#even all his imperfections I still can’t stop loving him

[fuckyeahhistorycrushes]

King Albert I of the Belgians (1875-1934)

I am very surprised that this man wasn’t brought up much in historical crush pages online—may I introduce you to King Albert I of the Belgians, the Soldier King (Le Roi-Cavalier). He was the king of Belgium during WWI, known for being one of the last few monarchs who fought in battle. Throughout the war he frequently visited the trenches and he was one of the allied commanders during the Hundred Days. After the war, up to his sudden death in 1934, he dedicated his life into rebuilding Belgium and the country became one of the most progressive and cosmopolitan countries in Europe in early 20th century. (Fun fact: he met Albert Einstein who was friends with his wife.) Besides being perhaps the best Belgian monarch ever, he was a very down to earth person and he loved rock climbing. In fact, despite all the rumours on him being murdered, he really died doing his favourite sport (see this news article).

My words can never do justice to his entire eventful life, but I would like to invite you all to appreciate this handsome man whose beauty has always been compared to Ryan Gosling. He always got that boyish look that I like in a man that makes him still very good-looking in his 50s—also he looks great in glasses. Despite being very tall (approximately 6’4/1.93m; my own estimate), also awkward, he looks very approachable and gosh, his personality just makes him even more charming.

Here’s one more picture of this beautiful man, hopefully to inspire you to learn about this underrated handsome boi.

This man really helped me start a lot of conversations just because he looks like Ryan Gosling and he is just too precious

#history #submission #history crushes #king albert i of belgium #albert i #by the way Leopold II is not his dad #he is Leopold II’s nephew #he also has an elder brother named Baudouin like his grandson Albert II🫢 #but Albert I is a very loyal husband and a family man #even all his imperfections I still can’t stop loving him

[melwilson]

flustered and bothered

bradley “rooster” bradshaw x f!reader

rooster can’t help being so attractive and you can’t help but to admire him.

bradley bradshaw was a sight for sore eyes. and most of the time, even before you started dating, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. it didn’t matter if he was cooking, working out, sleeping, or just simply talking- he was captivating like that. and he knew it.

whenever bradley walked into a room, he had your full attention. it was annoying really, how much he had you wrapped around his finger. people would point out his tan skin, or his whiskey colored eyes, or his smile, or his too tight wife beater that left little to the imagination. the physicality that was rooster bradshaw was enough to grab anyone’s attention, but for you it was his presence. knowing that roos was right there with you brought you peace you thought you would never have because of your association with the military.

however, his physical features did play a big part.

like right now.

you’re sitting in penny’s semi-crowded bar with pheonix as she gives you the inside scoop on this weeks edition of navy aviator gossip. you’re supposed to be listening because, truly, you love good drama. however, your pilot boyfriend looks too damn good. he’s at a table with fanboy and coyote, a beer of his own in his hand. he’s wearing one of his dad’s old tee shirts in that dark blue color that seemingly accentuates his tan. his aviators hang loosely on his wife beater, hair perfectly imperfect.

“y/n, you live with that man,” phoenix says in playful disgust. at the same time, your boyfriend sends you a sly smirk holding your gaze as he takes a drink of his beer. damn him. “you could be less obvious in how obsessed you are.”

you shoot the brunette a glare. “i’m not obsessed.”

she scoffs at that. “okay, you’re just overly committed to watching your boyfriend exist.”

you shake your head in disbelief looking over to see that rooster is no where to be found. maybe you are obsessed? “you’re unbelievable, phoenix.”

she smiles. “unbelievably making my exit.”

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion until a familiar pair of hands find your waist.

“ladies,” rooster greets.

“lieutenant bradshaw,” phoenix salutes. “needing a little aloe vera, now are we?” she gestures to the top of his chest, noticeably red.

rooster flips her off, one of which she returns happily before heading over to grab another drink. he spares no time stealing her seat and your attention.

“someone’s being not-so-subtle tonight,” he says tugging your stool between his legs.

you can’t help the embarrassed heat that crawls up your neck and makes your breath hitch. “stop being so damn fine.”

“you and i both know that is an impossible request.”

you groan in annoyance. “i know. i know. it’s just people keep saying i’m obsessed-“

“you are.”

“no, i’m not,” you argue. “i just- i just like admiring you.”

rooster chuckles, leaning over to kiss your pouted lips. “no one said it’s a bad thing, baby. i like having your eyes on me. and you wanna know what like more than that?”

you sigh, gaze on your intertwined fingers. “what?”

“having my eyes on you.”

you scoff, shoving the whiskey-eyed man away gently. “you’re such a flirt.”

“yeah, for you,” rooster teases, “i like getting you all flustered and bothered.”

you roll your eyes for seemingly the thousandth time in an hour. “i hate you.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” he replies standing to his feet. he moves between your legs, hands cupping either side of your jaw to tilt your head back to look at him. your hands instinctively find his waist, fingers gripping loosely at his shirt.

“i know,” you say under your breath. you take a moment to really look at him. his skin is glowing in the yellow bar light and he’s adorning that soft, goofy smile with a childlike glint in his eyes. his lips are a little chapped because he never wears the chapstick you buy him, but you know they’re still soft regardless. “you look really good right now, roos.”

he hums, thumb running along your jawline. “oh yeah?”

you nod tugging him closer. “you gonna stand here and keep teasing me or are you gonna kiss me?”

he shrugs weighing his options. “i don’t know…teasing you happens to be my favorite pastime.” he laughs when you respond with an impatient huff. “i’m kidding. kissing you is definitely my favorite pastime.”

“then prove it.”

so he does. he’s aware of his surroundings and the fact that his fleet is going to be making fun of him the next morning, but that doesn’t stop him from taking your breath away. he kisses you deeply, lips settling your impatience. when he pulls away, you kiss him once more. twice. three times.

and then he says, “just so you know, you make me all flustered and bothered too.”

#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #miles teller top gun maverick #miles teller #miles teller x reader

[yaksha-lover]

Hey! How are you doing? I don’t know how dark you’re willing to go, but the angst brainrot is back and I guess I just need somewhere to ramble.

Sometimes I like to think about how the prefect’s super chill reactions to… well everything, could just be a carefully crafted facade. I mean, the students at NRC are kinda awful people, and I don’t doubt any weakness would be swarmed like vultures to a fresh corpse. And a magicless, naive person like Yuu would be an extremely easy target. So, instead they just bury all the pain and pretend everything is okay. They’re not crying for their family and home late into the night.

The way that kind of repression would just build up over the year and slowly cause resentment towards everyone, deserved or not, is just delicious. Pretending to be everyone’s friend, to be the kind and welcoming prefect while coming to hate the other students’ guts. The eventual snap after one misplaced comment or one more mess to deal with, when the house of cards all falls down.

Maybe Rollo was right.

Idk, just got a lot of thoughts. Mainly based off of how Rook calls the prefect “Trickster” and the prologue almost framed Yuu in a strategist role. Thoughts?

Honestly, it would make a lot of sense. As much as we love the boys, most of them would be pretty terrible to be around and are very selfish and/or mean (with some exceptions, but that’s still a good majority of the school).

I like the idea that Yuu does start out genuinely wanting to help everyone and find people to be friends with, to try and make this experience of being trapped in another world even somewhat bearable.

At first it’s okay that Ace is a jerk sometimes, because he comes around once you get to know him. It’s fine that Riddle nitpicks and punishes the three of you because in the end, he’s trying his best to get better, to heal from his past. It’s alright that Leona is unrepentant and mean, because he has things he’s been dealing with, and you need to be understanding of his pain. Even when Azul tricks your friends and later you, when you almost lose your Ramshackle, the one place you’ve had to call home, you try to have patience, because he’s got his own issues as well, he has his reasons for things.

But somewhere along the way, you’ve stopped caring for their excuses. Their trauma is real, but so is yours. Even after everything you’ve done to try and help them, you don’t doubt for a moment that none of them would run to your rescue. That they wouldn’t take any opportunity to step on and over you if it meant getting closer to their goals. Because at the end of the day, none of them cared, no matter how much you wanted to believe it wasn’t true.

Breaking down isn’t an option - not when everyone is out for themselves, when your feelings would surely only be ridiculed at best and taken advantage of at worst. Even more than that, you’re a guest at this school. You never earned your way here like the other students and you’re magicless; the only reason you’re even here are extenuating circumstances. The headmage isn’t any more loyal than the housewardens - if any of them had a problem with you, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’d throw you out onto the street the second you became an inconvenience that was too much work to handle. So you keep quiet, even when all you want is to tell off everyone around you.

The only housewarden to ever seem to really give a damn about you is Vil, but by the time you get close with him, it’s already too late. Maybe if you met him first, if you’d been less scorned, you could’ve forgiven his little digs at your lacklustre presence and imperfection. He’d done much to try and make up for it after all, helping you out with Ramshackle and voicing his appreciation for you. It was more than you could say for anyone else, but it still isn’t enough. Vil’s sweetness can’t counteract the bitter taste that’s been brewing for months, so you can’t bring yourself to forgive him despite everything.

It’s not his fault, but it’s never anyone’s fault. It’s all of them, chipping away at your sanity little by little.

It’s okay that you can never fall asleep anymore, kept awake by memories of never ending fights and catastrophes to deal with. It’s okay that the same people you’ve helped barely regard you as more than something worth pitying. It’s okay that you’re reminded every day that no effort is being put towards getting you away from this hellhole and back home.

It’s all okay, until it’s not. Until Yuu finally reaches their breaking point, and starts to question if anyone is truly worth saving at this school.

#twst x reader #twst yuu #twst #twisted wonderland

[urmichiee]

This love

:: Things that make them fall in love deeper (If that was even possible)

With: Suna Rintarō, Akaashi Keiji, Iwaizumi Hajime x gn!reader (separately)

! reblogs are appreciated | wc: 0.7k+

➵ Suna Rintarō

He loves the way his lovesick gaze makes you flustered. 

It’s almost sickening, the way every “imperfect” feature you have, every insecurity, everything about you seemed to be perfect in his eyes. It’s when he knows he picked the right person to love.

Every time you make eye contact, he stares shamelessly, love present in his eyes. It makes you blush. A lot. He just can’t help but fall in love every time like it was the first time he’s met you. He doesn’t believe it when you, of all people, chose him. 

Every “I love you” you’ve said was for him. Wow.

When you’re in class and just seated a few seats in front Suna, by the window, the sunlight hitting your face just right to make you the most ethereal being to him. The way he paid no mind to the teacher’s lectures and just stared at you is almost unreal to you. 

Times when you would look behind only for him to be staring at you, his head on the desk and his arms acting as his pillows, makes you go red. You don’t know why, but it just does. When he sees your reaction, he can’t help but smile so sweetly– so innocently.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s fallen. Deep. 

—

“Hey, Suna?” Osamu whispers to his seatmate. “You’re staring,” he stated the obvious.

“How can’t I?” Suna utters, not bothering to look at the boy beside him. “They’re gorgeous.” 

➵ Akaashi Keiji

He loves the way you compliment him. 

“You’re so pretty, Keiji… D’you know that?” It seemed to just roll off your tongue. He gets many compliments from other people many times. But, when it’s you, he can’t help but hide his face wherever he can just so you won’t tease him about him being a blushing mess, his calm demeanor diminishes in mere seconds. 

Why’d you make him like this? An easy victim to your words. He groans, hiding his red face in the book in his hands.

“Awh, don’t hide your pretty face, Keiji,” you say, getting a grip of the book and slowly lowering to reveal a blushing Akaashi and you’re cuddled form around his torso certainly wasn’t helping.

“Heh, you’re the cutest,” another praise from you. You just don’t know when to stop, do you?

“Ahm, t-thank you?” It’s clear he doesn’t know what respond. You giggle at his response. He loved hearing you laugh, it was as if it was music to his ears. A sound he could play on loop and never get tired of. “You’re really cute too, [Name],” he quietly says, trying to compliment you back.

“Hm, what was that?” You ask him as you heard him mutter something.

“Nothing,” he almost immediately says. God, why is he so shy around you? 

“Keiji?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Just what are you doing to him?

➵ Iwaizumi Hajime

He loves the way you have supported him all throughout high school.

From staying after school to watch him practice and walk with him and Oikawa home, to watching him play in games and being so proud of him for doing his best. Even when they lost, you were still there to congratulate him and comfort him when he doesn’t react quite well.

The love he has for you is unreal, he’s so happy that he gets to love someone as amazing and perfect as you. 

“Woww! That was so cool, Haji!” You tell him on his water break. You praise him on how good his hits were, how you were so awestruck by it. He couldn’t help but smile at you, you’re adorable when you’re like this.

“You were just really really amazing, Haji! I don’t think anyone can match up to you!” You continue your frenzy of flattery towards the man in front of you. He only scratched his nape.

“[Name]?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for everything,” you’re confused. Why was he thanking you?

“You know how it’s my last year here?” He says, reminding both of you of the sad truth.

“Hm, yeah? Why?” 

“You’ve been here, with me and… Crappykawa, and the whole team. I’m happy that you’re still here, so I thank you for that, [Name],” your heart melted at his words. Was this really the Iwaizumi Hajime talking to you?

“Aww! I’m glad I was able to be by your side. Yours, Oikawa’s, and your team’s,” you hug him, suddenly feeling a bit emotional. The sudden physical contact made him surprised, but nonetheless, he returned it, muttering the words “I love you” only for your ears to hear.

—

“Hey, look. They’re being lovey-dovey again,” Matsukawa tells Hanamaki as he wipes the sweat of his forehead.

“Oh, damn. We are so lonely.”

A/n: I have my favorites

© all rights reserved to @urmichiee June 2023. any reposts, acts of plagiarism, and modifying of my works are strictly prohibited.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fluff #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #suna rinatro #akaashi keiji #iwaizumi hajime #hq akaashi #hq suna #hq iwaizumi

[azrielsdove]

Requesting rhys x reader

reader has an eating disorder that rhys thought she was passed it. She tries to hide little things from him like wearing baggier clothes cause she’s losing weight. Once he has suspicions he starts making her meals but she just says she isn’t hungry or she already ate but he keeps pushing her to eat so she does. But he catches her in the bathroom throwing up after. He’s really angry at first but then just wants to help her stop so he peels food labels off everything, never leaves her alone, she can’t go to the bathroom by herself. He gets rid of scales and mirrors. Idk I’m just really feeling a super over protective /controlling rhys rn

Okay, this is not exactly what you asked for, but I really struggled to get too dark with it. I have definitely had this feeling before, and I couldn’t bring myself to write it as serious! I still wanted to do your request, knowing that sometimes it helps to see struggles like this in stories, and see them overcome it. I hope you still enjoy this, it is a little short but sweet I think. Please let me know!!

***

Beautiful Girl

Warnings: Negative body image

***

You looked over yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the dress fell on your body. It was tight, sheer, and sexy. You knew you looked good, having fought hard to get to this level of acceptance. You turned to the side, tracing your hands down the material. You were truly beautiful.

Cassian walked into the living room where you were still standing in front of the mirror. He whistled, the sound causing you to turn your head sharply. You smiled, spinning slowly for him. “Damn girl! You look hot.” You laughed, throwing your head back.

“Don’t let Rhys hear those sort of words come out of your mouth.” You chided, a smile on your lips. Cassian’s eyes looked affectionally over you, ever the flirt. His stare caught on the sheer paneling over your stomach, a teasing smile on his face.

“Guess I will need to up your training, get some abs on that body of yours!” He laughed, turning to sit on the couch to wait for the others.

You stilled.

You knew the words were a joke, hardly even anything negative. The small, terrible part of your mind suddenly started up, picking out all your imperfections as you looked on the mirror. You felt self conscious in this dress now, an embarrassment to Rhys. You had halfway decided to go change when he appeared in the room, walking over to you.

“My beautiful, perfect love. You look ravishing.” He sent a wicked smile your way, pressing a kiss to your lips. You couldn’t help but think about his hands on you waist, on how your body must feel under them. He noticed your hesitation, eyes catching yours. “You okay?” He asked quietly, worry filling his face. You forced a smile on your face and kissed him again.

“Never better.”

***

It had been a few days since Cassian made that comment and you were falling deeper into your mind. You would stand in front of the mirror before your baths, nitpicking every part of your body. You stopped wearing your normal tight revealing clothes, instead opting for loose and big. You even sized up in your fighting leather for training, allowing the looser form to hide your body.

Rhys noticed, of course.

He didn’t understand what had caused you to start to fall down this path again, when you had been doing so well. You hadn’t had any issues in years. He didn’t want to ask, knowing it would send you into a further spiral if he brought it up.

Instead, he took it upon himself to rid the house of anything that would hurt you. You woke up one morning to find all the mirrors were gone, Rhys acting like they had never existed. You found one of his shirts and a pair of loose trousers left out for you, slightly better than what you had been wearing. When you went to find Rhys in the kitchen, you found him with two plates of food for the both of you. He started making all your meals, showering you in compliments, leaving comfortable clothes out for you.

You finally broke at breakfast a few days later, overwhelmed with his actions. “Why have you been doing this?” You demanded, arms crossed in front of you. Rhys paused for a second, looking up at you.

“Doing what?” He asked, feigning innocence. You rolled your eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Rhysand,” you began, “the mirrors are gone. You’re making my meals, picking out my clothes. Why?”

There was a long pause.

“I noticed. How you were looking at yourself. Sizing up your clothing. I saw you in here sitting in front of a plate of barely anything, hardly touching it.” He stood, coming over to you. “This is not the first time i’ve seen this in you,” he spoke softly, “I know the signs.”

You remained silent, face flushed with embarrassment. He had caught you so easily, so quickly. “I- It just got bad again.” You whispered, looking down at the ground. Rhys cupped your face in his hands, bringing you back up to look at him.

“I know,” he said, “It isn’t always going to be easy. Lucky for you, I will be by your side to help you through.” He gave you a cocky smile, drawing a laugh from you. You leaned up and kissed him, love flowing through your body.

“Thank you, Rhys. For always protecting me, even from myself.” You noticed a faint blush on his neck at your words, smiling to yourself. Even after all these years, your words still affected him like that. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close.

“Can I ask what spurred this? To try to prevent it from happening again?” He asked, pulling away to look at your face. You debated not telling him, knowing Cassian would surely suffer. Unfortunately for him, you could never hide anything from the High Lord, your love.

“Cass made a comment the night we went to dinner, about ‘putting some abs on’. It wasn’t even an insult, just a joking tease about training. It hit me wrong I guess, sending my mind back into that dark hole.” Rhys’ eyes flashed with anger at your words, his arms holding onto you tighter. “He didn’t mean anything by it!” You assured, not wanting him to unleash his full wrath onto the General.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Rhys said coolly, “but he needs to learn to be more careful with his words.”

***

You didn’t know what Rhys had said or done to Cassian, but the next day he was on his knees in front of you, dramatically begging your forgiveness and showering you in apologies. You laughed at him, pulling him up to his feet. “No hard feelings, Cass.” You assured, giving him a hug. “But maybe think before you speak next time.”

For the weeks after, Rhys continued to make your meals and lay out your clothes. His outfits slowly got tighter and more revealing, allowing you the time to sink back into your skin. He showered you with plenty of compliments in every one, making sure you smiled everyday. He assisted you in training, helping you get back to strengthening your body, not harming it. You began to feel confident again, even admiring yourself in the reflection of the window one night. Rhys had caught you standing there, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Beautiful girl,” he murmured, kissing your neck softly. You leaned into his touch and looked at the image of the two of you, the power and love you exuded.

You were strong, powerful, and beautiful. Rhys had only pushed you to see that truth once again. You were the one that allowed his love to push down the darkness, instead of letting it swallow you up like it had before.

***

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #beautiful girl #requests

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022 

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover. 

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes. 

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation. 

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders. 

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction. 

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you. 

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder. 

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend. 

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly. 

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things. 

It all just felt… messy. 

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead. 

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him. 

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth. 

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking. 

He’s not sure what to say. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it. 

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving. 

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way. 

He hates this. 

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him. 

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks. 

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said. 

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces. 

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you. 

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. 

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying. 

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect. 

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him. 

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways. 

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

You nod, “Yeah.”

May 

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement. 

You’re really fucking pissed off. 

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other. 

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last. 

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar. 

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him. 

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you. 

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head. 

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks. 

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions. 

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink. 

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain. 

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you. 

You shake your head, “I don’t!” 

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink. 

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll. 

“Don’t say that,” you relent. 

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious. 

“Nate!” you protest lightly. 

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you. 

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice. 

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him. 

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours. 

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying. 

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head. 

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see. 

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat. 

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door. 

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar. 

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again. 

He looks down. 

Shit. 

Fuck.

It’s a text from you. 

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes. 

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you. 

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’ 

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you. 

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself. 

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him. 

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too. 

But he doubts it. 

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos. 

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways? 

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August 

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him. 

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly. 

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that. 

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier. 

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds. 

Sabbatical. 

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break. 

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change. 

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself. 

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter. 

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right. 

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while. 

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back. 

You feel lost. 

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it. 

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter. 

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too. 

Soon-To-Be Fall 

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer. 

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late. 

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz. 

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through. 

‘Carmy.’ 

Carmy is calling you. 

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about? 

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos

[minimujina]

ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ

scara drabble turned emotional, not clickbait🔥had to put a readmore cause it got long, i didnt fkn plan this

thinking violently about taking care of scara’s wounds even though he’s not human and they’re literally going to fix themselves (let’s just. go with that. since idk how his body actually works LMFAOO). and he doesn’t even have the heart to tell you the first time you see him lightly injured—he tries to, really, but he can hardly get a word in with how firmly you insist on patching him up. he can’t find it in himself to interject with the real reason he’d be fine without your help, because good god you’re just so stubborn—and normally he wouldn’t give a lick about something as trivial as the feelings of a sentimental human, but there’s a part of him that finds it.. sweet, the way you care so much. even though it’s actually for no reason. even though this “purpose” you’ve found—following him around to take care of him when he gets hurt—is actually pointless in a way. even though he could spare both you and him extra work by telling you.

he just cant find it in himself to be the one to deflate you. he could deflate anyone, anyone at all—but not you. never you. somehow, you’re special. there is something about you that makes insults catch in his throat and ugly comments die before they even become a wisp of a thought.

your earnest gaze as you rush for him when his porcelain skin has been blemished—that, in particular, feels strangely familiar to him, but he does not know why. and your unabashed naivety irks him in a way, but it’s also one of the sole reasons he could not possibly ruin the moments between you two where you are touching him so gently and so lovingly, the only sounds being being the rustling of bandages and the chirping of insects, his leg bouncing violently and stomach playing jumprope at the feeling of your soft fingers ghosting over his artificial skin and his artificial wounds. your palms are sweaty as you work and your breathing is a bit loud, but he could not possibly care about anything less. things that would piss him off if done by anyone else—existing, for example, or any of the former mentioned “imperfections”—could pass very easily if the person was you.

and then there’s the selfish part of him, the part that can’t tell you because he would then be forced to forfeit those special moments of intimacy he had not experienced the likes of since his first breath of life. he wants you so selfishly; he sees no reason to squish your good, false faith while losing you in the process. that’s just a lose-lose scenario. what would he gain in return—a real relationship? pah. with relationships come suffering, and the fact that it is all entirely out of his control makes his empty chest convulse a bit.

he figured it’s alright to live a little white, harmless lie. it meant he could be close to you, it meant he could keep you around without being blatantly obvious about his affection (read: he could beat around the bush for as long as possible). he could avoid his feelings while still reaping the benefit of your presence.

but oh, trust me, it will certainly bite him in the ass eventually. he can’t run forever. you’ll get tired; you’ll think he’s sick of you. that he hates you. that he doesn’t want you around—he doesn’t need you.

and it’s true, actually, that he doesn’t need you.

however, there is a point to be made about relationships out of need versus relationships out of choice.

wouldn’t it be such a beautiful thing for him to finally stop pretending he only has you around because of necessity? if he makes it known that no, this is a choice that i am making—i am choosing to love you—his chest will be left wide open in all its empty glory, where there is no heart, but instead a vulnerable child. he’d be left with nothing but the hope that you will respond with grace, and that terrifies him.

and no, he is certainly not sick of you, nor does he hate you. he wants nothing more than you, than your presence. he wants everything to do with you. he wants you more than anything he’s ever wanted in his miserable, pathetic life, if it could even be called a life.

but does he need you? no.

and you know what’s so fascinating? he has not needed you all this time, and yet he’s kept you around. isn’t that interesting?

he chose you from the beginning with the guise of necessity. he pretended that it was because he needed it, needed you, needed your help—because somehow the idea that it was a choice made entirely of his own volition, for literally no reason other than he liked you, is absolutely mortifying. the last time he made such a choice, it destroyed him.

how is he supposed to justify keeping you around if he doesn’t even have a reason for it other than the butterflies in his artificial stomach? how can he justify it with his mere feelings?

his feelings make him weak. his feelings are the reason he was cast away in the first place.

it’s so much easier to pretend he’s detached. but detachment means he will only ever feel your artificial touch on his artificial skin, and nothing more. your well-intentioned hands on his fake skin, on his fake wounds. the porcelain cracks are spreading quickly, and he will do nothing about it.

the saddest part about all of it is the fact that he thinks he has to justify his feelings to anyone at all. he does not know what it means to do anything without immediately thinking about how to explain it should someone question him.

what he needs is not you. what he needs is to stop treating you like you’re a ghost from his past who will echo the aches and pains of all the people who hurt him. he can choose you in his mind, but if he holds you at an arm’s distance and does nothing about that choice, it will then mean nothing.

what he needs is to stop wishing he could have you without exposing himself in the process.

if he is to have you, he will be vulnerable with you. there is no choice in that matter. but what he does not understand is that such vulnerability is not dangerous if it’s you he’s with.

so that’s the one thing that you can do to help him—you must not only tell him, but show him, that you are not going to leave him at the drop of a hat if he is anything more than apathetic. that’s it. your only job will be to show him you are safe. that’s all you can do.

and then you must wait for him to believe you.

it’s not your job to fix him. and he can’t sit around and wait for someone to be his savior, the yin to his yang, the angel who will purify his sin. you cannot be any of that. nobody can.

but what you can be is his safe place, his heart, his joy, his lover. you can be—you are—the only one who is able to receive his angst and transform it into understanding. you can choose to love him, not because you need him, but because you want him, amidst all of his angst and suffering.

so that’s his job—realizing it’s possible that you could ever choose him, not of need, but of want, despite everything about him that is less than desirable. despite how difficult it will be. he already knows he’s chosen you, that’s not the hard part—he doesn’t have difficulty believing the lovability of others. the hard part is believing the lovability of himself.

and even when he finally accepts that you want him, even after he tells you the reason he does not need you to fix his injuries, you are still there to lovingly wrap a cloth around his fake, weeping skin.

he does not need you, and yet you remain, because you’ve made your choice—it doesn’t matter whether he needs you or not. he will have you because you chose to give yourself to him.

you will take care of his body not because you need to, but because you want to. you will love him simply because you can.

it’ll take him some time to understand that, but he’ll get there, i promise. please do be patient.

#scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact #scara x reader #scaramouche drabble #wanderer imagine #genshin drabble #scaramouche x you #mujimade

[whalesforhands]

digest your feelings pt.10

previous masterlist next

warnings: fluff, a bit angsty

Years have gone by. Years that pass, that float, that run, that leave you behind. Years in which everyone has grown, for the better or for worse, changed and yet you remained the same. Seemingly stuck in an endless cycle, never knowing when you can break your curse.

Left behind.

Each day, each hour, each second trapped in there made your heart grow heavier and heavier, slowly burning, fizzling your last hopes out. Transparent regret wafts through the air as whirling teardrops get accustomed to the blaring sound of the growing wind.

Abandoned.

You died believing you were unremembered. A blotted out name in the minds of which you adored the most. Gone, and never to be recalled, never to be dragged out from the confines of this swirling darkness.

You can’t hate it, can’t cry out. Only continue to breathe.

It was that little boy who made you believe in— Whatever there was left of you.

So lonely, so discontent with the world around him, so quick to shut himself off before anyone gets too close. So bruised and battered from the scuffles he gets himself into despite your disapproval and disappointment.

Yet, still clawing so desperately at glimmers of hope to be saved all this time. There was a belief in chance, in the glitters of having a saviour who would take the pain away.

Perhaps that’s why your soul was so attracted to his in the first place, always so drawn towards those who needed help, so self-sacrificing in search of a kinder world.

Your naivety needs to be popped.

Kind— Soft, weak, fragile, inadequate, substandard, imperfect and overall lacking. All that you could ever see in yourself, all that you ever knew about your own.

Would you ever amount to more?

If you could change yourself, you would. Forget the true shape of your soul, reform yourself entirely. Be less dull, show less gaps in that facade of trying to be strong.

How much time will pass until you reach those inner dreams? If— If you move slower until you stop, would that be okay?

Acknowledging yourself, doubting yourself. You wanted it, wanted to be better just to be able to muster enough courage for it. You— Wanted to be there too.

You want to live.

Two flowers that bloomed in spring fell in love, balmy, ambrosial and stretching, reaching towards the sunlight together.

A lone summer bud looks towards them, from the shrouding darkness, stretches towards the light in which they bathed in, unblossomed and the smell of gunpowder.

Never reaching, never touching.

——

The spear has been long ripped out of you, Suguru’s jacket tied tight around the wound, a hand pressing down to constantly apply pressure as the other was under your legs, doing his utmost best to keep the blood flow to your heart and brain.

You need to live.

Even as your body rots, crumbles from your fading consciousness. The decomposition of your skin starting to show once more as your soul starts to fade away for real this time.

It’s his fault. Geto Suguru wants to die, to choke himself and suffer and give his everything to you.

“I don’t blame you.”

Of course you don’t. Of course you never will.

Even as the cold, unforgiving rain pelts down onto your icy skin, you will never find it in your heart to make him the antagonist, the villain.

For once, Geto Suguru realizes how stupid your mentality is.

——

Your eyes blink open at the scent of cigarette smoke and pomegranate sweetness, mixed with the mild, yet overwhelming stench of sour formaldehyde.

Familiar, yet so foreign. Your body aches as you shift about on the mortuary lifter, eyes heavy and tired, arms akin to dumbbells that were filled with sand and burdens, your joints popping as you start to sit up, your skin brushing against the slightly scratchy material of the hospital gown, feeling over the thin fabric to feel jagged, bumped up skin, your back healed and scarred over.

You live. And you only have one person to thank for that.

“Shoko…” Your eyes avert momentarily as the nostalgia floods in, the colour of her go-to brand of cigarettes having rebranded. You say it out of old, die-hard habit.

“Smoking’s bad for you.” It’s with that sentence that causes her to freeze in place, the lit cigarette in her mouth falling to the floor, hitting against tiled floor of the morgue.

(Isn’t it funny that her dead friend says that the moment that they reunite?)

She’s holding her head as she starts to laugh, minuscule tears building in the corner of her eyes as she starts to smile, to allow the exhale of joy overtake her face.

you you you you you you you

“I missed you.” A beat passes, your eyes turning upward at the sight of her. Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous Shoko.

“It’s nice to be missed—“ By you. By your precious friend. She’s older, dons a rogue of sultriness and elegance on her lips in contrast to the graceful and daintier pink of her youth.

“I love you.” It’s awkward, for you to suddenly say something like this out of the blue. Yet, it feels like it fits right as your eyes trail her from top to bottom, the clack of her heels approaching you as you laid there, bandaged galore and sore and it is just… Too much to move.

She produces a pack of cigarettes from her doctor’s coat, and another and another. The plastic packaging of the unopened boxes crinkle in her hands, newer, perhaps just bought. She holds them out in front of you, making a show of letting you see that she’s emptied her pockets.

Before she crushes them, hurling them all towards the trash. “You don’t like it when I do it, right?” Breathy, unrefined and unprepared. “I’ll stop.” Stop as long as you’re here again. As long as you keep looking at her with that sparkle of happiness, of proud innocence and tender fondness.

“So… Could you—” She takes in yet another breath. “Could you say it again?” Her eyes shift towards the fabric of your hospital gown, before they meet your shiny gaze, nearly bursting with the devotion you have in your eyes as she gets lost in the warmth, in the comfort of you.

She just wants to hear it again, to punch herself into this reality. This reality that she’s always wanted.

“I love you.” Of course you do. You always did.

“Thank you.” A pause. “I love you too.” She doesn’t part from you, shifting closer and squeezing your hand in hers as she delays herself from letting go. Does not want to let go. “We all do.”

Ieiri Shoko feels whole. In your company, from basking in utterly you.

“Welcome back.”

——

“You know,” The shifting of the fabric beneath his hand culminates in your ears in this silence, having carted you to your old bedroom that Shoko left you in to better rest. “Satoru—“ He breathes, tries to choke back the hesitance for a moment or two. “Says that I’m not a bad person. That I never will be.”

How can he even face you right now? He’s so shameless, so absurd and absolutely disgusting.

“Suguru,” Your voice is more soothing, softer than his mind had ever managed to imagine. Mellow, tolerant and so humane. “You are the kindest person I know.”

He wants to throw up.

No. He’s not. You are. You, the paragon of forgiveness and goodwill, of kaleidoscopic rays of gentle light, of the breeze that billows the dandelion seeds into the blue of spring days, of seafoam that floats, drifts even in the rage of the waves.

Of white noise that blocks out the screams of the voices.

You, whose cursed energy tastes of balsamic clouds and tainted jasmine, the taste sour, tangy on his tongue.

He would’ve recognized this taste anywhere, he would’ve known your presence blind if he hadn’t been so— Impetuous. So emotional.

(He doesn’t deserve you.)

His lip trembles, grip on your sheets so tight that his knuckles turn white, pale. You don’t want him to feel bad, don’t want to see him in this state, a bandaged hand reaches forth, before it’s so selfishly, so desperately snatched up in both of his, the size of his hands dwarfing yours, calloused palms pulling your hand forth and pressing it against his beating heart.

“I love you.” His stunning bronze-amethyst meet your own lovely eyes, his gaze full of dread and hopeless tears, full of cowering anxiety, and yet, it’s nothing but Suguru in its entirety. It’s just him.

I love you love you love you love you loveyouloveyouloveyo—

“I— I love you too…” It really is you, with how swiftly you responded, how easily it spills out as if it were instinct, a second nature. How your voice traces over every single one of those sacred words so carefully, so unforgivingly you.

Don’t you get it? No. No. You don’t get it. You don’t get it at all. Yet, you still cause a stutter in his heart, a flying, torrid wind in his stomach that refuses to settle.

Geto Suguru can see it in your eyes, even after all these years where you were ripped apart from him, from them, the hidden pain of your bubbling feelings, the way you try so hard to keep your love contained. The way your fingers tremble against his slowly increasing heart, feeling the race, the pressure that comes with.

It’s frustrating. He can’t take it.

“No— Not in that way.” He loves you so much he wants to die, he wants to strangle it out of himself and shove it down into your throat for you to finally feel, to finally understand.

You’re confused. Why? Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—!

“Can I kiss you?” It’s quiet, unassuming and yet, absolutely livid with a fire that has been stoked for too long.

(What?)

“N-no.” You’re shaking your head and trying to pull your hand back, salty tears and hot confusion forming in your eyes as you try to avoid his gaze, avoid this before you become a homewrecker.

He feels like he’s going to break.

“W-whatever you feel for me— Satoru—!” You’re crying, starting to sob with the utter heartbreak.

You want to. But you’d hurt him, you’d hurt Satoru, you’d hurt their family—

“Satoru loves you— Loves us.” His grip unwittingly tightens, yet so gentle and soft and accommodating to you so that you won’t be hurt anymore. How can he make you see?

How can he get this point— This fact across more obvious than ever without more miscommunication?

His hand, making sure to keep your own in place, so that you won’t pull away, won’t leave. The other reaches into his pockets, as if frantically in search of something before a small, velvet box is pulled out.

W-what in the world—?

Beautiful. The ring inside is absolutely gorgeous.

There’s no way.

“It’s yours.” He’s hurriedly reaching into his shirt, pulling out his necklace to show off the matching third. “This— Satoru has the same one too.”

Their marital exchange rings. Your eyes tremble as you stare at it, at him, at the shine of the metal within the soft velvet.

“So, please.” He moves forth, his forehead pressed against your own as he whispers into the cold night, “Don’t misunderstand, don’t cry, don’t be sad anymore.” The ring is plucked off from its confines, and slipped onto your finger as you stare in shocked silence.

You— Don’t know what to feel. Love? It’s what you always feel for them.

He says it again as you begin to cry harder. “I-I’m sorry— I just— Adore you.”

I’m sorry for loving you. For making you this sad. For making you cry. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

“I love you.” It lacks all restraint, raw in its entirety as the words tumble towards you once again. You cry, your tears soaking into the bandaids upon your face as you feel his own start to drip onto your cheeks, mixing with your own.

——

It’s been— 24 minutes. There’s a standoff between Suguru and Shoko.

“I—home.”

“She’s— my patient— hasn’t hea—.”

“She lo—s— fine.”

“Are yo—doctor?”

“—cheating—is—“

The door is opened as they both walk in side by side. “Someone like you is lacking in shame.”

“Aha? Do I now?” Suguru has made his way past you, flashing you a sweet smile as he opens your windows wide.

Shoko crosses her arms, staring at him with a look of exasperated calm that preceded all her initial anger and worry for you.

“Try gaining a little more class—“

“Then I’ll be taking her~” He’s cutting her off as you’re practically scooped up into his arms as your helpless, confused eyes meet Shoko’s, a raised hand waving at you as she unwraps another lollipop.

“Hopeless.”

——

“Suguru.”

“Satoru.” An eye is exposed.

There’s a bit of a tense silence in the air where Gojo Satoru has halted the both of you from just above a residential area.

It’s cold.

Though, Suguru had thrown a now clean jacket over your head prior to your flight, your body being completely swallowed by the fabric.

“You look cute like that. Keep it on.”

(He knows you’ll complain about him being cold.)

The wing flaps of Suguru’s bird curse continues, as you before it disappears. Alas, you don’t expect to fall.

You’re floating midair.

(Geto is using cursed energy to lift you both up.)

“Suguruuuuuuu!!! Where’s my kiss?!” Complaints are thrown out the window when you’re suddenly pressed forward and leaning onto the— You now noticed— Much taller man, much harder bodies squishing you as Suguru’s lips meet Satoru’s own, long arms wrapping around the both of you.

“S-stop— Licking me.” Geto is smiling, red blush dusted across his cheeks as he tries to pull back from the wet embrace. Laughing as he doesn’t even wipe at the remnants of spit.

His half-blindfolded gaze holds your own.

(You don’t think he’s ever taken his attention off of you for even a second.)

“Now your turn~” His lips are puckering up and comically smushed up as they lean down towards your own.

Oh my god. Is this— Needed? Oh god you don’t feel ready— Suguru isn’t helping. Why are his eyes all upturned with that stupidly cute smirk on his face! Ahh, they’re both so dumb— Don’t put you in this position!!! Wife?! Your heart is going so fast, you can’t breathe— Is it just the air pressure up here? Gosh, just close your eyes and pucker up—

You feel a flick on your forehead instead. An arm going around your waist to pull you in closer to him as Geto lets go from behind you.

“Joking~” Your forehead throbs. “Not gonna do anything if you’re uncomfortable.” He laughs again as he gives a noncommittal shrug, letting you float there momentarily by using his cursed energy to hold you up, before your hands, fingers are intertwined with his own.

(He needs to touch you more.)

Even after all these years, it’s still him. Silly, adorable Satoru. He was never good with words, always letting his actions speak for themselves as he flies a circle around you, checking on you from head to toe before plopping his head onto your shoulder from behind.

“Papa~, I left the kids at home. Twins are sleeping!”

“Oh, did you sign Megumi’s parental slip? Tsumiki needs a bento tomorrow too. Did you get dinner ready?” Suguru’s pulled out his phone, floating midair and checking through some texts.

“Uhh—“ There’s a breath in as he takes in the smell of you over the various responsibilities his husband had just listed to him. “Does the microwave count?”

“Satoru…” Suguru’s sighing before he leans down toward you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. As if to ease stress. “Gonna go solve a crisis. See you both for dinner okay?” He leaves with a small bonk to Satoru’s arm, hand— Touching. Infinity is off. It always has been.

“Idiot.”

“I heard that!”

“You were supposed to.” A playful stick out of his tongue and he’s gone, touch lingering on your skin. “Dinner will be ready soon!”

You’re gently pulled, your bare feet now atop Gojo’s shoes as he settles himself behind you.

You’re alone with Gojo Satoru.

“Hey.” It’s soft, as if it was a cool summer breeze flowing through your ear. “How much do you trust me?”

And it feels like the memories are coming back all over again.

“…I can’t jump off if you’re holding me so tight.”

He’s laughing, hands daringly trailing over your body as you just stare down at the sheer height you’re at.

“Did you…” You feel a pounding at your chest. “Know what Suguru said?” His hold on you is intimate, close.

His heart is beating so fast.

“I’ve tried telling you before, you know?” He has. Even tried to show you from the beginning, to the festival. You just never got it, no matter what.

“I’m—“ Sorry? Does that even answer for all those years you’ve left him? You don’t know what to say.

Silence ensues.

“You have—“ He sighs again as his nose is pressed into your neck. “A scary hold on me.” A shackle that holds him down, that makes him want to worship the very ground you walk on, that makes him want to keep you inside forever—

“Just…” You feel your insecurities creep upon you as you interrupt his train of thought. “Why me?”

He’s huffing as he walks you through a cloud, your back against his chest as his hands hold yours from his position behind you. “Liking you doesn’t require reasons.” He pauses to turn you around to face him, leaning down. “But you’re too slow to realize that, huh?”

That line slightly irritates you, yet you laugh all the same.

(He stays silent to let that melody play longer.)

“You know, I don’t regret most things.” He has no reason to. After all, “I’m the great Gojo Satoru.”

You keep quiet, feeling his finger circling your ring. Your fingers pushing into the plushness of his cheeks as you fight to overcome his sheer adorableness.

“My hwusband ish the hwottest man awlive, and he’s married to me—“ He tilts his head down slightly when he feels you kiss his jaw, closing his eyes when he feels the light pecks just under his blindfold. “The prettiest, most perfect, me.”

“I’m supposed to have no regrets.” There’s a tug, and his blindfold is gone, leaving just his pretty eyes curtained by his pretty hair.

“But you,” Hands come up to cup your face, an entire galaxy that rivalled the skies reflected him in your eyes. “Were my only one.”

(“I should’ve noticed sooner.”)

“And I don’t like having stains on my perfect record.”

The promises and visions made, the days that passed so cruelly yet so softly without you by his, by their side, the despairs and utter feeble perturbation that haunted his mind. Another chain that he never regretted tying himself to, all fades away with the rains and dark clouds that never seemed to vanish.

Like tranquility after a storm, the pale light of the sun enfolds them all. The wounds that still ache, the thirst that was never quenched. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You are back.

——

“I’m back!!!” Satoru’s kicking the balcony door open as he holds you in a bridal carry, your hands over your face in embarrassment as you try to hide away from their— Your children.

“Nuh uh. You aren’t walking with those out and about.” His cheek is rubbing vigorously against yours as he cuddles you. “Let’s put all those pretty clothes I bought you to use when we get home, okay?”

This is not okay. You’re not okay as your feet gently touch the wooden floor of the family home. There’s excited squealing, a rustle of fabric as Suguru carries a pile of clothing in his hands as the girls help him.

There’s also a sudden presence tugging at you.

He stares up at you, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed as he grips your hand, squeezing, nails lightly sinking into your flesh. As if to confirm your presence.

“Hello,” You almost miss the way your tongue lolls his name out. “Megumi.”

You kneel down, getting onto his level as you stare into his eyes. “It’s been a while.”

previous masterlist next

Notes:

“I want Mama to sleep in my room tonight!” Nanako.

“Ehhh? No! Daddy wants her more!”

“Daddy is right, Mama has injuries and should stay with the grownups.”

“Tsumiki is a grown up!” Mimiko.

“I’m old enough to take care of her!” The said girl is immediately raising her hand up as her feet kick about excitedly on her chair.

“Papa and I are stronger and can protect her from monsters!”

“Mama shouldn’t sleep with boys! Didn’t Papa teach us to not touch the other kids at all?!”

“Darlings, that’s different—“

You feel a tug at your clothes. Megumi.

“Sleep in mine.”

nvy’s aftertalk:

originally i wanted stsg to be shirtless at one point + sexy scene in this cause i was thirsty but then i got shy

i can’t believe dyf is coming to an end soon hahah also i lied abt finishing epilogue and this at the same time i would go insane. pt.11 with more family fluff or should i focus on epilogue guys

#dyf au #geto x reader x gojo #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #ieiri shoko x reader

[thechibifoxcub]

I can’t take it-

He couldn’t take it anymore. The pain. The anguish. His blood ran like molten lava beneath his skin; feeling every vein traversing beneath muscle tissue and winding sinew.

His breath felt weak yet heavy at the same time. Something that shouldn’t coexist by any means, but still does despite its unrealistic design. The analogy doesn’t make sense- it shouldn’t make sense! But how can he describe the sensation that plagues him?

It must be pain… right? How else can he describe the adrenaline rushing in his body each time his eyes landed on you? He must be ill if the sudden rush of heat dusts his neck and ears each time you smiled in his direction. His mind must be loosing its grasp of reality with every syllable that dances past your lips or when the sound of your unapologetic laughter sings a sweet tune in his corrupted ears.

He must have been in pain; surely he must have been injured or poisoned or tortured in some past life from eons-past. Surely he is dwelling in some sick, twisted form of hell. His own personal prison cell. How else can he explain this newfound revelation of emotions each time his mind drifted back to you.

You.

You, who has brought some semblance of humanity back into him.

You, who has brought forth his demons and have withstood each one with a smile one your face. Like you were happy to have seen his flaws. His imperfections. His sins. To have been overjoyed to have witnessed each deplorable side of him as if it was a gift. Fought against them and (surprisingly) won when he, himself, has failed to beat them on a good day.

You, who has never left him. Never doubted him despite the lies that flow past chattering teeth. He hates himself for every word that brings you pain or that pitiful frown on your pretty lips.

He’s in agony. Because he knows that if he were to sit down and actually think about this for one second longer he’d realize that what he’s feeling isn’t anguish, but something opposite. Something softer. Sweeter. Delectable even.

He can’t take this anymore. Not after watching the crystal-like tears that now streamed past your redden cheeks after he snapped at you for something that you didn’t even do. He can’t take it anymore. He just can’t. The magma that flows through his veins hardens like coal with each drop of a salty sorrow-filled tear that drops past clenched fists and furrowed brows. The breathe that once conflicted against all reason began to cease as your once brilliant smile turned sour with anger and hurt.

He can’t take it anymore; the pain he means, as you turn your back to him for the first time since you waltzed into his once dark and lonely existence. He was in pain as he reached out in a pitiful display of remorse and fear as you stormed away into the distance.

“Misery loves company after all~” he once told himself. How he wish he could turn back time just once- to take back what he had said. To stop himself from saying things that you didn’t deserve. You had only wanted to help him. You were a kind soul, practically a Saint! And here he was, convicting you of a “crime” that you had not committed. His one sanctuary. His oasis. His SALVATION.

He can’t take it anymore. And he will do whatever it took to make it up to you.

[This is the first time I’m posting anything here so I’m sorry for any mistakes! Doing this on 3-4 hours of sleep so I apologize for any errors you might see lol. This is could be seen as an “open ending” sort of thing so take it how you see fit. Also, this can go to any person/character that you fancy, but I mainly thought of Genshin Impact/Honkai Star Rail characters and Leon Kennedy from The RE series.]

#blade x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #wriothesley x reader #xiao x reader #neuvillete x reader #alhaitham x reader #jing yuan x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #leon kennedy #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #dan heng x reader #welt x reader #honkai star rail #genshin impact #sampo x reader #aether x reader #genshin impact x reader #jing yuan x you #honkai star rail x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette x reader #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil leon #itto x reader #ayato x reader #heizou x reader

[pendragonsclotpole]

I need to preface this post with the fact that I’ve been aware of Supernatural for as long as I’ve known what the terms fanfiction and fandom mean. It’s one of those pop culture moments that’s existed on the periphery of my mind as something really beloved and bemoaned about by people on the internet, but it’s never been something I really cared about outside of some iconic memes.

For the past four days, I’ve been watching Supernatural non-stop in my free time. I think I sat through eight episodes straight on one of those days, and I just have to say, the show is phenomenal.

I don’t know where to start, I could make a dozen of these posts about various points throughout the first two seasons and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve now taken a break at episode one of season three, because now that it’s a weekday I have work and can’t dedicate the time I could on the weekend.

First, Jared Padalecki’s acting is so beautiful and poignant and emotional. He really makes Sam Winchester into the bleeding heart of the whole show, and the entire time he’s on screen I worry about Sam. His portrayal of Sam’s heartbreak and desperation at Dean’s impending death after the car crash, as well as Sam’s horror at the reveal of what John told Dean before dying held a tragic desperation and denial that really embodied what the character represented in the first two seasons. Even as a hunter and with his special abilities, Sam felt like a quasi self-insert for the audience. I don’t mean that in a bad or overly tropey way, but in the way that he felt robbed of a proper childhood in favor of his father’s crusade. Sam is the angry, indignant younger sibling who never bore the brunt of responsibility like the older sibling did and it shows. In some ways, it makes him more entitled—I don’t mean that Sam does not have the right to be angry with John Winchester. He does. Fuck John Winchester. I mean entitled in the unintentional, coincidental way that your little brother or sister always demands the things you never had or rebels against the authority of the parent without ever dealing with the consequences you did as the older sibling. It reveals the veneer of freedom he had and the protection he received by virtue of his place in the Winchester Family. For me, it made him unbearably real, and this feeling of realness was made worse by the genuine naivety and innocence he keeps even as he continually gets screwed over by the demons. There’s a steadfast belief in the goodness of others within Sam that often conflicts with the sense of goodness he believes he lacks.

Sam trusts so easily, but he understands people in ways that should be antithetical to his upbringing. It took me forever to reconcile why he seemed so familiar, until I realized that Sam Winchester, for all that he was one of John Winchester’s son, had received the unconditional love of an older sibling for his entire childhood.

I don’t mean the perfect, kind, healthy love that often exists between fictional siblings. Too often I’ve watched media that makes me wonder how siblings like that even exist, or conversely, made me glad my siblings weren’t so fucked up.

I mean the kind of platonic love that exists between siblings living in the liminal space of love and hate thanks to the single fucked up connection that draws them back together continuously out of some sense of duty or commiseration or the need to be understood.

I mean the kind of love between siblings that would wither away when in a perfect world that does not stake their survival on their codependence of each other, but that in an imperfect and real world is equated to familiarity. Sam and Dean against the world—against John Winchester.

Out of all of the episodes I’ve watched in the last day and a half, perhaps the one that struck me most was episode 20, Season 2. What is and What Should Never Be. Not only was the title a bit of emotional whiplash—the juxtaposition of Should and Never lending a finality or a sense of wrongness that can’t be replicated by the words “Could Never—but we see Dean and Sam in a world where their one connection, hunting, has completely vanished and at a high cost to all the people they’ve saved, but mostly to Sam and Dean themselves. They’re connection as ride or die brothers is gone, replaced by an ostensibly better, healthier, more normal future liberated from the expectations of the rest of the world.

Without the death of Mary Winchester, Dean and Sam are no longer Dean and Sam. They’re just two people, connected by the two people that raised them, and likely to drift apart after that connection dies—frayed ends of a tapestry pulling apart and unraveling. Dean gains a mom and a normal life, but metaphorically loses a brother and a sense of purpose. Who is Dean Winchester if he’s not a hunter and Sam’s brother? And the sad thing is, neither of these are traits Dean ever chose. They are conditions foisted upon him, perhaps not intentionally, such as in the case of Sam, but ultimately placed on his soul until they tethered themselves to the very core of what being Dean Winchester is supposed to mean. The end of the episode, and Dean’s choice to return to the real world, regardless of Sam waking him up, is Dean fully giving up his dream in order to save Sam and be a hunter. The fallacy of the episode is in the choice Dean makes, which the more I think about it, feels less like a choice and more of an inevitability but one compounded by Dean’s readiness and willingness to go with it.

This is where I get to the crux of my surprise with these first early seasons of Supernatural: Dean Motherfucking Winchester.

I don’t know what I was expecting from early seasons of Supernatural, especially with the context of the later seasons. Maybe an overly cheesy, early 2000s ode to roadtrip Americana with a self-reverential take on the classic gun slinging frontiersman of the Wild West and bad supernatural CGI. Not to say it isn’t that (shout out to Sam’s comment on Dean’s particular brand of butch), but what surprised me was how real the connection between the characters was manifested on screen and how much good will the show built up in the audience. There came a point where I sided with Dean so much in the events of the show that I felt like I was riding shotgun in the impala. I saw it with every compliant “yes, sir” he gave to John, with every teasing comment he threw at Sam, and with every act of selflessness he exhibited by protecting other people. This isn’t to say that Dean is perfect. Sometimes he doesn’t take things seriously enough, or he’s willing to sacrifice people for some misguided greater good, or he’s obsessed with saving Sam even when he wouldn’t be if it were anyone else, but Dean has a conviction so many people lack. He has the capacity to love at a great cost to himself, either because he believes himself unworthy of being loved or because he’s not used to anything else.

Jensen Ackles does such a good job at this portrayal and with such a different technique than Jared Padalecki. Ackles embodies the desperate need for self-assuredness that Dean breathes, as well as the genuine fear he has of being seen. I love laughing with Dean as much as I love screaming at him for how stupid he’s being. If Sam is the self-insert, then Dean is the tragic hero, although that comparison feels like a poor facsimile for what Dean Winchester truly is because I don’t particularly feel an overwhelming sense of pity at his state or at his hinted downfall with that demon deal. If anything, I feel a sense of indignation mixed with understanding and frustration that Dean can’t catch a break but at the end of it all, is just how he prefers it.

It shouldn’t be a shock to admit that even without knowing what happens from seasons 3 to 15, I know how Supernatural ends. Just thinking about the ending makes me wonder if I should even continue it past season 5, but that’s a decision for another time.

For now, there’s something unbearably tragic in seeing Dean Winchester so close to a chance of a normal life and apple pie happiness (something he really seems to desire no matter how much he denies it) and then having to give it up, not just because it’s not real, but because he believes it should never be real.

Dean Winchester deserves better.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 1 #supernatural season 2 #supernatural season 3 #dean winchester deserved better #dean winchester deserves better #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #character study

[miyosei]

TO YOU, MY WORLD.

premise. i assign them a oneus song based on what it’s like when they love you — ft. clorinde, lyney, navia, neuvillette

reader is gn, lowercase, written before the release of clorinde / navia / neuvillette, you don’t need to know oneus to understand ( but if you do please be my friend )

CLORINDE. champion duelist

you and i are in different conditions, it’s tiring approaching you cold — fragile

it’s almost frustrating—how incompatible you are, how suffocating the atmosphere is when she’s in the same room as you, how stiff the conversations feel when you force yourself to be cordial.

not to the fault of her, or even you for that matter. you are just so inexplicably difficult to grasp, like a sword just out of her reach and so close to the tips of her fingers.

but clorinde is an unstoppable force and is stubborn to a fault. and you are a cannon made of glass.

or maybe, you are the moon, pulling her in during the high tides and letting go once the sun begins to rise. a secret kept behind closed doors only when there are no prying eyes—the people of fontaine are notoriously known for their love of gossip.

maybe the truth isn’t that you aren’t incompatible, just opposite forces that are too powerful for their own good. because when she isn’t trailing behind your respective god or walking beside the chief justice, you find that clorinde the person and clorinde the champion duelist are rather different from each other. and much to your chagrin, just clorinde is regrettably more pleasant than you’ve led yourself to believe.

clorinde cannot afford to be emotional. it is nonnegotiable, a fundamental pillar that comes with her occupation—the one she swore her life to until her final breath.

still, she can’t help but want to be closer to you. stealing glances every so often during court trials, lingering near your home for just a second too long when she passes by on her patrols, stopping her hands from reaching out to you during the rare instances where you happen to cross paths.

clorinde has fought many battles and has come out of that same arena unscathed without a single imperfection on her skin. but when you stand before her face to face glaring daggers into her head with eyes that have long since put her in her grave, clorinde thinks this is one fight she does not know how to win.

LYNEY. spectacle of phantasmagoria

the long awaited curtains finally open, and the lights shine only on you — stand by

for lyney, it comes as easily as setting a stage. and luckily for him, he has had years of experience of entertainment to last him the next lifetime.

adjust the lights, load the sparklers, make sure all the props are perfectly prepared—because it has to be perfect, or it is not worth calling a show at all.

it has to be perfect because you’re sitting there in the center of his world, and he cannot handle the thought of disappointing you when your eyes twinkle and you have a smile that makes his heart flutter out of his chest. truly, he thinks you’ve been the one charming him and not the other way around.

and it’s your seat, nobody else’s. he’ll throw a fit if anyone else gets assigned that spot in the opera, lynette has seen it turn out so one too many times.

when did he become so lovesick, lyney tries to pinpoint where it started. it’s difficult to gauge, because even in his deepest memories, you were always there. in every corner of his heart, in all the gaps of his fingers. it all reminds him of you. the street performers sing choirs of love that make his heart melt, trinkets on display he wonder if you would like, desserts through the windows that he would love to try with you.

( correction: desserts that lyney would love to see you try. not because he particularly dislikes sweets, but because he fears his heart may just go into overdrive if exposed to both the melting flavors and your hypnotizing light. )

“how horrible, i’ve been ruined!” he falls dramatically into the cushions of his bed, face first into the pillows as lynette sits idly beside him with a cup of tea. the extravagant display is only two stops short of the truth. one that lyney is reluctant to accept for a number of regrettably selfish reasons.

the first: he buried the dull and boring pieces of himself and locked them away for no one else to see in favor of his charismatic prestige. it would not come so easily to let that go.

the second, and the more daunting: if he suddenly peeled back the facade, would you still love him? would you think him undesirable and remove yourself from his life? no, that would be just awful, he can’t have that happen.

of course, you’ve never had any explicit expectations for him. and of course, lyney doesn’t know if you love him. but he, as every other lovesick loser, truly hopes you do. because he isn’t sure if he can keep denying himself any longer.

but alas, he’s out of time—the stage lights flash and the curtains are drawn open. and lyney, of course, enters with the same dramatic flair. his eyes instantly find yours in the crowd. you’re in your spot, like you always are. your smile makes his chest pound, like it always does.

oh, he can only hope for you to stay once the show ends.

NAVIA. demoiselle of the spina di rosula

it’s like i’m crooked in front of you, my head is spinning round and round — zigzag

the world is moving so quickly, and navia can’t seem to see even two steps in front of her. the last she remembered, you were in front of her with a devilish grin. when she blinked, you were out of sight like she was never speaking to you in the first place.

oh, this is so embarrasing. spina di rosula’s big boss caught in a lovestruck daze, all because of an outsider with a pretty smile. melus asks if she’s feeling unwell when her faces runs red—to which navia only responds with a slam to the door of her private headquarters.

it’s all so black and white when it comes to you, like tunnel vision focusing only on the destination. as if you were the one thing she was looking for this entire time.

would you like this dress? or perhaps a matching suit would be better? would it be too over the top to get custom made matching outfits?

“demoiselle, it’s just a small banquet.”

navia almost has the nerve to look shocked. just a small banquet? impossible, nothing is small when it comes to you. everything has to be perfect. because you’re the greatest partner she’s ever had, her closest companion, her number one. of course it has to be perfect. how ridiculous people must be to think it otherwise.

regardless, it’s no secret to anyone that the two of you are most comfortable around each other. behind the flamboyant mask and an outfit with far too many buttons, your laughter rings through the open air and reaches her like a gust of wind—brushing past her hair and leaving her paused and dizzy.

this is absurd, is she tipsy? no—no, she is most definitely sober. sober and flustered and definitely staring far too obviously for her liking. but, if that sparkle in your eyes was any indication, then you didn’t seem to mind it much at all.

NEUVILLETTE. ordainer of inexorable judgement

i was always there just out of your orbit, if only i could tell you i love you — halley’s comet

‘when it rains in fontaine, the hydro dragon is in mourn.’

common knowledge to the people who hailed from the land of justice. and if that is to be treated as fact, then the emotional equivalent of the unforgiving weather must be grief.

but nothing has gone wrong in neuvillette’s life to warrant such a visceral reaction. surely, something is different, but each knob belongs to a door that does not open. an unusual—if not cruel—predicament.

the first time he saw you, it was raining. back then, you didn’t have any coverage and instead stood soaked down to the laces of your boots. what were you thinking about, he wonders. what are you thinking about now, where are you now?

in the moment, he thought you strange for standing out in the worst storm of the season. now, he likens that scene to a better time—cast in the shadow of your light when you turn with a bright grin and ask just what ‘monsieur neuvillette’ is doing out in the pouring rain.

he blinked, almost caught off guard. shouldn’t he be the one asking you that? there is no one else out in the city besides the two of you. any well-minded fontainian would know better than to frolic in the puddles and kick up water in the streets.

but neuvillette, while he does not know why, knows that you are a flame that cannot be doused.

you, always just out of reach from his fingertips when he opens himself with outstretched hands and eyes that don’t quite match his face. you, a searing comet that cuts through the sky without a second to spare, a trail of stardust left in your wake.

and if you were willing to wait for him, just this once. he would come to you open armed with his vulnerability exposed.

don’t talk to me about how lyney’s is so much longer than everyone else’s … i don’t know what happened also if you see me come back to this post to add the images don’t pay it any mind zzzz

#lyney x reader #clorinde x reader #navia x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #clorinde x you #lyney x you #navia x you #neuvillette x you #genshin impact #🌊 — miyosei

[oletus-writer]

Alva, Keigan with s/o who is into body worship

Warnings: nsfw

Alva Lorenz

He’s surprised that someone would be willing to fuck him, to kiss his scars and tell him he’s beautiful. Perhaps he’s like to repay the favour, but it’s quite embarrassing.

‘Caro, this is… ah… it’s quite unnecessary t-to do such - such things.’

He’d be trembling and shaking even if you’ve hardly touched him, and making all sort of noises. He’d be trying to talk you out of it, for the sake of his pride, but if you actually stop, he’d be bashfully asking why you did.

To repay you, he’d like a time where all your needs were met, to shower you with compliments and hold your hand throughout the whole ordeal, if you’d like.

‘You’re such a lovely person… look at you here, beneath me, sprawled out for the world to see your beauty.’

Keigan

She’s be flattered, really, and is appreciative of you doing this. Throughout her life, people have insulted her physique and, while not one of the things she particularly cares about, she’s happy you find her attractive.

‘Thank you very much, dear, I love the - ah - your kind and loving soul.’

She’d be gripping the sheets, from the combined effort of your compliments, and the way you touch her, unlike anyone else has touched her before.

As thank you, she’d treat you outside of sex - knowing that you see all her imperfections, and still love her for them, she can’t bear to let you go.

‘Did your match go well? That’s good. Come, join me for afternoon tea.’

#identity v #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv keigan x reader #keigan nicholas keogh #alva lorenz x reader #idv keigan #idv alva #idv alva x reader #idv

[alxtiny]

Hello! Just read your Seonghwa request fic and I was wondering if you could write one with Yunho as well? Except that reader is the one being mean to herself, not the parents🥲🫶

Thank you!

Chocolate Sundae | Jeong Yunho x Reader

Synopsis: where yunho reminds you of the beauty you have forgotten

Pairing:  Jeong Yunho x gn!reader, domestic au

Genre: fluff, comfort, slightly suggestive towards the end

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of body dysmorphia

Notes: Thank you for requesting anon! I drifted a little from the comfort vibe of the fic at the end i hope you don’t mind :’)

masterlist 

The soft glow of the café lights illuminated the street as Yunho walked hand in hand with you. His presence brought warmth to the cool evening air, but your mind was preoccupied. The subtle aroma of baked goods wafting from the café mingled with the laughter of people enjoying their desserts inside. Your heart ached; you wished you could join them.

Your gaze lingered onto a chocolate sundae, sitting behind the display counter,  just begging to be eaten, complete with velvety chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and a sprinkle of crushed nuts. Your mouth watered at the mere thought of indulging in such a treat. However, a familiar wave of self-doubt washed over you, causing you to lean in closer to the menu and murmur to yourself, "Stop. You'll just get fatter with every bite." 

Sighing, you suggested "Yunho, let's find another place to go," attempting to divert your attention from the delicious looking chocolate sundae.

He looked at you and then his surroundings,his brow furrowing slightly. "Why? This place looks nice. Do you not like it?"

"It's not that, I just... I'm not really in the mood for sweets," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

"That can’t be true, what's going on?" he asked, his eyes searching for yours. 

You looked away, not being able to meet his gaze as you felt the familiar tug of insecurity pulling at your heart. "It's nothing. Let's just go somewhere else."

His fingers lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You know you can tell me anything, right?".

You let out another sigh, feeling a weight lifting off your shoulders just from his concern. "It's just... I hate the way I look. I can't even fit into half the clothes I used to, and every time I see something delicious, I just... I feel like I'm getting fatter just looking at it."

His expression softened, and he pulled you into a warm embrace. "You are absolutely beautiful just the way you are. And trust me, I've seen you struggle with these thoughts before. You're not alone in this."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them back fiercely. "I know it's silly. I shouldn't let these thoughts control me."

"It's not silly, and it's not something you can just brush off," Yunho reassured you. "But maybe it's time to see yourself through my eyes."

Before you could respond, the waiter appeared to lead you to a table. You followed him, still lost in your thoughts. As you sat down, you couldn't help but glance at the dessert menu again, your inner battle continuing.

Yunho leaned over, his voice barely a whisper. "You know, that chocolate sundae sounds really tempting."

You forced a smile, trying to play it off. "Yeah, but I'd probably gain a pound just by looking at it."

He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling your ear. "You're not alone in this fight, remember?"

His words touched your heart, and you nodded. "I know. Thank you, Yunho."

---

Later that evening, you both returned home. The atmosphere was different now, a mix of comfort and vulnerability. As you prepared for bed, you caught Yunho's gaze lingering on you, and you felt self-conscious under his scrutiny.

He stood up and approached you, his eyes gentle yet intense. "Come here," he said softly, holding out his hand.

"I want you to know that you're perfect to me," he continued. "Every smile, every imperfection, they all make you who you are, and I love every part of you."

Your heart swelled at his words, the weight of your insecurities momentarily lifted by his unwavering affection. Yunho leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a sweet, comforting gesture.

"But I don't want to just tell you," Yunho said, his voice filled with determination. "I want to show you. I want you to feel how much you mean to me."

With that, he leaned in, his lips pressing against the corner of your mouth. He moved slowly, as if savouring every moment, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your jawline. His hands cradled your face, his touch both tender and reassuring.

"You're like that tempting chocolate sundae," Yunho murmured between kisses, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I can never have enough of you."

As his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, you felt a rush of emotions flood over you. Yunho's love enveloped you, erasing the doubts that had plagued your mind for far too long. The kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of acceptance and adoration.

Yunho's hands began to explore your body with a reverence that sent tingles of desire coursing through you. His touch was electrifying, each caress a testament to his affection and appreciation for every inch of you. Slowly, he began to pepper kisses along your collarbone, his lips trailing a path of fire.

"You're perfect, Y/N," he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with sincerity. "And I want you to see yourself through my eyes."

His words ignited a newfound sense of confidence within you. Your fingers found their way into his hair, your lips seeking his in a hungry kiss that conveyed your longing, your gratitude, and your love.

Yunho's fingers deftly began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch a mixture of urgency and tenderness. With each button that gave way, he pressed a gentle kiss against the exposed skin, his actions a celebration of your beauty.

As the fabric slipped from your shoulders, Yunho's lips followed the path it revealed, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your collarbone and down your chest. His hands caressed your sides, fingers tracing patterns that ignited sparks of pleasure.

"You're the most exquisite masterpiece, Y/N," Yunho murmured as his lips continued to worship your body. His words were a mantra, a reminder that you were cherished beyond measure.

You walked over to him, his fingers interlocking with yours. He led you to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, and you stared at your reflection, the familiar sense of discontent rising within you.

Yunho stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist. All you could see were flaws, imperfections, and the weight you wished you could shed.

He placed a gentle kiss on your neck, his voice a soothing murmur. " You know what I see? I see the person I fell in love with. I see someone strong, kind, and absolutely beautiful. Your body tells a story, and every curve, every mark, is a part of it."

Tears welled up again, but this time, they were different. They were born of his words, of his acceptance, and of the love he had for you.

"I want you to understand something," Yunho continued, his voice unwavering. "Just like that chocolate sundae you saw today, you are irresistible to me. I want every part of you, just like you were made perfectly for me."

He turned you around to face him, his eyes locking onto yours. His lips met yours in a tender, passionate kiss, one that spoke volumes of his love and desire for you. His hands traced every contour of your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Let me show you how perfect you are," he murmured against your lips, his hands guiding you towards the bed.

---

In the quiet intimacy of the night, Yunho's whispered declarations of love filled your ears, mingling with the gentle sounds of your heartbeats. As he traced invisible patterns on your skin with his fingers, you felt your self-doubts melting away, replaced by a sense of belonging and acceptance you had long yearned for.

The next morning, as the sunlight filtered through the curtains, you woke up to find Yunho watching you with a tender smile. "Good morning," he greeted, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, returning his smile.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes traveling over your features. "You know, you're like that chocolate ice cream I can never have enough of."

You laughed softly, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "I thought you weren't supposed to have too much sugar.”

He leaned in and kissed your nose. "You're my guilty pleasure. But unlike a sugary treat, you're the kind of perfection that I can enjoy without any regrets.’

As he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to every visible part of your body, you felt a sense of deep contentment settle over you. It was a feeling that you knew would stay with you, reminding you that you were loved for who you were, imperfections and all.

In Yunho's embrace, you found a haven where your worries couldn't reach you. With every touch, every kiss, he was rewriting the narrative you had held onto for so long. You were beautiful, just as you were, and his love was the mirror through which you saw your true reflection.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist 

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

Taglist: @sushi0517

#ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez reaction #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #yunho fanfic #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho ateez #yunho icons #yunho smut #ateez yunho #comfort #submission #ateez fic #atz #atiny

[themultifandomgal]

Harry Styles- Insecurities

Being the girlfriend of Harry Styles can come with many cons as well as pros. We’ve been together now for 3 years. For 2 of those years we kept our relationship quiet for a few different reasons. The first being Harry knew that I would have a fair bit of hate, which would be expected since his fans just want the best for him. I was worried that people (news outlets) would say I’m only with him for the money and fame. Harry is a private person just as I am and neither of us really wanted our relationship out in the public. We enjoyed our own little bubble. Unfortunately our own little bubble was burst after Harry’s phone was hacked and photos of us cuddled on the sofa and kissing were leaked. Harry’s PR team we’re amazing and during any interview about our relationship Harry always responds with “I’d like to keep that part of my life private”. Of course I love him and I know he loves me, but there are times when I can feel very insecure thanks to the media. I try not to look at it, but it’s everywhere.

Before Harry, I was in another relationship. It was toxic. He would often point out little imperfections of mine which caused me to become quite self conscious. Since dating Harry things did get better, but just like anyone you have good days and bad days.

Harry is currently on a break from tour, so I’ve come away with him and his family. Gemma and I are sunbathing while Harry went to get us some drinks. I smile as I watch Harry walking back to us. He’s then stopped by a woman who at first I thought was just a fan, and maybe she is, but when I see her flirting with Harry the insecurities start to bubble

"Are you ok?” Gemma asks, probably seeing my smile drop. She’s beautiful. Long flowing brown hair, tan long legs, and even from here I can tell her skin is so clear she doesn’t need any makeup.

"Look at her"

"Who the girl?"

"Yeah. Look she's so pretty nothing like me. Sometimes I wonder why Harry’s with me. I have stretch marks on my thighs, cellulite, my skin isn’t perfect. My stomach isn’t flat. I just can’t help but think he could do so much better than me” I turn to look at Gemma who’s become my best friend over the last few years.

"Oh YN. I know you struggled after your ex. He was an awful human. But you know just as well as I do that Harry doesn't care about all that. He’s not a shallow person. He loves you just the way you are. God he doesn’t shut up about you half the time. I’ve heard he whines most of the time on your asking when your arriving”

“Everythin’ ok?” Harry asks walking over to us frowning

"I'm going to give you two some space" Gemma gets up and walks over to Anne and Robbin. I a sit up and cross my legs looking down at the stretch marks staring at me

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you with me?"

"Because I love you. You know that" Harry says confused. I sigh "is this about that girl?" I nod my head "oh YN come here" Harry pulls me into him "yes she was flirtin but I told her that I had a girlfriend that I love very much. She then apologised and asked if she could have my autograph. I said no because ‘m on holiday and would like to enjoy m’self. You know I love you more than I ever thought could be possible”

“Even though I’m not a hollywood supermodel?”

“You are one in my eyes. You are smart, kind, and very sexy” this makes me laugh a little as Harry kisses my cheek

"I’m sorry. I try not the be so insecure”

“I know you do love. You don’t need to apologise. Your still learnin to love yourself after your ex and deal with the media”

“How did I get so lucky with you?”

“More like how did I get so lucky with you. Love you”

“Love you too”

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction

[leclsrc]

happy 1k! 38 with charles please <3

words unspoken – cl16

genre: fluff :), drabble, 1k celebration

38: whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss. title from this

“And it painted a mural all over our kitchen. You know, on the back wall, the green one where you accidentally chipped off a bit of the paint? Yeah. With its hind legs, and a paintbr—just a huge—just, like, angels, and babies. Honest to God, it was better than the Sistine Chapel.”

“So this was a Michelangelo deer?” Your boyfriend asks humorously. “That’s funny. I just had a turtle painting Picasso in my dream the other night. What are the chances?”

“You are such a little shit,” you say, but you’re both laughing. Another day of sharing your dreams to each other—a habit that started out of a way to start morning conversations and continued because of how much you enjoyed listening to each other talk. Your dreams varied, from nightmares, to those of the ordinary type, to the weirdest, most obscure kinds of figments you could possibly conjure.

Like this one. “But that’s not all. So this deer. It’s done painting this magnificent mural, right?” 

Charles nods, genuinely interested, adjusting his glasses as he pulls you onto his lap, wraps his arms around your waist. “So it finishes the painting, and it turns and faces me, and behind it, the painting totally melts off! Like, gone. Just—all of it—poof. The wall’s all green again. And I’m begging the deer to paint it back.”

“Oh, it betrayed you!” Your boyfriend clutches his chest. “How could it possibly?!”

You flick his cheek to shut him up. “And it repaints another painting over it, as per my request, but it’s a totally different painting. It’s not even a painting. It’s just your and my initials, tiny and accompanied by a little heart. No angels. Or babies. Or chapel ceilings.”

“And that’s it.” He fiddles with the sleeve of your knit sweater.

“That’s it.” You turn from the couch and toward the kitchen, where you can spot the wide, forest green wall you’d been talking about. “Just by the fridge. A heart and our letters.”

“Okay. As a professional dream interpreter,” he says, eliciting a scoff out of you, “I would say this means we need to do the same thing.”

“Paint the Sistine Chapel?” You joke, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Or adopt a deer?”

“I’ve got my own animal in the house already, thanks.” You roll your eyes at the offhand joke but allow him to continue. “We still have spare paint in the kitchen cabinet from when you begged me to repaint the bookshelf white.”

“Race you,” you whisper, clambering off his lap and bolting toward the cabinets.

Unfortunately, you’ve hit a caveat. You can’t find the tube or can of white paint for the life of you, so despite your headstart, you find yourself staring at your boyfriend’s proud, paintbrush-and-paint wielding grin. You roll your eyes, gesturing for him to start.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says. “How’d it look like?”

“Just let me—” you fight briefly over the paintbrush but eventually you’re drawing careful strokes of each initial, housing them inside a tiny heart. You place the brush down and step back, proud of your handiwork. “It’s just like the deer’s.”

He hugs you from behind, and you clutch his arms, both of you just staring at this new, human, lovely as it is imperfect, addition to your home. He leans down, stops right as your lips brush together, then whispers delicately, “I love you.”

You kiss him back, smiling. When he pulls away, you poke his nose. “I love you, too.”

—

“So it’s an extra 40 euros to get the green color matched and have that splotch painted over,” the super says boredly. 

You stare at the white. A “splotch,” he’d called it.

You wonder how many times you’ve called something a splotch, garbage, irrelevant, when in truth it meant so much more to a total stranger. You want to turn to the super, say, coolly, casually, “Oh, my ex-fiancé and I drew that a couple years ago, so it’s not a splotch, you son of a bitch.” But you’ve no time for deep thinking or mapping out possibilities. You need to empty the place by today.

“Yeah, just go ahead and add it to the charge,” you say politely. “I forgot what that splotch was all about, actually.”

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

[asmomyluv]

Headcanons (ASMODEUS)

You may have noticed that I love Asmo more than the world itself😋 so here are some head cannons I have for him! Sorry about no post yesterday I'm making up for it with this one so enjoy!

SFW

Warnings: mentions of aphrodisiac, physical insecurities

-He paints all his brother’s nails, because as he says “You have enough issues, don’t let your nails be one of them.”

-I just feel like Asmo is one of the shorter brothers along with Belphie I’d say he’s on the shorter side of demons. Maybe 6’0 with the average being about 6’6 for Demons.

-In his demon form, however, I think he’d be 6’3 not including his horns. I just feel like Asmo gives little asshole(affectionate) vibes but he’s definitely not human short.

-Is his cum an Aphrodisiac? Hell yea, I’d go as far as to say all of his bodily fluids are at will. So when you're kissing Asmo and feel just a little too warm for a kiss you pull away face flushed and eyes big. He smirks knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. there goes the sfw tag

-Look he’s the avatar of lust that comes with some skills, some of which are practically magic. Now his ability to know your pleasure points after touching you is airing on the side of magic.

-We know Asmo can’t charm MC but if he could, you would both have a great time. When you’ve had a long day and are just sick of stressing and overthinking you would come to him and he’d make it all go away without a touch.

-He would never take advantage of you, even the way he lusts for you is something new to him. He doesn't only crave you sexually but emotionally. He craves your soft touch and gentle kisses. Just to hold your hand or waist and be close to you.

-It’ll take him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that he’s in love of course

-As particular as he is about looks he thinks you look beautiful all the time. At first, he would be embarrassed that another being could live up to his expectations of beauty until he remembers that you're his. As beautiful and stunning as you are you belong to him, you chose him.

-If you sleep with him not like that, unless.. he sleeps nude. The most he’ll put on is a very loose robe if you're really that uncomfortable. His brothers have definitely learned not to wake him up by removing the covers

-He has longish hair, I refuse to believe that Asmo doesn't have long fluffy hair. Like a Korean-style wolf cut. Like in all honesty, they missed a chance to give him beautiful fairy hair in-game

-He loves all of his brothers and makes sure they always know he has time for them. Occasionally one of them will join him for his night routine and he’ll give them the full spa treatment. Especially Beel when he’s sore from workouts

-Sad times… he values his appearance so much that he’s convinced others do as well. It’s gotten to the point that when he notices small imperfections like acne he doesn’t want anyone to see him, even though his brothers have tried to let him know they don’t care he won't listen. Sometimes one of them will stop by his door to talk to him since he won't leave.

-He has a spreadsheet to keep track of when his makeup or skincare expires because he will NOT risk anything happening to his beautiful face

-He’s got a very airy and soft look, sharp features but still in a way a soft fairy-like look, IDK he’s just… dainty yk

-Run’s your social media page, I feel like the online culture is way different in the Devildom so he absolutely manages your account and you easily become the second most followed account, after him of course.

-If he’s ever left to wake you up he does it in the most soft way possible because you look so peaceful. He’d brush the side of your cheek and gently call your name.

-No physical labor, he just doesn't do it. Taking out the trash? Sounds like a job for anyone else. Honestly, I see him calling on Beel a lot in that way anytime he needs something moved his baby bro has got his back.

- He is so ticklish, he’s good at hiding it but his sides are extremely ticklish, and that’s something you have to find out yourself because he never tells anyone

#asmomyluv #obey me asmodeus #obey me headcanons #obey me asmo #obey me asmo headcanons #obey me #obey me shall we date #i love him so much im gonna die #asmodeus avatar of lust #asmo obey me #obey me swd #obey me mc