izuku looks at him knowingly. "I figured you might be - that's why I brought snacks! Why not invite the gang over for a movie marathon?"

Katsuki laughs, digging into the grocery bag nearest him. "Oh my God - all you bought is junk! Cookies, potato chips, mint chip ice cream...Deku, we're heroes - we can't be eating this shit!"

"It's a Saturday! It's fineeee." Izuku practically sings, moving to unload all the groceries on the kitchen island.

"You're dripping puddles all over the carpet!" Katsuki grumbles, pointing at the pools of water Izuku is splattering across the clean kitchen tiles. Izuku laughs and continues to dance out of his reach. Katsuki gives up trying to chase him and instead fires off a quick text to their friends: "Movie marathon in an hour. My new place." He's immediately met with a thousand thumbs up and smiley emojis from Mina and Kirishima. They've all been begging to see his place for weeks.

"Oh - I'm gonna invite Todoroki, Shinsou and Ururaka too if that's alright!" Izuku calls over his shoulder as he forces two pints of ice cream into the already full freezer. "Oh - and Ida is back in town after that hero conference! I'll text him, too."

"Whatever, nerd." Katsuki rolls his eyes and busies himself with drying off the floor by the door. He's grown fond of all of their classmates and secretly revels in spending time with the group, despite his grumbling.

Once he's satisfactorily dried the kitchen floor, he grabs Izuku from behind and puts him in a friendly headlock. The green haired hero yelps in surprise, then relaxes when he feels Katsuki plant a kiss at the base of his neck.

"Listen, Deku. If we're going to host a party today you need to make yourself look presentable. You're soaked." He releases his boyfriend and helps him to strip off his wet hoodie and t-shirt. Katsuki pauses for a moment to admire the glistening, hard earned muscles that make up Izuku's chest and stomach. "Go hit the showers, babe."

Izuku laughs and doesn't need telling twice. He dashes to Katsuki's immaculately clean bathroom and chooses the fluffiest towel before hopping into the luxurious shower. Izuku loves that Katsuki stocks all the best soaps and shampoos and bubble baths in his bathroom. The explosion hero is an absolute slut for self-care.

Izuku takes his time, letting the hot water run across his stiff muscles as it banishes the chill from his bones. He grabs a sweet smelling shampoo and lathers it into his curly green hair, enjoying the way the liquid bubbles up in his hands. He can hear Katsuki working his magic in the kitchen - shifting through cupboards to find the fancy popcorn. After ten minutes of enjoying the steam, Izuku turns off the faucet and grabs the oversized bath sheet Katsuki keeps folded just for him.

"Hey, Kacchan - do you have an extra change of clothes I can borrow?" But Katsuki's already thought of that - and Izuku shouts out a quick "never mind!" when he notices the clean pile of folded clothes on the bathroom countertop. After a few minutes fighting with Katsuki's hair dryer, Izuku emerges back into the kitchen - fluffy and clean. A pair of Katsuki's grey joggers are slung low over his hips, and he's sporting a black tshirt with the word "Dynamite!" scrawled across it in a graffiti-style font.

"You look good." Katsuki says appreciatively, holding up two large bowls of freshly made popcorn. He's in full homemaker mode, decked out in his favorite apron and cooking up a storm. "Think this will be enough?" He sets up the popcorn popper with a third bowl.

"Do I smell cookies?! Are you making cookies, too?" Izuku ignores Katsuki's question, bouncing towards the oven to get a good look at the batch of chocolate chip cookies rising on a bright blue pan.

Katsuki puts down the popcorn and pulls Izuku into his arms, resting his hands on his boyfriend's slim hips. He leans in and their lips melt together as naturally as breathing air. "Of course I'm making cookies, loser. They're your favorite."

Izuku grins and opens his mouth to say something cheeky when a barrage of knocks hit the door. He scampers away from Katsuki and towards the entry way to let in their waiting crowd of rain-soaked friends. At the last minute, he turns back to look at Katsuki. He has one hand on the door knob, and a huge smile stuck on his face.

"Kacchan - I love you."

Katsuki's heart squeezes in his chest, and he barely has time to register Izuku's words before the door flies open and Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina and Sero come tumbling across the threshold.

Within minutes, the little apartment is filled with friends, laughter, and tiny puddles of rain. Katsuki doesn't even bother to wipe up all of the rainwater this time - instead, he basks in the glow of Izuku, their friends, and the little life they've built out for themselves in the wake of a rainstorm.

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

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Through The Ashes | Alternate Ending

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): canon-typical violence, mild injuries/gore, gun mention, suggestive content (18+), fluff

A/N: for those of you who desired a sunnier ending, here you go! This was requested by @redhoodsupergirl. the bold text is a passage from the original. I apologize if this is Bestie!Soap erasure h/j (I didn't know how to fit him in)

❥ y'all should comment where you think y/n went during leave, and if you think she ever came back | Word Count: 2.4k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ORIGINAL ENDING // requests | ao3 ver. | playlist

Alternate Ending

“Good to see you boys again.” The glitched voice emitting through your wire stops you dead in your tracks. You place a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, yanking him to a stop so you can hear it further.

When he does, he sprints to the other side of the large room, checking the entrance and windows for any sign of hostiles.

You look at him wide-eyed, as the line goes dead again. Graves had patched into your frequency and clogged it so you couldn’t reach your team. Whatever he was planning before, it’s here now and there’s no time to stop.

Your earpiece unexpectedly picks up the frequency again when you reach the middle of the dining hall. It gargles out a few words that you can’t understand, and then it emits a high-pitched shriek so boosted it makes you keel over and rip it out.

Ghost moves quicker than before, as your hurried steps try to catch up with him, your boots echoing with each careful stride—as if to not get your foot caught in any of the uneven patches of flooring.

The glass on the chandeliers began to rattle, as did the glassware packed away in boxes. You felt the floor vibrate, and the tarps over the exposed drywall began to whoosh. The electricity flickered as a loud whoosh of a jet passed overhead. The lights exploded into sparks, making you cover your ears for cover.

You had no time to get any closer to the door before the force of a nearby explosion knocked you to the hard ground. The world around feels like it’s been tilted on its axis, and your vision is doubled. You see Ghost already scrambled to his feet, and he’s outstretching his hand to help you up.

You reach for it and just barely brush against his fingertips. When you’re too sluggish, he clasps your upper arm and jerks you toward him, just barely getting you upright.

Another jet passes overhead, and the sound of the engine fills your ears once more. When another bomb drops, it’s closer than the last. You knock into one of the pillars, losing your balance again. A clamorous groan of the building causes him to lose his grip on you, and you’re knocked down again, fading in and out of consciousness.

Ghost comes to, and looks around at the rubble before him. The section you ended up on was completely blocked by walls and exposed cables that shot sparks every few seconds. Besides those, the night sky was his only guide, casting a blue tint on the hotel now in pieces.

“7-1, this is Ghost, how copy?” He spoke into his radio, hoping to hear yours going off in the distance.

“Frequency’s shot…” He growled under his breath, tightening his lip in concentration. Not only was he down his comms, you were on the other side of the rubble, or God forbid, already gone.

Wherever you were, he was going to find you. You weren’t going to fight this alone, no matter what ambush Graves had planned.

He raised his rifle, sweeping the remains for any signs of Graves’ men. His ears were trained on any sound of life, enemy or not.

The place was quiet—too quiet, for his liking. Either his entire team was dead, or another fiery pass was coming.

The only way to the other side of the dining hall was climbing through one of the vents he spotted by the stairs if there was one remaining after the blast. He crept through the doorway, keeping his strides near silent as he made it to the stairwell, which was missing its bottom half now, nearly disconnecting the entire upper level of the building.

He spotted the vent and hoisted himself up on it using the front desk. He felt around inside, making sure it was stable enough to let him crawl through. His rifle went in first, then his upper half.

He inched his way through the tight squeeze, grunting at the strain it was putting on his ribs. He knew that pinching pain, he’d cracked a rib when the second pass sent you both astray. There was no time to whine, he kept army crawling through the vent, finally seeing the literal light at the end of the tunnel.

He made it to the other side, finally around the large lumps of rubble. He slung his rifle back to its previous position as he crept through the dark space, dodging the broken furniture and turning to ash before his eyes.

Finally, he heard the faint gurgling of a radio in the distance, meaning you had to be nearby, or at least your radio was.

His rifle lowered when he saw an arm sticking through one of the chunks of concrete, your full frame covered by a china cabinet that luckily was being held up by one of the remaining pillars. He’d never moved faster, shoving the cabinet aside like it was nothing to him.

His sore ribs screamed as he tore through the decay, finally revealing you to him.

He let out an audible sigh, seeing that you didn’t end up in the gruesome state he was imagining you in when your hand left his. Besides being banged up, it seemed only your foot had been nailed by the wreckage.

He knelt beside you, pressing his two fingers to find a pulse. Faint, but there nonetheless.

“Ghost, what’s your status?” His radio chimed, forcing him to take his attention off you for a few moments. “Ghost, do you copy?” The voice repeated.

“This is 7-1 Ghost responding, solid copy. One injured, working towards an exit strategy now.”

He engaged back, only keeping himself composed because he knew he had a job to do. You. It was his job to get you out of here, and he’d be dead before he failed that job.

Your eyes opened only a small amount at the sound of his rough voice. You were too out of it to be of any assistance, or to figure out what the hell happened for that matter.

When you tried to move yourself out of the odd position you were in, he pinned you by the shoulders. “Don’t move your legs.” He muttered, scanning the situation around him for a way to jack the rubble up and free the foot.

You had no choice but to lay there, coming in and out of prudence. The only pain you felt besides a small headache, was a persistent compressing sensation in your right foot.

He managed to use one of the boards as a jack, hiking the block up enough to shove your foot out from under it.

You groaned at the sudden release of its pressure, which only unleashed the pain the lack of blood flow was preventing. At least you knew your foot still had some nerves left, if you were in a position to think of the silver lining.

“Lean on me, Sergeant.” He wrapped his arms around you, using all his strength to get you upright. There was no way you’d be putting weight on your leg, so he not only had to guide you out of here, but now he had to find an exit.

Your head fell forward as he practically dragged you along, unable to hold any part of yourself together.

“I got you…” He kept repeating it as if he was also comforting himself. He pulled out his sidearm, keeping it at the side with his free hand.

He squinted into the void, finding a patch of wall that had a hole big enough for the both of you. That was his best bet.

There was no guarantee this “convoy” would be out there waiting for you two, in position to neutralize the two of you the second he crawled through. That was the risk he was willing to take.

Worst case; you looked mangled enough, that if he needed to shield you while being pumped with bullets, there might be a chance of you passing for a dead body.

“7-1, approaching the South side. Is it clear?”

“All clear. No sign of hostiles since the blast.”

He threaded himself through first, scanning the hillside to be sure of its safety first just in case. He leaned through wrapping your arms around him first, then lifting you so you would have to put pressure on the leg.

When you’re both through, he slithers down the tattered village, looking for any sign of the team.

He spotted the emergency lights in the distance, finally finding the triage center Price set up. When the superior turns his head, seeing Ghost’s outline carrying your unconscious self, he runs over, helping to distribute some of your dead weight.

“Leg injury, concussion too,” Ghost spoke in a pressurized tone as you were passed along to the medics. Price watched Simon with concern, privy to his attempts at hiding his own injuries—he’d done it many a time before.

Captain Price replied sternly, making sure the entire Task Force was at his attention.

“I want us all out of here before Graves gets a hold of another bloody missile. We’re going to recover, and then come at him hard.”

—

The four hours it took for your surgery to finish, he spent pacing in his dorm, despite the nurse’s orders to stay off his feet. He did indeed have a rib fracture, and he was lucky that’s all had, according to the medics.

A soft knock at his door halted his anxious pacing, making him hastily open the door. He was greeted by Price, whose professional poker face wasn’t doing Simon’s unnerve any favors.

“Hospital called me. The surgery went just fine, but they’re keeping her for observation.”

If he wasn’t so experienced in keeping his composure, he would’ve jumped into his car and driven there that second. Price kept the announcement short, and continued on his way back to his office.

Despite whatever came of all of this, you were out. He’d gotten you out, and you were now free to get out of this hellhole before it swallowed you.

That look on your face when you asked him about the violence, and how everyone else carried on like it wasn’t making them sick to their stomach.

That look was the reason you needed out of this life. He wouldn’t deny your skills as an operator for a minute, but you weren’t broken like he was. Not yet. If you were to have second thoughts about stress leave, he’d push you out the door himself. Nearly losing you today was enough convincing.

—

Simon stared blankly out the window of the bar he’d picked out.

Every vehicle that pulled into the lot made him straighten his posture, hoping it would be you each time. Finally, a taxi pulled in, and he saw your familiar figure step out. The dim lights on the entrance didn’t do much to reveal your state to him as you passed the windows, making your way towards the entrance.

The ding of the bell above the door makes him set his bottle down and lift the scowl off his face.

“Thought you wouldn’t show.” He said as you approached the booth, a large cast on your right leg, and a few scrapes in the process of healing.

“Why not? You pulled me out of a burning building, L.T.” You carefully tucked your leg into the booth, shifting in the cushion to get comfortable. The limited movements were something you still needed to get used to, but you were glad to even have a leg.

“Simon.” He says, making you lift your eyes from the menu. “You’re not under me anymore.” The last sentence sounded like a justification as if that wasn’t his real reason for letting you use his name.

If you had told your past self, the newbie with a fresh hatred for him, that you’d be sitting in a bar having a civil conversation—you’d have thrown a fit.

The drink he ordered for you arrived; a stout, of course.

“How’s the pain?” He asked, attempting to mask his concern as he finished off his pint.

“Burns sometimes… but other than that, no nerve damage.” You responded, resting your chin on your fist.

“Shouldn’t put a damper on your vacation then, right?”

You chuckled at his attempt at humor. “Not on my watch. I’ll be relaxing with one leg up the entire time if I can help it.”

His eyes scanned you in an up-and-down fashion as you sneered—like you’d noticed him doing many times before. At least this time it wasn’t lustful or hateful, it was civility.

You both enjoyed a few drinks, keeping up the friendly banter through the entire evening. As the bartenders began wiping down tables and flipping chairs, he placed a bill on the table and walked you to the door.

You turned on your phone, checking the time. “I should get going. My flight was pushed to to tomorrow morning.”

“I can drive you, in the morning?” He proposed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

You smirked and stepped a little closer. “I think we’re past sharing car rides with one another, Simon.” You had flashbacks to the last time he drove you somewhere, which only ended in a very risky hookup.

You could picture the reddened cheeks he had, even through the mask. His mouth said nothing in response, but his eyes had a way of uttering the words ‘Touché’ at your brazen remark.

He’d die at the chance of touching you again, but you weren’t in any position physically; emotionally, you were right about one thing—the impure mistakes you two made on your journey to this point.

You opened the taxi app you’d used previously and arranged your ride back to the hotel, exchanging glances with him as he watched you. You slid your phone into the pocket of your wallet, waiting patiently for your ride.

Like many times before, the silence between you two was more than enough conversation. Though there were thoughts racing through his head the entire time, he wasn’t sure where to start.

The crunch of the gravel under the taxi’s tires woke you both up, making you turn to one another for your farewell. A hug too innocent, a handshake too professional, and words unjust.

As you approached the car door, he cleared his throat to get your attention. He’d be damned if he didn’t get this out of his system before you leave the Task Force and possibly never see him again.

“Did you bring your files with you?” He asked, making you contort your brows in confusion. Files?

“The number listed on mine,” he began, shifting in his stance as he gathered the courage for his brave finish.

“You should call it.”

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck @brokenghostgirl1 @cheyenne-with-a-c @a-jupiter-n-mars-blog @liliumbosniacum (if you're not tagged it's not letting me)

#simon riley x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #call of duty #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst #task force 141 x reader

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