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dduane · 4 months

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Okay, time to get on with this Nutella and crushed-hazelnut roll cake I've been plotting for the last couple of weeks. (One of our neighbors did us a favor just now and I want to bring them some of this to say Thank You.)

The recipe looks quite sound—no surprise, as this lady's website is full of great stuff. But I'm going to have to spoof it somewhat, as it's predicated on the use of a sheet pan size that wouldn't fit into our oven (the usual US-size-vs-European-size hardware- and appliance-size issue). Probably I'll wind up baking about 75% of the batter in the 10x15-inch pan I've got and the rest in a smaller 9x7-inch, so that the sheet cake doesn't come out so thick that it refuses to roll correctly.

...Got to toast the hazelnuts first, anyway. I'll add pics to this post as I go along.

ETA 1: The hazelnuts, just out of the oven. The aroma in the kitchen is fabulous. :) (We've got a tabletop microwave-cum-fan oven that has about a hundred custom cooking/baking programs built into it, and one of them is for toasting nuts.) (Oh look, @petermorwood got a shot of one of the special menus from the manual when he was posting about the microwave sponge cake.)

...Had I not had the fancy gadget, I'd have just put the hazelnuts on a baking sheet and toasted them at 180C/375ish F for ten or fifteen minutes, stirring the nuts around every five minutes or so until the outsides went nice and brown. The skins rub right off when the nuts cool down, if you don't want them. But I left some in so they'd keep their toastier flavor. These are a soft nut after toasting/roasting, so they crush really easily.

Meanwhile, while sitting still a moment before getting the mise en place together for the cake, and idly scrolling down through the menu on Sky Movies: wow, I really do need new glasses in a hurry. Saw the movie title "Fred Claus" and read it as "Fried Clams." (sigh) After the holidays, for sure. (It's the usual problem. These glasses are trifocals, you have to point-and-steer them to get the right results depending on what you're looking at, and sometimes you're distracted or in a hurry and can not be bothered to do the hunting-for-focus thing, and as a result you get comical results.) (sigh)

Now the mise en place:

...So typical. You're trying to have it be pretty for the photo and one of the egg yolks breaks. (eyeroll)

Anyway. Not shown here: running off to give the stand mixer's bowl an extra wash to make sure it's absolutely clean, because any grease getting into egg whites being beaten will inhibit how well they fluff up.

So, time to get on with that.

First thing, though: the baking pans need to be prepared while the egg whites and so forth are beating.

So the recipe suggests that you should butter both the pans and the parchment paper used to line them. And speaking as one who's writing this after rolling the cakes up, I can speak directly to its effectiveness. The cake sheets pretty much leapt out of the pans. As I can imagine all too clearly what having to convince them out would be like, better to go overboard with the butter at this stage. I buttered the pans with solid butter and then melted a couple of tablespoonsful and brushed the baking-parchment liners with them.

Lining the pans with the paper, btw, is much assisted by having buttered them first. You just press the paper down and it sticks. Then you go get the scissors and cut off whatever's hanging out.

And now comes the part where you make the cake batter.

First you beat the egg whites and half the granulated sugar to the stiff-peak stage. (Took my mixer about five minutes.)

Then in a different bowl you beat the egg yolks and the rest of that sugar together. Somehow I missed getting a pic of this: apologies. It's the usual "beat together until pale, light, and fluffy." Took about seven minutes for that.

Then: sift together the flour, cocoa, salt and baking powder, The logistics of the original recipe get a little complicated at this point—it sounds like a third bowl is being called for. But at that point I'd decided that I already had more than the usual number of bowls to deal with, not to mention the one I'd just sifted the dry ingredients into. And we don't have a dishwasher. So I just said "The hell with that", added the coffee and vanilla to the egg yolk mixture, and mixed it a bit more: then spooned about half the sifted dry ingredients in, and pulsed the mixer a few times: then added the rest of the dry stuff and mixed again, very slow, just wanting to make sure that everything was completely combined. (As usual with cakes at this point, the idea is to get everything well mixed without doing anything to develop the gluten in the flour. I never let the mixer go very fast.)

...Then comes the "folding in the egg whites" part of the operation. Always use the biggest spatula you've got for this.

Then, when you finish this stage (again, sorry, no pic, I was busy racking my brains over what tool would be best for this job) you spread the batter in the pans.

When I finished with this task I was very glad that I had an offset spatula, because if I'd attempted this with a regular mixing spatula, I don't think the result would have been anything like this even. This batter is light but it's also moderately firm... and with the best will in the world, no amount of shimmying the pans around on the work surface is ever going to even that batter out. As for its thickness in the pans: we're talking about a centimeter at the most.

And then: into the oven for ten minutes, while setting up the pieces of cocoa-powder-dusted baking parchment meant to receive them. I don't have pics of them in the pans when they came out, because the get-them-out-of-the-pans stage is kind of a time-sensitive thing (like immediately). So I got on with it.

They fell straight out onto the prepared sheets with no trouble at all. The small one fell out by itself: the large one fell out with the baking parchment still clinging to it, but not so desperately that it took more than gently lifting it away between finger and thumb to get rid of it.

And then came the rolling. I did the little one by myself, to get a sense of the technique: then asked @petermorwood to video the rolling of the larger one.

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...So now they get left to their own devices until, oh, tomorrow morning, I guess. That's when I'll move on to the next stages.

My plan is to unroll the little cake as a test: brush it inside with warmed/semi-liquid Nutella: sprinkle the Nutella with crushed hazelnuts, which theoretically/please gods will stick to it if gently assisted; and then contrive a filling that will taste at least somewhat of Nutella but not be too sweet to bear. Then the ganache will be made using that fabulous Belgian chocolate that came in a couple of weeks back, and when the whole cake's put together and has had a little time to rest, Peter and I will test it and see if it's something we feel confident enough to offer to other people.

So we'll see how it all goes. Tune in again tomorrow for more hijinks... :)

ETA 2, December 23: When we last saw our cake rolls, the two of them (the one baked in the Euro-size pan, and the smaller one where the spare batter went) were sitting innocently on the counter, waiting to settle enough to be unrolled.

Now's the time. And guess what?

DIsaster! (-Ish. As you'll see.)

The first small sheet of cake was just too small to deal with this treatment without immediately cracking into one-inch slices upon unrolling. I therefore won't waste your time with that video. Instead, you should have a look at the video of the bigger-baked sheet as it gets unrolled, and watch it crack in pieces! (This was either due to the baked sheet being too thick, or too thin. More diagnostics are needed before we come to a verdict.)

But first: the buttercream filling, which worked just fine.

This is the recipe I used:

This recipe worked perfectly. There's zero reason to inflict a long video about this on you, as I was working in a cold kitchen (with three stone walls, two external...) and the butter and sugar took something like half an hour to get friendly enough so that the Nutella could finally be added.

One thing I will show you, though. It's been a long time since I bothered buying confectioners' sugar / icing sugar, because when I need it, I make it myself... in the (very old and beat up-looking) coffee grinder. The sugar's grind comes up finer than that of a lot of commercially made icing sugars... and unlike too many confectioners' sugars in North America, there's no cornstarch in it (which they put in to keep it from caking with storage).

If you try this, make sure not to forget to brush the grinder out well afterwards, and wipe it clean with a damp paper towel. Otherwise the sugar, which is very hygroscopic, will go solid, glue the blade to its spindle, and be a real nuisance to clean out after the fact.

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Meanwhile, here's the Nutella buttercream frosting after it's done. Just a very quick clip here, so you can see what the texture should be like when you pull the beater out of the mixture. (Volume down on this, please: it's really noisy.) If it's not soft enough, do as the recipe recommends: add a tablespoonful of milk or so and beat well until things soften up a bit. Add another, and do the same again, if you need to.

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So now we come to the baked-cake unrolling. (Apologies for the black bars at the top and bottom of the video. For reasons best known to itself the phone insisted on recording in 9:16/portrait format, and the bars are an artifact of flipping it back into landscape...)

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...So after all that, both cakes, the big and the small, are in the fridge now, stabilizing. And there we'll leave matters until tomorrow.

#cake #baking #Nutella #chocolate #hazelnuts #experimentation #FOR SCIENCE #that's the excuse anyway #Youtube

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sugarydolli · 2 months

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Pudding.

Delicate, soft, and spongy in all its nature, made from the simplest of ingredients consisting of milk, sugar, and eggs.

Strangely, Katsuki couldn't make pudding.

He was actually rather embarrassed about the fact; huge blow to his ego considering how easy it is to make. Either he burned it or it fell apart as soon as he flipped the mold over, he just couldn't get this right.

The instructions were simple; pour sugar into a dry stainless steel saucepan and cook the sugar over medium heat—stirring occasionally for five minutes; carmel. the smell that was radiating off him after asking you to meet him after class.

Heat the milk and heavy cream in a saucepan, adding whisked milk and sugar to the mixing once hot, adding a dash of vanilla and whisking together; custard. vanilla wafting into his nose just as strong as your perfume oil, only missing that signature powdery note.

Divide both the caramel and custard into molds— place the molds into an oven-safe container and add hot water—bake in the oven for thirty minutes then let cool; wait. the dreaded waiting game Katsuki loathed, unsure if his hard work was worth it, if it even mattered? Would the mold hold up right? Did he bake it long enough? Was he not meant for pudding? Was he meant for you?

His heart pounded fiercely against his chest, blood rushing to his ears depleting all sound, questions fired off so quickly in his head, he was spinning. Hands shaking slightly as he gently tilted over the mold, giving a gentle but firm pat to the top. Until a plop hit the plate underneath.

୨୧

"'suki—"

A meek voice interrupted his train of thought, idly reaching for his backpack and pulling out a pink small container, there revealed the perfectly crafted soft treat.

"You know, It's a shame you couldn't even make such a simple recipe by yourself-"

But he's cut off by the various string of praises that fall out your lips, face buried into his neck, arms wrapped firmly around his neck as a small smile found its way on his face.

Katsuki was meant for pudding.

୨୧

bye-bye ♡(>ᴗ•)/☆*:.｡

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shitouttabuck · 7 months

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playing with the hair and "you sure this is ok" sounds so soft aaaah I hope you'll find inspiration, I love your writing

got a little sappy with this <3

bed-sharing prompts: person A idly playing with person B’s hair while they’re asleep + “you sure this is okay?”

the sound of love astounds me

Eddie’s man-behind today. Bobby tries to be fair with it, not constantly relegating the probies to the job no one really wants, and today it’s Eddie’s turn again.

He’s grateful for it—he slept badly last night, and that’s probably why Bobby made him stay behind in the first place, taking pity on his dragging feet and muffled yawns not one hour into their shift.

They’re past the 18-hour mark now, late night blanketing the firehouse in a thick, heavy quiet. The rest of them have been out on a call for a while, a three-alarm factory fire at the edge of their jurisdiction. Eddie’s itchy about it, always is when it’s a more serious call and he’s not there alongside his team. Not there alongside his partner.

Buck’s a big boy, and Eddie knows, he knows him not being there isn’t going to unbalance the dynamic of their team so dramatically something goes wrong, but. He’s supposed to have Buck’s back, and as much as he trusts the rest of the 118—with his life—no one else is Buck’s partner. Not the way Eddie is.

The sound of the engine backing into the station catches his attention and he gets up from the couch, leaning over the loft railing as everyone stumbles out the rig, sooty and sleepy. Hen looks up and gives him a tired smile, Chim bumping into her shoulder as he blows Eddie a kiss before heading to the showers.

Buck’s last out the engine, exhaustion written into the slump of his body. He doesn’t look up at Eddie, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he shuffles slowly after everyone else.

Eddie reheats dinner, serving it all up just as the rest of his team flops into chairs around the dining table. Still no Buck.

“Did you cook this?” Ravi asks, poking suspiciously at the casserole with a fork.

“I’ve made my peace with food poisoning, I’m so fucking hungry,” Chim says, mouth already full.

“Hey,” Eddie protests mildly. “I followed Bobby’s recipe exactly.”

“Really?” Bobby asks, examining his own plate in surprise. “Oh, uh, no, of course. Looks good, Eddie, thank you.” He takes a very deliberate bite, making a big show of chewing amidst noises of approval.

Eddie sighs and turns to Hen. “Where’s Buck?”

“Still showering,” she tells him. “Rough one today.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. “Did you lose someone?”

Hen shakes her head, setting down her fork. “No, no—sorry, didn’t mean it like that. He got stuck carrying two guys out on his own, though. And one of them was in pretty bad shape. Think his whole body is feeling kinda tender.”

“Oh,” Eddie blows out a relieved breath. “Okay.” He smacks Chim’s hand away from the last corner of the casserole. “That’s for Buck. You can have some more garlic bread.”

Chimney pouts at him, and Eddie ignores it in favour of covering the casserole dish and sticking it back in the oven to keep warm.

One by one, everyone wanders to the bunks, drained from the day. Eddie hangs behind, clearing up the kitchen and waiting for Buck to show up. There’s no sign of him by the time the counters are sparkling, so he flops back down on the couch with his book. If it’d been a bad call… Eddie’d like to think he knows what Buck needs, usually. And sometimes that’s just a minute to decompress by himself, washing off a weight of weariness rather than an intangible hurt.

Sure enough, he hears the quiet padding of Buck’s footsteps come up the stairs not much later. Eddie cranes his head over the back of the couch, smiling upside-down and wonky when Buck comes over.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

“Mm,” Buck hums. His eyes are droopy with exhaustion, cheeks ruddy from being under the hot spray of the shower for so long.

“Dinner’s in the oven,” Eddie tells him.

Buck exhales heavily, giving him a small smile. “Not so hungry.”

“Sleep, then,” Eddie says, nodding in the direction of the bunks.

Buck grimaces. “Everything aches.”

“All the more reason to sleep,” Eddie presses.

Buck looks at him, blinking tiredly. “Okay,” he says, suddenly amenable, rounding the couch and climbing onto it. He drapes himself across it, settling on his back and shoving his head into Eddie’s lap with a contented sigh. Eddie sits frozen, book in one hand and the other hovering over Buck’s chest.

Buck cracks open one eye to look up at him consideringly. Eddie smiles down at him automatically, can’t really help himself, and gently lowers his forearm to rest across Buck’s broad chest.

“This okay?” Buck asks, slightest note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Better if you were asleep,” Eddie says, flipping the page of his book. He lets the hand curled around Buck’s torso squeeze gently, reassuringly, even as he goes back to reading.

Buck huffs an amused breath, wriggling a little as he settles more firmly in Eddie’s lap, turning his head to get comfortable. This angles his face so that it’s basically pressed into Eddie’s crotch, tip of his nose brushing the fly seam of Eddie’s pants.

Eddie swallows, positioning his book a little higher to cover any change in expression his face might betray, because—it’s Buck, and this isn’t sexual, but God, Eddie hasn’t had this kind of intimacy in his life in a while. He’s less worried about popping a boner from his best friend’s face so close to his dick and more concerned Buck’ll take one look at him and know just how badly Eddie wants him this close, all of the time.

Whatever. If everyone had a friend like Buck, everyone would be a little insane about loving him this much, too. It’s not an Eddie thing, it’s a Buck thing.

Buck’s breathing evens out, deep and steady, and Eddie reads until the words start swimming on the page. He yawns, putting the book down and wondering if he can catch some sleep like this, because he’d rather be trapped on a desert island with his parents than wake Buck up right now.

Buck’s snoring lightly, warm puffs of breath Eddie can feel even through the fabric of his pants. His hair is curling messily from his shower and—there are bits of… something in it? Eddie sighs, knowing Buck probably just zoned out under the spray for half an hour without actually scrubbing his hair at all.

He runs his fingers through Buck’s hair, dislodging flecks of indiscernible airborne debris from the fire. He cards through more purposefully, combing it out as best he can and scratching his nails gently against Buck’s scalp.

Buck murmurs, nuzzling into Eddie. The hand closest to the back of the couch scuffles along the cushion till it finds Eddie’s, wrapping around it and tugging it to his chest with such strength Eddie blinks in surprise, astonished that he’s still asleep.

Eddie goes back to sorting through Buck’s hair one-handed, discarding tiny pieces of detritus lodged in his curls. He gets a little lost in it, something calm and hypnotic about the repetitive motions: stroking, cleaning, brushing through, over and over and over.

He’s startled from it when someone clears their throat softly. He just about manages not to jerk in his surprise, and Buck remains slumbering peacefully. Hen’s standing a few feet from the couch, eyebrow cocked and mouth quirked with amusement.

“There a reason you’re grooming Buck like a monkey picking nits off her baby?” she whispers.

Eddie flushes, removing his hand from Buck’s curls. “He has a bunch of shit in his hair from the fire,” he says defensively.

Hen bites down on her smile. “Okay, okay,” she says soothingly, like she’s talking to a spooked horse. “He forget to actually wash it during the longest shower known to man?”

Eddie sighs, fingers resuming running through Buck’s hair almost unconsciously. “You know how he gets when he’s this tired.”

Hen hums, and Eddie looks up at her again. “Why’re you up? Can’t sleep?”

She shakes her head, inclining it towards the bathrooms. “Just needed the toilet.” She makes as if to head back down, then pauses, looking at him assessingly.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head again, smiling softly. “Just—I don’t think there’s anyone other than Karen and Denny whose hair I’d pick through voluntarily. And any other kids of mine, I guess. Family.” With that, she turns and disappears down the stairs.

Eddie swallows. He looks down: Buck, face pressed into Eddie’s stomach; Buck, hand clutching Eddie’s arm to his chest; Buck, curls wild and springy from where Eddie’s been running his fingers through them, cleaning him, grooming him, taking care of him. Hen’s not dropped a bomb of any sort on Eddie; Buck’s his family, he knows that, Buck knows that, he’s fairly sure anyone who’s ever met them knows that.

But he thinks yeah, there isn’t anyone other than Chris and Buck whose hair he’d pick through like this. And maybe that’s a different, more specific kind of family than he or anyone else realised. Maybe that’s a different, more specific kind of love.

Buck snuffles discontentedly in his lap and Eddie scratches his scalp soothingly, heart settling as Buck settles.

So maybe the reason Eddie wants him close all the time is slightly different to what he thought. This remains true: if everyone had a friend like Buck, everyone would be a little insane about loving him this much. That’s a Buck thing. But maybe, if he’s open to it, Eddie can make loving him this much, every day and in every way, an Eddie thing and exclusively an Eddie thing.

Buck shifts on the couch, tugging Eddie’s arm a little higher up on his chest, and Eddie splays his palm over Buck’s heart, feeling the steady thump.

When Bobby wakes them both for breakfast hours later, Eddie leans against the table to stretch the crick in his neck from sleeping sitting up. Behind him, Buck reaches a large hand out to massage the junction of his shoulder gently, and Eddie melts into his touch.

“Would you pick nits out of my hair?” he asks before his brain comes fully online.

“Sure,” Buck says, not missing a beat. “D’you have lice?” He leans forward to inspect Eddie’s hair and Eddie swats him away.

“No,” he says, slightly offended. “I do not have lice. Just—hypothetically.”

Buck yawns. “’Course, Eds,” he says. “Your lice are my lice, and all that.” He serves himself a heaping of scrambled eggs and ambles off to the kitchen to grab orange juice from the fridge.

And maybe Buck is just the kind of person who, unlike Eddie and Hen, would comb through anyone’s nasty hair. But your lice are my lice is more romantic than anything Eddie’s ever heard, even in his own wedding vows, and when Buck knocks his knee against Eddie’s under the table before stealing a bite of hash brown, Eddie thinks maybe this love between them is equally cared for, a two-way street in every sense of it, a Buck-and-Eddie thing.

(more bed-sharing prompts)

#911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #been feelin particularly mushy lately...... what's in the air #nina writes #bed sharing prompts #whoops this one is couch not bed i guess #mine

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mxnaluv · 1 year

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Flowers pt 1

Pairing: HowlxFemalePresenting!reader

Featuring: Howl Pendragon

Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship, Proposal, Mentions of Marriage

Summary: It's Y/N's Birthday so Howl and Markl surprise her!!

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: One suggestive part but it's not SUPER suggestive but very subtle.

I sat in the warm, cozy living room and idly read one of my favorite books, Pride and Prejudice. It had been my birthday today and I had been eagerly waiting for Markl to get home. He had been out with his new friends from Porthaven, so I had been left to myself in the castle. I had been feeling a bit lonely lately, and this book made me feel a little better.

With Markl and Howl constantly going out, I have to do things to keep myself busy. Like trying out new recipes, reading the latest books, or maybe even walking around the town and talking to the people.

But sooner or later, the words consumed me on the pages. I looked up from the comforting book and saw that it was getting late, and I hadn't eaten yet. I then got up and started to make some dinner, feeling a little guilty about taking my eyes off the book for even a second. I started to feel isolated and alone again, but cooking dinner gave me something to focus on other than my thoughts.

Not long after, I heard the door open. I turned the stove off and looked behind me to see that it was my lover Howl with a bouquet of roses in his hands. "I'm home," he yelled and went into the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, my love," he said, holding out the beautiful roses. ‌The roses were a light pink with a hint of blue. They were the perfect birthday gift.

I gratefully took the bouquet and admired them. "They're absolutely beautiful," I said, "but you didn't have to get me flowers."

"I know," he replied, "but I couldn't resist."

These are truly beautiful Howl," I said, kissing him on the cheek. I put the flowers in a vase and continued to cook dinner. Soon, he came and helped me cook.

After a filling dinner with Howl, I started to clean up the cooking mess that we had made.

Howl then got up from the table behind me, then hugged me from behind. I felt his arms snake around my waist, and I could smell the sweet scent of his breath on my neck. "I have something to show you," he said.

Howl turned me around so that I was facing him, then smiled and took my hand. He took me to the front door, then he switched the house door into our favorite place—the garden with a little cottage in the middle.

He opened the door slowly, and the sweet smell of flowers hit me. I looked to the outside and gasped. ‌Rose petals were headed towards two elegantly-dressed chairs, with another red rose in the center of the table. It felt surreal and dreamlike, like I was seeing this place for the first time. It was beautiful and magical, like nothing I had ever seen before.

The moonlight shone perfectly through the gaps in the clouds, illuminating the tablecloth with a soft, white light. The fields of daisies and sunflowers surrounding it were bathed in the orange hues of the setting sun. Having Howl by my side all felt like a dream come true. But every day with him felt like a dream come true.

He took my hand once more, then walked us to the table. We stopped in front of a chair and he let go of my hand, then he pulled out the chair for me. ‘Thank you Howl." I said as I sat down.

As he sat down in the other chair, Markl and his other friends came from behind the hill with a beautiful cake, which they then presented to me. “How did you guys know it was my birthday?” I exclaimed, surprised, and touched. ‌Their thoughtfulness and generosity touched me.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” Markl said as he lit the candles. They began to sing a heartwarming birthday song to me, and I savored the moment by blowing out the candles with a smile on my face. The cake was delicious, the roses were amazing, and the company was warm and welcoming. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday.

“Y/N, what did you wish for?” Markl exclaimed, drawing out the name. He seemed genuinely excited to hear the answer, with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye.

"If I say it out loud, then it won't come true." I smiled.

Howl then cleared his throat and stood up. I looked towards him and he started to take something out of his back pocket.

I gasped once more as a hand went over my chest as he then got down on one knee. The atmosphere was instantly transformed into something magical and peaceful.

It was a delicate platinum ring with a heart-shaped diamond mounted in the center of the band. My eyes teared up with happiness as I saw the ring for the first time. I couldn't contain my feelings and started to cry.

"Since you were there for me through all of my ups and downs, I have always loved you. I can't imagine going a day without you by my side. Will you marry me?" He professed.

I got up from my chair and held him as tight as I could, never wanting this incredible, magical moment to end. ‌I was in awe of how lucky I was to have him in my life, and how much I loved him. “Of course I’ll marry you Howl!”

I could tell that he was extremely excited and nervous about this, and I was too. He hugged me back tightly, then he pulled away and put the ring onto my finger. It was the most sentimental and emotional moment of my life, and I'm happy that I could share it with the one person who had been there for me every step of the way.

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deancaskiss · 1 year

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the thing is, and dean would kill anyone if they ever spoke the words out loud, but dean really really really liked kissing cas. okay, it was more than that. and, no, dean absolutely refused to call it ‘making out’ because they were too old for this shit. but… but… yeah, fine, okay, dean liked kissing cas for extended periods of time. it didn’t have to be some big event or some stupid date night. dean just really liked snagging cas in the hallway between their newly renovated kitchen and their cozy living room and just nudging cas back against the wall to kiss him. and cas always looped his arms around dean’s waist, pulling dean closer, and they just stayed like that, with dean’s knee caught between cas’ thighs as they kissed and kissed and kissed. or times when they were on the couch, the news running faintly in the background as cas read a book and dean was idly skimming websites for a new recipe. and then, without warning, dean would put the laptop down, snag cas’ book and drop it onto the table, and lean into cas’ lap to kiss him. and god, cas always made this soft little stuttering breathy sound that slipped into a pleased sigh as he tugged dean closer until dean was straddling his lap and they were trading long and slow kisses; breaking off to catch their breath before they slowly made their way back to kissing again. and sometimes they’re in the garden, with dean fixing the old bench while cas was planting new flowers. and dean just leans down to press a little kiss to cas’ forehead as he moves towards his tool box. but then cas moves onto his knees, a soft noise slipping into the gentle breeze as he brings dean down onto the ground with him, and dean goes willingly, letting cas guide them into a kiss. and then dean is easing cas down down down onto the grass and they’re still kissing, and their clothes are going to be stained green from the freshly cut grass and dean is certainly going to have to drag cas into the shower, where he plans to kiss him some more under the warm stream of water, but for right now, dean is content to chase cas’ mouth over and over again in easy, simple, lazy kisses; no rush, no need to be anywhere or do anything other than trade kisses back and forth as the sun shines around them, keeping them warm.

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sin-djarin · 5 months

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hold tight

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Rating: Explicit. MDNI. This blog and its contents are 18+.

Word Count: 1k.

Summary: Tim is giving. And you're thankful. The holsters stay on.

Warnings: Established relationship, mention of food, unprotected PinV (don't do this, be safe), creampie, Tim Rockford's gun holsters, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: This was meant to be a drabble for Thanksgiving but it's a little more than that, apologies.

More Tim here.

“Just…fine. Hold tight.” Tim huffed down the phone to his colleague on the other end of the line. His large hands clenched into fists on the marble countertop beside you.

“Hold tight for me, okay?” He pleaded with you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

His brown eyes were soft and apologetic when explained why his seat at the table would be vacant on Thanksgiving. A few moments later, he pulled on his holsters and left as you awaited your guests alone.

Hold tight.

Tim’s words echo in your mind in the dining room, elbow to elbow with loved ones. They talk about everything and nothing as you stare vacantly at his empty chair. It's a shame he had to leave at such short notice, they say. All you can do is nod in agreement.

You idly push the rich food around on your plate. It’s doing nothing to satiate the hunger he left you with earlier, before you were interrupted by his phone ringing. You toy with it amongst the mindless chatter and clinking glasses until you can't stand it any longer and take yourself back to the kitchen where it began hours ago.

You squeeze your legs tighter to stave off the desire that bloomed and continues to swell. You recall the image of him shirtless in the kitchen with his sweatpants slung low around his hips.

The residual heat from the stove reminds you of the closeness of him as he stood behind you, peppering kisses across the nape of your neck and his fingertips drawing lazy patterns over your belly. All whilst you flicked through recipe cards and set timers for the next foil tray to go in the oven.

“Hold tight.” You mumble to yourself in the car, driving to the station in the dark.

Passing headlights are few and far between on the roads. Everyone else is at home stuffed, but there’s still something you crave after he left you simmering. You succumbed, losing the battle to suppress the urge.

A plate vibrates beside you in the passenger seat. Casseroles, pies, and slices of succulent meats spooned haphazardly onto the ceramic and saran wrapped. All of it is an excuse to satisfy your own hunger as much as it is a good deed.

“Hold tight.” Tim breathes, hurriedly ushering you into his office before poking his head around the door to check for passersby.

Thankfully, you two appear to be the only sign of life in the building. Satisfied you're alone, he turns back to you and you extend the heavy plate. His tongue runs slowly over his plush bottom lip. It's not a reaction to the food - he's quick to detect there’s hardly anything but silk underneath his own raincoat that you put on after pardoning yourself from the table.

With his hands on his hips, Tim rakes his eyes over your body, from head to toe. His gaze burns and does nothing but fan the flames he sparked this morning - knowingly or unknowingly. His eyes dart to your offering and back to your own. Far from a fool, he knows as well as you do that it’s a prop and the dimly lit room makes the smirk that creeps across his face all the more devilish. The sight of it engulfs you in another torturous wave of fire.

A silence hangs in the air before he speaks again. “Hold tight.” He repeats, the tone of his voice lower as he reaches out to shut the blinds and flicks the lock on the door without a second thought.

Tim strolls over to you, closing any remaining space and unburdens you of the plate. It just about lands on the chair he jumped up from at your unexpected arrival before his palms are pushing the coat down and over your shoulders.

He captures your lips and begins to walk you backwards towards his desk, his hardening length pressing into your stomach as your fingers tangle themselves into the salt and pepper waves of his hair. The familiar taste of him is better than anything you slaved over in his absence.

“Hold tight.” He growls into your mouth, pawing at the soft material that adorns your body with one hand to lift it higher around your waist, his touch now mirroring yours in its desperation. The other frantically pushes a mountain of files off his desk, sending loose sheets of paper flying to the floor before settling between your thighs that spread open for him.

“Hold tight.” He mewls into the delicate skin of your neck, dragging his teeth across your flesh as he speaks.

The scrape of them, the scratch of his bristled jaw and the warmth of his breath threaten to become overwhelming. He plucks his first moan from you at the collective sensation.

Your fingers make speedy work of the silver belt buckle and the zip of his dark slacks. His own are as fast in helping you to shove them down his legs.

“Hold tight.” He purrs, grinning slyly at your growing impatience when he runs the wide head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal before pushing into you.

“Hold,” he says and stops moving.

Gently, he removes your hands from where they clutched at the edge of his wooden desk. Without breaking eye contact, he guides them to the black leather holsters that are pulled taut around his broad shoulders and back.

“Tight.” Tim instructs.

You do as you're told and your fingers grip the straps, rapidly turning white knuckled as he picks up pace again, able to drive deeper and harder. His desperation is more evident than before and the cries of euphoria it evokes from you are muffled by the strong muscle of his shoulder that's clad in crisp white cotton.

“Hold…tight.” He whines with tired lungs.

The monosyllabic words barely register over your heartbeat hammering against your eardrums when he begs you to stay still so he can feel the lingering pulses of your orgasm around him.

“Hold tight.” you whisper under his groan, soothing his stubbled cheek as he rests his forehead against yours both sticky with sweat as he spills into you.

You loosen your grasp on the leather but he leans forward to kiss you again. It's clumsy and languid, all teeth and tongue as you both come down from your feverish highs.

“Happy Thanksgiving” you sigh, finally satisfied.

“Well" he starts, almost breathless. "Hold tight because the day's not over yet."

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x female reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford fanfic

170 notes · View notes

syrikif · 6 months

Text

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU, Written Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Chapter 8 (b): Little Things

Word Count: 2243

It’s past three in the morning.

Kenma ended his stream only minutes ago, having spent the past seven hours playing a hardcore Pokémon Nuzlocke (as decided by his viewers).

And he’s not even tired.

He sighs as he relaxes back into his gaming chair, his fingers idly messing with the strings of his hoody as he watches all the messages coming through on his discord server.

He frees one hand and leans forward just enough to grab his mouse, opening a clip that one of his fans sent in the chat. Kenma realizes shortly into the video that it’s from one of his own streams, an older VOD that’s most likely still up on his neglected YouTube channel.

He makes a mental reminder to start posting on the website more often; his fans clearly like watching the videos after all, regardless of the lack of uploads.

Kenma watches his past self yell almost incompehnsibly at the game he’d been playing, a soft smile coming across his features as he picks up on Kuroo’s voice quietly taunting him underneath all the screaming.

“Some things never change,” he mumbles to himself as the clip ends with the two roommates arguing over each other.

And suddenly it all feels so bittersweet, a sense of nostalgia filling his chest and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Because while things may not have been easy then, they were simpler somehow; less demanding of Kenma despite the fact that he’d had so many more pressing responsibilites.

He hears himself sigh and briefly wonders when exactly he’d started getting so old.

It’s almost laughable - Kenma reminiscing over his college years at the age of twenty-four.

He releases a low breath, his gaze straying from the chat to the list of active users on the side of the screen. Unsurprisingly, there aren’t as many people online as there usually is and one name manages to catch his eye.

Kenma rarely ever cares to check on things like roles and ranks in his server, he has moderators for that very task after all. But there is a role that he personally made himself when the server was first created, strictly for the purpose of having his friends in one place.

No one has been added into that level in years.

Until now.

Now there’s Y/N.

Kenma isn’t the person who placed her there (he didn’t even know she’d joined his server before this very moment) and the only other people with the ability to do so are his mods.

With this realization he remembers the message he’d recieved from Moe, one of his very first moderators, from earlier that day.

“You can thank me later.”

Kenma had been confused at the time, even assuming that she’d texted the wrong person and not bothering to respond.

Now he understands.

There’s only a moment of hesitation, his cursor hovering above that unmistable gray symbol, before he finally just clicks.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, long enough to feel a sense of dread beginning to sink in but too short to dwell on the feeling.

And it’s futile really, the way Kenma tries to hide his grin from the camera when Y/N finally answers the call wearing cat ears and a blanket that seems to swallow her whole.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she suddenly says, her gaze deepening into a glare.

Kenma wants to laugh because she probably knows exactly what he’s thinking right now. “Like what?” He does his best to appear nonchalant, leaning back into his seat and running a hand through his hair as he stares at her through the screen.

She looks different like this.

Or maybe he just isn’t used to seeing her on video.

“Like I’m some little kid or something,” Y/N huffs, her eyes rolling back as her blanket falls to her lap.

“More like a little cat,” he mutters almost unthinkingly. He watches her eyebrows furrow, her head tilting as his words reach her ears.

“Huh?”

Kenma shouldn’t tease her. He really really shouldn’t. “It’s fitting,” and yet he’s completely incable of resisting, “Kitten.”

Y/N’s jaw quite literally drops, her eyes widening as her face turns a satisfyingly bright shade of red.

And Kenma can’t help but think that she looks so- so- (what was the word?) something.

“Wh- what did you just?” She shakes her head, “You- why would you- ugh!”

Cute.

Yes. That’s the term.

Kenma thinks she looks cute right now.

The realization is slow to hit, his mind even slower to catch on as he watches Y/N fan her face and cup the skin of her cheeks.

It isn’t even the right word, honestly - to kenma - she looks adorable, cute was just the first thing that came to mind.

Why did it come to mind?

“You’re the one wearing cat ears,” he defends. He’s not sure what he’s defending at this point (himself? his thoughts? his weird obsession with cats?); he just doesn’t want her to take it the wrong way.

What would be the wrong way? Flirtaitiously?

But, if she were to flirt back, Kenma doesn’t think he’ll care.

“You piss me off,” Y/N suddenly announces, her voice full of exagerated annoyance, but there’s no doubt that she’s smiling at him - because of him.

No, he really wouldn’t mind at all.

~~~

“Favorite color?”

“Oh come on.” Kenma rolls his eyes, taking a small swig from the can of soda he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge just beside his desk. “You know my favorite color.”

Y/N gives him an incredulous look, “Um, since when?”

Kenma’s eyebrows raise, “Um, since the first day we met?”

“You’re literally lying,” she says with a mouth full of some sort of food. He doesn’t know what she’s eating at this point; first it was chips, then tomato soup, a thin slice of pie (Kenma’s sure that she was trying to rub it in his face), and now it seems to be a kind of fruit.

He’s never seen someone eat so many diverse snacks in one sitting.

Y/N’s eyes suddenly widen, “Shut the fuck up.”

Kenma’s at a loss for words, and he’s sure that Y/N can see the disbelief in his features as he sets the drink on his desk.

“No, like seriously shut up.” She lifts one hand, using her index finger to point at Kenma - or (more accurately) the camera of her webcam.

He blinks. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m trying to think here, okay? So shh,” she glares at him.

Kenma makes a show of pressing his lips together, mimicking the motion of zipping them up and tossing aside the key.

He can see Y/N trying to suppress a smile at his actions, a small huff of a giggle escaping her own lips when he pretends to struggle against the imaginary lock on his mouth.

Her face suddenly lights up with recognition, “Red!”

Kenma’s charade breaks. “That’s what you were trying to figure out this whole time?”

“I was right?” She suddenly looks confused, more confused than when she didn’t even know the correct answer.

“Obviously.” His head tilts, “Did you just guess or something?”

A sheepish smile, “Or something.”

“You just guessed, didn’t you?” It’s not really an actual question at this point, they’re both all too aware of what she did.

“Well I mean- kind of?” She shrugs, a clumsy movement that makes her appear so much younger than she probably is. “To be honest, I just happened to remember that Nekoma’s colors were red and black. So,” she hangs on to the word for a brief second, “Lucky guess?”

“Well what’s your favorite color?”

Y/N had suggested a scuffed form of twenty-one questions, a version with no drinking (not that either of them were against it, Kenma just doesn’t have any alcoholic beverages in the house) and no limit on how many questions they could ask.

It’s been years since Kenma had gotten to know someone like this.

She hums with consideration, “I’m not sure. I like all of them.”

“That’s such a cop-out answer,” he light-heartedly scoffs.

“Oh don’t even,” Y/N straightens in her seat, the black cat ears slipping further back on her head. “At least I didn’t make you play a ten minute guessing game,” she retorts.

Kenma tsks, “That was not ten minutes.”

“Well it felt like it. So hah!”

He laughs as he stretches out his legs, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants when he notices that they’re off-center. He looks back up at the screen, eyes fixated on the way Y/N tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“How old are you?” Kenma asks out of mere curiosity, because he knows she must be at least close to his age, but he feels so much older in comparison to her cheerful nature.

She’s staring intently at something off to the side, scrutinizing whatever happens to be there. “Twenty three.”

Only a year younger, maybe even less depending on her date of birth.

But-, “Wait,” his eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you date Sugawara in high school?”

He regrets bringing it up the moment he’s finished speaking, mentally cringing at the idea of talking about her ex’s.

Y/N groans, her face falling into her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“That bad huh?” And if Kenma’s being honest with himself, he feels strangely . . . relieved.

“Like I love the guy,” Oh. “In like a totally platonic sort of way though,” she suddenly rushes to explain.

Kenma nods, “Right.” He pauses for only a brief second. “So you were a first year when you started dating then?”

Y/N’s head tilts with obvious bewilderment, “What? Oh,” she laughs. “No, I was a second year. I just have a really late birthday.”

“Oh okay,” he releases a small breath of relief. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if he found out that one of Y/N’s boyfriends was a sick fuck that preyed on first-years.

That’s something he couldn’t let himself overlook, no matter who it was.

“Why’d it end then? Was he not,” he hesistates, “Good to you?”

They’re getting into dangerous territory now; it’s none of his business why their relationship didn’t last, but it feels like it should be. And he supposes that if they’re going to be friends and if he’s going to come into contact with said ex-boyfriend, then it would be better to know anyways.

Right?

Who is he kidding? That’s just an excuse.

He has no real reason for wanting to know, but that’s not going to stop him from asking.

Y/N shakes her head, a thoughtful expression painted across her features. “Nothing like that. It was almost like he was too good to me, you know? It was a good relationship but it was like so good that it was uneventful and boring. We just don’t mesh well romantically.”

Kenma nods as though he understands when really - the truth of the matter is that - his only relationship had ended on such bad terms that he hasn’t dated since.

“And you’re twenty-four right?”

“Yeah,” he confirms without thinking. Then his eyes narrow on her form, “How do you know that?”

She sighs deeply, as if even the mere thought of it is taxing. “Sho has not shut up about you since we met, it’d be more shocking if I didn’t know that at this point.”

Kenma smirks, “All good things I hope.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes, “That man is practically singing your praises.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Despite the confusing choice of words, Kenma feels himself chuckle at the idea of one of his closest friends boasting about him to a complete stranger.

“He just like won’t stop talking about how cool you are, or how you’re so fun to be around. Or how you’re the most awesomest - yes he used that word - person he’s ever met.” Kenma’s disappointed when she unexpectedly stops, her hands raising to massage the skin of her temples. “It’s honestly starting to get annoying. Like you’d think he was trying to make me fall in love with you or something,” she snorts.

Is it working?

The words are on the tip of his tongue, his stomach turning at the possibility of her responses.

Kenma swallows thickly, “So what? He’s trying to set us up?”

Some questions are better left unasked.

“I guess so?”

“That’s a little weird.” Only a little bit though.

Y/N smiles then, but it’s mischevious and temptingly playful. “Really? You don’t think we’d look good together?”

His mind races at the implication behind her words, his body growing warm from her teasing tone of voice. And he abruptly feels so thirsty, his tongue brushing across his lips as he watches the way her lashes flutter when she blinks.

“Now I never said that,” he murmers in return and he can’t tell if his voice is as throaty he feels like it is.

Her gaze flickers down somewhere below his face, and Kenma silently berates himself for his choice of lazy clothing, before slowly trailing back up.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, her eyes never straying from his. “Neither did I.”

Kenma’s breath catches in his throat.

He forces a smirk, “I guess we can agree on one thing then.”

Her grin comes back in full force, wicked and full of invitation, “I suppose we can.”

Yeah, Kenma definitely doesn’t mind when she flirts.

Taglist: @crazy-people-are-here, @existential-traveller, @peachesncats, @royalz658, @musicluverr, @tamimemo, @leathernourishingshoepolish, @captaincyberqueen, @dellalyra

Any names in bold are unable to be tagged.

97 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 1 year

Text

discretion advised

summary: during the hunt, a handful of people know the truth. the only problem is, they don’t hold any influence, and must help you in their own way.

word count: ~2.6k

-> warnings: blood mention, barely any spoilers save for character names + roles, imposter au things

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x

< masterlist >

diluc trudged down the path through the whispering woods, kicking aside overgrown bushes. his patrol had proved worth his while, the hilichurls near starfell lake had begun to regroup, and were fashioning shields. they were easy enough to take care of, but the smell of ash clung to his clothes and his arms were rather sore. perhaps he should cut tonight short, he had been doing quite a bit of labor today…

whispers off the side of the path caught his attention and he stopped to listen, turning slightly.

“-grass isn’t edible!”

“is too! teacher had a book about it!”

he stepped and pushed aside the bushes, startling those beyond them.

two figures hunched around a patch of lamp grass, the blue light doing little to help with the dense canopy overhead. two visions shone in the dark, one purple and one red, and he identified them after a moment.

bennett, eyes wide and on scuffed knees, and his friend from the forest, the one lisa was teaching grammar, hunched over in an odd crouch.

“what are you two doing out so late?”

“is lamp grass edible?” razor asked, pointing to the glowing plant, and diluc stared.

“…it’s used in a few recipes, yes, but-“

in an instant he snatched up the plants, ripping up some of their roots in his haste to shove them into his jacket.

“we leave now,” he said simply, standing and pulling bennett up with him. “thank you, master diluc.”

diluc stepped to block their exit. “you didn’t answer my question. bennett, what are you doing out? friend or not, your dads would have your head if they knew you were in the woods after dark.”

“i wasn’t just wandering! i was-…” he stopped suddenly, as if aware whatever he would say would get him into trouble. “we were looking for some stuff.”

“that doesn’t answer my question. anything would be easier to find before dark.”

“we looked with the sun,” razor interrupted, the soft glow from his pocket slightly illuminating his disappointment. “but nothing was found.”

diluc sighed. he couldn’t be mad at them, not really, mot when it was clear they never meant to stay out so late.

“whatever you’re looking for can be found in the morning. for now, come with me back to the city. razor, we’ll stop at a waypoint so you can return to wolvendom, okay?”

the two boys nodded, and he let them cross into the path.

“but don’t do this again, understood? and if you need help, ask.”

they both nodded, and diluc was left to wonder why they needed lamp grass in the first place.

“oh! sir albedo!”

albedo stopped, finishing his sentence on his clipboard before looking up, seeing noelle rushing over to him from the direction of the library.

“lady noelle. are you in need of something?”

she shook her head, metal gloves clicking together as she clasped her hands. idly, albedo noted the many scratches on them, presumably from the same action. “oh not at all, i’m alright, but lisa wanted me to remind you that your copy of ‘common medicinal herbs and their uses’ was due for either renewal or to be turned in soon, and to please not poison yourself again.”

albedo took the small card she handed him, noting the date. “i see. i’ll make note of this, and i’ll be sure to turn it in shortly. thank you, noelle.”

he took a step away but she stopped him with a hand, a flicker of irritation running through him.

“is there something else?”

“well, not from lisa, but i wanted to ask why you were researching this? normally you’re in dragonspine and studying ley lines, not stationed just outside of springvale and renting books on plants…”

he turned fully towards her, tucking away his pen and holding his notes close to his chest. “i am an alchemist, and the study is not fully about ley lines. i admit this is somewhat outside of my usual range of work, but sucrose is currently on medical leave—as i’m certain you already know—and i have no other sources of information aside of field research. this project is not an assignment, merely an interest of mine, and as such it has not made its way onto any formal paperwork. however, i can assure you i am not behind in any of my work.”

“ah- i never meant that you were behind! i was just curious!”

his papers crinkled under his hand. “there is no need to be. good day, miss noelle.”

without another word, he turned on his heel and left, making his way down the stairs and out the front gates of mondstat. taking his clipboard away from his chest, he reread the last portion of his notes to get his bearings, pulling out his pen to finish the report.

‘i’m not certain as to why you’d need these notes, klee, considering the knights are well-equipped to handle injuries, but please do not try to make your own medicine. it’s dangerous near wolvendom on a normal day, and you know what’s been going on lately. please, come see me or the healers for any injuries you may have.

‘remember, the knights are here to help.’

“diona? what are you doing out here?”

fish scattered as boots stomped through the shallow water, glittering scales barely visible through the splash.

“wh- hey! you scared off the fish!” diona shouted, tail lashing behind her. all that time she spent, waiting for the plumpest fish to swim up from the depths of the lake for nothing! now she had to wait even longer!

“fish? what do you need fish for?” draff asked, stopping near her as she sat on a rock, collecting her things. “are you hungry? oh, do you need more scales? i know the traveller helped you last time, but i have pretty quick reflexes too! i could catch you some.”

“as if,” she mumbled, glaring at where he was still standing in the lake. “and it’s fine, i don’t need your help.”

he watched in confusion as she brushed right past him, reaching to pluck snapdragon instead. “diona… you know you shouldn’t be out here, not now. it’s dangerous, and i don’t want you caught up in-“

“i’m fine.” she carefully put the flowers in her bag, pulling out her bow and scanning the waters. all the fish were far too lean, barely anything on their bones, but she might as well get something, right? “just stay still this time.”

before he could say anything��or worse, step forward and scare off the fish again—she nocked an arrow, collecting cryo on the tip. as soon as a fish got within range she let it fly, the cryo forming a spear that stabbed through the gills, pinning it in place. she set down her bow and carefully pulled the fish out, twisting the arrow to kill it before removing the small icicle and throwing it aside. it wasn’t a clean kill, and definitely not worth all the waiting she did, but… it was better than nothing.

“what do you need a fish for? we have plenty back in springvale…”

she ignored him, putting her bag over her shoulders and picked up the fish by the tail. “it’s fine. you better go back soon, you’re due for a patrol.”

her father hesitated, eyes wide and lost.

“diona, is this about last night? i already said i was sorry-“

“and i heard you then. now get out of the lake, your socks are going to get wet!”

he looked down and quickly stepped out of the water, taking off one boot to check that no water had gotten in. by the time he confirmed there wasn’t, she was gone, only a swaying bush to indicate where she had gone.

draff sighed.

razor stayed low to the ground as he ran, one hand on the strap of his bag. the patrols had gotten too close again, he’d heard lisa talk about it, and he couldn’t follow her orders to stay away.

‘it’s dangerous,’ she’d said, distaste apparent in her eyes. ‘and i’d hate for you to get involved in such things. you’re too young.’

‘too young.’ him?

he climbed up a cliff as quick as he could, the scrape of stone against his fingertips familiar, and pushed through the thick bushes at the top. thorns pulled at his jacket, denser than they should be, but he continued anyway, gritting his teeth through the pain.

‘too young.’ too young to read notes stained with droplets of blood, too young to sneak books about medicine into his reading practice, too young to bite through the bitter skin of wolfhooks in accordance with the notes albedo had taken at klee’s prompting.

too young to see knights swarming the place he’d come to know as safe, too young for the stench of blood to reach his nose, stronger than just the small drops beading on his skin.

kaeya was the first one to spot him, quickly excusing himself and walking over, attempting to block the scene even as razor cranes to try and see around him.

“razor! what are you doing here, huh? wasn’t your pack further south?”

in between people, he could see the stone he used to tuck supplies under, the white of a paper just barely sticking out amidst the shadows.

“what happened?”

kaeya sighed. “a patrol ran into somebody that we’ve been looking for for a while.” just say it. “things got.. a bit messy. are you alright, by the way? the bushes around here are incredibly thick…”

his arms barely stung. he kept his eye on the stone tucked between two wolfhook bushes. “i’m fine. here for wolfhooks.” he pointed through the crowd and kaeya looked, turning back with an odd twist to his lip.

“i think you’re better off finding wolfhooks elsewhere, razor. if you go down the path im certain you’ll find more.”

he knew. he shook his head anyway. “need these ones.”

another sigh. why was everybody sighing today? they had nothing to fear for.

“alright, fine. just stick close to me, alright?”

he put a hand on razor’s shoulder and let him through the crown of people, keeping his body between him and the source of the blood-smell. it didn’t matter.

razor crouched purposely close to the bushes, setting his bag right on top of the stone. he reached for the further wolfhooks first, knocking down the ones closer to him, dropping them into his bag on top of the skewers he was meant to leave. he picked up two of the fallen wolfhooks and hid the paper against his palm, pretending to rearrange the berries as he buried the note deep into his bag.

when he stood, kaeya turned with a smile. it was forced. “all done?”

razor nodded, clutching his bag close to his chest with both arms.

“good! now do me a favor and stick close to springvale for a while, okay?”

razor nodded again. “swear.”

hidden against his jacket, two of his fingers crossed.

jean’s chair scraped against the floor as she sat at the head of the meeting table. “so, any news on the hunt?”

heads shook all around the table. a few hands clenched, a few jaws ticked, but nobody spoke up.

jean held back a sigh, reviewing the papers in front of her. “we have to catch them before they leave mondstat… has the only time we’ve seen them been with captain kaeya’s patrol?”

everybody nodded, but kaeya himself didn’t seem satisfied. instead, he stared across the table at klee, who was drawing on a notepad.

“klee?”

she looked up at his voice, and though jean raised an eyebrow, he continued, leaning forward in his chair. “have you spoken to razor recently?”

klee thought about it for a moment, but eventually shook her head. “nope!”

“klee’s been in solitary for the past few days,” jean cut in. “why are you asking about razor?”

kaeya shrugged. “he showed up at the scene and seemed pretty insistent on getting the wolfhooks there-“

“and you let him?”

“look, lisa, it would have been harder to say no. you want me to explain to him what’s going on? you haven’t.”

electricity crackled across lisa’s fingertips. “he should never have been allowed to get close.”

“he popped up out of nowhere, what was i supposed to do? shove him back into the bushes?”

“kaeya.”

the silence that followed was only broken when klee put her pen on the table with a loud clack!, smiling widely at her finished drawing.

jean sighed, directing her attention towards her to try and break the tension. “klee, before you went to solitary-“ her excitement dimmed, her smile slipping to a pout, and jean’s heart hurt a bit “-did you talk to anybody? outside of the knights, of course.”

she thought about it again, carefully putting away her pen and tearing off the sheet of paper with her drawing on it. “nope! klee’s stayed within the walls for the last… month, maybe? i don’t want to get in the way!”

albedo looked up from his notes—did he ever stop working?—with a frown. “then why did you ask me about herbs?”

herbs?

she shrugged. “curious! bennett needed help with a friend of his, so i wanted to ask you because you’re super smart!”

a few of the knights smiled. albedo did not.

“a friend…”

klee picked up her notepad, free hand on the edge of the table. “can i leave?”

jean sighed. “sure, klee. stay out of trouble, okay?”

she nodded with a wide smile, pushing herself away from the table and walking away, leaving her drawing on the table.

jean picked it up, “klee, you left this!”

she paused for a moment, turning, but eventually continued. “you can have it!”

jean’s lip picked up in a small smile as klee reached for the door handle, carefully closing it behind her. she picked up the drawing, turning it right side up.

it was simple, as most children’s drawings were, and though the pen that albedo got her had multiple kinds of ink inside, she was still limited on color. two trees stood on either edge of the page, and three figures stood on grass. one was small, with a red hat and bag, labeled ‘mE!’. another had goggles and a weird circle at its side, named ‘bEnnY!’, and besides him was somebody in what looked like a jacket and with fluffy hair, named ‘razor!’.

it was cute. the z in razor was backwards, and the bushes were little more than some scribbles, but she had clearly put effort into it. there was even some wolfhooks on a bush, with a little label of….

“jean? is something wrong?”

jean slammed the paper on the desk and stood, uncaring of the way her chair skid as she pulled her jacket off the back of it, quickly putting it on.

“all of you, with me.”

the wolfhooks weren’t wolfhooks. they were eyes.

eyes labeled ‘the creator’.

639 notes · View notes

maliland · 4 months

Text

HEAVEN 'N HELL - OPHELIA

if i die, please, let them find me.

angel(s): gwen stacy & fem reader includes: angst, flashbacks, & themes of depression chapter synopsis: you wasted away the summer ignoring your feelings, gwen unable to escape hers. wc: 4.5k

divider

heaven 'n hell m.list

august 2023

you felt as though you were melting into your mattress as you lay in your bed on your stomach idly. soon enough, you would be nothing but a puddle of liquid that your sheets and your covers were forcefully drenched in. you had tried so incredibly hard not to mull over the loss of your ex-girlfriend, and for some time, you didn’t do so at all.

for the first few weeks of the summer, you dismissed the aching feeling in your chest entirely and feigned stability, carrying out your habitual summertime regimen. you went on nightly strolls when the moon was shining a little too bright for you to fall under. when it wasn’t too hot out, you’d venture to the lake and journal thoughts that didn’t involve her. it was therapeutic the way your pen glided across the sheets of paper with ease, and you found solace in the green grass beneath your fingers, coupled with the way the sun kissed your delicate skin. you dove even deeper into the artistry of baking, discovering new recipes and modifying older ones. your method seemed to be working efficiently, because by the end of each and every day, you were far too worn out to give anything else so little as half of a thought.

no matter what, you refused to confront your feelings. what you didn’t yet realize was that pretending like your feelings didn’t exist wasn’t going to stop them from eating you from the inside out whether you liked it or not.

that’s exactly what they did. your efforts had essentially gone to waste.

one night, something in you just snapped. you could only ignore the tugs at your heartstrings until they turned into painful yanks. you couldn’t stand to bury your hurt anymore, so you dug it up. the oppressive ache of losing both of your best friends in such a short time period plagued your being from then on. you felt dead.

being locked away in your bedroom made you lose track of time. days turned into weeks and weeks turned into the entire summer. you had unfortunately succumbed to the desolation and the seclusion that your body had been begging to enervate you with, and the gelidity that had been nipping at your soul had overpowered your suffocating routine and broken you.

were just there and residing inside of you, the only escape being the tears that spilled from your eyes not intermittently, but only when you let yourself think about gwen too much in one day.

you didn't grieve how you should've. you’d willingly let sorrow consume you. it was who you were now.

summer break was coming to a close. the first day of your senior year was just a week away from the night jules came over to check in on you. she did these checks because your parents were usually on business trips, giving you the freedom to rot in bed without anyone’s knowledge.

jules came sometime in the evening. she found you snuggled in your bed, blankets layered on top of your exhausted figure. your tv was playing a movie, but you weren’t paying attention, nor did you know what movie was on. you were facing the wall, staring blankly. you’d been doing so for some time. it’s not like it was on purpose.

“hey girl, i brought you some chinese food,” jules announced with a soft sigh.

you heard a plastic bag crinkling in unison with jules’ footsteps. she set the plastic bag down on the surface of your desk, knowing you’d get up and eat when you were hungry. she briefly inspected your room and picked up a few items that she noticed were out of place. earlier on in the summer, you’d fallen into the habit of having an untidy room. you quickly fixed that when you realized it only made you feel worse about yourself, so now, your room was almost always spotless.

jules said, “you changed your curtains.”

“i did,” you confirmed monotonously. your old curtains were white, embroidered with baby blue floral designs. the new ones you had put up were light pink blackout curtains.

“they’re cute.” “thanks. and thanks for the food.”

you thought jules was simply making sure you were still breathing, dropping off food, and leaving, because that’s how these things usually went. instead, she sat near the foot of your bed, the cushiony mattress slowly shifting under her. it urged you to roll over and sit up, a puzzled expression painted on your face as you stared at jules.

“school’s about to re-open,” she reminded you.

“i’m very aware,” you nodded, releasing an exasperated sigh.

she nodded slowly, squinting her eyes at you slightly. “right, so… have you packed? done any school shopping?”

“no…” you shook your head.

“you do know when your orientation is, right?”

you tapped your chin repeatedly for a few moments as if the answer was stored in a file deep inside your brain, and you needed to retrieve it before offering up a response “…yeah, no.”

“it’s tomorrow!” jules exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you flopped back down onto your mattress, clearly uninterested. “i can just skip this one. they talk about the same shit every time. it’s really not worth it.”

“it’s mandatory,” jules added. like it would change your mind.

“mandatory, my ass,” you rolled your eyes, yanking your blanket back over you. “how do you even know about this?”

“someone’s gotta keep up. you won’t. i know you better.”

you didn’t give her a reply, in lieu turning over on your back so you could fix your eyes on the ceiling.

jules exhaled your name, her eyebrows now furrowed in concern. “i’m leaving in two days to go back to houston. i won’t be able to check in like this anymore…” she laid down next to you, joining you in your staring contest with the overhead of your bedroom. “i need you to start taking better care of yourself. no more staying inside twenty-four-seven. you’re gonna go on walks and–”

“walks?” you cut in with a scoff. "seriously?”

“you used to love walks!”

“i liked going on them with gwen.”

you grimaced deeply as soon as you said her name. it left a bad taste in your mouth, but it was true. back when you were dating, you and gwen would regularly go on late-night walks together when sleep wouldn’t have either of you. it was something you two had been doing ever since you were kids, so it stuck with you when you got into a relationship, and even after you called it quits.

“look,” jules began. “i know you miss her, but this breakup is seriously becoming an obstacle. if you keep up like this, you’re gonna ruin your future. all i ask is that you make an effort–”

you planted the palms of your hands on the mattress and used them to arise from your spot, speaking over your cousin in a rather accusatory manner, “you think i’m not making an effort?”

“you didn’t let me finish,” jules replied, her expression hardening. “all i ask is that you make an effort to try and do some of the things you used to. don’t rush things. that didn’t go well last time.”

you looked down at your lap, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. you felt embarrassed at how defensive you got. you knew jules was right anyhow. she was only trying to help.

“you’ve worked so hard, from the moment you got into that school. it can’t be for nothing. don’t let it be.”

you pressed your lips together and a puff of air shot out through your nose. jules was right–again. it was your senior year. you just needed to push through those ten months, no matter how harrowing they felt.

“i haven’t even finished packing,” you mumbled. the fact that you didn’t condemn the idea elicited a smile of hope on your older cousin’s face.

jules hopped off the bed, pulling on either of your arms so you were sitting up. “so we’ll pack. don’t worry, girl. you’re gonna have a great year, okay?”

you nodded, though you didn’t believe that in the slightest. “okay.”

you couldn’t subdue the doubt that you’d never be able to seal the deep puncture in your soul. maybe this was one of those wounds that time couldn’t heal.

the next day arrived faster than you wanted it to. you were pining for the familiar comfort of your bed, eager to escape senior orientation. you were sitting in a fold-up chair, your bottom growing numb from the hard, rough plastic. it’d been a prolonged thirty minutes of various staff explaining things such as college, scholarships, test scores, clubs, sports, community service, and dorms. you weren’t mentally present for the vast majority of it, rather exhausting your social media apps or contemplating ideas that weren’t relevant in the slightest.

out of curiosity, your eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. you weren’t met with anyone you recognized, but forgettable faces that would star as background characters in your future dreams.

you left a little bit before orientation officially concluded to get a head start on unpacking your suitcase. jules was already in your dorm, awaiting your arrival so she could help you unpack since she knew you’d been putting it off.

on your way to student housing, you passed by one of the larger gyms. you were greeted with a familiar warmth in your chest, then it tightened when you remembered. you halted immediately and took a few steps backward to peek inside. it was the gym you attended your first and only prom in—the prom peter died at.

it was like his soul and his energy still resided within–like he was haunting it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

december 2022

you and gwen strolled into the faintly lit and thoroughly decorated gym alongside each other. the cooler lighting cast a gentle hue of purple over the both of you. the white spotlights whirling around the gym heavily illuminated the area as opposed to the ones that weren’t as harsh. a crescent moon hung gracefully from the ceiling above the stage on the other side of the gym, alternating between tinges of blue, pink, and purple. dangling from the ceiling and decorating the walls were strings of silver stars, exuding the illusion of a starry night.

you liked your outfit. you had on a short, sparkly, fitted black dress with thin spaghetti straps. you wore black stockings over your legs and black heels on your feet. your earrings were simple but cute: sparkly moon studs. a silver necklace with a shiny star pendant hung around your neck, resting in between your two collarbones. the girl beside you wore a black, grunge leather jacket, with various pins decorating the collar over her pink high-low skirted dress. to accessorize, she wore a dark-colored choker around her neck, two pearl necklaces, and identical pearl earrings that matched the neckpieces. black belts decorated her hips, hanging loosely. she had told you she was going for a nineties kind of look and you thought she totally nailed it.

both you and the blonde wore matching pink rose corsages around your wrists. peter was going to have the other piece pinned to the jacket of his suit. since none of you had dates, you decided to go together as friends. you had yet to spot him though.

you and gwen walked further into the gym, wrapping up the conversation you’d been having on the way in. gwen’s bandmates all waved at you and gwen from one of the drink tables and you two waved back.

“you excited to play?” you asked gwen, gesturing to the instruments that were already set up on the stage. mj had pulled a few strings, and now her band was going to play near the end of the dance.

“excited, yeah. also a little nervous,” she admitted.

“don’t be, you’ll do great,” you slung your arm around her shoulders, flashing her a toothy grin. your eyes wandered the gym, searching for the last piece to your trio, but you couldn’t find him.

“hey, where’s peter?” gwen asked you.

“i was wondering the same…” you took your arm back and squinted into the distance, standing on your tip-toes and trying to see over the heads of other students. “i thought he was catching a ride with harry, but he should be here by now.”

“i don’t see harry either,” gwen groaned. “jesus christ, i hope they didn’t bail.”

you shook your head. “peter wouldn’t do that.” “yeah, you’re right,” gwen shook her head. “let’s split up. i’ll text you if i find him.” “cool, me too.”

you weaved through the crowds of people, muttering small “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” as needed. despite your efforts, your eyes never came to land on the familiar lanky brunette with glasses. you turned on your heel, beginning to make your way to the opposite side of the gym. at the same time, you checked your phone. no text from gwen. you shoved your cell back in your purse and made your way to one of the drink tables, grabbing a can of your favorite soda and popping it open. your eyes continued to sweep the crowds in the gym as you leaned on the table, your quiet sigh drowned out by the loud music reverberating throughout the gym.

“lookin’ good,” a sonorous voice suddenly said from behind you, disconnecting you from your thoughts.

your eyebrows lowered before you had even processed who the voice belonged to. you craned your neck to the left to see none other than ned leeds smirking at you, him and his stupid blonde mohawk. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, then close them before exhaling.

ned continued, “way too good to hang with that nerd and his girlfriend.”

“excuse you,” gwen’s voice scoffed before you could rebut, leaving you confused as to where she even came from. “peter is not my boyfriend.”

“and your compliment was ass!” you added, the blonde’s fingers simultaneously wrapping around your free wrist.

ned looked like he was itching to fire back at you, but gwen was already pulling you away by your arm, her grip firm. she led you to an area that was less populated.

“g, i’d like to keep my circulation,” you said to her once you both had stopped, wiggling your arm around. “right, sorry,” she chuckled awkwardly, letting go of your wrist and clearing her throat. “i didn’t find peter.”

you rubbed your wrist and breathed out, “neither did i. didn’t see harry either.” “i did. he was with some girl, and told me that peter was going to find another way here.”

your eyebrows raised. “peter said that?”

“according to harry, yeah,” gwen pressed her lips together, folding her arms anxiously. “and may told me peter’s not home.”

“shit…” you muttered.

gwen’s eyes suddenly narrowed and her neck snapped so she was facing the opposite side of the gym. mere seconds later, the wall fell apart, screams erupting as debris fogged up the air around you. you pulled gwen towards one of the exits as what appeared to be an oversized green lizard stormed further into the gym, the impact shaking the ground and sending you straight for the floor. gwen caught you, helping you gain balance again before you both sprinted out of the gym.

“i gotta go! get out of here!" gwen directed.

“what?!” you yelled, having barely heard your best friend over all the chaos in the background.

“trust me!"

she took off, disappearing into the debris as more and more students rushed out. what was she thinking? you were left conflicted. in the moment, you didn't trust her at all. how could you? as much as you wanted to go in there and talk some sense into her, you’d be a fool to run into that gym after her.

“gwen!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

june 2023

“gwen!”

two gentle taps to gwen’s shoulder pulled her out of her head.

“yo, death leopard,” a voice called out. “something wrong?”

gwen turned around to see her bandmate, mj standing behind her, arms folded over her chest. she looked half irritated and half annoyed. gwen cleared her throat, a shade of red sneaking up under her pale, freckled cheeks. she swallowed thickly and only then did it click that she was still at band practice, not prom.

she then spoke, “no, everything’s good.”

“cool, so could you maybe start playing the drums on three?”

“huh?” gwen glanced down at the drum set below her in confusion, then back at her friends.

“we counted off three different times, but your head was in space, star girl,” glory explained.

“could you even hear us?” betty inquired, a worrisome frown etched on her face.

not at all.

gwen had been deep in thought, the world surrounding her now irrelevant as the tragedy that transpired at prom replayed in her head like a broken record. the fatal blow gwen delivered to the lizard followed by the discovery that it was peter all along was stuck on loop. she didn’t mean to kill him—spider-woman never kills anyone. that’s not what the media and the press thought though, and sure as hell not what gwen’s father, the police chief thought, either.

gwen recalled desperately throwing rocks and rubble off of her best friend, holding his face in her hands as her body went numb. his hair was shaggy and coated with dust from the foundation of the broken wall. his eyes were half-lidded, his brown irises appearing to have had the life sucked out of them.

“i just wanted to be special… like you, gwen.” he had said. gwen didn’t know what he meant. she didn't think there was anything special about her. she felt like the most useless person on the planet, especially in that moment.

her job was twenty times harder now. for the rest of her life, she’d have to fight off supervillains while the cops were hot on her trail. for the rest of her life, she’d have to live with the guilt that she took her best friend’s life. she’d have to listen to her father complain about how spider-woman ruins lives. how she ruined may’s life, and his life–and hers. given the way gwen’s life was going, she wouldn’t argue him on it. she lost peter and she lost you. ever since, she felt as though she was living on autopilot, far too busy to have any time to grieve properly. to feel.

gwen couldn't talk to anyone. there wasn’t a single person she could confide in–except for you. the only issue was gwen didn’t just break up with you, she had severed you two’s connection entirely, giving you the impression that she wanted nothing to do with you.

gwen was unsure how to respond to the questions that still hung in the air, so she only stared further, her eyes darting between betty and glory, who both awaited her answer.

mj sighed. “are you sure you’re okay? it’s okay if you’re not, we all have our days.”

“yeah, i’m good. i just spaced out,” gwen insisted, though the girl before her was extremely unconvinced.

mj walked back to her mic, ripping it from the stand and unplugging the wire. “let’s just end early today. i think we all deserve a break, yeah?”

betty and glory nodded in unison. gwen stared at her lap in pure defeat. this was the second band practice that ended earlier than scheduled that week because her mind was somewhere else. she eventually packed up her drum set and migrated off stage to the second row of seats in the seating area. once betty and glory were gone, mj joined gwen, sitting in a seat to the left of her.

“look, we have a festival to play at in three weeks. that’s really not a lot of time,” mj furrowed her eyebrows. “but i’m more worried about you. what’s really going on?”

gwen never was one to open up. even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. she couldn’t tell anyone about the double life she took on, so nobody would ever be able to even begin to understand the grief that came with peter’s passing. you still tried. even though you were mourning peter too, you still managed to bring gwen’s walls down and held her hand gently, assuring her that what happened wasn't her fault. teaching her that she wasn’t a burden for feeling, because feeling was what made her human. it wasn’t a surprise that gwen built those walls again right after your breakup.

gwen couldn’t even give the redhead a proper response before two honks blared from outside, but they both know she would’ve dismissed it anyway.

“that’s probably my dad,” gwen muttered, grabbing her tote back and slowly rising up from the chair. she pulled the tote over her shoulder and began to walk away, but she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “i’ll be better next rehearsal. promise.”

mj watched with worried eyes as gwen left. gwen held her breath until she was behind those double doors.

mj knew there was something gwen wasn’t telling her.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

april 2023

it was a cool friday evening. the refreshing spring air that the month of april so kindly delivered blew against your soft skin. the sunset looked heavenly that day. the sky dyed with warmer colors as opposed to the usual blue, the contrast in the differing tinctures painting the clouds a salmony pink. you were walking to your girlfriend’s apartment with the intention of spending the night. you two had planned in advance, so it had been the only thing one your mind just about that entire week. even though you’d had an argument a couple of days prior, you wouldn’t say it was detrimental to your relationship.

that was until you arrived at her apartment.

it may sound fucked up, but the truth was that after peter’s death, when you found out that gwen was spider-woman, you didn’t think anything else could possibly come between you two, since the secrecy that came with gwen being a superhero had always been where your doubts had stemmed, though you didn’t know it at the time.

when you learned of gwen’s alter ego, you also learned to empathize with her. you understood if she missed a few movie nights. you didn’t snap at her if she left you high and dry at restaurants where you were supposed to be having dates at. you didn’t mind having to go on a couple of nightly strolls alone, and you didn’t get angry when she’d show up at your window with injuries, because none of it was out of the blue or suspicious anymore.

in retrospect, you hadn’t realized how chaotic your relationship was. you were far too busy being caught up in the highest highs to really stop and think about it. the lows practically descended as low as the bottom of an ocean floor, where no land was in sight from the surface of the water, and the memory of the highs was the only thing that helped you stay afloat.

albeit you and gwen hadn’t had a low in a while, your most recent argument had to do with her tendency to distance herself when she gets stressed or when things got difficult. you thought you two had worked through it, enforcing healthy communication like you agreed to. at the end of it all, the issue was resolved (temporarily, anyway.) you thought that meant progress.

oh, how wrong you were.

you arrived at her complex and knocked on the door, pressing your lips together as you waited. a couple of seconds later, you heard the lock twist and the door opened. gwen was in one of her hoodies and black sweats, the back of her hair bunched into a pink claw clip while a few of the front pieces hung loosely. she looked disheveled, to say the least. tired.

“hey,” you spoke first.

gwen cleared her throat. “hi.”

you squinted at her as she maneuvered around the open door, shutting it behind her and clearing her throat. you stared at her in confusion while she stared at you in what you could only make out to be woe.

“is everything okay? can i come in?”

gwen opened her mouth to speak but then hesitated. her left thumb was making back-and-forth motions on her right one, an unspoken tell that she was stressed or nervous.

“gwen, i’m talking to you.”

she shook her head. “i know. sorry.”

“is something going on?” you reiterated.

“yeah, i forgot to call you,” she said, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“about?”

she exhaled. “we can’t do the sleepover today.”

your face morphed into one of confusion. “why not?”

there weren’t any villains terrorizing the city, otherwise you wouldn’t even be face to face with gwen. you hadn’t hung out with her one on one in about two weeks, so she’d had plenty of space and time to herself.

“i think i need some time to think about a few things,” she told you, her voice low.

you froze. you were at loss for words entirely.

“okay… um…” your voice trailed off, searching through your scattered brain for something to respond with.

“you didn’t do anything, i promise,” gwen clarified as she hugged her arms, tugging at the fabric of her hoodie. “it’s me.”

“you wanna talk about it?” you offered.

“no,” gwen replied quicker and harsher than she meant to, causing your eyes to widen. “sorry—no. i just need some time to myself,” she corrected herself, her tone softer. “for a little longer than a while.”

“oh,” you retorted. “yeah, no, i understand.”

“thanks,” she coerced a smile, but it was weak.

you nodded and both of you stood in silence for a few moments before gwen turned on her heel, retreating back to the warmth of her apartment and leaving you alone on the other side of the door. she didn’t offer to walk you back home, or even hug you. you sighed in disappointment and began to walk back the way you came. you were heavily conflicted. apart from the fact that she had basically just told you she needed space indefinitely, all you could think about was how your interaction with gwen had felt stale, or unnatural. something felt different, although you couldn’t put your finger on it. gwen was without a doubt distancing herself again, you knew that, but it wasn’t the same as all the other times. there was some kind of uncertainty to it.

your thoughts were so loud.

was that a breakup? no. it couldn’t have been. she just said she needed space—but why from me?

your head was already pounding and it got worse the more you thought about the possibility, so you opted to let it go. just for a little while. you told yourself, it isn’t a breakup it’s just a break.

that’s all it is.

©maliland

taglist: @spid3namy

#heavensent 🪽#heaven ‘n hell 💌#gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy x fem reader #gwen stacy #gwen stacy x you #atsv #istv #fem reader #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse

57 notes · View notes

drpeppertummy · 3 months

Text

tiny little sunny & marianne thing. in which marianne stuffs him Just Right

[hunger, mild stuffing, tummy rubs]

Sunny's big dark eyes followed the forkful of mashed potatoes as Marianne waved it teasingly before his face. His belly rumbled. She smiled approvingly and placed a hand on his side, gently rubbing his hollow tummy with her thumb.

"Hungry?"

He nodded, and winced as his stomach let out another loud growl. Sunny wasn't nearly as invested in the whole feedism thing as Marianne was; all he really wanted right now was to fill his empty tummy. She wanted to play with him, though, and he simply couldn't turn her down, especially if it meant he'd get to eat the lovely-looking meal she'd put together. It sat tauntingly on the table before him, and he had to fight to keep the drool inside his mouth as the smell of it wafted around him.

Smiling, Marianne slowly brought the fork to his lips, but, just as he tried to take the potatoes in his mouth, she pulled it away. A tiny whine of disappointment escaped him, and he looked pleadingly up at her.

"How silly of me," she said slyly, dipping the fork into the pool of hot gravy on the plate. "I forgot to get a little gravy on there. That wouldn't be nearly as good, would it?" Sunny's belly rumbled impatiently as he watched her move agonizingly slowly. Finally, she brought the potatoes back to his mouth, and this time, she let him eat it. He let out a soft sigh of relief and pleasure at the taste of the fluffy, buttery potatoes and the hot, savory gravy. His blissful expression made Marianne's heart melt, and it was all she could do not to just stuff him silly on the spot. She had every intention of taking it slow, though, and she made sure to enjoy his hungry, puppy-eyed face as he watched her pick up a bite of chicken.

"Now, don't go telling anybody, cutie pie, but I stole this recipe from work," she said, idly examining the piece of chicken on the fork. "Pretty basic. Garlic, rosemary, lemon, all that good stuff. A whole hell of a lot of butter, I'll tell you that. The trick is cookin' it just right. Get it a little crispy on the outside, nice and juicy on the inside…" Her eyes shifted from the fork to his face, and she was both pleased and amused to see that he looked positively entranced, on the verge of drooling as he stared longingly at the chicken.

"Well, don't you just look like a poor little starved puppy," she teased, unable to hold back a grin. "I guess that little bite of potato didn't fill you up at all, hm?" As if to answer for him, his belly rumbled pitifully. Moving slowly and deliberately, she took his chin in her hand, and his eyes met hers as she fed him the piece of chicken. Ordinarily, as hungry as he was, he would have inhaled it too quickly to even taste it, but this time he chewed slowly, taking care to enjoy it. It was exactly as delicious as she'd made it sound.

"Getting full yet?" She ran her hand lightly over his sunken tummy, and he shivered at the delicate sensation. He shook his head, and his stomach growled again, loudly enough for her to feel the vibration under her hand.

"I'm starving," he complained, hugging his arms around his belly.

"Well, I guess we'd better do something about that," she chuckled, scooping up another forkful of mashed potatoes. "Open up, sweetpea."

Obediently, he ate, and his aching stomach began to relax as it finally received a more substantial amount of food. As she fed him, Marianne took him into her arm, letting him lay his head back against her chest and savoring the way he gazed adoringly up at her. One hand rested over his belly as she held him against her, the other feeding him bites of homemade chicken and potatoes.

Gradually, Sunny's belly began to fill out against his shirt, and Marianne rubbed it softly as he ate, enjoying the gentle curve of it as it grew fuller and fuller. Watching him, she realized the rubbing was making him sleepy, and she paused to give his tummy a pat. It felt taut and firm, undeniably stuffed full, but he didn't look uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, he looked completely serene.

"Getting full now?" She continued rubbing his belly, pressing in gently to test the tightness of it.

"Mm-hm," he sighed sleepily. His tummy gurgled under her hand, and he let out a small burp.

"Think your tummy can take a little more?"

"Maybe a little."

"Good boy, that's what I like to hear." Smiling warmly at him, she brought another bite to his mouth.

The plate was big, filled with far more food than Sunny's belly could hold, and about a quarter of it remained by the time he was too full to eat any more. Marianne watched the shallow rise and fall of his tightly-stuffed tummy, enjoying the way it strained against his snug shirt and tightened under her hand with each breath. He yawned, and she took a certain pleasure in the feeling of his belly expanding to its limit before deflating again. She wanted to feed him more, to push him until his belly was stretched to its absolute limit, but he looked so sweet and content that she didn’t have the heart to give him a tummyache. Still slowly rubbing with one hand, she set down the fork and cupped his jaw with the other, softly caressing his cheek with her thumb.

"You did a good job, Sunny honey," she said, giving his rounded belly a gentle pat. He smiled sweetly up at her, his dark eyes sparkling.

#writing #belly kink #tummy kink #hunger kink #stuffing #stuffed belly #xsunnyx #xmariannex #edit added the little bit it was missing

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 10 days

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i’m kinda sick rn so just some brainrot of FL when reader falls sick. The poor baby doesn’t know what to do, Childe himself rarely ever gets sick so he doesn’t know what to do to take care of reader. I’m just imagining him sitting beside reader’s bed whining softly as he watches them sleep. He sees how they seem really uncomfy but he can’t do anything to help his beloved because he’s so clueless on what to do.

i think later FL would just let Childe take control of their body so that he can take care of you

-sleepy anon

in honor of both of us not being at 100%, here is some cozy moth comfort!!

you shift when you hear soft, sad whimpers beside you, turning over and opening your eyes just a crack to see Foul Legacy staring at you, claws worrying the bedsheets. he lets out a concerned whine, leaning forward and nuzzling your cheek with his as you grasp one of his talons with your hand, giving him a weak but reassuring smile. Legacy trills sadly, closing his pretty blue eye and allowing the Abyssal magic to fall and melt back into Childe, who exhales deeply and laces your fingers with his. he fusses over you for the rest of the day, tucking your blankets in around your chin and bringing you hot soup- his mother's recipe! he swears that he didn't put any weird fish in it like he usually does, only sitting down on the bed and watching to make sure you eat every last bit. Childe insists that he doesn't GET sick, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and tenderly petting your hair. you idly begin poking his freckles and the Eleventh Harbinger just chuckles, a wonderful rumbling sound from his chest, and brushes the tip of his nose against yours

it's midnight the next time you wake up, the outside world hushed and silent apart from the chirping of cicadas- but your room isn't quiet, the opposite, actually, with how deeply Foul Legacy is purring. his arms are wrapped firmly around your waist, the consistent purrs soothing your aching head, and you attempt to snuggle closer despite how your eyes burn and your breath comes out weak and shaky. Legacy grumbles in his sleep and pulls you closer, his armor cool against your warm skin and claws gently grasping your shirt. for a moment it feels as if all the pain fades away, your head against Foul Legacy's chest as you lean up and peck his cheek before closing your eyes again, the soft, constant purring and perfect temperature lulling you to sleep once more <3

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #i hope you feel better soon anon!!#remember to drink water and eat something light #i'm feeling a bit better today #feeling like myself again #pain kept me up last night and i was VERY dizzy when i woke up but should be fine now #anyways on another note less than a WEEK UNTIL FATHER AAAAA #and my exams.... we can do this #short scenario #other's stuff #chit chat #sleepy anon

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aqricus · 2 years

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DANDELION WINE ! feat. kaeya alberich

M SAYS <3 … “one month into your relationship, kaeya discovers you’re affectionate when you’re drunk.”

+ MINORS DNI. female reader. suggestive content. hurt/comfort if you squint. pretty boy kaeya appreciation.

“still with me?”

feeling the weight resting on his thighs shift at his quiet inquiry, kaeya lifts the weathered textbook he’d been keeping himself occupied with to peek down at his lap. glassy, clouded eyes meet his as you roll onto your back with an intelligible mumble, and he smiles. the gentle caress of torchlight swathes your features in a myriad of dying golds and oranges, highlighting the faintest rosy tinge to the apples of your cheeks and informing him of the amount of alcohol still sloshing around in your system.

“just barely, huh?” his head lolls back against the trunk of the oak tree he’s been leaning against for the past hour, waiting for you to sober up enough to endure the uneven slopes and divots in the earth on the way back to your cottage. after a moment, his eyes flick away from the torches illuminating the sides of the scuffed dirt side path that winds all the way back to his brother’s winery.

“mhm,” you hum distantly; and, for a moment, he almost believes you. you appear perfectly content, lying cradled in soft blades of grass that whisper impishly against the exposed skin of your legs and tickle your bare, painted toes. your sandals are cast elsewhere, a few smudges of dirt tarnishing the fabric of your gingham dress.

kaeya chuckles to himself. if you weren’t drunk—well, not completely . . . perhaps toeing the slim line between tipsy and drunk—you would’ve never even considered lying on the ground, afraid of insects crawling over your skin and ruining your dress. so, watching you completely at ease as you idly twirl the stem of a sweet flower between the pads of your fingers, your head propped on his lap, is rather amusing.

“whatcha readin’?” your eyes are round in the gloom, sparkles of interest beaming through a haze of inebriation, and kaeya doesn’t have the heart to remind you that you’ve already asked him the same question twice.

“it’s a guide to all the flowers and herbs in mondstadt,” kaeya relays a shortened version of his previous explanations. “i borrowed it from lisa so i could test myself on poisonous plants, but that proved poor at holding my attention, so now i’m reading up on dandelions.”

dandelions. it’s kind of ironic, really.

mondstadt has always prided itself on the unique production of its dandelion wine, a secret concoction of ambrosia and nectar befitting only the tongues of archons to be bottled and sold to customers arriving from the widest seas and tallest mountains for just a taste of its splendor. yet, despite having lived in mondstadt for about a year, you never got around to trying it—well, until it was revealed to kaeya. he’d whisked you down to dawn’s winery shortly after your confession, insisting that he cover your very first experience and refusing all attempts at repayment.

thinking back on it now, a stitch of guilt pricks at his chest. he should’ve cut you off sooner; but, he’s always been particularly susceptible to suggestion around you, a pushover whose concern or reluctance has almost always been placated by a longing kaeya, please? and a twinkle in your pretty eyes. you’d just seemed so enthralled by the wine that he hated to interrupt your fun, especially when it gave him an excuse to drink alongside you; but, eventually, even your beaming smile and words of gratitude for introducing it to you were overshadowed by his need to ensure your safety.

now, here he is, handling the consequences of his failure to pull himself together.

you gasp. “kaeya,” your tone is so scandalized that his eyebrows twitch, a perplexed smile crossing his lips. “are you trying to . . . to steal what’s-his-face’s recipe?”

kaeya’s shoulders quiver slightly with laughter. ��no, of course not.”

you shift your shoulders, sliding back so that your head is pillowed by the slim valley between his thighs. a teasing grin splits your lips. “i’m gonna tell diluc . . . and, he’s gonna get you.” kaeya snorts when you wiggle your fingers at him.

with a dreamy giggle and a twist of your hips, you roll onto your side and squish your cheek against the lean muscle of his thigh. kaeya feels your fingers curl gently into his shirt, abandoning the previous object of your attention in favor of readjusting yourself so you’re cuddled even closer to him. it’s embarrassing, the way kaeya’s cock twitches at the sudden pressure near his crotch, stripping your affectionate gesture of its innocuity with zero regard for your intoxicated, spacey state of mind.

he exhales sharply to dispel the thoughts seeping through the back of his brain and gently strokes his knuckle over your temple to distract you while he shifts into a more . . . comfortable position.

according to the fragments of your past he’s unearthed in the past month, dating has never really been your cup of tea, always prioritizing your own self-security and peace of mind over validation offered by romantic or sexual partners. kaeya is your first real relationship, your first genuine, emotional attachment constructed upon a foundation of trust and communication.

you’re a novice; but, then again, so is he. all fumbling hands and a tension he can’t always mask as he navigates the uncharted waters of courtship and dating—a flamboyant, ornate ship gilded with faux splendor and flanked with decorative cannons too weak to combat any of the rocky obstacles that threaten to scrape and strip away every diamond embellishment down to the frail, flimsy wooden skeleton beneath.

it’s not as if he doesn’t enjoy being with you—no, no, there’s not a person alive he would rather spend his time with. relationships are just . . . different from flirting. they’re vulnerable. they’re all about trust. they’re about discovering and acknowledging one’s faults and bad habits. they’re a bit . . . intimidating.

nevertheless, it’s intriguing, the way you manage to eclipse his years of experience with ease, canceling out years of practiced, casanova-smooth quips capable of turning women into puddles of goo and blighting his own self-assurance of his standing among mondstadt’s most untouchable bachelors.

oddly enough, he’s positive it’s your lack of experience that gives you a leg-up on him, from your bold, risque statements that turn out to merely be jests to your obliviousness when pressing up against him for a tight hug or accepting an invitation to climb into his lap that he genuinely did not expect you to take seriously. even now, as your arms fold over your chest to preserve body heat, tucking under your breasts and causing them to swell slightly under your dress’s neckline, and his eyes trace over the alluring, smooth dip of your hip into your waist, he wonders if you’re secretly teasing him.

kaeya’s forefinger brushes softly over the slope of your jaw, eyes softening at the way the corners of your lips quirk into a small smile. the amount of naive trust you place in him is to be expected of a first relationship. you’re fortunate he has no intention of releasing you into the arms of anyone else, as selfish and self-loathing as his decision makes him feel.

he isn’t good enough for you, that he knows. you deserve someone more suitable. someone who isn’t burdened with abandonment attachment issues and doesn’t pretend they don’t exist. someone without hands tarnished by deceit or self-deprecating labels etched into their soul in blood-red.

but, he wants to be good enough for you. so, he will be. one day. he just hopes you’ll stick around until then.

something dark, grotesque, accompanied by an icy touch and hollow eyes—fear, he’s learned to call it—squeezes his chest at the thought of you realizing you’re better off without him. without thinking, his hand curls around the back of your head. your eyes flick open when you feel him tentatively lift your head to plant a fleeting kiss on the side of your forehead, just above your temple.

“what’s that for?” you ask when his hand falls away.

kaeya forces himself to crack a carefree, lopsided smile as you settle back into your place on his lap. “what?” he chuckles. “i can’t just kiss you because i feel like it?”

your nose wrinkles playfully, and suddenly the grip constricting around his chest is relinquished. “‘course you can,” you murmur, so quiet it’s nearly whisked away by the spring breeze. “i do it all the time.” your smile is pretty, crinkles of mirth appearing at the corners of your eyes and a sheen of firelight dancing along two rows of teeth. he can’t help but return a fond smile of his own. “just curious.”

your eyes flutter shut again, pointedly marking the end of the conversation. kaeya opens his book once more; but, he doesn’t register any of the ink stamped across the page, much less the dark coffee stain wrinkling the next page he absent-mindedly flips to when he feels a puff of your breath ghost over his belt. all he can focus on is the weight of your head on his lap and the loose grip of your fingers twisted into his shirt. does this make him a bad boyfriend, being so tangled in thoughts warped by his own prior interactions with women and men alike that his mind starts to drift to a place you’d least expect it? surely—hopefully—not. right?

a few minutes later, he’s relieved of his suffering when his book is abruptly nudged out of his line of sight, propped up by your fingertips to reveal a set of narrowed eyes peering up at him. kaeya chuckles at the wrinkle etched into your forehead. your eyebrows are drawn over your eyes in a furrow of concentration as you visibly ponder something he’s sure is either nonsensical or impractical.

“hi,” he acknowledges with a quiet smile. but, when you fail to respond, aside from a further slitting of your eyes, he tries again. “is something wrong? do i have something on my fa—”

kaeya’s head reflexively flinches back when you sit bolt upright, a couple inches shy of bumping your forehead into his. “hey—” his jaw snaps shut, and he automatically tenses up when you silently, slowly scoot closer to him until your face hovers dangerously close to his—so close that he’s positive he could count your pores if it weren’t so dark out. the ghost of your breath caresses his slender cupid’s bow, and he finds himself subconsciously swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.

the angle of your head shrouds half your face in shadow, yielding a twinkle of something unidentified yet soft in your eye as all the whimsical and capricious flickers of orange ebb away to reveal something sobering—something more controlled and earnest than he’s seen from you all night. torchlight bleeds around you, encapsulating you in a subdued halo of gold.

for a moment, he wonders if you’re going to kiss him, but then, you mumble something that sends his brain into a tailspin.

“freckles . . . you have freckles.”

stilling, kaeya pauses for a moment to process your words, visible eye meeting a gaze so steadfastly focused and affectionate despite the wisps of inebriation floating amidst your irises that his breath snags in his throat. that’s right . . . no matter what you consume or how you behave, you’re still you. you’re still the starry-eyed lady from liyue whose heart is big enough to both reside in a gold locket strung around his neck as well as somehow pour forth an abundance of love and kindness on a daily basis.

however, out of all the fatuous comments and gibberish he expected from you following the events of tonight, this certainly was not it. he openly snorts at your innocuous remark, and when all you offer is a quizzical tilt of your head, he lifts a hand. your skin is hot as he places his palm against your cheek, and your smile soon matches his when his thumb gently strokes over your cheekbone. “i do,” he confirms, relaxing.

“you do . . .” you murmur, as if committing it to memory. kaeya lets his hand drop down to your shoulder, still focused on your face even as he starts absently smoothing up and down your bare arm. “when did you get them?” you squint.

“i’ve always had them,” it’s something that you already know, having noticed his freckles a year ago when you two first became acquainted through venti, who practically dumped you in kaeya’s lap after having found you sullied and disheveled in the forest skirting the edge of mondstadt. your grin is much like it was then, eyes volleying between the dainty dusting of dark speckles and his single eye as if pleasantly surprised by the revelation. he feels the same electric twinge in his stomach, the same pair of ticklish butterfly wings caressing his chest, the same concern for his appearance when in such close proximity with you.

the only difference now is that you’re his.

your eyes peruse over his features—princely, you’d described them as once—and you speak again, reigniting another wave of heat that floods his chest and threatens to scale the column of his throat all the way up to the tips of his ears. “you’re pretty, kaeya.”

kaeya is no stranger to flattery, whether proffered by daring women or fellow knights impressed by his exemplary skill; but, this is new. having been on the receiving end of dashing! handsome! strong! attractive! he’s become almost desensitized to such descriptions, the fiery thrill of being praised doused by repetitive adjectives from people who either all look the same or are not truly interested in him beyond his picturesque, flirtatious surface and proficiency in sword-wielding.

however, pretty is something he’s had yet to hear.

he always knew you found him pleasing to the eye, from your soft fingertips that would trace over every rise and dip in his face when you think he’s asleep to the marvel in your eyes when admiring his side profile. but, this is something different, especially when succeeded by a velvety purr of his name that so effortlessly drips off your tongue like the sweetest honey and glazes his brain in a saccharine cocoon.

he’s positive most of his fellow knights would blanch or wince at such a “feminine” compliment; but, when your eyes so lovingly trace the delicate slope of his nose, his plush lips, and the long fan of eyelashes that sweep low over his periwinkle eye, suddenly he feels as if he’s just as winsome and refined as you claim him to be. it’s as if the word belongs to him, a hushed secret only the two of you will ever be privy to.

his laughter is awkward, a breathy huff that’s barely audible over the rustling of foliage as a delicate breeze stirs the oak leaves. it’s difficult to mask his nerves, to pretend that his ears aren’t prickling with heat and the faux fur lining the collar of his coat isn’t borderline stifling. “am i?” he teases.

the answer drips down his spine in the form of a single bead of sweat when you nod slowly and respond earnestly, “mhm, real pretty.”

kaeya does his best to disregard the slight yet noticeable increase in speed that his heartbeat undergoes. “you flatter me.” fortunately enough for him, maintaining an even tone, even when his confidence is rocked off balance, is child’s play.

your relationship is relatively new, only existing for a month after being woven together by so many frequent—sometimes downright unexpected—intersections of your lives that even lisa gushed about your future together having been composed by the stars long ago. there are still a couple times where kaeya finds himself a bit tense around you, caught off guard by some gesture or sentimental words; but, the flutter of his chest and the light tingle in his palms are in no way unwelcome to him.

can you truly blame him? prior to your debut in his life, kaeya had never been one for labels, instead thriving off temporary attention without letting himself become too attached. that simply was never his style, because the closer one became to him, the more difficult it became for kaeya to want to maintain that glamorous, untouchable facade. he wanted to share a deeper level of understanding with someone, but he also didn’t. he wanted to dabble in relationships and experiment with real, authentic emotions instead of the finely honed ones he constructed for himself, but he also didn’t. he wanted to be somebody to someone, more than a brother or a sparring partner or a fair-weather comrade or an unattainable stranger, but he also didn’t.

it was safer to lay low, fly under the radar, remain in the corner and simply observe. besides, if the little cat-and-mouse games he often used to shield himself from the unspoken truths and fabricated lies crackling painfully like wildfire in his chest didn’t ward off potential relationships, then the amusement he always derived from watching people scramble to clean up the sticky situations he placed them in surely would.

but, oddly enough, not with you.

with you, it was always so . . . easy.

easy, he feels his defenses crumble to dust under the weight of your gaze and his spine subconsciously draw taller when you lean a fraction of an inch closer. there’s nothing easy about anything in life.

but, loving you? it’s somehow the easiest thing he’s ever done.

your voice is mellow, soft, focused on enunciating all of your words so you can be certain he understands you. “‘s your eye,” you mumble, “it looks like a crystal . . . or a little pond. so dark and deep, like i could just fall right in and drown. i think that’d be a nice death, don’t you?”

up until this point, you’ve always been on the receiving end of the flirting, having experienced enough of kaeya’s dreamy one-liners and compliments to last a lifetime. so, now that the tables have turned, he suddenly finds himself at a bit of a loss.

“and you smell really good,” kaeya’s heart yields one uncharacteristically loud pulsewhen you shift closer to prove your point, the delicate scent of your perfume wafting off your skin as you bump your nose into his shoulder. it’s sweet, inviting, and sends warmth trickling down to the pit of his stomach. “kinda like . . .” you hum.

“kinda like . . . like mint and grapes.” you finally decide. “and your hair is really soft, and i like when you let me braid it.” your eyelashes flutter, eyes still glassy. “and, you have this, right here,” your hand lifts, fingertip landing on his cupid’s bow. “i like to look at it a lot. ‘s really nice. and, your cheeks, and your . . . eyebrows, and your nose . . .” each separate facial feature receives a gentle, curious graze of the pad of your index finger, and kaeya smiles quietly, fondly, as you trace your finger down the slope of the bridge of his nose. “you’re like a prince, kaeya, like you just . . . jumped right out of a book, or something. your skin is really soft, too.”

when your fingertips brush his chiseled cheekbone, he doesn’t even try to contest the urge to lean into your touch, and your eyes light up when his jaw nestles into your palm. kaeya can’t remember the last time he’s received compliments this specific, but he’s certain that you mean every single word, the barrier of logic and decision-making you always relied on to filter your words now dissolved by the wash of alcohol to let every little thought and affection flow freely without restraint.

perhaps it’s better that you’re too intoxicated to notice all the fine details of his expressions and body language when he’s hearing such things for the first time; otherwise, he knows you would be mentally filing it away to renew during the most inconvenient times for fun. right now, all he can do is sit there beneath you, lips parted slightly, eyes feverishly searching yours for something—a shred of doubt, maybe? he doesn’t even really know.

there’s a pang of something bitter in his heart despite its chaotic, lively thumping; and, he wonders if he’s insane for hoping in the back of his mind that you don’t really mean any of it. after all, with karma having yet to fully deal him the hand he deserves, it would only make sense, because he doesn’t know what could possibly hurt more than having your affections yanked from beneath him.

no, the only thing that could wound him deeper is if love—real love—was added to the mix, not just the creeping suspicions of it that lurk in the shadows of his thoughts. that would kill him for sure.

“your lips look kinda red . . . really kissable, too.” your words snap him from his self-pitying trance, and his eyes flick back to yours. you giggle. “i wanna see for myself.”

kaeya stiffens, back leaning up away from the trunk, when you abruptly toss one leg over his thighs to straddle his lap and plop yourself down. in any other circumstance, perching yourself on his lap would be welcomed; but, right now, he’s concerned this may lead to something you’ll regret. “hey, whoa, wait,” his hands rush to your hips in an attempt to keep you still, “you aren’t exactly sober, so we shouldn’t—”

you ignore his warning and seal your lips over his, regardless, effectively silencing him aside from the quiet hum of surprise that rumbles in the back of his throat. it’s innocent, nothing more than a press of your pillowy lips against his own; but, the subtle notes of sweet wine that leak onto his taste buds serve as a glaring reminder of your clouded judgment. he contemplates gently breaking the kiss; but, you beat him to it.

your hands raise to cradle the sides of his face, and you slowly retract your head to grin at him. “i was right.” you tap your thumbs against his cheeks with a hazy giggle. this is okay, kaeya reasons. it was merely a kiss, which isn’t new territory to your relationship by any means; nothing to fuss over.

this time, he doesn’t resist, yielding to the gentle press of your hands against his shoulders and allowing himself to recline back against the trunk of the tree. his hands fall away from your hips to rest on the lower halves of your thighs, a few inches lower than the hem of your dress to ensure that he remains respectful and attentive of any boundaries he even suspects you’d set if you were sober.

you prop yourself up on your knees and lift off his lap to achieve a different angle; and, his head lolls back against the wood in response, chin tilting up to meet your lips without hesitation. the kiss is slightly different, both of you still avoiding the use of tongue other than slight, fleeting grazes of the tips that could be mistaken as mere accidents—but, kaeya knows better. he can sense the change in the grip of your hands twisted into his collar, the way the movement of your lips against his seems to increase in intensity, and the little zings of static electricity that prickle with heat between your bodies and effortlessly draw you closer together with a magnetism distinctive to only the two of you.

kaeya’s head spins. the steam from the rising temperature of his body swaddles his brain in a thick haze of bliss and causes his chest to swell with warmth. the raw passion communicated through the gesture is blinding, sapping all of his reservations straight from his core and leaving in its wake an empty chasm of yearning that yawns in the pit of his abdomen and demands more, more, more. it couldn’t be a bad thing if he indulged a little, right?

in that moment, he remembers why he frequently prefers chaste kisses and whispered, romantic nothings, especially in public. it’s because this is new to him—this, this white-hot desperation to really feel someone. . . to touch and stroke and squeeze and mark them in ways no one else ever could ever even hope to—and, he hasn’t yet figured out how to bend it to his own will.

in fact, he only fully regains his sense of self when your lips part from his and begin planting gentle kisses down his jawline. his hazy eyes drift downward at the rustle of fabric, and he promptly snaps to attention when he witnesses your fingertips hooking under the hem of your dress and sliding it up your thighs.

kaeya’s hands clamp firmly on your waist before the fabric can crest the curve of your ass, and after pausing for a slow, calculated inhale, he gently but insistently guides you to plop back down on his lap.

“kaeya?” you question, only for your smile to vanish at the muted glow in his eye and the pensive downward tilt of the corners of his lips. he would be lying if he said he never entertained thoughts of what you’ll look and sound like when you both finally decide to take that step; but, he also knows for a fact that he doesn’t want it like this. to compound the matter, he’s sure when it comes time to face the aftermath, it’ll be revealed you didn’t want it this way, either.

his heart twists at the hurt glistening in your eyes as your hands reluctantly release the hem of your dress and curl into fists, almost as if you’re just now fully processing his rejection; and, he almost feels a pinch of guilt when your next words trickle quietly, hesitantly from your lips.

“what’s wrong?” you inquire, crestfallen. “you don’t want me?”

my god, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.

embarrassment starts to seep into your gaze; but, before you can tear your attention away from him to try to slip from his grasp and retreat back into your little shell, he’s quick to capture your chin between his forefinger and thumb. his grip is warm, firm yet not cruel. eyes downcast, your hand wraps loosely around his wrist with a feeble, “let go, ‘m sorry.”

“hey, look at me,” kaeya murmurs, and your eyes acquiescently slide up to his. your grasp on his wrist tightens in surprise at the clear conviction in his gaze, and when he speaks, his voice is even and low. “i want you more than you’re capable of understanding.” he knows you might not even remember this conversation come tomorrow, which he figures is all the more reason to lay out all his cards. “but, right now, you aren’t thinking straight, and if you’re wanting more than a kiss, i’m going to need you to be. if come tomorrow, you still want it, i’ll give it to you. but, it’s not going to be some quickie out in the forest where anyone could have a free show, okay? i’m not that generous.”

you nod. she has no clue what i just said, kaeya sighs, but it’s followed by a fond smile. “so,” his eyebrows lift attentively when you pipe up timidly, “you still like me?”

kaeya laughs openly, then, before angling your chin down to place a soft kiss on your forehead and another peck on the tip of your nose. when he spots a shy, little smile curving your lips, he relinquishes his hold on your chin and lets you lace your fingers through his own. “of course.”

and, he means it.

#genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x y/n #kaeya imagines #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x you #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya smut #kaeya alberich smut #genshin impact smut

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