#she might though. i don't know exactly why she would do that but she might decide to do that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idyllcy · 1 day

Text

every time i look at you, i keep turning red

word count: 7.0k || inspo: The Dismemberment of Zagreus

warnings: nsfw, smut

summary: shade or not shade? minor goddess or goddess?

Past the gates of Hades and the river Styx, Elysium sits. An endless paradise of homes and greenery in a seemingly desolate land. It was always Zagreus' third stop. He hadn't paid much attention there, Asphodel previously wearing him out. Zagreus wonders not much about the land itself. The prince needed to get past it, avoiding traps he's lived through too many times to count and fighting past foes. He stops occasionally at safe spaces of people he's talked to and always leaves nectar behind as he knows he's going to return. He never makes it that far into the temple. It takes trials through hell and back to escape. It takes time, he finds. So sometimes, he rests in the fields, in a place he knows is far away from whatever traps of death within the realm of Hades himself may await him. A place where no dirt can cut into his skin and damage it.

It was a strange place. The shades wound him, though they didn't pierce the skin of the shades. Skin? The body. The souls, perhaps. The realm of Elysium was never meant to reside in as a godling for long. Though, he had seen multiple souls retain their human form here. It was amusing to him. It had been the closest he had ever been to talking to living people. He wonders if there are any new ones. It was weary, meeting the same people over and over again in the realm. He seldom sees people end up here anymore.

A sigh slips past his lips as he lays down in the green.

He resides in a paradise built for only the best of the best; people whom the gods favored heavily. Since the first three times he had visited his mother, he hadn't stopped to breathe in order to get back up. He fought, raced, and hurled in order to get to where he needed to be. He had to see his mother once more. She hadn't returned with him, and he had unanswered questions he needed answers to. Yet, as he finished with Asphodel, he supposes a quick rest in the grass could not kill him. Well, he wasn't exactly alive either. And, if failed, he would simply return to where he started. It was a cycle he had grown used to, though he fought tooth and nail to make it upward each time.

Zagreus is not expecting to meet someone new on the fourth.

He spots you in the distance, white chiton draping over your shoulders, wrapping snugly around your figure.

A young maiden. You looked no older than him.

He wonders by whom you were favored, but he pauses at the sight of the familiar color. It seemed you had received a blessing in the form of your hair. The streaks of color remind him of his own mother, and he wonders just what you've done to please the Queen of the Underworld so much. You don't notice his stare, but you notice the sword stuck to the dirt, reaching to pull one out of the ground. He wonders if you'll get cut by one. His eyes trail over your hands, and he takes note of how rough your hands seemed to be. They resemble those of his mother's. Perhaps you had been a farmer who worshipped his mother especially much.

The blade doesn't cut you, but you fail to pull it out. He watches newfound determination paint over your features, and his lips part at the sight. You pull the weapon out in two tugs, falling onto the ground as you do. The red on the surface of the blade cracks into green as you pry the sword out with your bare hands. Zagreus can only observe in a mixture of fear and awe. You, a dainty maiden, had pried a weapon out of the sod as though it were a pomegranate. You sat there, staring at the craftsmanship, enthralled by its beauty as he were enthralled with yours. You hear him shuffle, and he leans back into the grass.

Zagreus doesn't understand why you don't approach him nor run away, but he takes it as a greeting. He might see you more often. Perhaps he'll see you on his next quest upward. When he hears you shuffle out of range, he stands up, the wounds on his body healed to some extent. His exhaustion is rested, and he sets off to meet his mother again. Perhaps he'd ask her about you. It was strange to see hair that reminded him so much of his own mother. He wondered if the color had the same texture as his mother's. Ah, but it wouldn't be so kind to compare you to his mother, now would it? Perhaps he missed his mother. That's why he had stayed a little longer to pay attention to you. It would leave him with his next death. There was no other reason.

When Zagreus reaches the surface, his mother shakes her head at his questions. She had no favored child. There must've been something wrong. Perhaps he had seen things while hurt from battle. As Zagreus falls back into the Styx, he wonders if you really had been a desperate hallucination. It had been years since his father had ruled anyone into Elysium. If not blessed, then what was it? Perhaps you had done something during the time that you were alive.

You were a mortal goddess. One of healing, he supposes. He closes his eyes and hears someone shuffle toward him, pressing cold hands onto his skin, and a cooling sensation flowing through his body. When he opens his eyes again, the figure is gone, the wounds on his body mended. There's no ache in his body, and he notices the ambrosia left next to him. It was strange. Had you really been a goddess, you wouldn't be able to die. Perhaps you had fallen out of worship and grown forgotten by the people who once served you.

Zagreus keeps the ambrosia in his pockets. Maybe he'll give you one once he returns.

The fifth time he lies in the field, he doesn't have as many wounds, but he closes his eyes anyways. Perhaps he could catch you. When he feels as though he's waiting an eternity, he hears the grass rustle. Once the footsteps stop next to him, he grabs the hand that's pressed to his back. "Got you," He smiles. You struggle in his grip, and he can feel you grow warmer. "I won't hurt you," He sits up, keeping your wrist in his hand, taking note of how dainty you were compared to him. Your wrist seems small in comparison to his hand.

You blink at him owlishly, fear visible in your eyes. "Prince. M-my apologies. I didn't want to wake you, though I was worried the wounds would cause problems if left alone. Please don't send me to Tartarus..."

Zagreus sputters. "I assure you, fair maiden, that is not the case. I simply wanted to meet my savior. Perhaps you are a godling as I?"

You shake your head. "I am not. The blessing of Apollo's healing was simply placed on me. I am but a minor deity compared to the Olympians."

"So you fell out of worship?" Zagreus loosens his grip on your wrist. You don't seem like you'll leave if he does.

"No," You shake your head. "My mortal body was destroyed in a fit of rage from my father... My prince, how is it that you're able to touch me? I thought shades could not be touched."

"Elysium is a little different from such rules," He mumbles. "Thank you, for the ambrosia, fair maiden."

"It was but something expected," You mumble, standing back up. "My apologies for holding you back, my prince. I heard you are on your way to Olympus."

"That's not entirely correct," He stands up with you, towering over you almost. "But thank you for your healing, fair goddess."

"The Olympians wouldn't be happy with that title you call me," You mumble shyly as he presses a kiss to your hand. "Go on, my prince. May you continue on your journey with the blessing of a minor deity such as I."

Zagreus smiles gently. "I thank you for the blessing, little goddess."

Zagreus climbs back to the overworld for the fifth time.

On the sixth, he has no injury. He's growing better at climbing, yet he still stops by the meadow where you reside. He wants to see you again. Of the few shades that could touch him, he seemed to like you the best. Your fingers were cool against his skin, and he liked the way you warmed when he complimented you. He likes the way you turn dark from his touch. You were tiny compared to him. He was already short compared to both his parents, but you were even smaller. It seemed you were an even lesser goddess compared to him. He liked the feeling of your hand in his. Ah. He'd have to ask mother what that feeling was. His chest was warmer than the gates of the underworld.

"Lovely maiden," Zagreus presses your hand to his cheek, relishing in the cold of your fingers. You feel divine on his skin. As though Nyx herself had blessed you, your skin was cold as his foster mother's. He liked the feeling of your skin on his.

"My prince," you mumble. "What time is this? I feel as though you've climbed for centuries by now."

"Maiden," He whispers. "That is simply because there is no morning here."

"Ah," you mumble. "The days feel long, even in a paradise such as Elysium."

"I can see that," Zagreus smiles. "Well, I shall be on my way now."

"Yes, my prince," You bow. "Please stay safe. May the blessings of a minor deity as I assist you along the way."

"Thank you, little goddess," He presses your fingers to his lips. "I shall see you in my next run."

Zagreus finds himself heavily wounded on his seventh run. His mother had told him to consider talking to his father properly, and he had fallen dead to the overworld again. Ah, he had forgotten to inquire about the warmth from you. He recalls the words of his mentor, though, wondering if that was how his father felt around his mother. Would he have to move you forcibly to his room? No. That would make him the same as his father. He wouldn't like it.

Neither of you speak while he's injured, and you press your palm to his skin. The cold that spreads through his abdomen stings, though it brings him comfort as well. He has grown used to the cold from your hands, and he wonders if you could press it to his hands to heal them as well. Calluses and rough patches of skin from handling weapons have long plagued his fingers and palms. It was a strange feeling, though it has grown to be welcomed. There is something about your touch specifically. His hand reaches for your face as you start pulling away.

"Goddess," He mumbles, pressing his fingers to your cheek.

"Tis your seventh run, yes?" You mumble, leaning into his touch.

"Yes," He breathes, his breath catching in his throat.

"How many more, my prince?"

"I don't know," he presses his thumb on your bottom lip, swiping across it. Your lip seems small compared to his thumb, he can only imagine how small you would be compared to his hands once he lifts you. Ah. No. He couldn't afford such thoughts. He had barely known you, yet he held such affection for you. Perhaps you had treated him just as you treated everyone else. He didn't know a dead heart could race so fast. "Until my mother returns." He purses his lips. "Though it will only be temporary rest. I don't feel as though I belong here, you see."

"Mm," you hum gently, lashes fluttering to get a better look at the prince. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my prince."

"I do," He smiles. "And I get to see you, my fair goddess, each time."

"How flirtatious of you, prince," You mumble, skin warm again.

"Only with you, my fair goddess," He smiles. "This is for you to take," He places a bottle of ambrosia in your hands. "Until I meet you next time, goddess."

Your skin warms from his ministrations. "May the blessings of a minor goddess as myself keep you safe on your journey."

"A kiss, perhaps?" He smiles, cocking his head to the side gently. "If you don't desire it, then it is fine."

"If the prince desires it," you mumble, using his shoulder as leverage to pull yourself to his cheek. You press your lips to his neck for a moment, and Zagreus finds his skin growing red. He turns to stare at you, the blush visible on his skin. You stare up at him, doe-eyed and smiling. "Then I shall fulfill it."

Zagreus wants to defile you.

The thought comes up suddenly as he stares down at you, and his heart shakes erratically in his chest. Maybe it wasn't a heart. Perhaps it was the blood rushing to his head. Yet, as he watches you fulfill whatever he desired, he couldn't help but wonder if you'd give yourself to him. His hand reaches for your lip again, brushing the bottom lip. You stare at him, staring quietly. Ah. He's been staring for too long. Hopefully, you don't mind it.

"My apologies, little goddess," Zagreus lets go of your face gently. "I shall be on my way."

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I protect you along the way," You bow, and Zagreus heads out to his mother again.

Zagreus pauses while in the colosseum, a recurring thought plaguing his mind. It would be nice to find you after the fights, though he would have to return again. He wonders how far your healing properties can go. Perhaps he could find you once he climbs the next time. He still needed to convince his mother to return to the underworld with him. Once he does such, he'd be able to leave much easier. His father being distracted would also permit him to spend more time with you while he climbed to the surface. Perhaps he could somehow convince his mother to let you roam around the underworld with him while he traveled upward. A companion along his way would be nice. You could heal him when he needed it as well. He'll talk with mother on the matter.

While on the surface, his mother follows him with more questions. Zagreus wonders if it would be possible to remain on the surface for longer. Perhaps he'd build up an immunity to the sun, and he'd be able to stay out for longer. He should bring you up sometime. Though, it seems you didn't exactly die, so you'd undoubtedly be capable of escaping from the underworld. His father would be greatly angered at such a thought. Letting a goddess that fell out of worship escape the underworld? How foolish of a thought.

"My prince," You stare at him as he steps toward you.

"Goddess," He smiles. "I've come to seek advice, since you seem to have seen more than I."

"A lie," You hum. "But let us see if I shall be of assistance to you."

"My father's chambers," Zagreus swallows, and he pauses. Should he be telling you of such a vulnerable room? No. Even if he were to keep it a secret, he wouldn't know the answer until his mother responded to him. "Do you know of the former queen? My mother?"

"The goddess Persephone?" You tilt your head. "It had been a legend, as many of the people believed you were the son of Nyx, but I suppose you wouldn't be escaping to leave if your mother were here."

"So you do know," He mumbles. "My father has a portrait of my mother hung up in his room, still. After so many years."

You tilt your head to hear more.

"I do not understand why."

"It is love," You smile. "For one does not go so far or so to keep a fragment of someone unless they are in love."

"Is that so," Zagreus mumbles. "Would you like to meet mother?"

"My body is supposedly bound to Elysian," You smile. "Unless the prince was considering abducting me?"

"I do not see why not," He shrugs. "Tis tradition in this house." He smiles cheekily. "As my father had abducted my mother."

"But you do not love me," You watch him as he presses the back of your hand to your lips. "As your father loves your mother."

"I would move you to the office of Hades myself if I could," Zagreus nods, and you press two fingers to his head.

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I keep you safe on your journey once more," You bow as he steps off.

"Ah," He turns around. "Before I forget." He steps over to you, handing you a bottle of ambrosia. "Would you be willing to move to my chambers if I could move you?"

"We shall talk about that once the chance of such an event occurs," You smile, and Zagreus watches the faux wind brush your hair.

"Of course. Thank you, little goddess," He returns to the arena once more.

In such a way, he supposes Asterius and Theseus have grown tired of his attempts at escaping, though they go no easier on him than they always have. The metal of his weapons clashes against theirs, and he does wonder if his proposal to you could ever go beyond a fleeting thought. Though, as he defeats the heroes once more, he stands and stares at the drops. Perhaps he could bring that up once his mother returns. His father's mood might soften if that were to occur. But alas, pointless thoughts are worth nothing until they follow through.

Zagreus talks to his mother, questioning as to why his father would even begin to keep a portrait of his mother with him. His mother's response is the same as yours, and he pauses at the realization. His mother seems to catch on, and he curses himself as he falls to the river Styx again. He's wasting his time thinking about you while on the surface. His mother is considering it, sure, but gods, he's about ready to steal you for himself. He's sure you'd look much prettier under the sun. He's nearly jealous of your worshippers. Though, he wonders how a foolish thought as such could even plague his mind.

"I have been told," You start, fiddling with your fingers. "That this is not your ninth run, but perhaps your hundredth, my prince."

"That is an overstatement," He hums. "I have lost count as death is not new to me."

"It would seem so," You mumble. "For death is foreign to me."

"You had not passed?"

"The sleep reincarnate had quite the time trying to find my name," You smile. "Hades himself had to welcome me into Elysium since he could not send me back to the overworld."

"Would you like to join me?" He traces circles on your hand. "Since you are not bound there."

"I will be of no help in the arena with Asterius and Theseus. I shall simply wait for your next climb." You shake your head.

"No warrior experience?" He finds it almost baffling. "None?"

"I have fought," You swallow. "But I do not enjoy it, my prince."

"I see," He mumbles, staring at your robes. "Then I shall come find you in my next run."

"I see," You smile. "Please convey my words to your mother. I feel as though the underworld misses their queen, my prince."

"I see," He nods.

"May the blessing of a minor goddess as I," You grab his hand, pressing your lips to his knuckles. "keep you safe on your journey once more, my prince."

Persephone entertains the idea of possibly returning to the underworld. The last words she leaves Zagreus with make his heart flutter at the possibility of his mother returning home with him. He's elated. Once he does, he's sure he'll be able to have her meet you and possibly move you around with him. The idea brings a smile to his face as he talks to Hypnos. The sleep incarnate grimaces and sends him on his way, napping once more as a result. Zagreus doesn't understand why his heart races as he opens his arms for you.

You crash into his chest gently, sighing gently at the feeling of his arms around you. Zagreus thinks you're a little cold, but it's a welcome contrast to his warm skin. His fingers press against your back, and you smile softly. It doesn't reach your eyes, but your body relaxes in his touch, and Zagreus can't help but wonder if something had occurred for you to touch him so willingly. He lets you rest on his chest, and he presses his fingers to the back of your neck. You squirm at the sensation, and he smiles. "Did you miss me, little goddess?"

"Yes," You mumble. "You took time this run, you see, my prince."

"My apologies," He presses a kiss to your hair, and you giggle.

"How was seeing your mother?" You peel yourself from him, lashes fluttering up at him.

"It was nice," He hums, letting go of you. "Are you still willing to reside with me in the main castle?"

"Perhaps once you accomplish your goal on the surface of the earth," You tap his chest mindlessly. "Will the queen return?"

"Perhaps," He closes his eyes, pulling your palm to his cheek. "Will you meet her with me this time?"

"Perhaps," You mumble. "Though, I can not return to the surface with you. It will be of no help."

"I do not mind bringing luggage with me," He lifts you from the ground, grinning as you yelp. You sit on his right shoulder as he rushes to the arena. "If you do not wish to fight, then there is no need for you to."

"I can fight," You swallow, the blade on your thigh.

"But you do not like it," He hums, pulling you to the side. "Just watch me and heal from the sidelines. Please, little goddess." He brushes your hair to the side, and your breath catches in your throat.

"If that is what you will, my prince." You mumble as he carries you off to the arena. A part of you were terrified of Hades's booming voice as the first time, yet Zagreus' arms keep you secure. He couldn't pass with you around. You hadn't passed away, and the healing you provided raised his defenses. You prayed that he would survive with you as luggage. The mere thought of having to battle on your own terrified you. The sight of blood was already a tightrope to walk on.

Your prince fights valiantly, the battle long engrained into his muscles, and he finishes his job with precision. The blood on his skin does not belong to him, but rather his opponents, and the good shade cheers. Your fingers drum against your skin nervously as the gate to the Temple of the Styx opens. The prince offers you his hand, and you follow him. You fear for your life. There were rumors that the gate to the surface was guarded by Lord Hades himself, and you did not wish to meet the god again.

Zagreus passes with you on his shoulder, and he finds that you are much lighter than he thinks. It was as though your bones could break at any moment. He didn't like it, though he was glad you hadn't complained about how quickly he was rushing through. He wanted to meet his mother. Perhaps he'd get his father's blessing along the way, though, he would most likely attempt to send you back to Elysium. He wouldn't let him. It wasn't any more of an act of defiance compared to escaping to meet his mother.

Zagreus reaches the gates to the surface with you still on his shoulder, and his father pauses at the sight. His son has a shade on his shoulder, and he contemplates letting his son out even at all. Though, he recognized the shade. It wasn't a shade, it had been a goddess who had just floated down the River Styx. He supposes letting him go would not hurt, though it would definitely cause a hit to the reputation of the underworld.

"Zagreus," Hades' voice bellows. "What is with the shade?"

"She is not a shade," Zagreus swallows, and he presses his hand to your trembling thigh. "She is a goddess."

"Goddess or not," The king of the underworld roars. "I can not let her escape."

"I am taking her to meet mother," Zagreus grumbles. "If you do not let me pass, we will fight as we always have."

You avert your eyes from the King, and Zagreus' grip on you assures you of your safety. You had not thought he would be so honest with his words. The heat creeps up your cheeks, and you attempt to tune out the King and Prince's conversation. You can feel the heat from frustration radiating off of his body, and you press your palm to the back of the prince's neck. You hope that'll calm him down to some extent. It works, and the prince starts negotiating. The heat at the gate lowers, and you whimper as Zagreus finally rushes out with you.

The overworld is much colder than the underworld. You had forgotten it was near winter, and you tap the prince for him to let you down.

"I promised father to bring you back," He mumbles, holding onto your hand instead. "So you must stay attached to me."

"Of course, my prince," You mumble, stepping onto the grass. "How long do you have?"

"Until I pass," He smiles. "You must return from the styx with me, though."

"I can return through the gates," You follow him as he rushes through the hill to his mother's abode. The snow crunches under your feet, and you glance at the burnt grass from Zagreus' feet. You hadn't paid much attention to the prince, yet it came as a surprise that his feet left ashes in the green. Perhaps his mother had cast a spell in her garden? You try not to think much as the prince leads you to his mother's home. You were undeniably a little worried for meeting the queen of the underworld.

"Mother," Zagreus lets go of your hand, and you stand there, glancing around the garden.

You space out for much of the conversation, rocking on your heels, staring around at the overworld. It has not changed much. You wonder how your people are doing, though they are far from the gates of the underworld. Your eyes linger at the edge of the cliff, and Zagreus' voice cuts you out of your trance. "Mother, this is a minor goddess that ended up in the river Styx," Zagreus pulls you to his mother, warm hands on your shoulder as you smile awkwardly.

"It's... a pleasure to meet you, goddess," You bow.

"Well, there are no need for formalities as such," The goddess smiles. "I remember you. I had visited your temple once."

"I am honored, your highness," You bow in embarrassment. "That you had received the help of a minor goddess as I."

"There is no minor nor major," The queen helps you up, and she smiles. "For we all take care of people."

You flush with embarrassment. "Thank you, my queen."

Your skin warms as the two of them help you onto Charon's boat, and you listen curiously to the sounds of Orpheus and Euridice. The boat rocks rhythmically as you stare at the passing scenery. The green of Elysium is familiar to you, though the lands of Asphodel and Tartarus are foreign to your eyes. You note the screams, and you stare almost longingly at the ever-fading sunlight. Zagreus takes note of it, though he wonders if there were ever a chance you could remain in the overworld. Both of you know that is just foolish wishing.

As the boat stops at the gates of Hell itself, you pause to stare at the gates. They're a terrifying height to you, and as the queen of the underworld herself bellows for the opening of the gates. Zagreus squeezes your shoulder assuringly as he presses his palm to your back. You trail through the gates, next to the prince, swallowing unconsciously as Hades greets his wife and son. You reach for Zagreus' hand instinctually, shaking slightly as his hand clasps you. He rubs gentle circles on the back of your hand as you space out, thinking about your home in Elysium. Though, it seems as though Zagreus does not wish for you to return. Even as you return to the main hall with him, Zagreus does not let go of your hand.

"Goddess," He mumbles. "We shall be throwing a banquet for the olympians. Would you like to join?"

"There is no need," You mumble. "When shall I be returning to Elysium?"

"Do you wish to return to early?" The prince whispers sadly, and you whimper.

"I am worried that Lord Hades will grow angry," You try and explain yourself.

"If he does not, will you stay with me?"

"If it is my prince's will," You avert your eyes, and the prince smiles.

"Then by royal order, you are to stay next to me at all times."

"Even while my prince escapes?" You fiddle with your fingers, letting go of his hand.

"Even while I escape," He presses his hand to your hair and runs it down your back. "You are to stay with me."

"Yes, my prince," You don't know how to feel about it. Though, it seems to be an issue that only you worry about. The preparations for the party are done by Lady Persephone and you, adjusting the tablecloth and food. You help pick the wines, the queen herself growing the grapes, and the underworld quickly hurries to vitalize. It feels very alive, a place that seemed to be no more than death itself. You had never seen Hades work so much on things other than dealing with shades. You're almost impressed.

Zagreus helps his mother adjust the tables in the dining room, and the amount of preparation that goes into the welcoming of the Olympians is baffling. You help around when you can, organizing plates and tasting the food. Zagreus stops you from having a sip of ambrosia while preparing. You bat your lashes at him, and he shakes his head. "There is alcohol mixed into it, fair goddess." You listen, setting it onto the table as he rushes off to help his mother. You smile at the two; after all, he was a mother's boy. You wonder if you had parents of your own, but you brush the thought off. It did not matter.

Once the party ends, you don't complain as you clean up with the other servants, and you don't complain as you wash dishes in River Styx. You find it amusing that you were washing dishes in the river of the dead. The boon of Lady Persephone herself keeps you from decaying, and Zagreus helps you out, drying tableware as you finish the last of the mess. The rest of the castle is restored, and you collapse onto Zagreus' recliner, exhaustion worming through your body. You curl in the cushions, the exhaustion knocking you out. You could worry about other things later once you wake up.

The prince of the underworld steps back into his room, frowning when he couldn't find you after you rushed off to the kitchen. He wonders if you had been sent back to Elysium or attempted to flee. After all, you had looked sad when you boarded the boat to return. He's glad that isn't the case when he finds you on his bed. Your chest rises and falls, the fabric of your chiton barely doing anything to cover your body. It slides down your shoulder, and Zagreus bites his tongue as he shifts it back up your shoulder, covering you. He lifts you from the recliner, placing you in bed gently, as if scared you would break from his touch. Your skin is cool against his as he wraps his arms around you hesitantly, and he closes his eyes. It had been a while since he had fallen asleep.

You wake to warmth pressed against your back and a sweaty body. You don't recall Zagreus' room being so hot. Was Tartarus burning all of a sudden? Perhaps Asphodel had overflowed once more. Yet, as your eyes open and you stretch your arms, you find that you're in the arms of the prince, his head pressed into your shoulder. You pause mid-stretch, and you lower your arms, shuffling to face him. The sheets rustle as you press your ear to his chest, eyes closing again at the sound of his heart. Huh. You didn't know dead people had heartbeats in the underworld.

Zagreus wakes again, sighing at the coolness of your skin. He glances at your new position, and he lies there, staring up at the ceiling. His mind wanders as you lie on him, and he brushes your hair to the side. You look pretty in his arms, and you were all his. You stir in your rest, and you blink drowsily at the male. "Zag?"

"Good morning, goddess," He smiles. "Did you rest well?"

"Very much so," You mumble, tapping his chest gently. His eyes meet yours, and his lips pull into a grin. You look dazzling. He moves his hand to your cheek, tracing the bags of your eyes. Your lips part, leaning into his touch. You contemplate your words for a moment, the prince hanging on the apprehension. Your next words cause his smile to broaden."May... I have a kiss?"

"Yes, goddess," He whispers, lowering himself to press one to your lips lovingly. You wrap your arms around his neck, whimpering at the heat from his hands. His eyes stay half-lidded, and his tongue swipes your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting him press his tongue to yours, sticking closer to him. Zagreus leans further into you, heart ringing in his ears. He whimpers as you move your hands to press to his chest, and he pulls away, the coolness of your skin burning his. He pants, staring at you through his lashes. "What's wrong?"

"I want more," You whimper, squirming as he presses his hands to your waist. Zagreus' face lights up. You seldom asked for more. You must be tired, his pretty goddess. He'll take care of you properly. Anything for you, after all. He pulls the blanket from your shoulders and lifts you into his lap.

"On top or on the bottom, darling," He mumbles, and you reach for his wrist.

"Bottom, please, Zag."

The prince spreads you on the bed, pulling your thighs apart as you ease into the pillows. You chew your bottom lip nervously as he presses his fingers into your legs. You grow embarrassed from his actions, skin flushing.

"Don't do that," You whisper.

"What's wrong?"

"It's embarrassing," You hide your face, and the prince smiles.

"There is no embarrassment," He pulls you to his face by the thigh, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your leg. "You are the lover of the prince of the underworld. There is no shame in a place as this." He lifts the cloth from your legs, scrunching it up. "I'll make sure that you are aware of this, goddess." His fingers trace the outer lip of your labia, thumb meeting your clit to get you wet. You grip the sheets, desperate to cum not squirm. Zagreus is making it increasingly hard for you, your breath quickening as he slides a finger into you. Your thighs squirm to close, and he uses his arms to keep you open. Your struggling falls on deaf ears. He stares in curiosity at the way you coat his fingers. "You're gorgeous, darling." He mumbles, kissing your clit gently. You flush with embarrassment.

"That's embarrassing," You whine again.

"I told you, darling," Zagreus presses his lips to your pussy, pulling his fingers out to keep your legs apart forcibly. "There is no embarrassment to being my lover." He can't see you, but he drinks in the sounds you make as he goes down on you. The room fills up with your gasps, and he moans lightly as your fingers thread through his hair. He presses his tongue flat again, and you whimper as he bites on your clit. You're not sure what happens next, but as the prince goes back down on you in a blur, your legs are tightening around his head, your orgasm crashing down on you. Your lips part, a silent sob slipping past your lips as Zagreus pulls from you. He swipes his fingers across his chin, collecting the slick from your cunt.

"Still embarrassed?," His face drops, and he leans into your face.

You whimper. "N-no."

"Do you want to go all the way?" He stares at the mess on the sheets, and you whimper.

"Yes," You whisper. "I... feel as though I've made you wait long enough."

"Do not think that you are required to satisfy me," He whispers, staring into your eyes. "Never. This is about your comfort."

"I am sure, my prince," You mumble, fingers pressing onto his chest again.

Zagreus pulls his robes to the side, and he gives you one last stare, only pulling you to him as you nod. You're nervous, understandably so, and the prince eases into you, lashes fluttering to stare at you while you stare at where he was sliding into you. He's glad you're wet enough, and he pauses once he's inside of you, rubbing comforting circles onto your waist as you reach for his hand. He entwines his fingers with yours, letting you play with his fingers as you adjust to his size.

You're full. You feel yourself filled to the brim, stretched beyond how you've ever felt with your fingers alone. You fiddle with the prince's hand, the heat from his body warming yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to feel closer to him, and he leans onto you, hands caging you to keep his body weight off of you. You take the moment to stare at his arms and pecs, biting your bottom lip as he shifts himself in you. You exhale, curling upward to his collar, biting quietly. The prince cocks his neck to the side to give you more access, and you bite down, the male moaning. You suck quietly. You wonder if you could ask him to play with his chest another day. He might think it's too much for the first time.

Your lips let go of his neck, and you lower yourself back onto the mattress. "You can move now, my prince."

Zagreus moves slowly, worried that he would break you if he were to move roughly. You can feel him with every drag, sweating. "You're, hah, so dazzling, goddess," The male moans, hissing at the feeling of your nails rake down his skin. You whimper as he drags himself inside of you again, and your eyes are glazed over with tears. Zagreus finds that you look divine like this. The mixture of sweat and spit on the two of you causes your skin to glisten, and his half-lidded eyes flick over your body. You look ethereal. Ah, not even the skies of the overworld could rival your beauty. He can't believe he gets to have you like this.

You gasp and writhe under him, broken sobs cracking out of your throat as he thrusts into your repeatedly. You feel his sweat build up under your nails, yet you don't mind. Every inch of your body is on fire, and you whimper at how full you feel. You feel every inch of him drag through you at each thrust, and your toes curl behind him. It's drunkening. Your body is a mess from him, the cum staining his sheets, yet Zagreus doesn't stop. Your arms fall above your head, Zagreus entwining his hand with one of yours. You feel embarrassed, trying to muffle your voice in his pillows. "Zag... Zag... Ah, Zahg" You gasp as he presses his chest to yours, forcing your eyes to meet his. "I'm going to... hah... cum... please..."

Zagreus presses a kiss to your collar, his thumb moving down to meet your clit. You were calling his name so sweetly, how could he not comply? Your back hits the bedding again, nails digging into his shoulders. You moan and babble incoherently as he speeds up, and you cry as your orgasm hits. It jolts down your spine, your pussy clenching on him, causing the prince to curse on your skin, fucking you through your orgasm. You cry from the overstimulation, and the prince strings apologies into your ears as he chases his own orgasm. "Zahg... nn," You cry. "It feels weird... a-ah," Zagreus presses his lips to yours, finally feeling himself cum as your nails dig back into his skin. He doesn't think much as he forces himself into you deeper so that his cum stays, and you finally relax onto the pillows, tear stains visible on your cheeks.

"Sorry, darling," He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, licking the salt curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," You whimper as he pulls out. "I'm fine. Thank you, my prince."

"Rest again, my goddess." He mumbles, kissing your forehead. "I shall take care of you."

"I'm sorry," Your eyes shut. "My prince."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for," He pulls the covers over you once more, and you drift off.

#this is two years old. no i will not elaborate #hades game #zagreus x reader #reader insert #beeeeg sigh. no more tags other than that this one is staying HIDDEN #oh my god why is the tag trending this is EVILLL NOO DON'T PERCEIVE MEEE :(

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tina-mairin-goldstein · 2 days

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Do you think he was ever in love with Bedelia like he was in love with Will? I ask this because Bedelia says they were both the "brides of Hannibal". But Hannibal never courted her like he did with Will, Bedelia came into Hannibal's life much before Will but he never pursued her like he did with Will. Mads said he wanted a future with Will unlike with other people he hooked up with Alana, Bedelia or Anthony. He took her to Italy as a consolation prize when Will betrayed him. Even in Italy H was pining about Will all the time and telling Bedelia how much he loves Will. I know he slept with Bedelia but he probably slept with Anthony too and he slept with Alana, Hannibal is a hedonistic guy who sleeps around. For him sleeping with someone doesn't mean he is in love with them. On the other hand he took a bullet for Will, went to prison for years for Will, made a human heart for Will, jumped off a cliff for Will, committed a whole massacre for Will. But when Will confronts Bedelia, she pretends as if Hannibal held them in the same regard which is obviously not true. Hannibal would choose Will over her in a heart beat and even she knows it but yet she acts as if Hannibal sees them both equally. I don't understand why? 😭 Why do you think?why make herself seem like a competition when she is not?

Hmm, this is a very tricky question! Anon, you might have sent me the same ask twice, since I received two that are worded exactly the same, so if I will be answering both here. Answer is under the cut, because it is LONG.

Though Hannibal wore his 'person suit' around Bedelia, I believe there is a connection between them. Even with the suit on, he allowed her to see many different parts of him, parts no one else got to see. He was gushing about Will to her, before he realized he loved Will. He allowed himself to be vulnerable in ways in front of her, and when he fled after Mizumono, he went to her house. He might have assumed she wasn't coming back, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say he smelled her on Jack or Alana at some point, so he knew she was back. He knew she would return home. I think he took her to Italy so he wouldn't be alone, so there would be someone knew him and had seen behind the veil still with him.

For Hannibal, I think sex is not a 'sacred' thing. In ways, it could be seen as another way of taking part of someone, and I think he views it very casually. Everyone has basic needs, and there's nothing wrong with satisfying those needs. Looking at it that way, while I think he was jealous that Margot got to share that with Will and conceived a child with him, which he could never do with Will, I don't think it totally mattered to him in the end (I believe he never intended for the baby to die, that he told Mason in an attempt to protect Margot, not because he was jealous). After all, he was sleeping with Alana, and I don't think it was to make Will jealous, it was because he had a need and Alana was the best person to satisfy it.

Bedelia is much the same. Unlike the others, he let her see him and she accepted it right away. She didn't need any time to process it and while she ran, she never rejected him. She was his cure for a broken heart. I don't think he actually slept with Anthony (the time shown indicated there might not have been any space for that), I think he might have made out with him, and that was one reason he had to die. Because while he was a Will substitute, in the end he wasn't Will, so Hannibal killed him.

From Bedelia's view point, matters are different. I actually wrote a fic exploring these emotions. I think she believed she could tame Hannibal in some ways. Because she saw him and didn't turn away from what he was, because he let her see him. She could have shot him at any point while he was in her house and been justified in it, but she didn't. She said she was curious, and I think she was, about Hannibal and about herself. When he set Neal Frank on her, she got in touch with the side of herself that wanted to crush the wounded bird. Being with Hannibal allowed her to explore that and, in letting him live and seeing what he would do, live through the darkness in him rather than facing her own. And she taunted him that he wouldn't get to eat her when they parted. She viewed herself as in control, the one that got away. She could have left any point, could have turned him over the authorities any time she pleased, but she didn't. I would say there is no 'love' between them, not in the common definition of the word. There is a connection, but not love in the way the English language can describe.

Will, forever and always, will be Hannibal's great love. He would never take the bullet, go to jail, cause a massacre, or allow himself to be pulled off a cliff by and for anyone else. But Bedelia was the first person to see him and accept him for what he was, so there will always be that connection between them. Bedelia was the first person to be seduced by Hannibal and his darkness. Will was the last. I think Bedelia might have been attracted to Hannibal, might have even thought herself in love with him during their med school days (I think they met then, don't remember, if not, head canon) or at some other point. I think she loves the idea of him, and the darkness he allowed her to touch.

And when Will, the person who would be the one thing she could never be, came up to her and confronted her, she touched that darkness in herself again. She knew he was as dangerous as Hannibal, and she wanted to taunt him. Like I said before, she was the first to be seduced by Hannibal, the first to accept the darkness in him, and that is the one thing Will would never have. It is no small stretch to say that she has a side of Hannibal Will will never, ever have.

I think Bedelia might have wanted someone to love her as Hannibal does Will, maybe wanted Hannibal to love her that way, but he never could, so that could explain the baiting.

They CAN both be viewed as Hannibal's brides. They both got separate sides of him. In the end, Will gets every part of Hannibal, but they both held separate sides of him, and he gave them different sides of themselves. It's not a stretch to say that Bedelia wanted Il Mostro for herself, because he was the only person who allowed her the darkness in herself, whose own darkness was worse. I think she loved the darkness and the danger.

So, in conclusion, I think there is a type of love between Hannibal and Bedelia, but it is far different from what Hannibal has with Will. There will always be that connection between them, and Bedelia will always hang onto it.

Both she and Will are his brides. She was his first, and Will was his last.

I hope this answered your question! This was very hard to answer, and I hope I was able to explain myself well enough.

#ask answered #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #bedelia du maurier #will graham #my ramblings

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shimmerluna · 1 month

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WAIT Elle has box braids in s3??? I could cry

I don't think she had bad hair in s1 or s2, but I'm excited that they're actually giving the Black girls Black hairstyles instead of having them wear it out.

Before, it felt like the (all-white, for context) hair department was just ignorant about Black hair, so they put wigs on the Black actresses and only did styles that also work on nonblack hair for their own sake/convenience. This theory was especially supported by the fact that Tara, whose 4c hair couldn't really be styled the same as nonblack hair, wore a twistout that would take literal hours to do every day, but she had box braids in s2! and Elle has box braids now!! I'm so excited!!!

I also feel like this fits her bold, fashion-loving personality so much better than leaving her hair out. Our hair is basically its own accessory, and the long box braids are very feminine. Again, I'm not saying not having a protective style isn't feminine or fashionable (I myself am a fashion girlie with an Afro), but having one is another outlet for her creativity, and I'm glad they're recognizing that now.

#shimmer's thoughts #heartstopper #elle argent #i have heard that apparently black people aren't allowed to have braids in uk schools? which is legitimately fucking wild #although it kinda looks like this had a big turning point in 2022 according to a quick google? but i'm not 100% sure #it depends on how much influence the ehrc has over the government. which doesn't seem to be much #we do have hair dress codes with huge anti-black bias here but no braids usually isn't in there explicitly #or something that's enforced afaik #all that to say it might just be that this happens to be a summer season and that's why their hair is like that #although even then I don't think Tara would be doing a twistout every day #i think slicking takes way less time so she'd probably be doing that if they didn't like afros either #she might though. i don't know exactly why she would do that but she might decide to do that #also to clarify again i'm not saying not having a protective style as a black girl is bad or negative or anything #i'm saying in the context of the hair and makeup team being completely white #and alice oseman being a white person who originally only gave the comic characters wavy/barely curly hair #them not giving them protective(/realistic for Tara) styles was sus. and this is a welcome change #i mean. we haven't seen Tara's hair for this season yet. and they really love that twistout #so maybe i shouldn't get my hopes up yet. but i'll give them their flowers for this at least

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zarameraki · 4 months

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♡₊˚☀️・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶'𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 & 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 ♡₊˚☀️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 spoils the literal shit out of you 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content in vague details 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔 he loves kissing the fuck out of you

: ̗̀➛ words: 7.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: you guys are so sweet for supporting my toji fanfic which is why i wanted to write another and this time its about my husband, the father of our children, the man who deserves every beautiful thing in this world. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami Kento entered your bakery at exactly six o' clock.

You carefully observed the moments he dedicated to perusing the array of pastries, the vibrant mountain of macaroons, and the freshly baked, warm casse-croûte that you unfailingly prepared for him when he clocked out. There was a tender quality to his countenance, noticeable in the slight release of tension between his brows as the soft, buttery flakes dissolved on his tongue in your presence. Without fail, he consistently left a generous tip in your travel jar, dedicated to a solo trip to Malaysia.

"Did you know they've got this thing about not wearing yellow in Malaysia?" you mentioned during your initial meeting, eyeing the distinctive black-dotted tie worn by the stoic salaryman. "Well, not that your tie would get you in trouble; it's not entirely yellow. In fact, I think it's perfect as it is, just like your hair, which also has a touch of yellow.”

Please cut your tongue off.

Anticipating a polite nod and perhaps a slightly regretful five-dollar tip left in the jar, you were taken aback when he queried, “Why is that?”

“Oh, uh . . . a bunch of protesters wore the color during a demand for their prime minister to step down," you stumbled, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for veering off into an unintentional crash course. Dropping trivia about Malaysia wasn't exactly the same as flirting. "So, it's kind of become a symbolism for protest and, well, threat. I read it in a book once. I don't know if it's a legitimate law, though."

“Do you like reading?” he asked, still interested in conversing with you. “Most people would Google information.”

“I like reading. It’s easier to retain information that way.”

Nanami acknowledged your gesture with a nod of gratitude as he accepted the casse-croûte and exited your bakery. Anticipating that he might not return due to his reserved nature and your awkward attempts at compliment-flirting, you were surprised to find that he was, in fact, full of surprises.

Nanami became a regular visitor. Day after day, for the past year, he arrived at precisely six o' clock. He continued his routine, whether he purchased a box of pastries, a pair of bagged bread loaves, or simply a casse-croûte and a small cup of milk coffee. You always prepared his order five minutes ahead of time, just in case you were occupied with other customers.

"Enjoy!" you chirped, casting a warm smile at the customer you just served as the bakery slowly emptied, leaving only Nanami browsing the delightful array of small cakes. "Good evening, Mr. Nanami!"

Nanami raised his head in your direction. "Good evening." He finally settled on the black forest cake from the open freezer and brought it to the counter.

"Special occasion?" you inquired as you rang him out, sneakily not charging him for the casse-croûte and coffee. There was a special occasion of your own that you were eager to share, hanging from the tip of your tongue.

"An intern's birthday."

"Sounds fun!" You had been saving up for your birthday present since summer, and Nanami had played a significant role. "When's your birthday?"

"July third."

Your eyes widened with surprise. "No way! Mine is July sixth. We’re summer babies."

“Happy belated birthday,” he said, fishing for his wallet, gaze barely meeting yours.

"Same to you." Offering the sandwich and coffee, you extended them towards him. "Consider it a belated birthday treat."

Nanami’s brows crinkled. “I cannot accept.”

"Why not? It's a gift." You slid the items closer with a subtle nudge, leaving him little room to refuse. "And you've given me a priceless gift, Mr. Nanami." Your eyes hinted at the tip jar's location, which now lay empty.

“Were you robbed?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“What—? No! Oh my god. You’re so funny.” A chuckle escaped behind your fist, and he observed you momentarily before glancing away. "I'm heading to Malaysia next week!"

Nanami gave a subtle nod. Although his lack of a more animated response disappointed you, you understood that shortness was his nature. "Congratulations.”

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami. Your generous tips really made a difference. They covered half of our trip.”

“Our? It’s not a solo trip?”

You let out a little nervous laugh. Should you really be telling Nanami about your crippling love life? Would he even be interested? Well, he seemed to listen carefully when you talk. Maybe he wouldn’t care, but you really needed someone to talk to about this. Unfortunately, all your friends were too busy with their marriages to care.

“Well?” Nanami prompted.

"Right, sorry. It's just—I've actually been seeing someone. Funny enough, we met in a Facebook group for solo travelers. He lives in a nearby town.”

Unexpectedly, Nanami's first question caught you off guard. "Can you trust him?" His concern surfaced, causing you to pause. "I'm only asking because you met this man online. You can't trust strangers on the internet."

"Thank you, Mr. Nanami, but I’m capable enough to know about stranger danger," you said with a funny smile, dismissing his parental concern. "Besides, we’ve gone on a few dates over the past month."

Nanami's frown remained intact. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you paying for him, too?"

"Yes."

“Why?” Nanami asked, firmly placing his palms on the counter, making it clear he wasn't leaving until he was convinced you wouldn't get in trouble during your Malaysian adventure.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

His mouth opened but then closed into a thin line, his forehead lines deepening. "It’s not my place to tell you what’s right and what isn’t—"

"Yes, you’re right about that," you interrupted.

"—but this is bordering on recklessness. You cannot use your trip’s money to pay for a man you’ve known for a mere month. Why is he even in the traveler’s group if he cannot afford to pay for himself?"

"Mr. Nan—"

"You are being scammed."

Your teeth clenched together. You rarely got impatient. Years in the hospitality industry and dealing with misogynistic tenants didn't break you. Even setting up your bakery and almost draining your savings didn't dim your optimism.

But getting scolded by someone who barely spoke more than five sentences to you in a whole year of being a regular? That's pushing it.

He didn't know you or Toji, the guy you're seeing. He didn’t understand how much you appreciated him accompanying you. So what if you covered his share of the trip expenses? Toji promised to pay you back, and he's been paying the bills for your dates. They might not be fancy, but it's the gesture that matters.

Sure, Nanami chipped in some money, and you're thankful for that. But he has no right to question you. Other people also contributed to your travel fund; it's not like he single-handedly financed the whole trip. You appreciated his support, but he was not in a position to lecture you.

With a sigh, you managed to contain your frustration and said, "Have a great rest of your night, Mr. Nanami.”

Nanami's frustration was palpable as he stood firm, his gaze piercing through the windows of your soul. “I suggest you take my advice into serious consideration. It would greatly upset me if you had the chance to visit one of your favorite countries taken from you.”

You didn't bother watching him go. Instead, your discovery awaited you at the counter—the money for the coffee and casse-croûte lay there, accompanied by a crumpled yellow note that had slipped to the floor. Moving around the counter, you picked it up and smoothed out its wrinkles.

What greeted you was your own name scrawled across the sticky note, repeated around fifty times, the letters overlapping in a chaotic dance. Some were hastily scratched out, while others were executed with perfect cursive precision. You didn’t know what to make of it.

During your confusion, a new customer walked in. Quickly, you pocketed the note, focused on carrying on with your day despite the lingering frustration that Nanami's cryptic message had left in its wake.

Toji never showed up.

You waited for him for two agonizing hours, extending the torture even more after your flight had taken off. It dawned on you that he likely didn't bother getting a ticket. He probably pocketed the money you sent him and vanished into thin air. Every attempt to reach him failed miserably—your calls were forwarded, and the fifth one hammered the heartbreaking truth that he had blocked your number. To compound your misery, you sent him a string of text messages that refused to deliver your pain. You didn't even know where he lived, as your encounters were always in the obscure locations of your budgeted dates.

The thought of reporting him to the police crossed your mind, accusing him of theft, but the lack of photographic evidence left you helpless. To make matters worse, he hated taking pictures, and you were uncertain if the name he provided was even real. All that remained was a flicker of hope that you might cross paths with the bastard and unleash your pent-up rage with a hard kick to his dick.

With a heavy heart, you gathered your strength, brushed away the tears until not a single trace remained on your lashes, and lugged your suitcase and carry-on outside the airport, hoping to hail a cab.

The idea of facing the upcoming days at work felt agonizing, goading you to spend them in the isolation of your shabby apartment. You were engrossed in a depressing routine—microwaved dinners, aimless hours on the couch, and a marathon of old cable TV shows.

As hunger struck again, you contemplated your options. Baking seemed like a possibility, but motivation had abandoned you. Pasta could be an option, but the lack of noodles and tomato sauce made it impractical. So, you settled for the one thing that required no ingredients: crying.

At least that was free.

Despite the inner turmoil, you mustered the strength to shoulder your overcoat, sporting your fleece pajamas printed with candy canes and well-worn second-hand boots.

The short walk to the corner store felt longer than usual, the biting cold making you clutch your threadbare coat tighter. Your teeth chattered in protest as you entered, and the rush of warm air was a momentary relief against the chill. Fingers numb, you mindlessly reached for familiar comfort snacks—chips, chocolate milk, anything to dull the ache.

A hand much larger than yours beat you to the last packet of croissants.

“Ah, sorry.” You let it go. “All yours—” You choked as you looked up, and up, at Nanami staring at you wide-eyed, his hazel eyes flickering at a rapid speed as if he were hallucinating your presence. Your face flushed with embarrassment, and the weight of the past five days crammed upon you—his uncanny prediction, your own naivety, and the sting of being swindled. “Mr. Nanami . . . ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in—”

“Good night.”

With a dismissive shake of your head, you left the basket on the counter, mumbled a quick apology, and retreated back into the biting cold.

You’ve faced tons of humiliating moments—slipping in front of customers, your purse strap getting snagged in a door and dragging you back, and that one unforgettable instance when a little boy labeled your eyebrows as caterpillars in front of a line of onlookers. Yet, none of those incidents could hold a candle to the awkwardness of bumping into the very man who had warned you about the ill-fated choice of paying for a stranger's trip—stranger now—when it was supposed to be your trip.

You felt a firm grip on your wrist, making your restless pacing suddenly stop.

Startled, you turned around to find a pair of expressionless hazel eyes and a slightly out-of-breath figure. Now is not the time to ogle Mr. Nanami’s broad shoulders, you idiot!

Releasing your wrist, he handed over a white, plastic bag. With a raised eyebrow, you peered inside to inspect its contents. It held everything from your shopping basket, including the last packet of croissants. Even more unexpected, he had paid for it all.

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you assured, your eyes already scanning for the nearest ATM, just in case you forgot. "But for now." You pulled out the packaged croissants and extended them toward him. Your body was shaking, not because of November but because of how you were scammed after being forewarned by Nanami. “Please. Take it.”

He took your small hand in both of his, the warmth immediately melting the tension in your body. “So cold.”

A soft giggle escaped you at the obvious observation, and you placed your free hand on top of his. "So warm." Sniffling, tears welled up in your eyes. "You know what else is warm? The sun. And it's yellow. It's so yellow."

“Factually speaking, it is white.��

You wiped an arm across your nose. “What?”

“The sun. It’s white. It’s only yellow in children's books.”

You weren't about to argue with the guy who vindicated your slip-ups. Still, given the circumstances, you wished he'd soften the bluntness and let you bask in the illusion that the sun was a simple shade of yellow.

"I've always loved the color yellow," you mumbled. "Maybe getting scammed was a blessing. I'd probably get fined for wearing yellow otherwise. I couldn't afford to mess up on my trip. Besides, it all depends on the shade, right? Imagine how many fines I'd rack up just testing which shade of yellow suits me—"

Nanami tugged you close, capturing your lips with his.

A sharp intake of breath filled your lungs, eyes widening in surprise. Instinctively, your hands pushed him away, fingers grazing your tingling lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t—Don’t worry. About it.” You tucked your lips in and tasted chocolate and mint—two of your favorite combinations. Nanami always seemed like the kind of man who would hate both flavors independently and dependently. “You’re okay. I mean—You’re okay in general. You’re not okay with kissing. You’re probably great, I’m sure.” Your tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, and Nanami’s eyes followed the motion. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

You walked up to him, grabbed the lapels of his coat, and tugged him down a notch, your lips colliding with his.

Nanami's touch was calculated, his hand sailing onto your cheek, feeding warmth to your cold ear before vanishing into the labyrinth of your hair. Simultaneously, the other serpentined to the small of your back, his magnetic energy drawing you snugly against his chest. His warm tongue delicately swept across your lower lip, an unspoken cue that encouraged you to part your lips in response.

Nanami deepened the kiss, your tongues stroking against one another feverishly as if it were your last kiss. Who knows? Maybe it could’ve been. But the way he kissed with such desperation, releasing soft moans, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath, made you think that maybe this was just the start.

And you kissed him back just as needy.

If your hands slightly released their hold on his lapels, you'd gently cup the sides of his neck, rising on your tiptoes. And if your calves protested, you'd draw him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers entwining in his pale, golden locks. The taste of mint chocolate lingered on your lips, and a smile curved on your mouth as he stole a quick peck, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes for a moment before kissing you again.

You’re not sure how long you two stood and kissed there. Nanami was the one who always took the lead, savoring the taste of your pink, tender tongue, kissing your chilly cheeks and dewy eyes. The desire for each other made it hard to break away, yet the need for a breath of air was undeniable.

Finally, you decided to be the one to step back, signalling the end of your first kiss with him.

Your bottom lip tingled as you pulled it in, jaw aching from the infectious smile that had taken over your face. You couldn't help stealing glances at the tall man before you, who returned your gaze with a soft, almost imperceptible grin. Yet, in his eyes, under the gentle glow of the streetlight, you could see the excitement and joy of kissing you, twinkling brightly.

“I'm gonna—”

“I should—”

Both of you sighed; you with a soft chuckle, and him with a discreet throat-clearing.

“I've already missed quite a few workdays,” you said. “Gotta earn that dough if I want to make next month’s rent.” Nanami didn’t quite catch your bakery pun, but he nodded in agreement.

“Right,” you murmured, subtly veering to the side, putting on a little show as you started to walk away. You admitted it—you were a hopeless romantic. You secretly hoped for him to steal a kiss on your cheek and watch until you safely disappeared around the corner. “I’m off now.”

“Goodnight,” Nanami replied, subtly licking his lips for the sixteenth time. Yes, you were keeping count.

“Night-night.”

Nanami strolled down his end of the sidewalk. You followed suit, turning down your street.

Luck had only sometimes been on your side when it came to men and their romantic gestures. Oh well. At least you experienced a passionate kiss from one of your favorite customers. Asking for more seemed a bit too much—

A hand gently pressed against your back, and as you turned, it gracefully curved around your waist, drawing you in. Nanami caught your gasp and kissed you with an urgency that doubled, holding onto you as if his life depended on it, lifting you off your toes. Three sweet pecks later, he released you, both of your faces flushed.

"Get home safely," he whispered, walking away without a second glance.

That night, you couldn't help but giggle into your mascara-stained pillow.

The morning after, you were a whirlwind of joy and light, twirling through the bakery with trays of freshly baked pastries, replenishing boxes and take-out essentials. You greeted customers with an extra dose of sweetness, and to top it off, you even handed out a tray of delectable chocolate jam cookies. And you wore a yellow bow in your hair.

The oven beeped as the casse-croûtes finished baking, signaling their readiness for Nanami's arrival in just five minutes. You took special care in preparing his milk coffee, indulging in a quiet chuckle at your undeniable favoritism. Though the neighborhood bakery wasn't bustling with a large customer base, your attention was solely dedicated to him—your only regular as everyone else buzzed in the distant city an hour away.

With his coffee prepared and two casse-croûtes packed, you added a chocolate-mint cookie to the bag. Then, you decided to rearrange the shelves of gift baskets to pass the time.

Setting up the ladder, you ascended the shaky steps until you were eye to eye with the fifth shelf. Heights were never your forte, which, in hindsight, was another reason why flying to Malaysia was out of the question. The more you thought about being scammed, the more your heart wrenched from your lost trip. You’d again brought out your tip jar and prayed the odds were in your favor. Hell, maybe you’d ask Nanami to join you if you decided to take your relationship to the next level.

As you secured the bow on the basket, your gaze landed on the clock—6:30 p.m., and Nanami was a no-show.

Anxiety surged through you in an instant.

Did he leave you hanging? Maybe that kiss was a turnoff, and he chose to disappear rather than be upfront about finding you too overwhelming. Did your breath smell bad? Were you a terrible kisser? Or, worse, did something happen to him?

A torrent of worries flooded your mind, breaking through like a burst dam. Each imagined scenario seemed more nightmarish than the last, causing your head to spin. Recent events, like Toji's betrayal, fueled this self-doubt, made you question your intuition. While Nanami was clearly wealthy, consistently tipping a twenty each day, you found yourself questioning whether he had plans to use you for something else. As if that weren't enough, doubts crept in about your appearance and your optimistic, extroverted personality.

It started to make sense, didn't it? Nanami led a tranquil life, sticking to a routine of work and home, while you were a whirlwind of spontaneity—constantly buzzing with new ideas and discussions, unable to sit still or resist laughter at the silliest jokes. Everything seemed to fascinate you, yet nothing appeared to faze him. How could you have been so naive to entertain the thought—

“Good evening.”

“Ah!” you yelped at the sudden baritone intruding into your thoughts. Your foot, betrayed by the unexpected intrusion, lost its balance on the step. Your arms flailed in a desperate attempt to find stability as you teetered backward, the impending hazard of a severe concussion and potential spinal cord injury looming.

But just as you were prepared to shake hands with God, Nanami's powerful arms swooped in at the last possible moment. With a secure hold, he cradled you in a bridal style, and you clung to him like a shaking puppy, arms looped around his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath slightly labored.

You gingerly peeled one eye open to peek at him. His expression was one of calm disorientation; eyebrows knit together while his lips maintained a straight, tight line.

"Yes," you whispered, soothed by his timely intervention.

Nanami steadied you back onto your feet but maintained a firm grip on your elbows. “Look at me.” As you did, he inspected each eye closely while keeping his hand steady on your left cheek. He checked below your jaw, down to your dusty palms, which he cleaned with his silk handkerchief. He also patted down your tousled hair. "Are you sure you're okay?"

“Mm-hmm.” You could cry from how gentle he was with you. “A-Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He took a composed breath and effortlessly retrieved his suitcase from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. “I apologize for being late. My . . . car broke down.”

"What? Oh my god! Do you need me to give you my mechanic's number? I promise he's not as bad as the Google reviews say. He's actually quite a sweet man. And he gives me a friends and family discount because my father was close with him." You beamed, and Nanami squinted his eyes as if the brightness of your smile momentarily blinded him, but he tried his best to reciprocate.

“Do your parents live here?”

You shook your head. “They passed away a while ago.”

“I apologize.”

"Don't be." You quickly switched subjects by fluttering towards the counter to pick up his items. “Tell me how your coffee tastes.” You turned around, adding, “I switched to a new brand of milk—”

Nanami pressed his lips against yours, momentarily freezing you. His seamless transition afterward could have fooled an onlooker into thinking you'd been married for years. "Thank you.” He took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s great. Everything you make is great.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sudden shyness enveloping you. From the kiss? The compliment? Him? You didn’t know at all. “Do you still need me to give you the mechanic’s number?”

“It’s all right. I had it fixed. Minor battery issue, that’s all.”

“Ah, okay. See, that’s why I prefer to walk.”

Nanami glanced elsewhere, nodding. “Then, would you like to walk with me after you’ve closed?”

“Oh.” A subtle flicker of surprise crossed your features. Nonchalantly, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling warmly. “Of course, yes. I’d love to go on a walk with you. Where are we going? There are lots of cafés in a nearby shopping district. I know all the best places to take you to.” A grave thought struck you just then. “Oh, actually. Hmm.”

Curious, he tilted his head down, meeting your worried gaze. "What is it?"

"Well," you began, your thoughts taking a cautious turn, "you probably have a set time to be home unless you live nearby. In that case, we could spend the entire evening strolling around. Only if you're interested, of course."

Nanami’s lips twitched. “I live nearby.”

“Where?” You weren’t ashamed to have been so upfront. It was more of a precautionary measure.

And he didn't seem bothered, quickly revealing the familiar neighborhood you instantly recognized. It was a fifteen-minute walk from your own place.

"May I step out momentarily to make a call?" Nanami asked, pulling out his phone. It was the latest model you noticed—one that came out last week and mocked your own that was five versions older. “It will be quick.”

“By all means.” You had to fix your hair and make-up anyway.

Nanami nodded and exited the shop, leaving you to flee behind the counter. As you crouched down to check yourself in the small mirror tucked away in the lower drawer, you couldn't help but feel a warmth on your face from the unexpected collapse, the sweet, brief kiss, and his impeccable navy blue suit decorated with yellow cufflinks. Maybe a café was too casual for him; a restaurant might have been a more suitable choice. An expensive choice. However, you were adamant about not letting Nanami cover the entire cost.

Upon his return, five minutes later, you both settled at one of the three round tables in your bakery (he even pulled out your chair for you). Sipping on your coffees and enjoying the casse-croûtes and chocolate pastries, the conversation seemed somewhat one-sided. Yet, Nanami's aloof demeanor never made you feel inferior for dominating the dialogue. He listened to every word and vowel with his undivided attention, nodding alongside and adding in short sentences when he could relate to your childhood shenanigans.

"Wait," he interrupted, causing you to halt in your tracks. The sun cast a warm glow on his face, making his eyes narrow into slits, but God did he look handsome. He extended his hand and brushed a thumb near your lips, discovering a small chocolate smudge. Swiftly, he licked it clean and tidied up the area around your lips with a napkin. "Beautiful."

“What?”

Nanami was a deer in headlights. He sunk his head, beating himself up from murmuring his thoughts aloud—at least, that’s what you concluded. "You look beautiful," he declared with more assurance, his gaze on your face. "You are beautiful, Y/N."

Oh, my.

Your heart was going to claw itself out of your chest. You could cook an egg on your face from how heated it had gotten. In fact, you were burning hotter than the sun, which continuously made him squint and blink. “Thank you.”

He nodded twice, finishing the remnants of his coffee. Rising, he disposed of the cups and wrappers in the garbage bin, then extended a hand to help you stand. "I'll wait outside while you close up."

At a lightning pace, you ensured that everything in the bakery was safely unplugged and shut off. Grabbing your purse, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror, adjusting your face and hair. Stepping outside, you meticulously locked the door and gates.

Without a word, Nanami entwined his fingers with yours, causing you to smile like an idiot at him. He maintained a straight, vigilant gaze, seemingly unresponsive as you wrapped yourself around his arm. A subtle smirk tugged at your lips when you felt his muscles flex.

You walked for hours, café-hopping and trying pastries, baked goods, and sweet drinks. Every time Nanami attempted to cover the expenses with his cash, you scolded him, insisting that since you had suggested the place, you should be the one to pay. It was a rule you had read about online, and all your friends stuck to it religiously. The thought of Nanami spending his hard-earned money on your interests made you feel incredibly guilty.

As a matter of fact, you were feeling guilty about tons of things. He told you he worked at an investment firm, which meant it was a nine-to-five, likely sporting a migraine he kept hidden, and now he was being dragged around the shopping district by you, forced to listen to you because he was a man who didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain, and long, story short, you wanted to die.

“Kento,” you muttered, removing your hand from his, goosebumps rippling on your skin.

“Yes, darling?”

Your chest felt like it was being clenched in a fist. “I'm . . . I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you do all this. For making you pay for everything. For dragging you around when you're probably on the verge of exhaustion." Avoiding his gaze, you fixed your eyes on the concrete beneath you. “I know I can be too much sometimes—well, all the time.” A self-deprecating chuckle escaped your lips. "Exes in my past relationships have made it clear. I get overly excited easily, crave attention like one needs oxygen, trust people too easily to the point of getting scammed, and, well, I don't bring anything particularly special to the table. I'm sorry, Kento. Maybe it's best if we just stay friends?”

Nanami’s soft fingers lifted your chin up. Your words absolutely shattered his face, leaving you to feel worse than before. His lips were parted into a frown, his brows were scrunched up, brown irises flickering like he couldn’t believe you said that. This was the most reaction he had given you in the year that you’ve known him.

“No,” he said.

You blinked the tears gathered at your waterline. “No?”

“No.” Nanami took a calming breath, closing his eyes. His forehead gently pressed against yours. “Please, let me be selfish for this once. For you. I can’t let you go—I won’t let you go."

"Kento—"

"I want to do this, Y/N. I want to pay for everything. I want you to drag me around because I’ll never be too tired for you.” Nanami drew back and cradled your sobbing face in his large hands. “I know I fail to show it, darling, but I love your excitement. I love paying attention to every detail of you because you’ve become my oxygen source. You’re a good, kindhearted woman, and anyone would be lucky to be seen by you. And you don’t have to bring anything to the table because there isn’t one dividing us, keeping us lengths apart.” His lips brushed your forehead, imprinting his words into your mind. "I want us to be more than just friends. I want us to be best friends. Lovers. In this life and the ones that follow."

You could explode.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, seeking support as if the ground beneath you was about to crumble. Yet, you knew he would catch you, just as before. He was so real, embracing you wholly, both of you breathing in each other's scents to confirm a human like this could exist. How grateful you were he stumbled into your bakery that one rainy night, and how grateful he was that you offered him free coffee and a casse-croûte while he was freezing and trembling. His presence brought life to your bakery, gave you something to look forward to when you were at your lowest, and you gave him . . . everything. You were his everything since the first day.

As the shared silence lingered, Nanami's phone shattered the moment, its noisy ring cutting through the haze. You instinctively stepped back, but he clung to your hand as if afraid you might slip away.

Never, Nanami Kento. You’re stuck with me.

When he took out his phone, you caught a glimpse of the contact name: Satoru (assistant).

Before you could process the fact Nanami had an assistant, he swiped right. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other end resonated with loud cheerfulness in the quiet alleyway. Nanami half-rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Leave it there. I’ll be there when I want to.”

The assistant chuckled and sang his goodbye, the cheerful tone abruptly cutting off as Nanami ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Do all stockbrokers have assistants?”

He tilted his head. “I’m not a stockbroker.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. I assumed because you worked at an investment firm.”

“Yes, I was a stockbroker.” He nodded, warming your hand in his, then casually added, “But I own a firm now.”

Your brows hit your hairline. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you. We have several locations around the country. Kento Investments. Have you heard of it?”

Heard of it? You were a client some time ago when you were starting your bakery. All you encountered were glowing reviews about their ethical practices, a refreshing leave from the scheming ways of most investment firms that had previously taken advantage of you. It stood out as the industry leader in your research, and the team was lovely in guiding you through the process, so much so that you even invited them to your grand opening.

"Ah, you have." Nanami grinned, gently tilting your chin upward and closing your gaping mouth. "Therefore, my darling, don't feel guilty about me covering the expenses. I'm quite secure in my position to support both of us for centuries."

All you could manage was a disbelieving chuckle as you rested your forehead against his chest. Taking it as an invitation, he embraced you, crowning you with kisses.

Lifting your head, you said, "There's something I want to get for you."

"What is it?"

Hand-in-hand, you pulled him back toward the bustling district, the sound of his deep laughter echoing in the air. Your own laughter naturally joined in.

As you strolled past a vendor selling accessories, your attention was drawn to an item you had briefly noticed earlier in your walk. Although you planned to purchase it the following day and surprise him in the afternoon, tonight felt like the perfect moment.

Politely approaching the elderly vendor, you asked, "Could I please try those on?" He handed you a pair of round sunglasses with a green tint to the lenses. Standing on your toes, you carefully placed the glasses on Nanami's nose, adjusting them to sit perfectly on the bridge. The sides of the spectacles featured a stylish steampunk design that complemented his narrow, sharp features. "Handsome.”

"I'll take it.” Nanami reached for his wallet. However, you were one step ahead, swiftly bringing out the spare change you had set aside in your coat pocket. You had already calculated the price, ready to outsmart him in this little game of charity.

“Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said to the shop vendor, ignoring Nanami’s stare.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, darling?" You looped around his arm and began your stroll down the sidewalk. “Oh, come on. Let me be selfish and treat you once in a while.” You cut off his protests with a kiss.

He surrendered instantly.

Over the next four weeks, you didn’t realize how quickly you’d become comfortable with Nanami. Like clockwork, he would arrive at your bakery, patiently occupying a table until your duties with customers or decorating displays finished. Now resembling a vibrant florist shop, the bakery owed its transformation to Nanami's thoughtful gestures—bouquets of flowers in every shade of yellow, orange, and white became an amusing routine. As you arranged them in vases, you would burst into fits of giggles like a maniac.

You and him were like a Venn diagram, overlapping in unexpected places. He enjoyed non-fiction, classics, and history books; you immersed yourself in the world of romance and mystery novels. TV nights were a compromise between his love for documentaries and your penchant for anything sappy on Netflix, occasionally spicing things up with a true-crime documentary. His fascination with astronomy met your fixation with astrology, and surprisingly, he didn't scoff when you read the lines on his palms. Instead, he appreciated it just as much as you cherished his nightly photos of the moon and his ability to name the stars above.

At least, you were both Team Cats.

Nanami introduced you to his friends, including his quirky assistant Gojo, who had a habit of shamelessly flirting with you, seemingly just to get under Nanami's skin. However, your boyfriend was secure enough not to let it bother him. Yet, a trace of possessiveness would emerge during sex—when the two of you were entwined in bed, bodies bared and bathed in the aftermath of shared sweat.

Exiting the restaurant after a delightful dinner date, Nanami turned to you and suggested, "I'd like to invite you to my home tonight."

Finally, you thought, resisting the urge to dip your toes into the topic of visiting his home, especially considering he had been a frequent guest at yours.

The fact that he lived nearby had always puzzled you; he mentioned it casually yet never extended an invitation for a simple coffee or a chat on his welcome mat. Weekends saw him working from your living room, staying overnight, but on weekdays, he'd only spend a brief hour or two with you before heading home, a practice that seemed counterintuitive given his closeness. Despite the confusion, you hesitated to jeopardize your relationship by fishing too deeply.

So far, Nanami hadn't given you any reason to doubt him.

"Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.

"Absolutely, darling.” Nanami took your hand and planted a small kiss on the back of it. "I apologize for the delay. I've been having it . . ." He casually flicked up his sunglasses that had slipped. ". . . renovated."

“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’d love to!”

Nanami nodded and leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for being so patient. I know it was eating you alive. You're not exactly the master of hiding your emotions.” He gave you a small smile and kissed your cheek again.

You responded with a smile that crinkled your nose. "Just a bit anxious, that's all."

"Understandable.” He guided you toward his neighbourhood, exchanging a warm smile as you nestled against his arm. Observing the goosebumps on your skin and the faint shivers, he realized you had forgotten your cardigan. Without hesitation, he removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, helping you slip your arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent from the collars. "You always smell so good."

Nanami bent down, kissing the side of your neck right above your racing pulse. "As do you," he murmured against your skin. "Always."

“Gosh, you're so flirty,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his midsection and burying your face in his chest.

“Come on now.”

You walked for another ten minutes, taking a five-minute pit stop to pet a stray cat before stopping in front of a towering residence building. It was one of those extravagant ones boasting a fountain in the lobby and a vigilant security guard who greeted Nanami with a two-finger salute.

Hand on your back, Nanami guided you toward the elevator with mirrors on all sides.

He exuded an air of sophistication in his neatly rolled-up black dress shirt, complemented by beige pants. His pale, blond hair was slicked back, a Rolex clasped his wrist, and veins corded his well-defined forearms. The sunglasses you had given him rested atop his head.

As Nanami caught your eyes on the reflective surfaces, a sudden blush warmed your cheeks. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, fingers idly playing with the golden butterfly bracelet he had given you on the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. “I was just . . . God, you’re so beautiful. Sometimes, I think I’m dreaming of you. And I don’t want to wake up from it.”

Nanami released his grip on your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. He tilted your chin upward and planted a lecherous kiss on your lips. As you stumbled backward, your back met the cool surface of a mirror, and you clung to his biceps. He continued kissing your jaw and nibbling at your neck.

“Ken—Wait, there’s a camera!”

“I own the building.”

Without allowing you to react, he kissed you fervently, his hands framing your face and his knee pressing between your legs. Your hips ground against the muscled surface, creating a heated friction that drew a moan from him.

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, but Nanami was undeterred. He refused to break the kiss. Lifting you effortlessly, he cradled you with a single forearm beneath your backside and your arms encircling his neck. Laughter echoed as you entered directly into the main corridor of his penthouse.

“Your front door is an elevator?” You marveled with an open jaw.

“Yes, it seems so.”

Oh, how you loved his monotonous replies.

Nanami gently placed you onto the expansive white surface of his couch, smoothly moving over your body to continue.

“I knew you were a clean freak,” you said between his kisses, “but your penthouse looks like it was bought this morning.”

“Two weeks ago.” He kisses down your neck, sideways toward your left shoulder. “That’s why I waited to invite you. Gojo was having the place decorated. I've installed a library for you, too. We can go book-shopping this weekend.”

"Wait, what?" You pushed him back by his chest, incredulous. "Hold on, hold on, hold on. You mean to tell me you moved in just two weeks ago?"

"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly perplexedly. "When you asked about my residence, I panicked and couldn't come up with a proper answer, fearing you might decline my invitation for a walk. So, I bought this building from the previous owner on the spot. There are also commercial benefits. Quite a strategic move, if you ask me." With that, Nanami resumed his attention, focusing on kissing your collarbones and skillfully lowering your dress, exposing your chest to him.

But you were still stuck on the subject like a pesky fruit fly. “But you don’t live here?”

“I don’t.” His mouth brushed over the mound of your left breast. “I live in Shibuya.”

“Shibuya? Kento, that’s an hour and a half away!"

"Hmm." He glanced up, mouth sucking at your nipple.

"You've been faithfully coming to my city every single day, all the way from Shibuya, for a whole year? You've been burning all that gas just to be with me?"

He broke away to say, "Gojo drives me occasionally," and switched to your right breast.

"Nanami Kento, are you out of your mind?"

Finally, he released you and sighed. "I fail to see the issue here." He appeared so innocent, with his moist lips, tousled hair, and a crumpled dress shirt.

You hurriedly sat up, readjusting your dress, which seemed to displease him. "I'm at a loss for words." Your gaze caught the weariness etched on his face, the bags under his eyes, the slow, heavy blinks signaling his desperate need for sleep. "You haven't actually been living here, have you?"

Upon hearing that, Nanami let out a weary sigh. "I do it when I'm too drained to make the drive back on weekdays."

As the details of his schedule fell into place, you flinched inwardly. He would rise at the crack of dawn, dedicate endless hours to handling clients at the office, and then endure a lengthy drive to your city, only to spend his evenings with you before leaving around midnight to return to Shibuya. The only time he would stay overnight at your place was on Saturdays, and he would depart early on Sundays for work. And all this time, you had believed he had an office in your city.

Oh, God.

You loved him.

You loved him so much.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization of just how much he loved you. The man had gone so far as to purchase an entire building in your city just to be closer to you. He showered you with affection at every opportunity, devoted his alone time to you with undivided attention and mind-blowing orgasms, and his bank transactions were probably dedicated to you.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” you whispered.

“Neither did I the night when we met.” Nanami’s words always had a comforting effect on you. He gently pulled you onto his lap, and you curled up like a fetus, planting a kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I love . . . God, I love you so much. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this much love for another human until I met you. It was all locked up inside me, and you held the key all along, darling." Leaning forward, he smoothly swept his blazer and delved into the pocket, revealing a small yellow box. With trembling hands, you accepted it and opened it to find a petite, golden key inside. “Our front door is an elevator.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“Move in with me.”

“Kento—”

“I know. I know it's quite early to discuss this, and I want to give you the space and time to consider it. As you mentioned, your lease ends next month, and I'll officially be transitioning to remote work with a few business trips every other week. It would mean a lot to me if you decided to join me on those trips." He gently placed the key in your hand, kissing your fist. "I'm scheduled to travel to Malaysia next month."

Overpowered with emotion, you choked out a sob and immediately lunged at him with a hug, causing both of you to stumble backward as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He loved you. He wanted you to move in with him. He wanted to travel with you, starting with Malaysia. Suddenly, the tips he left in your jar took on a deeper significance, backing the idea that you weren't meant to journey alone, why you weren’t meant to go with that swindling bastard. As Nanami's gestures of kindness and service became increasingly evident, your tears welled up, choking him in a tight embrace that eventually had him laughing.

Last November, Nanami Kento had stepped into your small bakery, raindrops clinging to him, unknowingly marking his permanent presence in your life.

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k]

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision.

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice.

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick."

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?"

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?"

"What?"

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound.

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges."

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer.

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you."

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you."

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you."

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool.

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that."

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?"

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too.

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?"

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?"

"Did you?"

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time."

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to.

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm.

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt."

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second.

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight.

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours.

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks.

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it.

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like."

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign."

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do.

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out.

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap."

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though."

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you.

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies.

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned.

"Do me a favour?" he asks.

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively.

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest.

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please."

"I'm really warm."

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there.

You take a deep breath.

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone.

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls.

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side.

"Look up," he murmurs.

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes.

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake.

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair.

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore.

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight.

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters.

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face.

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask.

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?"

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch.

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please."

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs.

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?"

"What for?"

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him.

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel.

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?"

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it.

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?"

"I didn't know they weren't real."

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up."

Your mind blanks.

"Make sure I can hide it," you say.

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole.

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking.

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return.

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't.

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be.

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light.

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens.

"Was that so hard?" he asks.

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness.

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have."

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you."

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself.

"I'm not good?" you ask.

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all."

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders.

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face.

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks.

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped.

Wiped, but good. Lax.

"That was nice," you say breathlessly.

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile.

"You're like a dead fish."

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over."

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started."

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth.

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug.

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked."

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened.

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea."

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #ish #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things

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lxkeee · 3 months

Text

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE

PART TWO

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: lmaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago 😭 also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage lmao.

PART ONE | PART THREE

The princess of hell along with her girlfriend was just settling in the guest room heaven provided for them temporarily as they had an important meeting with them.

Charlie and Vaggie stopped talking as their was a knock on their door, “Who do you think is it?” Charlie asked and Vaggie shrugged and Charlie decided to open the door.

There stood a rather tall female angel with three pairs of wings and a golden halo on her head, the short white dress accompanied by gold compliments the woman's figure beautifully.

Safe to say both Charlie and Vaggie were mesmerized, the woman before them was drop dead gorgeous. Though, Vaggie was still cautious, despite a former angel, she doesn't know who this woman is as some seraphim angels tend to not show themselves to the lower ranking aside from Sera.

“Are you Princess Charlotte? The daughter of Lucifer?” the woman asked with her [e/c] eyes sparkling in excitement, the woman quickly placed her hands over her mouth in embarrassment, “Oh! Sorry for the intrusion, I forgot to introduce myself,” she says with a small smile before giving the two girls a curt bow, “My name is [y/n], a seraphim. It's a pleasure to meet you two.”

Charlie gave her a big grin, giving the woman a curt bow. The princess of hell decided to trust her as she couldn't sense any bad intentions from the older woman and to her, the name [y/n] sounded awfully familiar, she just forgot where she had heard it before. “It is so nice to meet you, I am Charlotte but you can call me Charlie.” Charlie said and [y/n] just grinned as Vaggie decided to just watch the two, still cautious. The older woman's eyes landed on Vaggie and she gave her a grin, “And who might you be?” she asked her and Vaggie just glared at her before avoiding her gaze, “Vaggie.”

[Y/n] just grins, her eyes analyzing the gray haired woman before letting out a small hum before shifting her gaze to the princess. [Y/n]'s heart ached a little to see how much the girl looked exactly like her father. [Y/n] misses him, she wished she did something that could have prevented his fall. Regrets always comes last. She took a deep breath then once more wore a bright smile on her face. Charlie noticed the shift of her mood but decided not to question it.

“So Charlie, I came here as I was curious what your plan for hell is about.” [y/n] says softly, she wasn't there during the meeting Lucifer requested for hell and this time, she promised to be there for his daughter instead. Charlie's eyes sparkled excitedly, excited that an angel aside from that bitch ass Adam would finally listen to her. “Really?!” The princess asked excitedly and [y/n] can only let out a soft chuckle, “Of course, why don't we take a walk while you tell me about it? Your friend can join us too.”

Charlie calmed down and gave the older woman a smile, “Vaggie here is actually my girlfriend.” she says, expecting the older woman to judge her but she was surprised when [Y/n] just ruffled her hair. “My apologies, I didn't know.”

The younger girls were surprised, that an angel didn't show any disgust to their relationship and she even looked like she approved.

“Now then, how about that walk?”

“And that's what I'm planning, I wished for my people to find redemption and join heaven.” Charlie explained softly, taking a bite of her strawberry cheesecake. Both [y/n] and Charlie sat in a rather peaceful cafe in heaven, angelic sigils circling around them as [y/n] casted them for their privacy. [Y/n] can only smile as she listens to the younger girl who rambles about her plans for her people, [y/n] can't help but remember how similar Charlie is to her father, oh heavens... She missed him so much.

Vaggie didn't join them unfortunately, she said that she wanted to rest a little bit in the guest room.

[y/n] gracefully placed down the cup of coffee she was sipping and gently wiping her lips with a napkin, “That is truly admirable Charlie, to see you have so much hope for your people really reminds me of your father. I really hope it will come to life.” the compliment was almost enough for Charlie to burst into tears, to hear someone praise her plans and believe in it, it felt like a mother praising her.

Though, she was able to stop her tears as she realizes something. Reminds me of your father. [Y/n] and her dad knew each other.

Then Charlie remembers, the stories her dad told her about heaven and the stories he told her about his closest angel friend—the only one who believed in him. She remembers thinking that she felt her dad loved that angel in one way or another, with how fondly he spoke of her—with so much adoration.

“I remember now, you were my father's best friend!” Charlie gasped, a hand over her mouth and [y/n] can only chuckle, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Were? I still think of him as my best friend.” She chuckles softly, “Though, I don't blame him if he doesn't think the same way as I wasn't able to help him back then.” she continues sadly and Charlie had to wave her arms around to stop her, “Nonono, my father doesn't think like that. You're still his best friend.” Charlie reassured the older woman.

“Really now? How is he these days? I haven't heard from him after so many eons.” [y/n] asked softly with a slight chuckle and Charlie can only sigh with a small smile on her face, “Well... He's still how he usually is. Kind, trying his best for me, and lately he had an obsession with making rubber ducks.” she says with a small giggle making the older woman chuckle, “Thay sounds like him, though surprised that he still loved ducks. He used to ramble to me about random duck facts when he was still here. He was such a dork, I truly missed him.” [y/n] says with a chuckle, a longing look in her eyes.

Charlie was able to put two and two together, her father and this woman loved each other and she can only assume they didn't confess in the fear of ruining their friendship. Charlie loves her parents but a part of her is hoping in a different universe, her father and [y/n] are happy together.

Charlie decided not to mention it to the woman and just continued hanging out with the older woman. “I am sure he misses you too.”

“The meeting will start in a few hours and Charlie?” [y/n] says softly before summoning a wax sealed white envelope out of thin air, gold sparkling from where the envelope is as it slowly falls into her hands. Charlie looked at her in curiosity, “Can I ask you a favor?” [y/n] asked her hesitantly and Charlie just nodded, “Of course!”

“Can I ask you a favor of delivering this letter to Lucifer?” She asked and gently extended her hand towards the younger girl in which the girl accepted the letter and placed it in her chest pocket. “Of course! My father would be delighted to hear from you.”

“Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate it dearly.” [y/n] smiled softly as she stood up from her seat, extending her hand to help the hell princess up from her seat. “Now, let me walk you back to your room so you can get ready for your meeting.”

Now the princess of hell wishes the other angels were just as understanding as [y/n]. Even though the meeting didn't go as planned, she felt reassured as both Emily and [y/n] were there in the court room.

“What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.” Lute sneers with an annoyed glare, putting on her mask. Though, Charlie can feel her patience thinning, her eyes glaring at the angels.

The other angels looking down on the scene happening below, [y/n] looking worried for her while glaring at Adam and Lute. “There's no question to be posed, he's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that 'Hell is forever'?” Adam and Lute sang mockingly and [y/n] could feel her anger starting to boil. She always hated Adam, that egoistical prick, she looked up at Sera as if asking her to stop this nonsense.

“A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to—” Adam sang and [y/n] noticed Sera getting worried, “Adam.” Sera says sternly but it seems the man was too busy to hear her, “Come down and exterminate you!”

At that moment, loud ringing was only what [y/n] heard as she was shocked to hear him say that. Exterminate...? Don't tell me...? [Y/n] asked herself before glaring at Sera, the other angels were also shocked by the reveal.

“Wait!” Emily exclaimed, shocked by the reveal and Adam just noticed his slip up, “Shit.”

“What are you saying? Let me get this straight, you go down there and kill those poor souls?” Emily asked, horrified as she slowly flies down towards Charlie, holding her hand, “You didn't know?” Charlie asked and Emily shook her head. “Whoops!” Adam says, not a care in the world, “Guess the cat's out of the bag.” Lute says with a smirk, “What's the big deal?” Adam asked with a condescending smirk and [y/n] wished she could go down there and punch him.

“Sera, tell me that you didn't know...” both Emily and [y/n] asked simultaneously, though, Sera was just looking at Emily. [Y/n] was pissed at this whole revelation, human souls are killed in heaven by the hands that are supposed to be pure holiness. To think about blood staining those hands, fills her with disgust.

The whole courtroom was a mess, [y/n] doesn't remember what exactly happened. The reveal that Vaggie was an angel didn't surprise her, she can sense the girl's angelic blood but the reveal that Sera was the one who ordered for the extermination to happen, filled her with rage.

“Charlie! Don't lose hope! We will find a way to help you!” Emily says as we watched Vaggie and Charlie be sucked by a portal back to hell, “Don't give up! We'll find a way!” [y/n] added, making sure the two girls heard. Sera glared at her and [y/n] glared back.

That's what Charlie last saw, Emily looking worried and disappointed but what worried her was Sera and [y/n] started arguing, angelic powers starting to spark between them and that was the last thing she saw as she returned back in hell. Thankfully, the letter was safe in her pocket.

#lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer #“MLIMOM” — LUCIFER X READER

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monicahar · 1 month

Text

“my wife.”

how they address you. why does it make your heart skip a beat each time?

characters; neuvillette, wriothesley

—female pronouns obvi, aaaa this is so random😭 fluff, tad bit of crack, has suggestive themes/dirty jokes cause that's my humor in general, just tryna get into writing again heehaa don't mind me ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ

NEUVILETTE always accompanies the term with unmatched affection. it rolls off his tongue perfectly like a match made in heaven, coupled with the serene image of you instantaneously appearing in his mind before he even thinks of the uttering the endearing term. he still finds it surreal that you are both even lawfully married, yet the way he calls you his wife is already on instinct. is it too presumptuous of him?

well, in the end, he can't find any means to worry about it when you seem to equally adore the nickname.

“ooohh, say it again, say it again!”

he can't tell whether he married a child or not, but he still obliges your request and calls you his wife affectionately once more.

meanwhile, furina nearly gags everytime she hears him say it so softly—like using any other tone when referring to you would land him in the hands of the fortress of meropide. sure—she might've been the one who set up both of you—but the drama and thrill akin to watching a romance film has delightfully ended, and she can only meddle so much in marital matters. the iudex just might actually have her head in a platter if she were to do anything mischievous at that point.

but while a happy neuvillette is running around announcing 'my wife' this and 'my wife' that, you are currently stuck on what to call him in return, sadly enough.

“at this point, i think i'm just going to call you daddy.”

it was unfortunate with the way he choked on some of the water he was drinking—well, thank goodness he didn't spill much as before. for this wasn't the first time you said something unprompted while he was in peace with his water—he can only internally sigh.

“and what exactly has influenced you to arrive at such a conclusion, my wife?” he does not miss the tiny shudder of your body that followed the endearment. your face burns a tad bit at that, and he softly chuckles.

“your effect on me is no joke, you know?” you pout at his amused smile, “the way you refer to me so sweetly makes me want to call you my dearest husband everytime.”

“i don't recall voicing any complaints. is something else holding you back from doing so?”

you nod solemnly in agreement at that, which prompts him to raise a brow in mild curiousity.

“thing is, i really like calling you by your first name. same with monsieur neuvilette. there's something mildly erotic within it—you get what i mean, hehehe...” he only stares at you, clearly unimpressed, and a bit concerned at the implication. you clear your throat, apologizing under your breath.

“still—it's such a devastating predicament to be unable to choose between the three.” you sigh defeatedly, moving to slump your entire weight on his lap. you mutter, “my dearest husband monsieur neuvillette...mmm, no, that's too long.”

chuckling at your dramatic antics, he plants a soothing hand on your waist, the other fixing your wrinkled clothing as you practically melt against his hold. “and you thought settling on daddy was the appropriate option?”

“i'm not hearing any objections.” you jest, feeling cheeky.

“please refrain from calling me such a thing in the eyes of the public atleast.”

“...huh? you're actually allowing it??”

WRIOTHESLEY on the other hand, says it as if he's flaunting. it leaves his lips like a taunt each time, indirectly telling the other party 'i have a hot wife and you dont' even though most of the time the people he mentions you to don't even know what you actually look like. it's silly, childish even, but you still love it nonetheless.

sigewinne and the other inmates have collectively told you that ever since you got married, he has never uttered your actual name to anyone else. some find it weird, some find it somehow disrespectful, and some are now convinced he's crazily obsessed with you, and now he's showing it off every chance he gets, much to everyone's dismay.

it's arrived to the point where a small percentage of people have actually forgotten about your name, and now refer to you as the duke's wife, or even duchess, to which you made a face at. that's kind of pushing it by then.

anywho, in the end, it's funny and endearing, maybe even makes you a bit giddy, but there is no way you're telling him that. the situation might escalate even more if possible.

“you know, my wife is very mean to me today.”

as a pair of strong yet gentle arms wrap around your waist, you resist the growing smile on your face, deciding to mess with your husband for a bit.

“is that so?” you continue your chores without a care in the world. he huffs.

“mhm. she won't look me in the eye the whole day, even though she seemed sooo happy last night.” face instantly burning, you hiss as you slap his arm in a fit of embarrassment, pulling a hearty chuckle from the man behind you.

“—and now she's hitting me as well. i can't believe this.” you both know very well he was not fazed in the slightest bit.

“if her husband wasn't such a pervert then maybe—”

his facade cracks as he forces out an awkward laugh, “hey now, baby, you know i'm nothing like that.”

“wriothesley.”

he clears his throat awkwardly, “okay, maybe a little. it's exclusive for you though! my wife doesn't have to be so mean about it, you're making me reallyyy sad here, y'know?”

there it is again, you think. that nickname. that damned word that makes you want to turn around and smash your lips against his and—wait, hold yourself together! don't forget the reason you're being cold to him!

“you deserve to feel remorse. i've been struggling to even move the whole day because of you.”

you go rigid.

you didn't mean for that to come out so bitter...oh no.

“oh. so that's what this is about.” you don't even have to turn around to know that there's a smug look on his stupidly handsome face, his grip on your waist turning into soothing circles as he presses a kiss to your neck.

“if my wife wanted a massage, she could've just said so.” it's husky when it leaves his mouth, leaving you to shiver with the chills he enunciates.

flustered, you completely disregard the way your knees buckle at the endearment laced with that low voice of his, hitting his arm once more, earning a tiny 'ouch' from him.

“pervert. i want rest, not another round!”

“heh, i didn't say anything about another round, my perverted wife.”

“you—” you are abrupt cut off as you yelp in surprise when your feet are raised off the ground, your face now much closer to your husband's as he carries you gently in his arms.

“shhh, just let me take you to bed. if my wife was feeling terrible the whole day, she should've just told me in the first place so she could stay in, don't you think?”

he's right, but you're still angry. “shut up.”

“just letting you know i'm not completely at fault, wife.” you attempt to ignore the furious beating of your heart, face burning at his smug expression. “i'm not the only one who wanted it.”

hsr version...? if i feel like it...🤔🤔

#har❗#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #neuvillette x reader #wriothesely x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons

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rogueddie · 5 months

Text

It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #alittlelaughtime

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solaireverie · 5 months

Text

f1 | i'd be the man

summary: [ drabbles ] you're the formula one driver and he's your wag. (aka the toto wolff-ification of the fast car boys)

warnings: mentions of racism and sexism

author's note: i had so much fun coming up with non-f1 jobs 😂 i'm convinced that most of the boys would still be obsessed with f1. considering doing this for other drivers, drop some suggestions? 👀

→ CHARLES LECLERC

Charles is a fashion designer who works for one of your sponsors. You find his designs slightly... peculiar and aren't afraid to tell him. Determined to prove you wrong about his vision, Charles volunteers to be your primary point of contact for your partnership with the fashion house.

Your meetings are contentious in the beginning, neither of you understanding the other. You leave each consultation with a throbbing migraine and a barely suppressed urge to throw something at Charles. If only he weren't so damned stubborn. (At the same time, you know that his passion for his craft is half of why you even deign to meet with him.)

A grudging respect forms between you after months of friction and endless banter about what exactly you want your sponsorship to look like. If hard-pressed, you might even call it a friendship.

Charles has been a Formula 1 fan since childhood and is secretly a fan of yours. You find out after you meet him for a design meeting after a rough race and he suddenly goes on a rant about how the driver who took you out was being ridiculous and how you deserved better. You're completely charmed and interrupt him by asking him out on a date.

He's the absolute best boyfriend that you could ever ask for, following you to all the European races and supporting you from Monaco when he can't make it. Charles delights in being able to provide a bit of stability for you in your hectic life. He puts up photos of your race wins in his studio and proudly tells all of his clients about his girlfriend and her achievements.

(You still won't listen to his fashion advice, though.)

→ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max runs the cat shelter that you adopt your cat from. You notice how cute he is the first time you meet him but you're too shy to make a move — besides, Max cherishes his quiet life and you don't know how open he would be to associating with a public figure like a Formula 1 driver. Still, he's funny and kind and you somehow keep talking.

It starts out innocuously, just pictures and updates about your new cat (because Max cares about all of the cats that he's ever taken care of, even the ones that have been adopted into good homes) and occasional behind-the-scenes updates when you find out that Max likes Formula 1.

Without realizing it, Max becomes one of your closest friends. He catsits for you when you're out of the country for races, picks you up from the airport after international races, and cheerfully beats you at sim racing whenever you have the opportunity to game together.

Max realizes that you're basically dating around a year into your friendship. You sleep at his place, in his bed, more often than not. Sassy likes you more than she likes him. You have his coffee order memorized and he knows your parents. (Your mother adores him and constantly encourages you to make a move.)

He's patient, however, and waits for you to realize your own feelings as well. Dating comes as naturally for you as your friendship did. Although Max doesn't always enjoy the media scrutiny that comes with dating a Formula 1 driver, he takes full advantage of the attention to defend you at any given chance.

In fact, you've been asked multiple times by your team principal to get your boyfriend to calm down before he offends another driver, but you wouldn't change Max for the world.

→ LANDO NORRIS

Lando is a Twitch streamer with a decent following who specializes in gaming, especially e-motorsports. He gets the chance to visit your team's garage when he wins a e-sport tournament. He's an unabashed simp fan and immediately makes a fool of himself when he meets you, but you find it adorable.

(Lando swears up and down to anyone who'll listen that he didn't mean to blush and accidentally propose on the spot.)

You cheekily tell him to take you out on a date first and he surprisingly gets his act together and actually follows through. Lando is incredibly kind and clumsily charming despite his awkward exterior. You can tell that he genuinely likes spending time with you and wants to hear what you have to say.

Lando switches to Youtube and vlogging when your relationship stabilizes so he can spend more time with you. His fans — and yours — love catching glimpses of his elusive Formula 1 driver girlfriend in his videos. It's a running joke among his fans that Lando is your sugar baby, which Lando finds extremely funny and shamelessly accepts.

Eventually, both of you realize that you've found the love of your life and you start thinking about marriage. You propose to each other at the same time, on the vacation that you each planned for the other, while your mutual friends who knew about both sides die of laughter from the sidelines.

Lando insists on taking your name as well and declares that he's now officially your trophy husband.

("Get it? You get trophies from your job, which brought us together, so technically I'm a trophy now too?" "Yes, Lando, I understand double entendres perfectly well." "Ooooh French, fancy!")

→ LEWIS HAMILTON

You meet Lewis in your childhood. He karts at the same track as you and you bond over the shared experience of being "other" from the other drivers. No one ever bets on either of you to be fast, to win, so you bet on each other. Lewis supports you with his entire being, even when he chooses to leave racing to chase other dreams. You dreamed of reaching Formula 1 together but Lewis, in this world, is happy cheering from the paddock.

Everyone around you is convinced that you're dating Lewis, who has become a highly successful model and philanthropist. Who else would would take time out of their insanely busy life to follow you around the world? The closeness between you doesn't help either — Lewis acts like your partner more often than not.

Despite appearances, however, Lewis is just your best friend, and it stays that way until a PR disaster with your respective relationships calls for extensive damage control. The best distraction that your media teams can come up with is that you fake-date each other: what better to appease the masses with than the ever-beloved tale of childhood friends to lovers?

The fake relationship changes something in your previously stable friendship. Suddenly, you can't stop seeing Lewis in a different light and you find yourself wishing that the romance was real. You're terrified of losing one of the most important people in your life, so you keep quiet about your true feelings for months as things calm down.

Eventually, your manager gives the all-clear to end the ruse and you end up scrambling for a reason to maintain it. By that time, Lewis has caught on to you. He stops by one night with a bottle of wine and your favorite movie. As the credits play, he leans over and kisses you softly — the first time he's kissed you out of the eye of the public.

You're lost for words and he quietly assures you that no matter what happens if you pursue a real relationship, he'll always be your Lewis.

Ten years later, happily married with a couple of championships under your belt, you couldn't be happier that you had chosen to say "hi" to the boy at the karting track.

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

masterlist | taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii

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awearywritersworld · 3 months

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the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

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#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff

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bedoballoons · 3 months

Note

GENSHIN BOYS WITH A FEM!THIN/UNDERWEIGHT READER???? ive always been rlly thin, so it’s not eating disorder related just a scrawny fem!reader

OOOOOO OKIE!! I've always been thicker myself so I hope I wrote this well! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy the characters I picked!!

─⊰💕𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤💕⊰─

{༻~Scrawny and cute~༺}

CW: Fem! Reader described as being very thin!, fluffy and sweet!

A/n: First time writing Gaming!! EEE so excited!! Hope I did him justice!!

(Includes: Lyney, Gaming, and Venti!)

𑁍༄Lyney:

You tried to stay perfectly still as Lynette measured you...how had you gotten in this position? You weren't really sure, all you knew was that Lyney was special ordering you a outfit for his next show and he'd asked his sister to measure you, only she seemed a little perplexed with the results. "You're eating right? You make sure to have three meals a day? Maybe even some snacks?"

You raised a eyebrow at her, "Yes of course. Why do you ask?"

She paused for a second, her features not giving any hint to what she was feeling, "Your measurements are just very small, for a second I was worried you might need to eat more."

"Nope, I was actually worried about that at first as well, but I always make food and she eats it. She's just naturally thin, which is exactly why I'm thinking you'll be perfect for the trick I have in mind...if that's alright of course?"

You and Lynette turned your attention to Lyney as he walked up to you, his eyes sparkling with inspiration as you contemplated his request. "Hmm do I get a kiss after the show?"

"As if you wouldn't mon amour~"

𑁍༄Gaming:

"Woah here let me get that for ya!"

"Watch your step, don't want you to fall!"

"Get to safety I'll take care of them!"

You'd heard them a few to many times lately, you knew Gaming was only looking out for you, he was a caring guy and he truly just wanted to make sure you were okay all the time...even if he was being a little to...over protective. Yes you were a bit scrawnier than he was...his claymore probably weighed more then you did, but that didn't mean he had to do everything for you..., "Hey Gaming? You know you don't have to do all that stuff for me right? I can do it just fine I swea-"

"Oh I have no doubts you could, I just figured when I'm with you, you shouldn't have to. Hmm how do I put this...you're one of the most precious things to me, so I want to take care of you." He scratched the back of his neck, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, "Maybe I was over doing it though...sorry. Promise i'll remember that for next time, for now lets enjoy some dim sum!"

𑁍༄Venti:

Venti wrapped his arms around your waist tightly and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching as ran your fingers over the details engraved in his lyre. He'd been teaching you how to play little by little everyday and now you could almost strum a whole song...but it still just didn't sound as good as when he played it, "Venti do you think one day my music will induce feelings like yours does? I want to play you a melody that leaves you feeling calm and happy, just like you do to me."

He smiled softly and kissed your cheek, his embrace growing slightly tighter around your slim waist, "I think one day you will make music that leaves everyone feeling calm and free, you have talent and a beauty even crystal flies would be jealous of."

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words and butterflies fill your stomach...one day. One day you'd play him a tune that explained every feeling just right and then when he held you tightly after, chuckling happily and making a joke about how he hopes he doesn't break you with his hugs...you'd tell him just how much you loved him and it would be the most perfect of days.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day!~*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #lyney x you #lyney x reader #lyney headcanons #lyney fluff #gaming headcanons #gaming fluff #gaming x you #gaming x reader #venti headcanons #venti fluff #venti x you #venti x reader

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unclewaynemunson · 7 months

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Pt2 of the badly kept secrets of Eddie's heart monitor

After the first two weeks, Steve seems to have suddenly decided to stop visiting Eddie. No explanation, no goodbye: one day he's there, and then he... Isn't. It takes a few days, sometimes, Steve has a life of his own after all, but a whole week goes by with nothing. And another one. Eddie only knows he's alive – and in town – because the others told him when he asked. Maybe Steve's gotten tired of being surrounded by all that hospital sterility. Or maybe he's gotten tired of being around Eddie. Or maybe... Eddie groans and takes up a stare-down with the fucking heart monitor that's still attached to him at all times, his biggest enemy.

Unfortunately, he has way too much time on his hands, alone in this room and unable to do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. It makes it far too easy to let his thoughts spiral. Maybe – no, probably, certainly, undoubtedly – that goddamn heart monitor was the ideal help for Steve to decipher Eddie's biggest secret without any difficulties.

Yes, that must be the reason why Steve is staying away. Sure, the guy could tolerate being around “the freak” for a few hours a week out of pity, but of course he wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore upon finding out exactly what kind of freaky thoughts he really has about Steve. Steve was polite enough to pretend like he didn't notice the heart monitor speeding up every single time he got in Eddie's proximity, but of course, of course he noticed. He noticed and now he hates Eddie.

And honestly? He has every right to hate Eddie, with the way Eddie has been exploiting every opportunity to get Steve to touch him. Even though he'd regret it right away whenever the heart monitor couldn't shut the fuck up, Eddie never learned from his mistakes. He was even stupid enough to find meaning in the way Steve's touch would linger after helping him lie down or sit up, stupid enough to find tenderness in the way Steve held his arms when helping him out of his bed and to the bathroom. Obviously, Steve never wanted any of that. Obviously, that only made Steve uncomfortable, but the poor guy was too polite to lash out to the dude chained to a hospital bed healing from having all his organs chewed inside out.

Eddie sighs and closes his eyes; not because he wants to sleep, but because the staring contest with the heart monitor isn't really getting him anywhere. Maybe it's for the best that Steve is staying away. That way, Eddie might be able to get over him more easily. He doesn't deserve Steve's friendship anyway.

***

“I wanna visit Eddie today.”

“Alright, have fun,” Steve answers. “Tell him I said hi.”

Robin sighs dramatically. “No, dingus, you're coming with me. I need a ride.”

“No!” It comes out of his mouth a little too quick, a little too loud, and Robin raises her eyebrows at him.

“No, I can't,” he explains in a calmer voice.

Robin raises her eyebrows even further, making them disappear beneath her bangs altogether. “You literally just told me you don't have plans after work.”

“Yeah, but...” He lets his voice fade out and settles on muttering something incomprehensible.

“I did not understand one single word of what you were saying,” Robin points out. She sounds annoyed, but there's a vaguely amused smile playing around her lips, betraying how she really feels about the whole thing. “Seriously, what's up with you and Eddie? Did you have a fight or something?”

“No...”

“Until two weeks ago, you were at the hospital basically every spare minute of your time. You even canceled two dates just so you could spend more time with Eddie! And now, all of a sudden, you'd rather spend your evening on your own at home watching TV than visit your friend?”

“He's not my friend,” Steve protests.

She gives him a punch against his shoulder.

“Okay, I'm pretty sure he hates me, Rob.” Steve finally caves in. “He gets, like, very uncomfortable whenever I'm around. And I don't wanna add to his discomfort any more than necessary, so it's better I stay away from him.”

“Well, I don't know what on earth gave you that idea, but that is by far the biggest load of bullcrap I heard all week,” Robin says matter-of-factly. “He's asked about you every single time I visited him. He'll be happy to see you, dingus, you're coming with me today. No excuses.”

***

Like clockwork, the steady beeping of the heart monitor falters as soon as Eddie locks eyes with Steve. To make things even worse, what little color that is on Eddie's cheeks leaves his face immediately.

Despite the paleness of Eddie's face, Steve can't help but notice how good he looks in comparison to when he last saw him two weeks ago. He's sitting straight up, leaning against a pillow, and the look in his eyes is far from drowsy.

“S-Steve,” Eddie stutters out. “Hi.” He clears his throat. “And – and Robin, of course, hi! Good to see ya, Buck.” He stretches out his arms to embrace her, and Steve awkwardly comes up behind her. It feels weird not to follow Robin's example and give him a hug, but when he bows over the bed and wraps his arms around Eddie, the beeping immediately picks up speed again. To make things even worse, Eddie quite literally recoils from his touch, leaning away as far as possible and letting his arms hover in the air around Steve more than actually hugging him back.

When Steve looks at Robin, he notices that her eyes have grown about twice their normal size while they flash back and forth between Eddie, the machines around his bed, and Steve.

He locks eyes with her and tries to silently convey a See, I told you so about Eddie resenting him. She answers with a barely visible nod and relief fills Steve's chest. He's lucky to have Robin right by his side, his best friend, the one person he can always count on understanding him. She'll get them out of here in no time and leave Eddie in peace and –

“Oh shoot, sorry, I forgot I need to get a, um, a thing from the car,” Robin says. “I'll be right back.”

As she stumbles out of the room, Steve wants to scream at her that that was very much the opposite of what he wanted her to do, but she disappears before he can do anything about it, only leaving an awkward silence in her wake. So Steve has no choice but to turn back to Eddie and take his familiar place in the chair beside his bed.

“I kinda didn't expect to see you anymore.” Eddie is the one to break the silence. He sounds more distant than the last time Steve saw him. It must be worse than Steve thought: Eddie had been happy to be rid of him and now here he is again, after a meager two weeks of peace.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles. “She insisted I come with her.”

“So you didn't wanna come?”

Steve chuckles darkly at the irony in that question, not really knowing how to answer that.

“Alright, I'm just gonna say it,” says Eddie when it becomes clear that Steve doesn't quite know what to say. “You figured out what I – how I felt about you, didn't you? Cause of the heart thing.”

Steve looks away, stares intently at the ugly dark blue linoleum carpet under his feet.

“Yeah,” he quietly confesses. There's no use denying it now, he figures.

Eddie heaves out a long sigh.

“For what it's worth: I'm really sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to make you-”

“It's fine,” Steve quickly interrupts him. He doesn't think he could bear Eddie's pity right now. “Don't worry about it. I just wanted to give you some space, y'know, get outta your hair for a bit. I didn't want to make this any more painful for you than it has to be.”

“Really?”

The heart monitor stutters again and Eddie's voice sounds weirdly strained. Steve can't help but look up. He's met with big brown eyes that are looking at him like Eddie actually cares about him. For a moment, Steve imagines to see tears, but then Eddie blinks and the illusion is gone.

“I um... I appreciate that, man,” Eddie says.

Another awkward silence dawns over the room.

“Wait,” Eddie says after a few seconds. “So you're not angry?”

“No!” Steve immediately replies – and it's true. He understands why Eddie doesn't like being around him, that too much has happened in the past for them to just move on and hold hands or some shit.

“It's not your fault,” he tells Eddie. He looks away again, back to the floor in front of his sneakers. “If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, right?”

Eddie huffs out a sound of disbelief. “Why, cause you're just too damn sexy, Harrington?”

Steve frowns. “Well, no, cause I was an asshole and I was mean to your friends during all of high school and it's stupid of me to expect you to just get over that shit and-”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

There's that stutter in the heart monitor again. It makes Steve wonder if he's putting Eddie's health at risk by simply existing next to him. Maybe it would be better to leave Eddie alone and wait in the car until Robin is done with her visit. What the hell is taking her so long anyway?

He keeps his eyes stubbornly focused on the blue floor. “Isn't that why you got so uncomfortable having me around?” he points out. “Look, I get it, man. I was an asshole, it's true. And it was selfish of me to keep showing up here only because you were too polite to say to my face what you thought about me. I was only thinking about myself and about how much I liked being here with you, it wasn't fair.”

All of a sudden, the soft touch of a hand lands on his shoulder. He hates how that makes his own heart speed up. If he were the one attached to a heart monitor, Eddie would've seen right through him in an instant, that's for sure.

He looks up and meets Eddie's wide-eyed, somewhat shocked face.

“You - you thought you were making me uncomfortable?” Eddie asks him, sounding like he's completely gobsmacked.

Steve frowns. “Isn't that what we've been talking about for the past five minutes?”

“Steve,” Eddie says. “I am so sorry. I didn't – I never – Look. Listen.” He removes his hand from Steve's shoulder and roughly wipes it over his face. His heart monitor accelerates even further. “Please don't hate me for what I'm about to tell you, okay?” He doesn't wait for a reaction, only uses his pause to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and looking right into Steve's.

“I'm gay, Steve. And that evil computer over there-” He points towards the heart monitor, “-keeps betraying my big, fat, gay crush on you. Every time you walk in here, or read my book to me, or do so much as smile at me, I just – God, I'm such a goner for you and there was no hiding it because of that stupid fucking thing.”

This time, Steve is quite sure he is not at all imagining the tears in Eddie's eyes.

“I thought that's why you stopped visiting. Cause you figured out how gay I am – about you – and you didn't want anything to do with that. With me. Being gay. For you.”

Eddie swallows. He lifts a hand and pulls a strand of hair over his face in a poor attempt to hide the truly terrified expression that's all over his features.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Steve breathes out. He can't even begin to comprehend how spectacularly wrong he has been about everything. It's almost like he's in shock. Only a minute ago, he thought Eddie despised him. And now, he has to process the revelation that the guy in fact has had a crush on him – a “big, fat, gay crush” – all along. That the reason his heart was behaving so weirdly was because Steve's proximity made him lovesick. That he recoiled from Steve's touches out of fear that the monitor would give him away and make Steve realize he was gay and in love with him.

“Please say something?” It sounds like a question, small and so afraid of what is about to come.

“Eddie, I – Jesus. This is... A lot. To process,” Steve manages to choke out.

“I know,” Eddie says. “I'm sorry I made you think I hated you. But... Please don't hate me. I really missed you visiting. We can be friends, right? You won't even have to touch me ever again, we can just hang out like bros, and I'll try to get my feelings for you under control, and you can-”

Steve finally gains control over his body again: he leaps forward and presses his lips against Eddie's with slightly more force than he had meant to do.

A surprised yelp escapes from Eddie's mouth, and the beeping of the heart monitor goes even crazier. It makes Steve's own heart do a goddamn cartwheel, that audible proof of what he is making Eddie feel.

He completely understands why the heart monitor is going batshit crazy right now; everything about this is fucking amazing. One of his hands finds its way to Eddie's surprisingly soft hair, and he revels in the feeling of touching Eddie again and in the taste of Eddie's lips against his own, and maybe he should just climb into Eddie's bed to–

“Thank God for that.”

They quickly jump apart to find Robin standing in the doorway, an annoyingly smug grin on her face.

“You two could really not be more stupid if you tried, huh?”

Steve squints at her while his hand blindly finds Eddie's on top of the sheets and curls itself around it. He feels his cheeks heat up, but he doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore, except for Eddie's hand warmly resting in his own.

“Did you even need anything from the car at all?” he asks Robin, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No, of course not,” Robin scoffs. “Just needed you idiots to finally get your shit together. I don't think I've ever met anyone more dense than the two of you, seriously! There were at least three moments when I almost barged in here to just smash your faces tog-”

“You were eavesdropping on us?!”

“Obviously.”

Steve opens his mouth, indignant and ready to tell her exactly how mean and evil she is, but she merely raises a hand and the look in her eyes is terrifying enough to shut him up before he has even started speaking.

“Hey, listen,” she says. Something in her face softens. “I'm really happy for you guys. Seriously, no matter how stupid you are, you two deserve every bit of happiness in the world.” She takes a step backwards towards the door. “I'll go wait in the car, dingus. Go kiss each other some more.”

And before Steve or Eddie can say anything, she winks and closes the door behind her.

Taglist: @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @saramelaniemoon @lololol-1234 @carlajim98 @7-starboi @acedorerryn @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @zoeweee @resident-gay-bitch @my2amgaythoughts @didntwant2come @steveshairspray @noodle-shenaniganery @thedragonsaunt @finntheehumaneater @queerriotgrrrl @co5m0 @dino-nuggets-posts

#in which robin is all of us #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #they're idiots your honor #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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