#they just want to grow flowers and have their hair done instead

[jujutsukgojo]

My gifts to you

feitan portor x reader

Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k

“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  

  He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here. 

  The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days. 

   Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.  

   What's his name again? Feitain? 

__________

  In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it. 

As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.  

   People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men. 

There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.  

Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates. 

  The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.  

   Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.” 

“Tie.” 

“I taught you.” You set your plate down.  

“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.  

“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.” 

“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.” 

  He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”  

...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?

 Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.

  He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor. 

 “Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!” 

The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it. 

  “Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”

“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.

“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.

You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head. 

  Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut. 

_____________

  It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience. 

  You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.  

  It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends. 

  You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.

The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.  

  The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony. 

  “G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?  

  You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.  

   Same fate.  

You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves. 

  One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.

  Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then. 

  This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.  

It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone? 

  The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.  

   After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.

Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea. 

 Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.  

  You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.  

  In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.  

  “Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.” 

  “It’s not.”   

Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?

  He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”  

“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.  

  The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”  

You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.  

  As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.  

  Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”  

  “Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.” 

His fluency isn’t the greatest still.  

“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. ���Please, Feitan...”  

  Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?” 

  He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes. 

   “As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”

“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability. 

  He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”

Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?” 

“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip. 

  But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known. 

“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.

------

When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up. 

  Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”

“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear. 

  “Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit. 

“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.

   You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?” 

You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question. 

  You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too. 

“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion. 

“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on. 

“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”

  “Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink. 

“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”

“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”

“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall. 

   You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.

 What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay. 

   You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”

A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting. 

  “You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you. 

“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”

You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down. 

“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”

  If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.

  You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”

  “Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet. 

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake. 

  “Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you. 

  He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”

“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”

  Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”

“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”

  Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”

  Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”

  “I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.” 

  The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”

They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”

“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training.  “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”

 He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”

Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down. 

  “I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep. 

Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this. 

  Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all. 

  The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years. 

____________

  “Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”

“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works. 

 However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget. 

Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.

You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.

“Please-”

“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still. 

Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box. 

   Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior. 

  “Feitan, surely you must understand!” 

“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest. 

You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs. 

“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”

“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side. 

“So, you just decide when you want to see me?” 

Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”

  The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”

Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”

“I didn’t.”

 You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”

“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while. 

“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation. 

“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”

  His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”

You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”

Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”

  Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”

“No.” 

Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”

You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”

“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?

Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway). 

“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now. 

  Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.

_____

Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though. 

For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway. 

  And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald. 

  In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed. 

  The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor. 

And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless. 

  It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out. 

  It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house. 

  The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”

You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway. 

  “Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him. 

 He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”

“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”

“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

 You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it. 

  You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction. 

  “Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory. 

 “I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor. 

“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”

 He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”

“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”

He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”

“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”

  Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him. 

“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.

  “How long are we going to do this dance?”

“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.” 

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”

He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”

  “So?”

You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”

“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”

  On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

  Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.” 

  He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”

  You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”

  “Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long. 

“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes. 

“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”

  Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step. 

  “If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.” 

  You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while. 

  The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.

_________________

  You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died! 

  You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman. 

  When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on. 

  Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.

Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.

  “Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice. 

It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head. 

  “Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.

“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.” 

Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?

“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way. 

  The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help. 

  “The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand. 

  Is he really gone? 

You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence. 

You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor. 

  “I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?

Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for. 

You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it? 

  It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?

 You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure. 

  You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real. 

  You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on. 

‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’

You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.

  What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone. 

  You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?

  Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself. 

'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan. 

   I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'

You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything. 

Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”

You squint, trying to make out the features.  “Are you real?”

“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.” 

“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”

“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl. 

 You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs. 

  He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit. 

“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”

  He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision. 

  He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.” 

  He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”

“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”

  Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.

  “You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths. 

  After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?

  Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet. 

His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot. 

  Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way. 

  His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.

  Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”

 “It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut. 

--

 You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch. 

  Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.” 

He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch. 

  “I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat. 

He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”

 “Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"

He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one. 

  Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night. 

 This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him. 

___________________

Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there. 

  Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts. 

  By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why. 

  Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place. 

  “What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”

  You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”

 “It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.” 

Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes. 

  “Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?” 

“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang. 

  “Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!” 

  “Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”

  “Big babies.” 

You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”

  Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it. 

 “Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them. 

“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”

  “Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life. 

“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”

  You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone. 

“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.” 

“Ants.” 

  “They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”

“Wha-how? What’s going on?”

  He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go. 

“How’s the other guy look?”

“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”

  He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in. 

  His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”

You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”

“With your boyfriend?”

You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”

  “Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”

At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”

“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?” 

  “You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”

When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm. 

“If we run, we can still make it out.”

“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.

“Because I think they need the room.” 

“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”

  “Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you. 

  “That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”

“You’ll always find me, remember?”

______________

Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.

  From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again. 

  Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.

  You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price. 

   Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while. 

  You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for. 

  Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home. 

  “How’ve you been?” 

“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face. 

“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”

“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”

  He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”

You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there. 

  It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.

   “For good.” 

You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”

“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”

   “But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.” 

  He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?” 

“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”

“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”

  He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.” 

  He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is? 

  If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.  

#feitan portor #feitan x reader #feitan porter x reader #hxh #hxh fanfic #slight yandere #q #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #hxh feitan #idk what to put here rn

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What are your favorite royal wedding looks and flowers

I answered a lot of these in the other ask so I'm going to use yours to do a deeper dive into most of the Millennial royal weddings. You want opinions, you're getting opinions today!

Quick aside: I mainly follow only the British royals. I pay some attention to the other European royal families and a little bit of attention to the Jordanian Royal Family. So that’s what this commentary will focus on. Because I don’t follow the Middle Eastern, Asian, or African royals (and subsequently don’t know much about them), I don't feel it's appropriate for me to give commentary on their wedding looks/styles when I don't know who they are. Obviously, as you'll see, my favorites are the BRF so the commentary does skew heavily towards them.

Adding this halfway through: This is a really text-heavy post so I'm going to break up the rambling with my favorite photo from each wedding.

Crown Princess Victoria, June 2010

The Cameo Tiara is my favorite. It paired very nicely with the heirloom veil. Loved that she went for off-the-shoulder short sleeves. Not really a fan of how the train attached at her waist (vs being all one dress), but it really worked for her.

Kate, April 2011

I loved how timeless her whole look was. If you take everything out of the picture and just look at her and the dress, it's magnificent. It works in black and white 1950s vintage. It works in the modern fashion era. It works for her as the individual girl she was at that time. It works for the future she's growing into.

Not a fan of the hairstyle and the tiara. It was a complete miss for me. She should've gone full updo or full Chelsea blowout instead of the halfway compromise. The tiara, meh. Didn't really add anything to me. After seeing the floral headpiece she commissioned for the coronation, I would have loved to see what she'd have done for the wedding since a floral headpiece is what she originally wanted to wear. I also thought her hair was a smidge too dark, but maybe that's the contrast with all of the ivory around her. I much prefer the golden/bronzey highlights she has now and I think it would've helped the contrast better.

Thought the flower girl dresses were a tad too long and that her bouquet was out of place. It needed to be more substantial for such a formal occasion. Either more flowers/bigger shape or bigger blooms.

Something about Hugo Burnand's work always throws me off. I think it's the scale and the perspective he uses; the subjects are too far away from the camera that their backgrounds seem to swallow them up. Didn't like most of their wedding portraits because of that. They kinda ended up looking like cardboard cutout versions of themselves.

Overall, a perfect day. It was nostalgic without being maudlin. Modern without being trendy. Celebratory without being excessive. Traditional without being stodgy.

Charlene, July 2011

I like her dress. Reminds me a lot of Crown Princess Victoria's, but with a lovely embroidery detailing.

I don't really have a lot to say about the Monaco wedding. It looked like a lovely occasion. The dress is fine. The veil is fine. The photos are fine, but Charlene looks like she'd rather be anywhere but there marrying Albert (and the rumors that have come out since about the wedding makes me side-eye a whole lot).

Stephanie, October 2012

Very pretty dress, very pretty veil, very pretty look. Not really very memorable for me. A lot of the gorgeous detailing in her dress gets lost in most of the photos; the close-up photos of her dress are gorgeous and I wish there were more.

I do really like her bridal bouquet; that's what I expected from Kate.

Her tiara got lost in the look and her veil not being closer to the tiara makes sense (since the tiara really would have gotten lost) but I think we've come to expect royal brides wearing their veils and tiaras together so this is something different. I do, however, really like how the veil flows in this picture.

Princess Madeleine, June 2013

I don't mind that it's a lace dress. I cannot with the dust ruffle hem. This photo just killed the whole look for me, but this one (above) and this one redeem it to where I can pretend the dust ruffle doesn't exist.

The neckline also had its issues. It went rogue at one point during the wedding and ended up giving her a 1980s-one shoulder style look.

Her hair was very Swedish (they do like their big buns). Her veil was gorgeous too, tying with Beatrice for second. I prefer the way Madeleine styled her veil over how Victoria styled hers.

Madeleine has my favorite makeup look; dramatic eye with a nice pink lip.

Sofia, June 2015

My feeling is that this isn't the dress Sofia would have chosen for herself. I think she went more demure and modest because of her controversial background but she's had a lot of fantastic style choices otherwise. Something about the cut of her dress reads maternity to me - the skirt seems like it starts too high in the bodice.

She has the traditional big Swedish bun, but it's quite a slicked back/severe look for her. I think with the wide open neck in her dress, a softer, looser hairstyle would have made it work better. I do feel like her earrings needed to be bigger with the open neckline, or at least should have had emeralds to match the tiara. (This may be my least favorite tiara styling -- a little too "on top" of her head, not very integrated into the hairstyle so it looks kinda like an afterthought.)

Loved the colorful flowers she chose. Her wedding colors were my favorite before Eugenie came along.

Pippa, May 2017

I know, I know. Pippa's not royal and it wasn't a royal wedding, but it had a big royal turnout so it counts!

THIS is how you do a lace wedding gown without it looking like Granny's tablecloth or Miss Haversham (yeah, I'm looking at you, Kitty Spencer). THIS is how you do a classic English country garden wedding. The way she decorated the exterior of the church was a dream.

Her headpiece was invisible and added nothing. I get why she chose the piece she did, but come on. Hugely missed opportunity to get a major piece from her new husband or to pay homage to Carole in something like this (which I realize is Kate's coronation headpiece) or like this.

The matron of honor/children's minder was perfection. The flower girls were perfection.

Meghan, May 2018

I'm glad Prince Philip was able to attend. I feel like he attended more to support The Queen than out of joy for the couple. I kinda wished Zara would have gone into labor during the service.

Everything was just so darkly lit, even the bridal portraits too.

(Edit: Let me know if you're curious about why I like this picture for their wedding.)

Princess Eugenie, October 2018

Her floral design and colors were my absolute favorite. She wins, hands down, bar none. I loved the moody dark florals and loved how she embraced the autumnal vibes by making the chapel feel warm and inviting.

I thought the sleeves of her bridal gown were too long and too big, and felt oversized. They needed to have been more tailored, like Kate's were.

Eugenie's wedding portraits are my favorite. The scale and perspective was pleasing and the simpler white background of the Windsor room made the people pop.

Overall, it was a very princessy wedding. Very well done.

Lady Gabriella, May 2019

Her veil is my favorite. I like the fuller veil style, but it almost seemed too full because the details of her tiara was lost in all the tulle.

I love the story that she had originally planned for a pink/blush gown but changed it to white when she learned The Queen wanted to attend; that says a lot about her character and respect for tradition.

Bridesmaid dresses were a tad long. For some reason, her Hugo Burnand portraits don't bother me as much as Kate's do. LOVE that she got to do some portraits outdoors, and her outdoors portraits are so quintessentially England. I kinda wish Kate had had that opportunity given how meaningful the outdoors are for her.

So sad about her husband. Sending her all the strength, especially with their anniversary coming up.

Princess Beatrice, July 2020

I loved that she went for sentimentality above all else. She really made the best out of a terrible situation. Their wedding photos make it seem like she (and Edo) are the sort of people who prioritize the marriage over the wedding so I sense they don't mind all the changes too much.

Loved her simple make-up and her grandmother's dress. Loved the veil too. The hair felt undone; this hairstyle would have polished the look nicely.

Princess Iman, March 2023

Iman squeaks into this review by 3 months. She is the youngest millennial royal bride.

I love how soft and golden her portraits are. She ties with Gabriella's outside portraits for the #2 spot for me.

Her look was simple, and I feel this is romantic minimalism done correctly. The drape of her skirt reminds me a lot of Sarah Chatto's, a soft delicate look that's unusual for most royal brides (who tend to go with stiffer, heavier fabric for the formality). It works really well.

The tendrils are a little much and too loose for me; I'd rank her use of tendrils #2 between Eugenie (#1) and Meghan (#3).

Rajwa, June 2023

I appreciate that she went for a look befitting her own individual personality but it was a choice. Her bridal look is a case of "too much pageant fashion, not enough wedding" for me. The draping was strange, the fit of the skirt versus the train seemed like she was wearing pants with a huge overskirt behind her. But the dress "sits" very nicely and I suspect since the Jordanians do most of their weddings sitting (like above), the overskirt style may have been an intentional choice for the photos.

Veil was nice. Bouquet was too small. Not a fa of the earrings. I do think her tiara is a little too far back on her head.

Many congratulations to them for the new baby.

#in this essay i will #all the royal families #commentary #royal weddings

[pigeonwhumps]

Battle

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Angstpril: alt prompt 1: troubled mind

Inspired by these two prompts by @hurtmyfavsthanks and an anon ask she received. I saw the more recent one and just wrote this straight up within a couple of hours, unable to resist it.

1k

CWs: living weapon, outcast whumpee, magical whumpee, low self-esteem, betrayal kinda, mentions of battle and casualties, mentioned past discrimination

Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.

It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.

Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?

Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.

Caretaker's.

"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.

But it hasn't happened yet.

Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."

Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.

"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."

Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.

(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)

Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.

He's so warm.

"S'okay buddy. I'm here."

"Hmm."

Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.

_

The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.

And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.

The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...

Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.

They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.

The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.

Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.

It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.

They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.

Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.

Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.

Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.

It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.

They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.

Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.

Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.

"Please..."

Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."

Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.

But gods do they wish they could stop.

#whump #whump writing #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #outcast whumpee #magic whump #magic whumpee #battle #caretaker and whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #soft caretaker #hes trying his best #so is whumpee #i am apparently incapable of making a living weapon who enjoys their job outside of the actual battle #i did try but whumpee wouldnt let me #they just want to grow flowers and have their hair done instead #angstpril2024 #writing #alt1 #troubled mind

[suguann]

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” 

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter. 

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again. 

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later. 

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place. 

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost imagine #simon riley fluff #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod fic #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

[maeby-cursed]

➴ OH, STUPID CUPID ! ♡

✧ a/n: happy valentine's, dear angels ! ♡

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

Why would he, after all? It’s merely a capitalist ploy to keep the consumerism engines turning. You can disguise greed in glittery pink polish and white chocolate bonbons but at its core, it won't change its nature.

And so, he spends St. Valentine’s like he would any other day; gets up at dawn, works until his hands are peeled and his back aches and gets home to eat whatever he has left over. 

It’s a good routine, the most stable one he’s found for himself in years. 

He can't recall a time where the fourteenth of February meant anything at all. 

(Except for that one year that it had.)

But he won't think of withered flowers or laughing kisses or other sweets that have since rotten in his memory. A woman, a child, an apartment downtown.

That is all long gone now. The apartment downtown had gotten expensive, and the child had grown older. The woman had gone long ago and there were no more flowers or kisses or laughter.

It’s all capitalism, it’s all vapid and stupid and childish.

So, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. That is until you come along, knocking on his workshop’s door.

You’re obviously lost, mumbling an inquiry about how much you could get for selling a motorbike you keep referring to as "an old piece of garbage".

He can't help but snicker at your wording, a little chuckle that grows into a full chest laugh when he sees what you’ve dragged to his shop. It’s painfully obvious that this thing isn’t yours.

You keep holding the handlebars with careful hands, sparing few disgusted glances to the vehicle, as if its mere existence wounded you.

He asks how long you’ve had it, and where you got it, and how much you’d like to get. 

You answer back curtly: two years, your ex, nothing as long as you get rid of it.

You seem annoyed just by having to be there and for some unexplainable reason this amuses him to no end. Maybe being surrounded by car engines in a small workshop with no windows is starting to affect him.

“I’ll take it.”

You raise your gaze from the dusty headlight, shocked by his offer.

“You will?”

“Sure thing. You don’t want it, I could use some new parts, I’ll just scrap it.”

You let out a sigh, relieved, and all the tension dissipates from your shoulders.

“Oh, that… well, that would be great! Thank you.”

Your smile makes him stop in his tracks. Pretty and warm and familiar – something dangerous. His head travels back.

After a second that lasts forever, he acknowledges what you've said, grunting as his only response and getting back to the store with you in tow.

“Could I leave it with you now or…?"

“Bring it back next week, I don’t really have a place to put it right now, y’know?”

You look around the place. It’s full of buckets of paint and car parts, no decor but stacks upon stacks of metallic shelves full of objects you can’t recognize. You chuckle awkwardly, seemingly in a better mood after the compromise you've arranged.

“Right, uhm… Actually, I'm not here next week, could I come back tomorrow?”

Toji turns back to stare at you, and for the first time, really sees you. You look young, probably in your mid-twenties, of bright eyes and shiny hair, and that pretty smile that keeps fluttering over your lips. 

He hasn’t done this in a long time… But maybe…

“I close at 10pm today, why don’t you come back then?” he says, closing his fists to stop them from sweating.

Your wondering eyes freeze on him then, and your lips part slightly. He just can't stop staring.  

“But it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any plans?” you ask, shyly.

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“Oh,” you whisper. You're still grinning up at him, but your expression has lost its warmth, instead replaced by a polite awkwardness and doubtful gaze, and now he's kicking himself in his head.

“Sorry, did that bother you?” he asks, hiding his guilt with a smirk.

“No, not at all!" You laugh, playing with your hands. "I… just, I don’t mind it, I guess.

"I know it's not even a real holiday and that it's merely a product of capitalism, and that it’s all about sales and consumerism and all of that, but… I find it nice, you know? Having a day to be with the people you love…" You look around his shop once, before giving him a shy stare. "It’s sappy, I know.” You end with a shrug, your ears flushed.

Toji doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just breathes and takes it in. 

Oh, he’s grown bitter, hasn’t he? Old and sour. 

His son is out there right now buying flowers with his friends, his coworker is on a date at a fancy place, his one and only friend is buying chocolates for his wife… And he’s here at 5pm, with his hands dirty and his neck sweaty and the prettiest woman he’s seen in a long time in front of him, with no plans for tonight and a lovely smile hidden by a familiar sort of nervousness.

What is wrong with him? Is he truly that fucking stubborn? Can't he deal with a bit of pink?

He’ll admit that he's never minded the chocolates and the roses – even if they aren’t his favorite – and that he always laughs at the cherubs and the cheesy postcards. Of course, he won't talk about how he still hums old 50s songs while he works or how he indulges in a bit of dessert when February rolls around, though.

But he knows. He's always known.

So, maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe it’s more about being accompanied for once since he was twenty three and alone. Maybe it’s more about taking a shot at getting something good back.

Maybe it's not all capitalism, not all vapid and stupid and childish.

“Yeah… I guess it’s not all that bad.”

“I do like it… sometimes,” you finish, as if completing his train of thought. This hasn't happened to him in a long time. "I’ll be back tonight then…?”

He recovers quickly, smirking briefly before turning to clean his hands with a rag.

“Sure, at 10pm," he says, over his shoulder.

You laugh, cheerful once more, and begin walking to the door.

“It’s a date!”

And, God, he really hopes it can be, if only because it’s Valentine’s Day.

© 2024, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing ! #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro imagines #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji fluff #fushiguro toji imagines #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fluff #toji imagines #toji fushiguro #jjk

[alatusprinz]

trivial things they do that make you fall in love all over again

genre : fluff ( modern au, committed relationships? )

characters : xiao , cyno, kaedehara kazuha , tighnari , scaramouche x f!reader

albedo takes care of you in ways you never knew you needed. your powerbank, airpods or phone is never out of battery because he charges them when you're in the shower or sleeping. he can guess what you want for dinner from the way you're texting, and often has exactly what you've been craving for before you ever told him what you wanted to eat. he restocks everything in your home before anything ever runs out. takes and edits THE BEST insta-worthy pictures of you, everyone wonders if you hired a professional now. brings you your favorite snack and/or drink every time he goes to the convenience store because he is just so smitten he can't spend a minute without thinking about you. remembers your birthday, the date of the day you two first held hands, kissed and everything, the dates are engraved into his memory and he does mini-celebrations every single year no matter how much time has passed. sometimes, he comes behind you when you're busy with work and starts brushing your hair, and maybe braid them if you'd let him. he's amazingly good at styling your hair, then when he's done, he'll kiss you on the top of your head and whisper how beautiful you are, the most breathtaking person to walk this world.

tighnari, after being with you for a while, can read you like an open book. just as you're about to leave the house, he'll remind you something you were about to forget just now. he knows when you've had a bad day from the way you close the door, so he's bringing you a cup of tea and pulling you in a gentle hug without a single word needed. he knows exactly what you're thinking, too much to the point where you two say so many words at the same time. the longer he spends time with you, the more he finds himself syncing to your mannerisms- and frankly, he loves it. when you accidentally fall asleep while waiting for him to finalize his work, he'll gently cover you with a blanket (and if you wear glasses, he'll take them off gently and put them next to you with a kiss on your forehead.) he may not verbalize it often but you have him completely wrapped around your finger, he can't go through his day without searching for your presence every corner he turns. also, he would never let you go to sleep with tears in your eyes, no. over his dead body. no matter how bad the argument would be, tighnari would make sure you two were at least on surface-level understanding before comforting and apologizing to you before going to sleep with a gentle promise of discussing it again when you're both more rational tomorrow. grows different types of flowers and names them after you. tugs them behind your ear when they grow and bloom.

kazuha spoils you without explicitly meaning it. always lets you have the aux in his car and if he's playing music, always has your new favorite songs saved in his playlist so you two can both enjoy. he carries an extra set of mittens and scarf for you in case you're cold every single time you two go out on a date in winter. brings you peeled/sliced fruit when you're working and sometimes feeds them to you if you're too busy. when he's waking you up from your nap, he kneels next to the bed and kisses your cheeks and forehead while gently whispering sweet nothings until you're awake instead of leaning over. on a snowy winter day, he'll draw a heart in front of your window by his footprints on the fresh snow and call you over to make you see the giant (kind of unshapely) heart. still opens every single door for you after years and years of being together. buys you flowers and heartfelt gifts without ever needing a reason to because you being in his life is the greatest joy he has ever experienced. and if marriage is something you want, even after marriage, kazuha will never stop calling you endearments, saying i love you every day, and take you out on a date once a week at the very least. will gladly freeze for the night if you hog the blanket accidentally, and when you fall asleep while hugging his arm, he'd adore how cute you look while sleeping and gladly ignore/forget about his arm going numb because he doesn't have the heart to move you while you're sleeping.

scaramouche's affection is so lowkey that you need to pay attention if you want to notice. he always lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. he covers sharp corners of the table when you lean down. he gets you that concert ticket that's sold out within seconds somehow and leaves them in one of your lecture notes for you to find out yourself ( and has one for himself too, half to annoy you and half because he secretly loves seeing how happy you look at that concert). flicks your forehead every time when you start talking bad things about yourself in attempt to soothe your insecurities. argues with you about you "stealing his hoodies/sweatshirts" all the time but it's him who leaves them in your room secretly when you aren't looking, then claim he "forgot it" just because he loves seeing you in his clothes. once fought a guy who was trying to buy the last piece of snack you liked at a convenience store and successfully brought you the snacks- you never found out what happened to the other dude. he pauses the netflix whenever you leave the room even for 2 seconds. steals your jewelry sometimes (because it reminds him of you throughout the day), and dresses so well to the point he looks better in it than you do.

xiao, if you pay enough attention, shows every second of the day how smitten he is for you already. he texts you good morning the second he wakes up, and the last one to say good night. sends you random memes and cute pictures of animals and tag you with "looks like you" or if there's a picture of a cute animal couple, sometimes with "us." if you text him "my head kinda hurts ugh", he'll leave you on read for 20 minutes and by the time you're wondering what he's doing, you'll see him knocking at your door with painkillers, homemade stew, and a slice of cake he knows you like. extremely light sleeper so when you sleep together and you can't sleep or you're having a nightmare, he wakes up immediately and comforts you, shushing your tears away and hugging you, playing with your hair until you fall asleep. every time when he's coming over to your house, he has something he knows you like (a drink from your favorite cafe, your favorite desert, book or maybe a spare hoodie of his). brings you random pretty rocks and small stuffed dolls, pretty much everything he sees and reminds him of you- he will buy and give it as a present to you. knows you have like half his closet already but doesn't have the heart to ask for his clothes back because you seem so happy wearing them. sometimes calls you at midnight and takes you for a spontaneous motorcycle ride, and take you where the night view is the prettiest. wears that promise ring you got for him 3 years ago religiously every single day. talks to you how much he loves you and how much he wishes you'll stay by his side forever when he thinks you're sleeping (ps. you're not).

cyno, while he doesn't look like it, is the biggest simp if you see through his stoic exterior. he worships the ground you walk on, is willing to do nearly anything just to see you happy and healthy. he will listen to you talk and rant about things he has no idea about for hours or days if needed- not just listen passing-by, he never takes his eyes off you, and listens to every single word with great attention. he's also a living heater so he always warms up your freezing hands and feet without a single complaint. gives the best hugs, and he smells so good too, he will always be the comfort person you needed when you had nobody else to turn to. gives you his jacket even if it's minus 30 celsius outside and INSISTS he isn't cold, even if his nose is clearly turning red. carries the shopping bags for you even if you insist he doesn't need to, he really doesn't want to make you lift anything heavy. if you two order at a restaurant and you don't like your food, he'll gladly switch with yours with no complaints. instead, he'll have a soft, adoring smile when you have another bite from his dish and your eyes sparkle in excitement when you clearly like it better than yours. if you have any scars on your body, that's where he likes to kiss you the most. and he truly thinks the scar, or your entire body and soul is the most beautiful one he's ever encountered. will watch your comfort movie/series with you thousand times over without a single complaint just to see the smile on your face. has a custom-made hoodie that has the ugliest embroidery with a print that says "i love (y/n)" unironically and wears it around the house. not afraid to kiss and cuddle you even when you're sick and try to keep him away in case he catches it but he never listens, instead cuddles in even closer. when you two share a piece of food, he'll purposefully split it in like 6.5/3.5 and give you the bigger piece. oh and he says he'll love you even if you turn into a worm so, that's that.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #xiao x reader genshin #xiao imagines #xiao fluff #xiao x reader fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x reader fluff #albedo x you #albedo x reader #albedo x reader fluff #albedo fluff #tighnari x reader fluff #tighnari imagines #tighnari fluff #tighnari #tighnari x reader #albedo imagines #cyno #cyno x reader fluff #cyno fluff #cyno x reader #cyno x reader hcs #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #kunikuzushi x reader #xiao x reader

[readychilledwine]

The Prettiest Fuck You

Summary - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate

Warnings - slight jealously, mentions of breeding, little IC slander, Tamlin is in a goofy mood

Prompt Day 3 - Mate/Flower Language

A/N - just a short little silly for @tamlinweek I'm so excited for the masterlist for today to pop up. I'm going to eat it all up. I fell in love with the idea of a fuck you bouquet after several reddit posts and a few on here, and Tamlin would seriously love to send one. I just know it.

Tamlin Masterlist

You blinked at Tamlin as you looked over the list of flowers that he had given you. Fox glove, yellow roses and carnations, Cyprus, babies breath, and marigolds?

Insincerity, congratulations, disappointment, death, and jealousy? You put the list down on your work table, silently hoping it would somehow magically disappear under the thousands of stems and ribbons from all the arrangements you had worked in today. “Tamlin-”

“Just do it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your nose, trying to convince you with that signature smile.

“Tam-” You wanted to object to what the bouquet said, even if you would be able to make it absolutely stunning.

“It's fine.” Both hands were on your face as he kissed you softly.

“Ta-”

“It will look beautiful. You make everything so beautiful, dearest.” You couldn't help the soft smile. His words were not a lie. You were the most sought-after florist to the 7 courts for a reason.

You shook it off, focuing again. “Tamlin, this is-”

“Perfect to congratulate them with!” He walked away from you, chuckling as he did. You had little choice. It was a done discussion.

Your mate wasn't a bitter male all the time. Life shined in those bright green eyes, and they were always full of wonder, amazement, love, joy. But the Lord and Lady of Night announcing the birth of their 3rd child and waiting for the praise and attention that was bound to come with it? That made Tamlin bitter, sick, angry.

He had been too stuck in himself, too trapped in years of trauma, to offer Feyre the life he had offered you. One safe from any duties you did not want. One safe from politics. One where you were free to give him a child at any point. One where a family was wanted, but in due time, instead of an expectation to prove your court was moving on.

You were not Tamlin's symbolic incubator. Your womb was not meant to be used to send a message. You were his wife, his love, the one he showered in red roses and baby's breath, a sign of his eternal love and devotion. You two would have children someday. You would have an army if he'd allow it. But for now, until this lingering bitterness passed, you two would just continue to learn and grow together.

You went back to the task at hand

Gathering the buds he had requested and inspecting each and every single one to ensure its perfection and beauty. If you were going to do this. You were going to do it so well that Rhysand would not come mist your mate and then trap you in that damned Stone City. Tamlin learned through you to speak through flowers when they were sent as gifts or placed in his home. He had learned to say congratulations, to say his sympathy, to say his love, to show support. He had learned a new form of expression through you, and as intricately laced and weaved the flowers he had picked into an arrangement, you realized you thought him too well.

The flowers were beautiful, varying shades of yellows, oranges, whites, reds, and you had mixed your favorite feather-like greens in. It seemed so innocent to anyone who didn't know what the flowers symbolized, the language they spoke. It said “Fuck you and die,” in the most beautiful way possible.

You signed as you picked the vase, enchanting everything to last and stamping the card with the sign of the Spring Court, a rose and thorns. You sent it, hugging yourself slightly before walking into your shared room. it was quiet behind that door, and when you opened it, you could not help but to smile.

Centered on your vanity sat a bouquet of White tulips, red roses, and red spider lily. You knew immediately who they were from, who had made the arrangement, and who may be missing her favorite flowers from her garden.

It was stunning. Shades of red and white mixed with greenery that it was so perfectly balanced. It was huge, occupying most of the corner it sat on. He had surrounded it with poetry and chocolates. "Tam," you took one of those soft roses in your hands, smelling that familiar scent and sighing so happily.

You jumped as arms went around your waist, and kiss was placed to the side of your head. “How did it turn out?” His voice was laced with pride over his own creation.

“Gorgeous. I wouldn't make it any other way. Regardless of what you wanted it to say.”

“Elain lives in Day now, right?” You hummed and nodded. “But she will come visit them, won't she?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Perfect. And how about your flowers? How did they turn out?” Your mate, so handsome and strong, tended to need those compliments, and you were eager to hand him praise.

You turned into him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “So beautiful. Thank you for including Spider Lilies. This has to be the most stunning arrangement you've made so far." You touched the spider lily, fingers lingering on the off shoots as you did.

“Growth and new beginnings,” he whispered the meaning to you and watched as you nodded, looking up at him through watering eyes.

“And purity and true love.”

“To symbolize us, y/n.”

“To symbolize us,” you repeated.

Rhysand placed the bouquet from Spring centered on his table. He always admired y/n's work. Yes, Elain did wonderful things with flowers, but centuries of practice and studying had allowed you to create masterpieces with the blink of an eye. He smiled before walking away. Leaving a stunned Elain and Lucien to silently laugh.

Her mate leaned into her ear, red hair falling over her shoulder. “He really out did himself with this one.”

Elain had tears forming, “She made it so beautiful.”

“Do we tell him?”

“No,” Elain fixed the flowers from where they had been resting on Rhysand's chest. “Let Tam have this. I have enjoyed him alive lately. His gardens are exquisite."

"You're exquisite," Lucien squeezed the now supple hips of his mate, loving their new plush. "We should really visit soon."

"We should."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlinweek 2024 d3 #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin x y/n #lucien x elain #elucien

[written-with-blue-ink]

Cuddles with alhaitham? I want to be in his arms desperately please and thank you

Thank you for the ask! Not necessarily cuddles but happy wholesome fluff is coming up <3 also, I got a lot of requests and I am going in order from oldest to newest, sorry for the wait y'all. Wish the Furina wanters to be Furina Havers!

At the Dendro Archon's Decree, Alhaitham X Reader

Being the (Acting) Grand Scribe meant long days and multiple pots of coffee just to get work done. How he wondered how much Aazar and so many previous Grand Sages fucked up just due to not listening to the “Lesser Lord”. 

The average day had him leave long before you woke up and come home when you had finished your dinner, curled in the corner with a book. Sure, the few moments he got to spend with you were precious, but you both knew you wanted more time together. Just seemed like it wasn’t in the cards right now.

That’s why when the doors of the elevator opened, he was not expecting the God of Wisdom sitting at his desk, scribbling down notes and her vizier, no kagemusha was the term he used for himself, sitting off to the side with a scowl and crossed arms. “Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham slowly stated, eyes glancing at the both of them, “I wasn’t aware we had a meeting today.”

Her green eyes fluttered up, her flower-shaped pupils meeting his, and seemed to shine with amusement. “Alhaitham! You’re here,” she smiled, pulling herself up so she was standing on the chair, “you can go home now. Bye!”

The white-haired man narrowed his eyes and cocked a brow as he stepped to the center of the room. “While I don’t mind going home,” he spoke bluntly, “is there a reason for my sudden dismissal?”

“Yeah, you work too much,” the hat-wearing boy said in the corner, a smirk on his face that always seemed to rub Alhaitham slightly the wrong way.

“Exactly,” Nahida smiled, pointing at the boy with indigo hair. “Not in a bad way but you have taken on so much work that was originally split evenly amongst several heads. While we are looking for replacements you have taken on that work but you deserve a break, Grand Sage Alhaitham.”

“Acting Grand Sage,” he corrected but he couldn’t help but feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. “But thank you, Lord Kusanali. I’ll be going now.”

Swiftly turning around and walking back to the elevator, he couldn’t help but smile as Nahida shouted, “Have fun! Tell (Y/N) I said hi!”

Walking out the doors of the Academia’s Library, the edge of the sun started peaking over the horizon. The warmth on his skin seemed to add some speed to his step as he briskly walked home.

---

Waking up in the morning, the smell of fresh bread hit your nose and the light shining through the windows sturred your senses. The thin bronze cat batted at the pillow next to you, her spots seeming darker in the shadow she gave off. “Mornin, Asal… How are you, baby girl?”

She purred as you scratched behind her ear, flopping on her side as you scratched her tummy with a smile. After a minute or two, the smell from outside your bedroom seemed to grow stronger and Asal flipped herself back onto her feet and bounded out the cracked door. You giggle as you hop to your feet, running out the door after her.

Wandering through the hall, you turn the corner just in time to watch Asal crawl up the green fabric before wrapping herself around the neck of a familiar face, his eyes concentrating on the stove as he cooked some eggs. She licked the side of his face, causing him to turn to the left, eyes meeting yours as you both smiled. “What are you doing here, handsome? Shouldn’t you be doing Grand Sage things?”

“Lord Kusanali sent me home and said I needed to spend more time with you,” he said, eyes on you instead of the dish in front of him as he slid the eggs onto a plate. “But you wouldn’t have any idea about that, would you?”

Strutting forward, he places an arm around your waist. “Why, I have no idea what you could be insinuating,” you smirk, placing a kiss on his lips as he pulls you closer to his chest.

Asal crawled down from the man’s neck into your arms, purring as you held her close. Alhaitham rolled his eyes, leading you to a table covered in slices of bread, cheeses, honey, and other spreads. Pulling a chair out for you, he spoke, “Then how did the Dendro Archon know you and I were dating? I don’t necessarily talk about my private life at work.”

“Well,” you coo, placing a hand on his, “I may or may not have run into her while I was bringing you lunch a few weeks ago. Then she would occasionally stop by in my dreams and we would talk… You aren’t mad, are you?”

His eyes melted at the question. Leaning over the chair, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and he placed a kiss in your hair, “How could I ever be upset at you?”

#genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x you #al haitam x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #genshin nahida #lesser lord kusanali #scaramouche #genshin fluff #genshin oneshots #genshin men #genshin men x reader

[maniacwatchestheworld]

DPxDC requested prompt (#7)

(@bearerofendlesspain You know... Only after writing this whole thing do I realize that I had read this prompt wrong... WHOOPS! I read it as "Poison Ivy and Tucker are eating blood blossoms to extinction." and not as what was likely intended which seems to have been more along the lines of... "Batman rogue: Poison Ivy. Conflict: Tucker is eating blood blossoms to extinction." ... Which in this particular context are way, WAAAAAY different ideas! I could have saved myself a lot of distress if I had read it correctly... >.> But ah well! Whoops! Hope you enjoy this anyway! Thinking about a plant going extinct like this was quite distressing for me to write! :D)

"Hey. Thanks for helping me out with this, Tuck. And you know... For keeping all of this a secret from Sam." Danny smiled in appreciation to Tucker as they began to break ground with their shovels. "She would probably HATE what we're doing right now!"

"Yeah, of course, dude! It's no problem at all. The more we get rid of these blood blossoms here in Amity Park, the better it is for you and all of the ghosts in the area! Besides, I never want to even think about having to eat another one of these things ever again!" Tucker shivered at the memory of having to eat blood blossoms to save Danny and Sam's lives.

With that, the two got to work killing the bush of blood blossoms. They were digging to expose the roots so they could tear the plant from the ground whole. That made things easier when they would shove the entirety of the plant into a plastic garbage bag along with the other blood blossom bushes they had already uprooted. Once they were done with this area, they would take all of the bushes they had uprooted over the course of the day and bring them to an incinerator where they would destroy the plant- burning the flowers, stems, roots, and seeds all in one fell swoop. They had to make certain to destroy the whole plant, including the roots and seeds, just to make sure that there was no chance of the bush growing back from just its roots or more bushes getting planted in their place. They had been making good progress in wiping out the blood blossoms in this area. They just had a few more to uproot here and they could move on to the next area! They had been at this for months and were getting pretty close to their goal of exterminating blood blossoms in the whole of Amity Park!

But just as they were pulling this bush from the ground, a beautiful red-haired woman started charging towards them. "What do you think you're doing!???" she roared. The woman was clearly frantic.

Danny and Tucker glanced to one another. "Removing a bush...?" Danny answered, not certain what was going on.

"'Removing a bush' ... Alright, kids, stop what you're going and step away from that 'bush' right now!" She demanded. And while Danny complied, letting go of the plant and backing away, Tucker didn't and instead began to haul the shrub from the ground.

"Come on, lady. We're just removing some weeds. This isn't anything to freak out over." Tucker turned to roll his eyes at the woman where Danny could see but she couldn't.

"A 'weed'? A 'WEED'!!? You really don't have any idea what you're doing do you!? Do you even know what these 'weeds' are!?" The woman was obviously distressed, and growing more agitated by the moment.

Tucker let out a flippant breath. "They're blood blossoms, duh."

"Yes. And this specific species of blood blossoms are native and endemic to the Amity Park area!"

"Okay...? So what?" Tucker wasn't entirely certain what she was talking about.

"And they're an endangered species!"

"Oh... I- I didn't know!" Danny swore, suddenly feeling bad about what he and Tucker had been doing.

"So?" Meanwhile, Tucker had the opposite reaction. "What are you, a botanist or something? Who cares if these blood blossoms go extinct?"

"Yes. I am a botanist..." Danny was watching as the horror on the woman's face was slowly turning into fury.

"Tucker...? I think that you should just leave the plant alone..." Danny cautiously advised.

"What!? After all the work we've put into killing off all of these stupid flowers? Now you're starting to sound like Sam! We've been at this months! No way I'm stopping now!"

"MONTHS!???" That was the absolute last straw. These children have been exterminating these poor, defenseless, endangered plants for months!? Dr. Pamela Isley- more famously known as Poison Ivy- had heard enough. These boys were going to pay. "You might not care about these flowers dying, but I do! The land- The Green does! You need biodiversity in order to have a healthy ecosystem, and these flowers play an important role in that! You can't just go around, carelessly digging up and killing innocent, endangered plants without there being... Consequences."

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompts #dc x dp #tucker foley #danny fenton #poison ivy #pamela isley #For the record if Tucker was eating them it would only be out of obligation because Danny asked him to. #I purposefully didn't mention whether Ivy's skin is green here or not. If she has the green skin and the plant controlling powers #just pretend that she's wearing makeup to make her skin look normal because she knew that she was going outside of Gotham. #People in Gotham usually don't question it but people outside of it certainly do! #Also Ivy is DEFINITELY going to kill them. Maybe not right now but rest assured she will poison Tucker eventually. #Also I am SO sorry for making Tucker into such a villain in these! It's not intentional I swear! #I like Tucker just fine! PLEASE give me a request where he can be the voice of reason! #Good luck to the kids tho lol

[kaciidubs]

Untitled [Hesitation]

❣ Summary: A short drabble inspired from this tiktok. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 628 ❣ Warnings: Fluff, sort of slice of life, Minghao is whipped for reader, Reader is whipped for him and the IDUBILY choreo, no general plot ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Minghao is referred to as Hao and Baby, Reader is referred to as Brat and Flower ❣ Seventeen Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Can you do it for me? Please?”

He was weak when it came to you, and even weaker when it came to you begging.

“Ah- Seriously-”

“Hao, please? You know it’s my favorite song and seeing you perform it drives me crazy! I just want this one part!”

You were the death of him.

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes tight, “Fine, but only this once, okay?”

The sparkle in your tired eyes alleviated some of the embarrassment that fell over him as he raised his hand to the arduously done tie resting around his neck, though just before his fingers could graze the soft material his hand flinched - stuttering to rise up to his face instead, hiding the sheepish smile growing on his lips.

“Minghao,” you pouted, eyes focused on him like a cat to a laser pointer, “come on, baby, why are you hesitating?”

He wondered if his tongue would even form the words to begin to admit why he was acting this way - he’d done this time and time again before thousands of screaming fans, yet when it came to the gentle request of his girlfriend, he felt like he was at his wits end.

Steeling his nerves with a tight lipped smile, he brought his hand back down to the knot in his tie before pulling it loose, using his second hand to grab the opposite length to fully untie it before slipping it away from the white pressed collar - leaving him in the button down and black suit jacket.

“Satisfied?”

He could recognize the look on your face from a mile away - thankfully, the quality of your phone picked it up just as well as if he were sitting in front of you; noting the slight peek of your tongue running across your lower lip, the hint of the rise of your shoulders from the breath you took, right down to the minute flutter of your eyelids as you took in his significantly changed appearance.

Truly, you were the death of him.

“Hm, not really… I think I need to see you do the rest of the dance.”

If it weren’t for the bubble of giggles that floated through his phone speaker right after, he would’ve lost his mind - more so than he already had.

“You little brat!” Minghao groaned, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t understand you.”

“But I love you.” You teased softly before ducking your head down to - terribly - hide a yawn.

His lips ticked up in a gentle smile, watching you with loving eyes, “You should go to bed - It’s not good for you to be up this late.”

“Mm, but I wanted to talk to you more about the concert…”

“So call me in the morning, I’ll tell you then.”

“Hao-”

“Flower, I know you miss me, but you and I both know this isn’t going to make time go faster.” Leaning into his phone, he tilted his head slightly, “Sleep? For me?”

There was a beat of silence before you sighed softly, shuffling on the other side of the screen until the warm glow of  your lamp was turned off.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” you mumbled softly, shuffling the phone closer to your darkened face, “it’ll be too late in the night over there to call.”

He shook his head, “Call me - I’ll pick up.”

With a tired hum, you managed to crack a small smile, “Okay, I’ll call.”

“Good.” Tilting his head straight, he mentally chastised himself for subconsciously keeping the call going with a short breath, “Good night, I love you.”

He watched as your barely illuminated features softened, sleepy eyes sparkling with a warmth that had him falling all over again.

“Good night, I love you too, Hao.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling,

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#svt fluff #seventeen fluff #xu minghao x reader #minghao x reader #xu minghao fluff #minghao fluff

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GOD, IF YOU ARE ABOVE

SUMMARY : technically part two of demonology and heartache (which I haven’t posted, yet). an au in which dean is a priest and the reader is a demon with an obsession to corrupt him. 

PAIRING : priest!dean winchester x demon!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, voyeurism, smut, p in v, masturbation, corruption kink, priest kink, blasphemy, defiling a church, jealousy

WORD COUNT : 1.8k

A/N : falling in reverse song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — voyeurism and priest kink. no spoilers for the fic I haven’t posted. @jacklesversebingo card square — voyeurism. this is… uh… I’m going to hell XXXX

Dean attempted to act as if she didn’t affect him. He felt so guilty, he wouldn’t even dare confess to his superiors what he’d done or tell them that the new nun they brought to the church was in fact an ancient demon. 

The truth was, she hadn’t harmed anyone physically. But he had a feeling it was her that influenced the strange closeness between Sister Perlamaria and Sister Arelys. And the scent of cigarettes and alcohol that billowed from Father Calvo’s breath. And the dirty dreams he’s been having every night, more frequently than before, always with her. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to come clean about her to someone who could do something about her subtle corruption within the church, the defilement of all that was once in everyone in the church.

Dean wondered what she told the people who came by and how she so easily managed to make people believe her, how she convinced them to do as she suggested, not even having to lift a finger to get what she wanted. 

Well, that was the case for everyone else except him. For him, she made him dream about her, fantasies of doing things to her, and of her doing things to him. And when he was under her spell—which really wasn’t a spell at all, but rather his lust and desire for carnality—she pounced on him. And now, he was hers. 

He struggled to keep her promiscuous behaviour to a minimum, it was difficult to control her at all—and it was arousing all together, unfortunately for him. He couldn’t resist her and eventually, the dreams ended, but his desire for her was undying. She was truly wicked, burrowing into him and planting seeds that would grow of their own accord.

His desire for her bloomed on its own within him, a few intimate touches, sultry glances, and seductive words sent in his direction were enough to keep those flowers from withering away. They were more like weeds than flowers, he wanted to get rid of his desire, but he couldn’t. They invaded all that he was. 

But it was a nice feeling that made him… free. He didn’t want to stop, not after getting a taste of her sinful lips, not after getting his hands on her soft body, not after she slept with him. 

He walked to her room again, like he did every night. Sometimes she was nowhere to be found. Other times she’d be asleep. Or she’d read the Bible mockingly, marking the text and correcting the stories. If he was lucky, he’d catch her touching herself, moaning his name as she climaxed on her fingers. 

He was too much of a coward to enter her room. He knew that she knew he watched her when she touched herself. He wasn’t brave enough to enter her room to bury himself inside the warmth of her body. Instead he returned to his room to finish the job with his own hand.

Today, he was too tired to sneak around and add to the guilt that already weighed him down. As exhilarating as it was to be with her and to see her every once in a while, as a break from what his father wanted him to do. Dean just wanted to give in completely to something he wanted, to something new.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew it was not a coincidence that the doors were shutting by themselves as he made his way back to his room. A shiver ran down his spine, prickling his skin so his hairs stood on end, but there were no windows open. He knew it was her.

He got to his room, but the door didn’t budge. He sighed tiredly, but a smile tugged at his lips despite how wrong it felt to walk away from his room with a spark of thrill in his blood. 

He followed the chill around the cathedral, allowing self-shutting doors to take him wherever he knew Y/n was guiding him. 

Eventually, he made his way to the nave. The moonlight poured through stained glass, onto the walls and floor. Dean didn’t have to look around for her because he could hear her pleasuring herself, and straight across, on the altar, was her. 

Naked. His breath caught in his throat. He felt… offended. Afraid. Aroused. 

He froze where he stood, having a clear view of her skin and her body. Her hand moved between her legs, her other cupped her breast, and she arched her back off the hard flat surface of the altar. 

He wasn’t sure if it was all a show for him. Or if she wanted to get caught on purpose. He also thought of the possibility that she may even be trying to tempt the other Sisters or Fathers, the way she had with him. 

The dreams of carnal love-making ended. The escapes from her quarters into his to enact his fantasies had lessened. He didn’t know if she was bored of him and was moving on to a new victim or if she was teasing him, testing him. 

He was jealous, he could feel the heat rise up his face at the thought of her interest moving away from him to someone else. She was a demon, afterall, she had no loyalties to anyone, no conscience or care for the concept of monogamy. He couldn’t believe he had feelings for her, as if she would do the same. He knew she didn’t, she would never reciprocate, she couldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He stepped closer to her, his stomach fluttering, his heart palpitating… He felt hot all over, jealous, angry, so many emotions—including lust. His hands shook and walking felt uncomfortable from how erect he was within the confines of his black dress pants.

She was taking longer than normal to get off, smoothing her hands over her soft, fleshy body. Laying herself out completely over the decorated altar, staring up at the crucifix defiantly when her hand travelled back down between her legs. 

Dean wondered if she’d done it before, if she did it always. He knew nothing about her, except for the taste of her mouth and her pussy, the texture of her skin, her lips, and her warmth deep within… a warmth that simply did not reach her eyes, it was only lust in disguise. 

Her head rolled to the side, eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, pants and moans echoing through the wooden walls. Her eyes fluttered open when one of his feet dragged loudly across the floor, and she lifted her head to see the intruder, a mischievous smirk growing on her face.

She spread her legs further apart, her fingers moving quickly against her clit, fingers plunging inside her pussy faster as he stood frozen in place. His lungs tightened as she stared into his eyes just a few feet away from him, her moans getting louder and needier. 

He was breathless and his legs felt like he was walking through tar, but he was still able to rush over to her, and slap a hand over her mouth to silence the lewd sounds she was making. His presence only seemed to spur her, she stared up into his eyes shamelessly, and he did the same for a few moments before looking away. 

His gaze slowly trailed down to her breasts as she arched further off the flat surface. He traced the curve of her waist with his green eyes, captivated by her arousing beauty. He felt her tongue against his palm and her teeth, and he stared back up at her lecherously, breathing heavily as she moaned his name against his palm.

He pushed her thighs apart and stared obscenely as she fingered herself and rubbed her clit, her thighs and fingers soaked in her excitement. He held his hand tightly to her mouth to continue muffling the hot sounds she was making, and brought his other hand down to keep her thighs apart, holding her leg bruisingly onto the altar, until she fell apart on her own fingers.

She cried into his hand, worshipping his name as she writhed and shook. Her eyes pierced his, shining with desire—and what he thought was reverence. 

When he released her, Dean tilted his head at her. She relaxed, catching her breath while staring up at him, her lust devouring him whole. 

“Do you always do this here?” He asked her, shoving his coat off his shoulders. She read the situation wrong, and excitedly reached for his belt to unbuckle it as she shook her head at him. “Don’t,” he implored quietly, placing his coat over her shoulders.

“Please,” she whispered, releasing him nonetheless. She leaned back on her arms and watched him, her eyes begging him to take her where she was. 

“I can’t,” Dean murmured, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. She breathed in and kissed him back, taking his hands to them on her warm hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning backwards until he was leaning over her. “My room,” he mumbled against her lips, but she pulled away to scowl playfully.

“You don’t have to take your clothes off,” she smiled cheekily, shrugging his coat off her shoulders. He stared down at her body and inhaled sharply, squeezing her hips. “It’s actually hotter if you leave it on, Father,” she teased, tugging his belt to encourage him, but she didn’t remove it. 

“You still want me?” He asked, kissing her shoulder. She pulled away and gazed up at him for a few seconds, confused by his question.  

“Yes…?” She started to unbuckle his belt slowly, waiting for him to stop her if he didn’t want her to go further. “Why are you asking?” She asked anyway, gasping when she felt two fingers push into her, her stomach fluttering. 

“I like the attention you give me,” he confessed as she worked his pants off faster. 

“Well…” she began thoughtfully, “you’re the most interesting person here.” Dean hummed in approval of her answer and slipped his fingers out of her to wrap them around his cock, teasing her wet slit like she’d taught him.

The word “good,” rumbled hotly through him and he pushed into her wet entrance, then grabbed her thighs to pull her to the edge of the table. Fully sheathed inside her, they both moaned quietly, her legs bending at the knees so she could press him into his sides, holding him close.

“There’s nothing good about my interest in you, Dean,” she purred sensuously, her fingers curling around the back of his neck, slipping through his soft hair. She pulled him down and kissed him, gratified by the arousal burning furiously in his green eyes like a forest on fire.

That look in his eyes was why she did this. Deep down, there was a purity in his soul she could never defile, not like she had done to everyone and everything in this church. The light within him burned so brightly, it could not be easily extinguished, and that was an exciting challenge she didn’t mind failing. 

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#12daysofspnkinkmas2023 #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction

[telemi]

Hi can i request hurt/comfort probably with ayato, childe and diluc where they're too busy and the reader confronted them about it but they just shrug it off and the reader becames tired and leave? ;;

growing tired — ft. ayato, childe, diluc

ִֶָ𓂅 a flower that once bloomed . . .

꒰ cw ! ꒱ hurt to comfort, gn!reader, not proofread ?!

K. AYATO

it had been days since you last saw ayato. he had been busy... as the servants have said. he neither made the effort to show himself nor spend time with you. even getting a glance of his blue hair is hard to do because: 1.) you wake up and he’s not there, presumably at work. 2.) he rarely sleeps in your bedroom now. it’s like your shared bedroom has no use to him at all!

when you finally decided to confront him about it, he doesn’t look at you and instead he focuses on the documents on his table. “can we talk about this later? i have important matters to attend to.” he shoos you away like some sort of animal as he turns his head away and just leaves you there. with your fists clenched and your eyes dull, your lips quiver slightly and you smile weakly — “i see, okay, let’s talk later then.”

after his work is done, he finally realizes what he just said. he rushes back to your bedroom, only to notice that you’re not there. huh, not a big deal right? you’re probably outside. when he steps outside however, you were nowhere in sight, and that’s when he panics. he shouts, screams, yells your name but to no avail. the servants haven’t seen you either so just where could you be?

as the sun sets with no news of your whereabouts, he became restless. just then thoma came running to him and told him that he saw you silently enter the premises of the estate, and ayato is more than relieved to hear that. please, please, please be alright — he chants repeatedly, hoping that you weren’t hurt by anyone.

as you remove your shoes, a sudden force collapses from behind you and a familiar scent engulfs your senses. oh, how you’ve missed this. he clings to you like you’re his lifeline and his whole body trembles uncontrollably. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said that. it was wrong of me and—”

“ayato, hey, it’s fine.” you ease his worries and hush him quietly. turning your front to him, you place your palm on his cheek, leaning in close and leaving a soft kiss on his lips. he softens against your touch and keeps a firm, loving gaze on you. “please don’t ever leave me like that.”

you tilt your head, confused. “hm? i was merely taking a walk though?” oh.

CHILDE

last month, childe brought you to meet his family in snezhnaya. their first impressions of you were great! they basically loved you already <33 but childe wasn’t the most diligent when it comes to your relationship. just a week ago, he left you at home to finish up some ‘stuff’ at his workplace. he didn’t specify much but that’s pretty much what he said.

at first you didn’t mind his absence that much, teucer and tonya kept you company while his parents kept talking to you about how ajax was such a cute baby. they showed you his baby album yes. but as time went on, you realized that it was lonely without him. no cuddles, hello’s, or late night talks — nothing. so when he comes back home with a huge, thick coat wrapped around him, you engulf him in a big hug before he pushes you away harshly shortly after. “don’t touch me. let’s talk later, i’m tired.” he tells you with a tone filled with exhaustion and you nod your head thoughtfully, not wanting to disturb him any longer.

after a few hours of laying down on your shared bedroom, he finally shoots up from the mattress and rubs his temples in realization. shit, what an idiot he is. he calls for your name repeatedly but no one answered, it is at that moment where he starts to worry. he asks teucer if he had seen you but the little boy simply shook his head ‘no’. he asks his older siblings if they had seen you yet he was only met with another shake of their heads again. just where could you be?

after a few minutes of panicking, he hears the front door open and it reveals you with his mother carrying a bag of groceries. you stop by your tracks when you make eye contact with him, but before you can say a simple ‘hello’, he runs up to you and hugs you tightly. “ ‘m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that, no— i will never do it again. please don’t leave me.” his voice quavers slightly while you cage your hands behind is back, dropping your groceries and soothing him quietly. “i will never. it’s all right, ajax.”

and he swears he could tear up right there and then if it weren’t for his family looking at the two of you like they were watching a romance show.

DILUC

diluc had been out of it lately. out of the manor, out of your life — everything. he just says that he has some work to do outside of town and that you shouldn’t concern yourself with such matters. for ten consecutive days, he still hasn’t returned home and you started to get anxious. what if he got into trouble? or perhaps danger? just thinking about it makes you dread. but when he comes home completely unscathed, you were more than relieved.

“diluc, how have you been? do you need a bath? i can tell adelinde to—”

“stop. i’m tired, don’t bother me for a while.” he sighs against his palm as he passes by you like you were a nobody. “oh, okay..” you grip your fingers in a state of both anxiousness and relief as you retreat to the living room.

he enters the master bedroom and flumps on the soft mattress. i can clean this up later, he thinks before he drifts into sleep. when he finally awoke from his slumber it was already midnight and you were nowhere to be found.

....

not a big deal. you probably went to the bathroom. a few minutes passed and you still didn’t return. okay, now he was getting restless.

did you leave? it was all his fault, why did he have to say something so stupid earlier. stupid, idiotic diluc ragnvindr.

he gets up from his position and walks out the door with a blank, but worried expression on his face. the mansion was quiet, mostly because the workers and servants are all asleep. he slowly walks down the stairs and the moment he stepped down the last step, his heart was crushed at the sight of you. your body was sleeping on the couch, clearly uncomfortable, but still you made room for it. he approaches you and kneels down, placing his forehead onto yours while letting out a shaky breath, “thank goodness.”

he lifts you up gently as to not disturb your peaceful sleep and slowly brings you up the stairs to your shared bedroom. he lays you down gently and brushes off any stray hair away from your face. his hand strokes the side of your face and he whispers underneath his breath, “i’m sorry, my love.” even though you were asleep, you felt as if something sweet brushed over your thoughts and you could never be happier.

🏷️ — ( taglist ) : @kujuo, @yonaraee, @modmochi, @thirtyn1ne, @elizabethrosedarling, @albenyx, @deathkat657, @kazu-topia , @starfellforyou (refer to this post if you want to be tagged in my future works)

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #ayato angst #kamisato ayato angst #diluc x reader #diluc x you #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x you #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr x you #diluc angst #diluc ragnvindr angst #childe x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe angst #tartaglia angst #genshin angst #genshin impact angst

[seiya-starsniper]

For Fluffy February 15 Dreamling

SOMEHOW, I managed to finish this before February ending 🤣🤣

Enjoy the shamless fluff anon!

Fluffbruary Prompt List || AO3 Link Here

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

“Oh! Let’s look at this stall, Hob!”

Morpheus looks up from his crafting table and is met with the sight of a couple in their early thirties approaching his shop. Or rather, the woman is dragging her partner towards his shop. Morpheus thinks he recognizes her, a thought that is later confirmed as he slowly recognizes the various pieces of her outfit from other vendors on the fairgrounds. She’s adorned in one of Lucienne’s gorgeous handmade corsets, and Morpheus is pretty certain her peasant blouse and skirt are from Matthew and Jessamy’s pirate themed shop. The flower crown expertly woven into her bright blonde hair confirms that the woman is definitely a dedicated attendee. One with plenty of money to spend.

Her partner though, he’s wearing a rented costume so Morpheus thinks it’s probably his first time here. She did call him Hob though. How period accurate for the Renaissance Faire. 

“Good morrow my friends,” Morpheus greets them, falling easily into his shopkeeper persona. “How may I assist the Lord and Lady today?” The woman giggles at being addressed as a lady. 

“I’ve heard,” she stage-whispers, holding her hand up to her cheek, “that you are the best jeweler in all the lands, good sir.” Her face is full of delight as she says this, and Morpheus cannot help but play along. 

“I dare say you have heard the truth m’lady,” Morpheus answers with his own conspiratorial smile. “Shall I show you my collection of wares?” he asks, gesturing to the glass display case just underneath his hands. The woman squeals in delight.

“Oh Hob, they’re so beautiful!” she croons as she dips her head to look at the jewelry displayed inside. She points at a few items she’s interested in, some necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, but decidedly foregoes the rings. Interesting. 

“Did you hand make all of these yourself?” the woman asks as she and Hob try on a matching set of Celtic knot necklaces.

“Aye, milady,” Morpheus answers. “We can also customize any piece, and also resize, if needed,” he adds. 

“Pretty handy,” the man, Hob, says, finally joining the conversation. He smiles at Morpheus, who feels his face grow warm at the compliment.

Though he hadn’t paid attention to the man as much as the woman when they’d first entered the shop, upon closer inspection, Morpheus realizes that Hob is quite attractive. He was maybe an inch or two taller than Morpheus, with broad shoulders and muscled thighs that were clearly on display in his rented Faire outfit. His chin-length brown hair framed a kind face with thick brows and a full mouth that looked like it had been built for laughing.

And oh, that smile. Hob smiled with his entire face, creasing his brows, eyes, cheeks, and mouth all at once as he appreciates the look of Morpheus’s work around his neck in the mirror. It makes Morpheus’s fingers itch. He wants to dress this man in the finest jewelry he could craft. He wants that smile, that radiance, that warmth, to be directed at Morpheus instead of the woman he’d come here with, even though she’d done nothing to deserve such a fate. But Morpheus has never been looked at the way Hob looks at his girlfriend. He’s rather certain he hasn’t seen many men look at any of their partners that way. It tugs at Morpheus’s freshly broken heart, and he has to force himself to refocus his attention on her instead of her partner, who seemed to have his own gravitational pull.

They eventually leave with the matching necklaces, and the woman, Eleanor, signs up for his mailing list, promising to buy more jewelry on his website. Morpheus believes her too. In addition to the necklaces, she’d bought a set of earrings and bracelets for herself, insisting that Hob not pay for her purchase. Her independence makes Morpheus smile, despite his jealousy. He wonders if next year, he might convince them to upgrade to the engagement, or even the wedding bands. 

Morpheus forgets all about the couple by the end of the day, but he feels a sense of melancholy and longing that he cannot quite explain as he packs up his shop for the night. He wonders if maybe he should take up Matthew and Jessamy’s offer for drinks tonight. If only to break out of his monotonous routine. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting at home for him anymore, after all.

Morpheus doesn’t recognize Hob at first when the man wanders into his shop a year later with a rowdy group of friends. They’re all clearly drunk, and Morpheus is curious as to what about his shop could have possibly caught this group’s eye.

But then he sees the Celtic knot hanging from Hob’s neck, resting on a very hairy chest, and recognition dawns on Morpheus.

“I’d recognize that pendant and chain anywhere,” Morpheus greets with a smile, which causes a rowdy set of encouraging shouts and playful ribbing to erupt from the group. 

“You do, do you?” Hob asks, his words only a little bit slurred as he smiles at Morpheus, a tankard of what smells like mead and beer in his hand.

“I do,” Morpheus answers with his own smile. “But it seems to be missing its partner. Tell me, where is the Lady this lovely afternoon?”

Morpheus knows immediately he’s asked the wrong thing when Hob’s face falls.

“Oy mate, don’t bring up the man’s ex like that!” one of Hob’s friends scolds Morpheus, which makes Morpheus wince. A small chorus of boos erupts from the group as well.

“Ignore them,” Hob says, waving at his friends to shut up. “They mean well but I walked in here wearing one half of a set, it only makes sense you’d ask.”

“Still,” Morpheus insists. “I’m sorry about—er—” Morpheus is horrified to realize he has completely forgotten the woman’s name. 

“Hah!” Hob laughs, clearly amused rather than offended. “Her name was Eleanor. I’m Hob by the way.”

“I know,” Morpheus says, then winces again. 

“Do you, now?” Hob asks, with a cheeky grin. He places his tankard of unknown alcohol on Morpheus’s display case and then leans on it. “You remember my name, but not Eleanor’s?”

“She called you by name multiple times, and Hob isn’t exactly the most common of names used when taking on a Faire persona,” Morpheus says, hoping that his explanation doesn’t sound nearly half as creepy as he feels.

“I know, that’s why I picked it,” Hob grins. “I do use it outside of here too, you know.”

“You do not,” Morpheus replies, aghast. What man in his right mind would willingly go by the name Hob and risk endless jokes on doorknobs and stoves?

“I do,” Hob says with a wink before he bows dramatically. “Professor Hob Gadling of the Medieval Studies Department of XX University, at your service, my good sir.”

“Oy Hobsie, stop showing off!” one of Hob’s friends calls from a different part of the shop. Morpheus hadn’t even noticed they’d dispersed to look around, he had been so entranced by Hob’s reappearance.

“Yeah, are you buying anything? You’re the one that wanted to come here!”

“Ah, is the good sir looking for something new?” Morpheus asks, slipping back into character, and hoping to hide his embarrassment. “Mayhaps something to help ease a broken heart?”

“Something like that,” Hob answers, sheepishly, his fingers fiddling with his right ear. Morpheus tries to show how entranced he is by the motion. “Listen I was wondering if—uh—well, you know—if there was time—”

“He wants to know if you’re single and ready to mingle!” one of Hob’s friends shouts, followed by a loud chorus of agreement. “And if you’re into men!” another one adds. 

“What the flying fuck Davey!” Hob turns and shouts at his friends, who all laugh and raise their glasses to a toast. 

“Get your man Hobsie, so we can keep getting drunk!”

Hob groans and hides his face in his hands, muttering something about ‘worst wingmen ever’ and Morpheus cannot help it. He bursts into laughter, and has to clutch at the cash register behind him for support.

“I don’t suppose we can forget this whole thing ever happened?” Hob asks, once Morpheus has caught his breath. His face is red with embarrassment, and Morpheus wonders if the man blushes so prettily on other parts of his body as well. 

“I’m afraid not,” Morpheus answers, shaking his head solemnly. “But my evening is available after the Faire closes tonight,” he adds with a wry smile.

Hob’s entire body perks up immediately. “Seriously? You’re interested?”

“As long as you intend for us to be alone,” Morpheus answers, his eyes falling to Hob’s posse behind him. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Hob exclaims, nodding eagerly. Morpheus cannot help but smile as Hob’s friends continue to tease him while they exchange contact information and make plans to meet outside the Faire grounds later. He even manages to make a few sales from the group. Morpheus wishes Hob could stay longer and that they could talk more, but the post-lunch crowd that spills into the shop dashes those plans for now. 

Hob doesn’t miss an opportunity to show off again though. He takes Morpheus’s hand and kisses it, bowing deeply, and causing the rest of the shop to coo and cheer at the romantic display.

“I shall miss you dearly, beloved, until we next meet again,” Hob declares loudly as he exits the shop with his friends.

“You’re seeing him tonight you dingbat!” Morpheus hears one of his friends laugh.

After the post-lunch crowd leaves, Morpheus sits at his crafting table, looking over his in-progress projects, and wonders if custom jewelry is a bit too much for a first date. Hob had worn the Celtic knot necklace though, and it was clear he needed a replacement.

Rubies, Morpheus decides. Hob would look good in rubies. Morpheus readjusts the setup of his table and gets to work, mentally counting down the minutes until he’d be able to see Hob’s smiling face again.

#dreamling #hob x dream #morpheus x hob #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

[spider999sposts]

a.n: different kind of post everyone. smutty miguel o'hara × fem!reader drabble I wrote to avoid getting burnt out. might write a part 2. requests for smut are open ;)

Silence filled the apartment as soon as the door slammed shut. Your purse was aggressively thrown at the counter, flopping over and falling to the ground from the impact.

It was suppose to be about you. An anniversary only comes once a year, you weren't asking for much. He did come, and for the most part you had forgotten all about the times he didn't.

It was going well. The two of you were laughing, smiling, talking. He couldn't keep his hands off you either. He even got you a gift, an expensive watch you've been eyeing for a while, but you never expected him to notice you wanted it or even remember. For an hour, you had completely pushed back the fact that he was almost never around anymore, deciding to enjoy whatever time you managed to get with him.

Then something started beeping, and you realised he'd been wearing his gizmo under his suit this whole time. He got up abruptly, telling you he is sorry, that he will come back, but you knew better. You stayed in your seat for a while, a naïve part of you giving him a chance, the waiter came over by a couple of times, asking you if you wanted to order your entreé now, when he came over for the third time, you just asked him for the check.

You grumbled as you fell on a nearby chair, whatever excuse he had this time, it needed to be a really good one.

Your huffs and puffs came to a halt when you heard the balcony door slide open. The familiar glow of his blue and red suit reflected in your eyes. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and when his mask dissipated, you saw the apologetic look on his face. You turned your face away.

"I needed to run a quick errand, amor. Just a technical problem. I wasn't gone for long." His words were met with unsettling silence. Miguel expected you'd be at least throwing a snarky remark or even reprimanding him for what he did, but this silence, it was new.

"I got you flowers." He said, as if that was suppose to make you throw yourself at his arms. Telling him how much of a great man he is. But you didn't say anything, only folding your arms over your chest. Miguel tossed the flowers on the table, and walked over to stand infront of you.

"You know, I don't like not being looked at." His hands were at both arms of the chair, and he was leaning over you. Your eyes met his, only because he moved his head to look at you. You looked the other way. He didn't get to look at you. Not after today.

"I don't like being ignored either."

The urge to reply to him was increasing. Where does he get all this audacity from?

"Maybe if I wouldn't ignore you if you didn't ditch me in the middle of our anniversary dinner."

is what you would've said, but you knew that's what he wants, and you sure as hell weren't going to give him anything he wants after the little stunt he pulled.

Miguel huffed, growing rather irritated. He couldn't apologise to you if you were just going to ignore him. He ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.

Then he kneeled.

You almost moved, almost asked him what he was doing, but you didn't. You were committed to the bit, until he proves that was truly sorry for what he'd done.

He removed his hands from the armrest, and instead put them on your exposed knees. "If you're not going to talk to me, I'm going to make you." The sight of him on his knees, his big, gloved hands against your skin, it made your tummy flutter. He caught your hesitant gaze, flashing you a grin. His hands spread your legs apart, and lowered his head. His fangs grazed against the skin above your knee, "Sorry." He mumbled, leaving a kiss against your skin. It dawned on you that he was apologising for what he'd done, "I wouldn't have left if it wasn't important."

That was the most half–assed apology you've ever received, but it was getting harder to think when his kisses were getting more frequent. He'd reached your inner thigh, and when he did, he sunk his teeth into your skin, sucking on the spot. The moans were caught stuck in your throat, you refused to let them out.

Miguel noticed how tense your body got, and looked up at you, raising his brows. "You're gonna stay silent through this too?" He asked, the grin never leaving his face. "That's fine, you won't be able to keep this up for long anyway." When he removed his head, you saw the spot he'd been sucking on was turning purple already.

He got off his knees, returning to his previous position, leaning over you with his hands on each side of the chair. He latched his mouth to your neck, peppering kisses all over your skin. You gripped the wood, digging your fingernails into the chair and closing your eyes. "Is this your idea of punishment?" He rasped, grabbing onto the strap of your dress. "Staying queit? This is torturing you more than me." It was true, your throat felt sore and that feeling in your stomach was not going away.

In one swift move, Miguel ripped the fabric off of you using one of his talons. You closed your legs as soon as you felt the coldness from the room, but Miguel put his knee between them, a grin on his face.

"I'll make it up for you, amor, if you'll let me."

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel o'hara #hobie brown #lyla spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #gabriella o’hara #atsv pavitr #gwen stacy #marvel #astv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miles morales #spider man: across the spider verse

[fluffysucker]

Say Something.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

'You are the one that I love, and I'm saying goodby'

It is written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

A/N: I was writing a request that was so fluffy but couldn't shake this from my head. I had to let it out. Let me know if you want part two. Also, if any of you wanted to in a taglist, you are so welcome. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Mentions of physical abuse. Mention of miscarriage.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to focus on the good things. Your hair was combed to perfection. Not a single strand of hair falling from its place. The hairpieces made the hairstyle ravishing. The simple makeup look you asked for was excellently done. Highlighting your best features with colours that work best with your skin tone. However, the best thing yet was the dress. It was your dream dress. It hugged your body like it was made specially for me, which it was. From the material, the shade of the white, to its exact length in centimetres, the dress was dazzling. And the look was beautifully finished with the white flowers you were holding.

You looked stunning. The most gorgeous you have ever been. However, you didn't feel like it. You wanted to get out of here. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to hide from everyone. It was becoming too real. There was no escape. Before the panic could take over and make you break down on the floor, the door to your room knocked. You turned to see your father enter the room.

On this day, they said fathers get emotional. They would tear up or cry. You would be able to see the undying love they have for their little girls as they grow up. But you could only see one thing in your father's eyes. Victory. He was about to have the biggest deal of his life finalised today, no matter what it cost. You wondered if the signs had always been there. That your rocky relationship with your father would lead to this. The lies you used to tell yourself that your father loved you were never true. That your happiness mattered nothing in the face of his interests. At least he had the decency to tell you that you looked beautiful.

You locked your hand between his arms as he led you outside, where everyone was waiting. You tried to ease your nerves and draw the biggest smile your face could handle. You stood in front of the door as it opened. There was no going back now.

You tried to focus on the music playing and the bright blue sky instead of the people staring at you. You wanted the aisle to be longer. You didn't want to reach the end. Because for you, it was the end of everything. Your wishes weren't granted. Your father came to a stop. He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he handed you to your future husband.

It took a lot from you to keep a smile on your face. Standing in front of your husband-to-be, holding your hands between his foreign hands. You were trying to convince yourself that the smile on his face was genuine and that maybe it wasn't just an accord with him. Maybe there was still hope. Which is why you avoided his eyes so you wouldn't be disappointed.

But you should have known better. You should have known that it was not his eyes that you should have avoided. It was the ocean blue eyes that never left you. But the moment you noticed him, you couldn't turn away. His eyes spoke loudly. So loud. Pain and defeat are coated with anger and rage.

You remember vividly your last conversation together. Your crying and begging for him to understand. His accusations of not loving him enough. But you did. You loved him enough. You loved him too much. Which is why you refused to let him stand in the face of your father. You couldn't let him risk his life. You couldn't let this kind of danger fall on him. And most certainly not because of you. Your father was neither understanding nor loving. So if you had to live miserable lives, he could live his life. That is a sacrifice you were willing to make. And just like that, your three-year relationship was down the drain.

You couldn't help but stare at the man who meant everything to you. who your heart beats for. The love of your life. He was sitting close, yet so far. It should have been him standing here. It should have been the happiest day of your life. But fate was never on your side. Starting with making you fall in love with your father's rival

You thought about the days you spent together behind closed doors so nobody would see you. The lazy morning in bed with you cuddled up in his arms The movie nights that would always end with heated makeout sessions. The secret dates under nobody's eyes. The stolen getaways so you can finally be free and act like the so deeply in love couple that you were. The happiest days of your life. Now they were memories you kept so close to your heart.

You collected yourself quickly before your act would fall as your fiancé squeezed your hand. You heard him say the two words, and you wanted to cry. You wanted to shout and scream. You wanted to throw a tantrum like a child. That was how desperate you were. But you never did. The officiate turned to you to ask you the same question. You wanted to have the courage to say no. Stand your ground. Tell the truth. Run away with the man who has ever truly loved you. But you couldn't. There was too much to lose.

With one last look at the man who would always have a hold on your heart, you kept the tears inside, and with a heavy breath, you turned to the officiate and said, "I do".

"And now, I announce you as husband and wife." Waves of clapping and cheers filled the decorated garden while dreed filled you.

And just like this, you went from being a Pierce to being a Rumlow. And you lost Bucky Barnes.

Twirling the straw between your manicured fingers, you were standing at the bar. Taking a break from all the chatting and loud laughter. You were delaying rejoining the others. The act has been getting harder lately. You were trying to stay a little bit longer in the peaceful corner of the venue. Until you heard his voice. Your thoughts stopped. Your heartbeat went faster. You knew he was in here. Your circle of acquaintances would usually cross. You would meet on these occasions. But you never talked or acknowledged each other. Stolen glances were all you had ever done.

You gave in to the urge and turned to look at him. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your lips. You hadn't been that close since before the wedding. He looked so good. The expensive black suit. The huge frame. The low bun. The well-trimmed beard. The strong perfume. You felt the tears gather in your eyes. You missed him terribly. Beyond what you ever thought.

Your staring must have caught his attention, and he turned his sight in your direction. He didn't expect to find you here. He knew you went off to hide somewhere for a little bit. He didn't know it would be at the bar. You always tried to steal some time away from these events. He often kept an eye on you whenever he knew you were an attendee. It was a force of habit. A habit he couldn't break despite how hard he tried.

After the wedding, he hoped that every time he met you again, he wouldn't feel his heart move from its place. But this time, it never came. Every time, he was taken back by your beauty and grace. Your captivating eyes and sweet smile. You were always the most beautiful.

And there you were, sitting close to him. Yet so out of reach. How he wished he could take you away and escape this world. The bartender placing his order in front of him broke you both out of your trace. You regained control of yourself, pulling the drink to your lips to take a sip. That's when he saw it. The reason for the distance between you. The reason for your downfall. The wedding ring with a big diamond ornamenting your finger

"Mrs. Rumlow." He cleared his throat before he spoke his bitter word.

The last name was never music to your ears. However, for him, it was like a hit in the gut.

"Mr. Barnes." You understood why he would choose to be so formal. To the world, you were rivals acting civilised. Nobody knew what you both meant to each other.

God, he missed your sweet-like-honey voice. It soothed him and put his mind at ease. Now, it was a harsh reminder of a harsher reality.

"Congratulations on the new deal. I heard it was very successful." Despite the bar being less crowded, you were still surrounded by people. You couldn't let them know the truth or even sense something. You had to act normal. Like you never knew him outside of this room.

"Thank you." The shortness and stiffness delivered the message. And you heard it loud and clear. Your attempts were unwelcome. So you decided to leave. Your time hiding away was running out anyway.

However, as you were getting up, you miscounted your steps, making your long dress tangle with the stall. You expected to fall down and make an embarrassment out of yourself, but the pain never came. You only felt a familiar, strong metal arm wrapping around your waist, catching you. This time, you were so close. You could feel his hot breath on your face. His eyes stare so deeply into your soul. His arm tightened around you. You almost gave up. You prayed your eyes weren't showing it all. But they were. It would explain the confused expression on his face. Your eyes were screaming at him. Sadness wrapped in pleas for help. A complex look. He should have let you go now, but he couldn't. He missed having you in his arms. He missed everything about you.

The call for your name brought you both back. He steadied you to your feet before ripping his arm away. You straightened your posture, regaining your composure after this accidental slip. An immediate smile was drawn on your face as you saw your husband approaching. He came to a stop next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"Been looking for you, baby." Your husband spoke as he kissed your cheeks.

"I was getting us a drink." You didn't lie. Usually, you would bring him a drink so he wouldn't get suspicious of your absence.

"Always so considerate." He laid another kiss on the top of your head. Being overly affectionate in public was something you were used to from your husband.

"Ain't I the luckiest guy in the world, Barnes?" He turned to Bucky, who was still standing in front of you.

"Yes, of course." Despite his neutral tone, he meant it. Any man who had you had the biggest blessing. He envied this man with every fibre of his being.

Both men talked about work very briefly. It was a formality. An act to go with the night. It was very well known. Bucky Barnes and Brock Rumlow don't get along. Their mobs weren't on the same page. But for the sake of the bigger picture, both had to learn how to coexist. Temporarily, at least.

"This reminds me. Are you free next week?" The bizarre question caught Bucky off guard.

"I'm throwing a party for our second-year anniversary. Would love it if you could come." Brock pulled you closer to him as you laid your hand on his chest, your smile not breaking for a second.

"I want to celebrate the best day of my life." It's the irony of the world that Brock's best day is Bucky's worst. He still remembers the heart-wrenching feeling of watching you marry another man. The excruciating pain of losing you

He was about to turn down the invitation. But he remembered the look in your eyes. Sheer helplessness and hurt Even if it was for a split second. Even if you looked so happy now. He wasn't going to take his chances. He couldn't turn away from your call for help, even if you didn't voice it.

"I wouldn't miss it." And he didn't. And he never regretted something more.

The party was a blast. A beautiful celebration of love. You and Brock looked so happy. A perfect couple. He wanted his instincts to be right. But only came face-to-face with his worst fear. You were happy with another man. A man that wasn't him. And could never be him.

Between the gala and the party, Bucky tried to look around. See if he could find anything out. To get a glimpse of your life behind the lights. And he got nothing. Only good things. Maybe his longing for you made him misread the signs.

After the wonderful speech Brock gave about you and your marriage, Bucky couldn't take it anymore. He had to leave. And most importantly, he had to let you go.

You barely met again after that day. He avoided even the galas that he would see you at. He needed to move on. He needed to forget you. He needed to let go of the girl who turned his whole being around. even though it was going to crush him. He had to.

He spent more time at work. More than he ever did. He started doing the dirty work again. Something he stopped doing for years. But he needed an outlet for the pain and rage. An escape from the brutal reality.

He knew how pathetic he was being. It's been two years, and he can't let you out of his mind. He tried to see other people. But it would only be physical. He couldn't find it in himself to be vulnerable or emotional with any other woman. Only you managed to tear his walls apart. Only you invaded his being. Sometimes he wishes he had never met you in the first place. The sweet girl sitting in a corner by herself in the over-the-top gala. He knew Alexander Pierce was your father. But he couldn't resist. You took his breath away the moment his eyes landed on you. And when he got to know you, you blew his mind away as well. You were nice, kind, polite, understanding, trusting, smart, and everything good. He had to have you. And he did. He fell head over heels for you. You gave meaning to his life. Bucky was madly and deeply in love with you. He still is.

And by some miracle, you loved him too. You let him have you. He remembers, after your first time together, As he held your exhausted form to his chest, he heard your sleepy voice whispering something he should have expected. "Please, when it's time to leave, let me down slowly." Of course, you would think he was only using you for something. He couldn't blame you. So he made it his mission. He would show you how much you meant to him. How much he loved and cherished you.

So maybe he should have fought for you? Shouldn't have chosen the city's peace and safety over you? Should have risked it all?

But this means nothing now. He had to move on.

Now, he was sitting in his office in his mansion. Sitting on the couch with his drink in hand and Steve and Sam on each side, They were joined by a dear guest. Nick Fury. Nick is a huge part of the mob. He started it off with Pierce at Hydra, but both of them grew too big. Then Pierce showed his true colours. So now he was playing on both sides. And nobody could stop him. A lot tried. But no one succeeded. Nick Fury was too dangerous of a man.

It wasn't a formal meeting. It was just a gathering. It wasn't planned. Nick showed up at Bucky's house. They talked about work for a bit, but the conversation drifted with time. With Steve's girl falling asleep in his lap, they found themselves talking about parenthood. How family and their line of work don't usually go together. However, those who did have families always managed to be the best. However, nothing could have prepared Bucky for the turn the conversation was about to take.

"Not all of them turn out to be good. You've got Pierce, for example. I have never seen a worse father in my life." The mention of the man's name caught Bucky's attention. Pierce definitely didn't win the Father of the Year award, but what does it mean?

"What do you mean?" It seemed Steve was thinking the same way as Bucky.

"That man married off his daughter to a beast and watched as he ate her off." The statement didn't sit well with Bucky.

"What are you talking about?" Bucky couldn't help, but he asked, wanting to know more.

"Alexander knows exactly what Rumlow does to his girl." Nick's answer wasn't enough for Bucky.

"What does he do?" He didn't care how desperate he looked or sounded. He needed to know everything.

"I think the scars on her body speak for themselves." It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. His blood ran cold. His lungs almost stopped working.

"Rumlow hurts his wife?" Sam was one to speak, knowing his best friend wasn't in the right state anymore.

"Hurt doesn't even begin to describe it. Poor girl has been hospitalised ten times in the last two years." His tight grip on the glass almost made it shatter in his hand. They have been doing this to his girl.

"How do you know this?" Steve couldn't help his curiosity.

"I know everything. And Pierce doesn't put much effort into hiding it from those close to him."

"How come nobody else knows?"

"I said only those close to him."

"But they look so happy. He seems to love her."

"Of course they do. Rumlow wants to be seen as a good family man. The perfect husband So they need to be a picture-perfect couple. Not a single flaw. It's easy to paint when you beat somebody that much."

"Why didn't she try to leave?"

"And go where? Her father has no problem with it. I heard that Rumlow slapped her in front of him. And Pierce did nothing."

Bucky was grateful for his bestfriends who kept the questions going because he needed to know everything. But he couldn't speak. Nick seemed to be talking about some stranger he barely knew. And it was true. But not to Bucky. That was you. His whole entire world. And someone was hurting you. And you couldn't do anything. You were helpless. He should have trusted his instincts.

"How bad does it get?" He mastered the neutral tone, so not even Nick would know the fire burning through him.

"I don't know. All I know is if that was my daughter, Rumlow would be dead a long time ago." Instinctively, Steve pulled his daughter closer to him and laid a soft kiss on her head. How can any father not protect his daughter with his life? Steve would never know.

"But the girl is tough. Despite it all, she is still nice and caring to everybody." Nick added. And it somehow hurt Bucky more. For godsake. You even tried to be friendly with him. He, who left you, was a deer in a wolf's den.

"Have you ever met her?" Nick asked, looking at Bucky.

"Only on parties and occasions." He could never tell Nick that you were the love of his life.

Nick stayed for a little longer before he left. And Bucky couldn't recall a single thing after Nick told them the truth. Steve and Sam wanted to stay with their friends, but they knew better. He wanted to be alone right now. And he did. He went upstairs to the master bedroom. He opened a drawer in the side table and looked at a small album he kept hidden from the world. He tried to get rid of it but never had enough courage. It had all your pictures together. This album meant more to him than all of his good fortune.

Looking at the pictures, he felt like he was drowning. They took you away from him, only to hurt you. Bucky didn't know what to do. He must think straight, because if he didn't, he would go over and kill them all right now. It would be a bloodbath. But you were worth it. so worth it.

Before he could make any wise decision, he reached for his phone, dialling the number of the person who would help him.

"Bruce, I need a favour."

Bucky was standing by the bar, watching people talk and laugh in their very expensive attire. It was all so fake that he wanted to throw up. But maybe the act wasn't the only thing bothering him.

Bruce was able to do him the favour he asked for. And he gave it to him today. Your medical reports. All of them.

Bucky was stunned, to say the least. He regretted asking, but he had to know. How could anyone do this to you?

Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Deep Cuts. Concussions. Vaginal bleeding. Three miscarriages.

Bucky couldn't help the tear that fell on his face as he read the last report. It was two months ago. Two weeks before he met you again. A week before the anniversary party. You were recovering from another miscarriage and a broken elbow. Yet nobody could tell. You put on the act to perfection that even Bucky believed. You managed to trick Bucky, who claimed to have known you best. His heart ached to see how much Brock had to beat and break you to fool everybody that you are so happy. Bucky was a strong man who everybody feared, but he had to read how a nobody hurt his girl. Yes, you were his girl. You were always going to be his girl. He needed to figure out a way to get you out of there.

Which is why his eyes never left you since you walked in. It took all his willpower to not go and beat the hell out of Rumlow. But he knew better. All he could was wait and think. He watched your moves and your voice. You were such a good actress. With all you went through, you acted the happiness so well. He wondered how you were really behind closed doors.

He didn't plan to do anything tonight, but the moment offered itself when you walked to the garden alone. He followed you out instantly. Not knowing what to do. But he had to do something.

You were breathing the fresh breeze ear. You needed to a moment of peace, or you would have lost your mind. This morning, Brock lost his temper, and your body was still aching. It wasn't something you hadn't seen before. You mastered the ability to look and act fine by now. You just needed a moment away. You were glad there was a garden so you could enjoy the view of the stars

The familiar voice calling your name made you stop in your place.

"Mr. Barnes." You turned to him with a smile on your face. Even if you were alone, you weren't dropping the formality. Also, it looked like he never wanted you to

"I want to talk to you." He didn't know how he was going to approach the topic, but he had to do something. Say something, at least.

You gave him your full attention. What do both of you have to talk about? And after all these years. You weren't sure if you could even hold a conversation with him.

"Are you okay?" The question caught you off guard. It was a strange question to ask.

"I'm fine, thank you." You tried to keep a smile on your face. You haven't talked in years, and that is what he wanted to say?

"How are you and Brock?" Bucky was a feared mob boss, yet he couldn't get a word out that made sense.

"We are great." You couldn't hide your surprise. The last thing you expected was for you to talk about your relationship. Let alone with Bucky, from all the people in the world.

"Are you sure?" He should have thought about what to say first before he followed you.

"Yes, pretty sure." You weren't really seeing where this conversation was going.

"No, it's not great." Way to go, Bucky. He thought.

"I beg your pardon." Yes, of course, your relationship wasn't great, but that wasn't for Bucky to know.

"I know your relationship isn't that great." Bucky was hoping to get any reaction from you other than your pretty smile.

"I don't think that's for you to judge." You were taken back by his statement. So you went in defence mood.

"No, it's. It's when you aren't safe." You tried not to let your emotions take over your face. He didn't mean it this way, did he?

"I think I would be perfectly safe with my husband." You prayed he didn't catch your lie. You were a good liar by now.

"Does he make you memorise this?" Bucky was frustrated. Not with you. But with your situation.

"Does he tell you to always pretend you are happy?" Bucky was done with your act.

"Mr. Barnes, I don't think we should be talking about my marriage. And you can't talk about my husband like this." You knew you had to be direct and forward. Even if nobody was around, this wasn't a chance you were going to take.

"Do you have anything else you want to talk about?" You received silence, but you could tell he had a lot to say.

You turned to leave because you couldn't stay and have this conversation. Even if you wanted so desperately to stay in Bucky's company.

"How many more hospitalisations will it take for you to admit the truth? How many more babies do you have to lose before you leave?"

You froze in your place. It was like time had stopped. You were trying to process what Bucky just said. Every cell in your body was working overtime to keep you from shutting down. You turned again to look at him with your pale face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like this." Bucky felt guilty for throwing it like this in your face. But he saw you leave, and he had to stop you.

"How do you know?" The question may be irrelevant, but for you, it was important.

"It doesn't matter." Bucky tested the water by taking small, little steps towards you. You didn't move.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I know." He was itching to hold you. Wrap you in his arms and protect you from the world.

"I'm okay, Bucky." It had been so long since you said his name, but it still felt the same. And you were back on track with your act quicker than you thought.

"No, you aren't. Nobody should ever go through this." He came to a stop in front of you. You saw empathy in his eyes you hadn't seen in a long while.

"Let me help, please." Bucky had no problem getting on his knees and beseeching you to allow him to step in.

"You can't help me." Your voice was tiny. You felt exposed. That part of your life wasn't to be known.

"No, I can. I have to try." Bucky wanted to help you, not just for your sake but for his too.

"No. It's my life now. I'm okay." You knew Brock wasn't going to get a trophy for being the best husband when you married him. However, it got so much worse than you thought.

"Stop saying that. You aren't." Bucky hated the surrender in your eye. The shakiness of your voice. He hated how you were choosing to accept this life when you deserved nothing but the best.

"There is nothing me or anybody could do." You made your peace with this fact long ago. Since Brock first hit you and nobody moved.

"I can. I should have never let you marry him in the first place." He moved even closer to you.

"Then it would have been the both of us, now. Either dead or suffering. I'm okay with it being me." You were. Maybe that is the reason you managed to survive up to now. That Bucky was okay

"You think I'm not suffering this way?" He followed his instincts and placed his flesh hand on your cheeks.

He prepared himself for you to flinch or move away quickly. But you didn't. On the contrary, your face softened. You were craving Bucky's gentle touch. You missed him so much. Bucky took this a sign and let the next words fall from his tongue.

"I still love..."

"Please, don't.

You stopped him right away. Did you still love Bucky? With all your heart and even more. But it was way more complicated than this.

"There nothing you could have done or can do to change it. It's my life, and I can't escape it." He should move on. He shouldn't even be standing with you here.

"I was doomed from the beginning. I'm so sorry I dragged you with me."

You shouldn't have let him love you. You should have heard his name and went the other way. You should have spread him all this pain and mess. If you failed to do it, then you would now. You moved away from, already missing his touch.

"Thank you, Mr Barnes. But I can never leave." You put on the act again, keeping your tears inside. You wished you weren't that helpless or broken, but you were. You were surrounded by monsters that can never let you break away.

You gave Bucky one last smile before you turned to get back inside. You didn't want to anger Brock more. And you didn't want to drag Bucky deeper. Even if your heart longed for him dearly. It wasn't right. You were a tragedy from the start.

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[victoria-writes]

I will never forget you.

Pairing: Legolas x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Legolas proposes to you and reassures you that he wants to be with you. Fluff & Angst with a happy ending + bonus ending

Word Count: 1605

Notes:

Reader is human

No gender or pronouns used to refer to the reader. Reader is briefly mentioned to have short hair

MENTIONS OF DEATH (reader's). Don't read if you're not ok with thinking about your own mortality xoxo

Read it on AO3 here

Story:

It has been months since you moved to Mirkwood with the prince following the disbandment of the fellowship and destruction of the one ring. Sometimes your mind would drift to what could’ve happened had the ring fallen into the wrong hands or if any other evil lies dormant, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. You could never sit with these thoughts for long, though. Legolas seemed to have a sixth sense for when you needed to see the good in the world again. Today was one of those days. 

“Come, there is something I wish to show you”, the elf smiled as he stretched his hand out, waiting for you to take it from your place sitting in a wooden chair inside the royal palace. 

“It better not be another elk giving birth in the woods. I’m still traumatized from your idea of ‘the beauty of nature’”, you grimace at the memory still not extending your hand.

“No, no, nothing like that. I promise”, he chuckles softly.

“Fine”.

Legolas had brought you to a clearing in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees and wildflowers. White queen anne’s lace, forget-me-nots, and flowers whose names you did not know, who only seemed to grow near where elves trot, filled your eyes. This is not the first time he’s found a quiet spot in nature to take you, and it will surely not be the last. While overlooking the rainbow of colors seemingly dancing in the field in front of you, you sneak a glance at the elf from the corner of your eye. He stands confidently with his hands behind his back next to you and smiles. If it were anyone else looking at him, they’d think he was completely at ease. Anyone but you. The look in his eyes said “Do you like it? Do you? Please tell me you like it.”. He always wanted to impress you, whether it be shooting three arrows at once when one would suffice, wearing his nicest clothes (“Legolas why are you wearing your ceremonial attire?” “Don’t worry about it, father”.), or finding the best places to take you. Be still, your beating heart. For a nearly 3,000 year old elf, he acted like a lovesick teenager. 

“It’s absolutely beautiful”, you finally say after a long silence. Legolas releases tension in his shoulders he didn’t even realize he was holding. 

“I knew you would. Let us sit in the grass.”, he guided you so that he was sitting with your back against his chest, his legs on either side. 

You felt your tongue form teasing words about him taking you on a hike to a remote spot just for a cuddle, but they faded away as he wrapped his arms around your sides and began to plant soft, slow kisses on your neck and shoulder. You melted into his warm touch. 

“May I braid your hair?”

“Yes, but there’s not much to braid.”, you reply. You had recently gotten a haircut and felt as though Legolas may be disappointed. He was very enthusiastic about your new look the first time he saw it, but now you fear he may not enjoy it. 

“Nonsense, I shall make many small plaits instead”.

“Alright”, you relaxed into his hands as he began to weave strands of hair behind you. You closed your eyes, as you reveled in the feeling of the sunlight on your face as he worked. All was quiet aside from the occasional bird chirping or squirrel running up a tree. A warm feeling took hold in your chest and you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. You were safe. You were happy. You were in love. 

Millenia seemed to pass before Legolas announced he was done. True to his word, he had formed many braids in your hair. He may have gone a little overboard with just how many he made, but he just loved the feeling of being so close to you and never wanted it to end. 

“Thank you”, you whisper as your turn to face him, giving him a peck on the lips. You move your hand to feel the back of your head, itching to feel the braids your lover gifted you. Soft. Your fingers feel something soft. Something thin and soft. 

“Forget-me-not flowers”, Legolas clarified, seeing you trying to decipher with your fingers, “I thought them appropriate”.

“Why is that?” “They are gifted to one whose presence you enjoy, so as not to forget them, as the name implies. I could never forget you and I hope you would not forget me. Each past day with you is a beloved memory and each day to come cannot come soon enough. I treasure each moment with you. I feel myself drowning in my affection for you. No, peacefully swimming. I adore you. I cannot bear to be without you.”, he says softly as he holds both your hands and kisses each one, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh, Legolas”

“Meleth nîn”, he uses his hands to guide you both to your feet. As you look up into his bright blue eyes, he whispers “Please allow me to never be without you. Allow me to walk beside you for all the days we may share together before death takes us. I have lived millennia without you. Now that I know what life is like with you in it, I never want to go back. I want you with me, always.”

“Are you asking me-?”, you begin as he kneels down in front of you and pulls out a ring from his pocket.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”, he gazes at you with hope in his eyes as he lifts the ring towards you. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes!”, he quickly puts the ring on your left ring finger and you pull him into a harsh kiss. You and the elf wear matching smiles as you kiss long and hard. 

“I’m so happy, Legolas…but is this what you really want?”, your smile drops as your nerves hit you. “Of course, my love. Why do you question my intentions?”.

“It’s not your intentions that I question. It’s just that you’re…you”, you vaguely gesture at the elf.

“I’m not following.”

“You’re a prince. I’m poor. You’re an elf that’ll live thousands of years. I’m a human that’ll be lucky if I make it to 70.” “I don’t care about that.”

“Your father won’t approve.” “I care not what my father thinks. His opinion of our union will not sway me.” 

“Then what of my mortality? One day I will die and leave you alone.”

He sighs before he speaks, “I must admit I have thought long and hard on this subject. The thought of your death pains me to no end.” “Exactly. Our marriage would be short-lived in your long lifetime and I will become nothing but a memory to you, one that will fade one day.”

“What are you saying?” “I’m saying you love me now, but one day I will die and you’ll move on and I’ll mean nothing to you. One day you’ll laugh at how you ever loved a silly human”, tears began to well in your eyes, shame overtaking you as you finally let out the fears you’ve been harboring all this time. Your gaze drifts downwards, unable to face your elven lover. Legolas’ eyes widened in realization, shocked at your true feelings. He manages to compose himself and lifts your chin up with his index finger. 

“Meleth nîn, look at me. Y/N, please.”, he whispers his request. 

“It is true that my life will continue when yours ends.”

Hot tears began to run down your cheeks at this. 

“But”, he swipes the tears away with his thumb, “You will always be a part of it. Even when you are gone, I will love you. You have shown me love that I did not think was possible. When you are gone, I will visit your grave with flowers each day. I will braid my hair and miss the touch of yours. I will never remarry. I will walk the paths we have taken together. I will meditate in this very spot, remembering this moment. I will never forget you. In life and in death, we are connected. I love you”.

“And I love you”, you barely choke the words out through your tears. 

“Knowing all this, my silly human,”he teases before turning serious, “Will you marry me?” “Of course, I’ll marry you, you ridiculous elf”.

You both grin as Legolas lifts you up and spins you in his arms. When your feet are planted on the Earth again he kisses you deeply. As you feel your lips on your own, you imagine a thousand more kisses each day with him for the rest of your days. 

Bonus

Many moons have passed since your passing. Legolas meant every word of his promise and has done all that he said. Before he rests each night, he reads the book on his nightstand, your favorite book of poems. He recalls reading it to you on nights your eyes were too tired as he pet your hair while you laid on his chest. When he wakes each morning, he glares at the large empty space beside it, wishing it were you. Although his heart pangs at the loss of you, he finds joy and comfort in revisiting your old haunts, his favorite being the spot where he proposed to you. Today, our elf wanders into the cemetery. “Hello, meleth nîn”, he smiles as he places a bouquet of freshly picked forget-me-nots on your grave.

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