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luxaofhesperides · 3 months

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Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly.

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color.

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless.

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating.

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate.

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever.

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy.

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents.

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it.

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door.

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out.

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once.

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words.

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left.

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze.

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo.

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.”

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles.

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders.

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that.

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet.

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day.

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security.

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction.

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage.

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office.

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time.

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives.

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed.

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises.

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye.

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest.

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die.

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it.

He won’t let anyone take it from him.

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary.

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat.

Bruce reaches a hand out.

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him.

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away.

The orb in his hand moves.

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark.

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it.

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap.

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid.

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot.

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face.

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke.

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises.

If anyone can, it’s Batman.

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends.

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet)#dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

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shewrites444 · 9 months

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arranged [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ i’ve never written about one of cillian murphy’s characters but oppenheimer has me feeling a bit inspired lately. i haven’t watched peaky blinders in ages, so apologizes if it’s not completely accurate to the storyline. ]

[update: arranged part 2 ]

word count - 2.1k

[ summary - the reader and tommy agree to an arranged marriage that suits both of their needs. despite their disliking of each other, the two seem quite fond of each other in the bedroom, especially on their wedding night. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers trope that includes unprotected sex, oral, roughness, etc ]

thomas shelby was the last man i ever imagined myself being wedded to, but when my father unexpectedly passed and i no longer had the protection of his people, i had to find another way to make sure i wouldn’t be a victim to any gangs of birmingham - including the peaky blinders.

of course, tommy would never have married me if there wasn’t something i could offer him in return - that happened to be a ton of inherited money from my father, and several breweries i now technically owned, and numerous meeting spots that only i knew about, that the coppers would never find him or his family at, during anytime of the day.

despite the convenience of our arrangement, there was nothing favorable for either of us past the business side of things. our families had been at each other’s throats for years and now that my father was gone, a lot of that tension was, but nevertheless, you can’t expect a peaky blinder to not hold a grudge, even on their wedding night.

“see, that wasn’t so bad.” i mutter to my newly wed husband, walking into the dimly lit bedroom as i took off my white heels, setting them aside the now shut door. i watch as tommy began to unbutton his white dress shirt, and i sigh to myself, but loud enough to quirk his brow.

i tuck my hair behind my ears, walking to the bed and pulling the sheets down to prepare for what would hopefully be a fairly long sleep, given that i’d prefer not think much about who i was now standing across from.

“you don’t have to stay in here tonight if you don’t want to or even at all, tommy. you already have children and i’m aware you don’t want more, and frankly, i don’t want any, so just lie and tell polly the marriage was consummated tomorrow morning. go on.” i gesture my hand up and towards the door, watching his blank expression as i spoke in a more demanding, harsh manner.

he walked towards the bed, untucking his side, his shirt now unbuttoned and his toned, pale body at my exposure, which only made my cheeks redden as the muscles flexed with his movements. i may have despised the man for his profession, but it’s not like he wasn’t physically attractive.

“i may not be so found of you, mrs. shelby, but i do keep my marriage duties, at least to sleep beside you.” he says plainly, sitting down on the white sheets before looking up to me with a teasing expression. it almost felt wrong to see him show any emotion besides, well, none. “now, do i have to make you turn around while i fuck you, or can you bare the sight of me while doing so?”

i roll my eyes with a smirk, laying down and hovering my face above his before biting my bottom lip, glancing at his own with a bit of temptation, but nothing i couldn’t ignore for the sake of my ego. “i’m shocked you even asked to touch me, mr. shelby. peaky blinders have always seemed so forward with what they want.”

he tilted his head, his well-groomed hair bouncing lightly at the movement, now reaching over to hold the back of my neck, running his fingertips through the ends of my hair. “would you prefer i not ask? you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d prefer to be fucked like an animal.”

“you didn’t strike me as the type of man to wait until we were wed to even discuss sex, so we’re both a bit surprised. have you been distracted with other women through our engagement, dear husband?”

he scoffed at my comment, sitting up and leaning himself down to peck at my neck lightly, his heated breath against my tingling skin, a pit forming in my stomach at the touch he never dared grant me until now.

“you never gave me any suggestion to fuck before tonight, [y/n]. i assumed you wouldn’t allow me to lay a finger on you. this all seemed like a business opportunity, a plan for protection and financies, nothing more.” he muttered through his kisses, trailing his lips down to my covered chest before looking up to me again. “so, how about i ask you like a gentlemen, mrs. shelby. is this for business, or not?”

i shrug softly, glancing down to meet his seductive, icy blue eyes. “i think i’ll be able to tell if it is or not when you fuck me, mr. shelby."

he reached over to pull me on top of him, grabbing the white gown that dressed me and helping me to slip it off my core and past my arms, tossing it to the floor, which exposed me in nothing but my underwear, my breasts falling out of the fabric and resting before him. he took one hand to hold my back, the other cupping one breast and his thumb flicking at the hardening nipple. i feel him push me down, his lips attaching to the bud as i let out a soft moan, shocked by how sensual thomas shelby could be if directed to do so.

i could feel the bulge in his pants growing, beginning to grind myself against the black pants while he fondled my breasts with his mouth and free hand, the other that was once on my back now guiding itself down to my ass. he pulled himself away from my breast, panting softly to himself as the tension began to increase between our moving bodies.

“take off your panties and lay down on your back, won't you.” he said to me in a more demanding tone. i stood up and did so, spreading my legs before him as he undressed himself at the side of the bed, soon leaning down in front of me.

i chew my bottom lip at the sight of the man before me, but gasp as his tongue links to my clit, swirling and flicking around the sensitive bud of skin, while i only grow wetter through his touch and the saliva that collected against my entrance. i reach down to hold his head of black hair, my other hand resting against my chest while he continued to give me nothing but pleasure.

“this… this doesn’t seem… like b-business to me…” i stutter my words, my back arching at every sensitive touch he brought to my body. my words made him pull away, a smirk on his wet lips as he stuck one finger inside of me, pumping and curling it slowly enough to draw a loud moan from my lips before pulling it out right after.

he leaned down and gestured for me to open my mouth, sticking his finger inside for me to taste my own juices before pulling it out and licking it himself.

“neither does this, how wet you are for me. are you sure you want to take back the consummation of our arrangement, hm? it seems you like my tongue, mrs. shelby. do you think i’ll like yours?” he grinned, standing up and pointing his full erection towards me, holding it in one hand as i sat up on the bed.

i blush, getting off of the bed and onto my knees before him. i take his length into one hand, pumping it slowly as i look up to him, our eyes locked when i lean forward and take his tip into mouth, a heavy sigh coming from his lips as i begin to suck him off. he was thick and much longer than any man i’d ever been with, and frankly, if we were to sleep together tonight, i was a bit nervous of how my body would take him and the aftermath of it all tomorrow morning.

“fuck, fill your throat with me, [y/n]..” he moaned, both hands holding the back of my head as he thrusted himself towards my face. i took his cock down my throat, my eyes closing almost immediately as a tear runs down my cheek from the unexpected penetration, moving my head back and forth as his balls slap against my wet chin.

he tilted his head, mouth hung open as he watched me take him down my throat. i could hear his breath cutting short each time he thrusted, his cock twitching inside my mouth as he edged himself through each stroke. when he could tell through my reddening expression and glossy eyes that i was a bit overstimulated, he slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, leaning down to help me back on my feet and onto the bed.

he kneeled down before me, grabbing my face with both hands and pressing a passionate kiss against my lips, his tongue pushing itself into my mouth, which distracted me from the way he was moving my body off the bed again. he wraps his arms around me and guides me across the room and to the dresser, where he then breaks the kiss and turns me around, bending my body against the wood to where i made eye contact with the mirror that connected the furniture.

"i think this is worth the watch, don't you?" he teases, a devilish smirk across his face as he takes my neck in one hand, the other trailing before my pussy, his index and middle fingers attaching to my clit as he pushes himself inside of me without warning.

i gasp, watching my mouth open as he begins to fuck me, hard, against the dresser. the stimulation above my insides didn't make this any easier to take, given the fact i could already feeling my climax building in a matter of seconds.

i rest both palms against the wood, watching tommy's lips trail to my shoulder as he kissed against my sweating skin, leaving fresh hickeys from time to time, marking me like i was more than just an arrangement to him. if anything, this showed me that thomas shelby may not favor me, but he sure wanted the world to know i was his wife, and no one else's.

"i could fuck you all day, [y/n]. nothing fucking... compares to... how good you feel, fuck.." he muttered between kisses, looking up to meet my eyes in the mirror, his hand moving from my neck to hold my left breast tightly, halting it from bouncing throughout his thrusts. "do you feel me as much as i feel you?"

i nod, mouth still hung open, unable to even speak a word as tommy pulled my body closer, his fingers digging into my clit and forcing me to arch my back down, my ass pressing against him and causing even harsher friction between our bodies while he quickened his pace at the touch, the sound of our skin slapping together overpowering the bedroom.

i suddenly feel his arm wrap around my waist, and then the other, holding me so close and his body leaned so far down my back was touching his core. he thrusted deeper, further than what i even thought was possible for him to go, and so much so to the point i was in immense pain, but god, it felt so fucking good. his cock overpowered my entire body, and i felt my orgasm rushing to the surface, fluids leaking out from inside of me past himself and dripping between my legs, his own orgasm filling my insides within a matter of seconds after.

i feel him slide out of me, catching his own breath and helping turn me around to face him. he takes my hand and places the other on my back, guiding me to the bed once more and laying me down, pulling the sheet on top of me to cover my stomach down, my breasts exposed to the cold air. i feel his lips against my chest, lightly kissing from my nipples, to my shoulders, to my neck, and to my lips, once more. he smiles softly, and genuinely, to me, before snapping out of his sappy mood to grab a cigarette from the nightstand, lighting it.

"do you think we'll be doing this again?" he asks quietly, handing me the cigarette. "doesn't seem like it would be a negative thing to add to our arrangement, eh?"

i smirk, blowing the smoke out from my lips and towards the ceiling. "i wouldn't be opposed, but if you fuck me that hard every time, i'm not sure i would be able to get out of bed the next morning."

he chuckled to himself, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sliding himself into the sheets and putting out the cigar. he took me into his arms, lighting running his hand across my hair. "we can see about that. goodnight, mrs. shelby."

i rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and smiling to myself, partially hoping tommy wouldn't see my vunerability.

"goodnight, mr. shelby."

#smut writing #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #x reader #thomas shelby peaky blinders #x yn #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #fic writing #thomas shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut

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ssweetleaf · 3 months

Text

dark blue.

tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: you're finn's girlfriend- and you've always received the same question, what's a good girl like you doing with a boy like him? funnily enough, his older brother thomas wonders the same thing.

includes: SMUT 18+, dom/sub dynamics, age-gap (tommy is in his early 40s, reader early 20s, though it isn't specified), innocence kink/corruption kink, cheating, daddy kink, oral (male rec), throat fucking, cum-eating, based on this ask here

a/n: feedback is always very much appreciated!! <3

⋆✰

“What’s a good girl like you doin’ with a boy like Finn, eh?”

It was a common saying you'd get from various people over the few months that you'd been seeing a certain Finn Shelby-- you were used to it, the constant stares of disbelief that someone like you, someone so sweet, with pretty dresses and full of radiance would want anything to do with an up-and-coming gangster.

It was love, at least that's what you told yourself.

So after hearing that certain question so many times without batting an eyelid, why did it sound so different when it came from him?

Thomas Shelby. Your boyfriend's older brother. All stoic and dressed to impress and intimidate, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like always, smoking on it without a care in the world whether he was allowed to in a house like yours or not.

He had surprised you, scared the wits out of you-- you were alone in the comfort of your bedroom, sitting at your vanity doing your nightly routine before he had shown up. You hadn't a clue how he'd gotten in, and he was smug about it, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a big indicator.

You stood up, smoothing down your nightgown when it clung to the thickness of your thighs and attempted to make eye contact and stutter out a few words.

"M-Mr Shelby," you breathed, fiddling with your hands when you clasped them in front of you. "What're you doing here?"

Tommy's eyes flicked around your room, taking note of your white walls and plush, pink duvet-- the trinkets scattered along your room all cutesy and girly. Just like you and your stupid nightgown, he thought.

"Came here to properly introduce myself," he spoke, inhaling another drag and exhaling the harsh smoke in your direction.

"But we've already met," your brows furrowed, cocking your head to the side impishly and unsure. "It was the other day, don't you remember?"

"I do," he flicked his tongue over his lips to moisten them, eyes still fixated on you. "but that was far too formal, don't you think, sweetheart?"

An unusual shiver ran along your spine-- sweetheart, you liked the way it sounded, the way he said it. Finn never called you sweetheart.

You nodded, in a foggy daze, staring at him with a somewhat dumb expression on your face.

Tommy cleared his throat and you quickly shook yourself out of your strange stupor.

"Aren't y'gonna invite me to sit?" he asked, eyebrows raised, waiting. "that's what polite girls do, isn't it?"

You were quick to nod your head, pulling out your vanity chair and inviting him to sit, just like he had asked. He sat down, the contrast of his dark exterior with your pretty pink belongings had butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach-- a sense that he didn't belong there, but the thrumming between your thighs was obvious that you liked him being there, amongst you, amongst your things.

He stubbed his cigarette out in a little jewellery dish that sat upon your vanity, heart-shaped and porcelain, now covered in grey, smoking ash. You knew better than to chastise him for it.

"You didn't answer my question," he muttered, clasping his hands in front of him, though differently to you, it was in confidence, to intimidate.

You thought about it. Why were you with Finn?

"W-We're in love, sir," you stuttered, not meeting his gaze, your cheeks were on fire.

"You don't look too sure about that, sweetheart," there it was again, that name, a single term going straight to your core, a surge of wetness saturating the cotton of your underwear. "Has he fucked you yet?"

You coughed on your own spit, eyes bulging out of their sockets at his crude question.

"Pardon?" you breathed, exasperated.

His reply was simple.

"You heard me."

"I don't believe that's any of your concern-" he was quick to interject, eyes swarming and dark, consuming you, leaving you to hang your head and cower.

"Finn's my brother," he spoke, "I have the right to know what he gets up to, and I don't want him corrupting a good girl like you just because he thinks he's in love."

You flushed at his words and you decided to answer his previous question, no matter how inappropriate.

"We haven't," your words were soft, quiet, he almost had trouble hearing you.

"Haven't what?" he hid his smirk, he already had you wrapped around his little finger, it was too easy.

"Had sex," you muttered, cheeks searing at your confession.

“Do you want to?” He asked, you stiffened, lashes fluttering and lips opening and closing like a poor fish out of water.

“M-maybe…”

“Come here,” Tommy patted his thigh, signalling you to come closer, to stand between his spread legs and have him look at you much closer. You did as he asked, you were a good girl after all.

“Do you want me to show you what it’s like?” He cooed all condescending and mocking, “Do you want me to show you what big, bad men do to little girls like you?”

“Mr Shelby, what about Finn?” His eyes darkened at the mere mention of his youngest brother.

“Fuck Finn,” he spoke slowly, “you forget about him when I’m talking to you, you understand me?”

You nodded, resting your hands against his shoulders to steady you when he tugged you closer by the frills of your nightgown.

“Yes, Mr Shelby,”

“No, no, none of that,” he shook his head, hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing against your soft, covered skin. “You address me properly.”

You searched your mind for the right term, brows furrowing and lips pouting, trying to think what on earth he wanted you to address him by.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he chuckled, bringing his thumb and forefinger to grip your chin, tugging it from side to side. “I’m your daddy now, isn’t that right?”

You whined, unable to control it, rubbing your thighs together, your walls collapsing and letting your submissive nature come to the forefront.

Thomas Shelby was the devil himself, you were sure— and he was your daddy. Finn had disappeared from your mind completely.

“Yes,” you sighed, all dreamily and cute, leaning into his touch, “yes, daddy.”

His plump lips curved up into a smirk, palm patting at your cheek as if you were a dog, eager for praise-- and you realised that wasn't too far from the truth; just a bitch in heat, eager and ready for her first breeding.

You stared at him, dumbified from those cornflower irises of his, almost hypnotizing, and you were sure you'd comply with anything he'd ask of you.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Tommy could practically see the gears shifting beneath your skull and he raised his brows when you stuttered, a silent 'I'm waiting' when you took far too long to answer him.

"C-Can I have a kiss?" you spoke shyly, thumbing the expensive cotton of his crisp shirt, growing impossibly warmer and not just because of the close proximity. "please?"

You made sure to add your plea, keeping your manners intact, giving him something to be proud of you for.

So innocent, he thought, you really were such a good girl-- something he thought was all just an act to get what you wanted, however with the way you stumbled over your words and fluttered your lashes, more eager for a kiss than anything else- anything more.

Yeah, that was no act.

Tommy fought the smile that ticked at his lips, using his fingers to tip your chin, tugging you closer, closer, closer, until you were a hair's width away. You could feel his lips brush against the skin of your cheek, gently, so uncharacteristic, you didn't think that a man of his status and power could be so sweet on someone.

Though, of course, that's what Tommy Shelby wanted you to think, he wanted you to succumb to the desires that he caused, take you and defile you and leave you wanting no man other than himself. He craved the power imbalance, the sick need to corrupt young, naive little girls like yourself.

Tommy Shelby was not sweet. He was worlds apart from that.

The soft feeling of his lips grew nearer, to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, before pecking your lips-- a small spongy kiss, capable of urging a little whine to escape your throat.

He kissed you again, slotting your mouths together, locking your lips one over the other, deepening the kiss and it quickly became heated. Swiping his tongue along your bottom lip, he didn't have the patience to wait for you to open up, instead forcing his prodding tongue inside your mouth, crudely swiping it against yours, sucking it between his lips before running it along the ridges of your teeth.

You didn't think kissing could feel so dirty, so unhinged, but you were rather ashamed to say you liked it. The way his callused hands trailed from your hips to your neck, all the way back down just to take a handful of your behind, squeezing the doughy globes roughly and playing with them as if you were a mere toy.

Tommy pulled away, a long, silver line of spit keeping your lips connected, only breaking apart when he began to speak, pushing at your shoulders and urging you to the carpet.

"On your knees," his voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat, clearly affected by you, by your innocence more like. "gonna teach you how to keep men like me happy."

You instantly obeyed, dropping to your knees and sitting on your haunches, practically purring when he cupped and stroked your cheek.

He eyed you from below him, perched in the space between his knees and he spread them further to let you shuffle closer, your hands on his thighs.

"You're a good little pet, aren't you?" he cooed, swiping his thumb along your chin, "such a good listener, eh?"

You beamed up at him, leaning into his touch and nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, Daddy," a little giggle pushed past your lips, "for you."

"That's right," he hummed, "just f'me."

You had an idea of what he wanted you to do and you fiddled with his belt in anticipation for his next command.

"You're gonna learn how to properly suck cock," he spoke, "and y'gonna do a fucking good job of it."

Your mouth watered at the prospect of having his cock on your tongue. You sighed dreamily.

"And once I've taught ya, that's gonna be your job from now on-- gonna ease daddy's stress whenever he needs you to."

You nodded, cheeks searing.

"Yes, sir- I'll do anything f'you."

He had you where he wanted you, compliant and ready to yield at his every command. It was too fucking easy, he almost wanted to laugh at your naivety, how unaffected you were by the idea of having another man's cock down your throat, your own boyfriend's brother in fact and Finn hadn't even crossed your mind. Poor, poor Finn, always second best when it came to being compared to Tommy.

You may have been a good girl and did as the older man said, but you were still a whore at heart. His little harlot.

"Come on then, sweetheart, I haven't got all day," he chastised, cocking his head down to his belt that you hadn't unbuckled yet. You had so much left to learn.

You fumbled with the leather that encircled his waist, pulling it through the silver buckle and from the loops before unzipping his fly and pulling his tailored trousers down as far as you could to his thighs.

The bulge in his briefs was prominent and your mouth salivated at the sight, your natural reaction to a sight so delectable, your first cock to suck and it was so big too, you wondered how you'd be able to take him without choking on him. But where was the fun if you weren't?

Your instincts told you to reach out and grab it, so you did just that, palming him through his underwear and feeling the warmth of his shaft jolt and throb against your grip, already hard and you swore you noticed a little wet spot saturating the fabric-- a trick of the light, you thought.

Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, giving you a pointed look, eyebrow raised.

"I'm not 'ere to get teased," he huffed, as if his cock wasn't jumping at the touch of your hand. He took a handful of your hair, tugging it and making your scalp burn. "come on, take it out and get to work."

Your fingers curled under the elastic of his briefs, pulling the fabric down to rest where his trousers were, and the sight had you gawking, eyes as wide as saucers as you took in his pretty appendage.

So thick, littered with blue veins, the colour much akin to the blue of his eyes and you swallowed down all the saliva that pooled under your tongue. His tip was a pretty shade of tan, glistening with beads of pre-cum, slapping against his stomach every time he throbbed.

"I didn't know they could be this pretty," you marvelled, taking hold of it and delicately running your fingers up each prominent vein. Tommy cleared his throat at your unexpected praise, the grip on your hair a lot softer than before, instead of tugging on it, he petted it down softly, watching you watch him.

"Put me in your mouth, darling," you smiled up at him teasingly pouting up at him.

"So impatient," you teased, your confidence rising, before you tightened your grip, puckering your lips around his tip, sucking it as if he were one of your favourite lollipops.

You took him out of your mouth with a soft pop, just to reattach yourself to him, lathering your tongue over his sensitive head, the somewhat salty taste igniting your tastebuds and you hummed around him.

"There y'go, you can take more than that," you hollowed your cheeks at his words, going lower, taking him deeper and slowly you started to bob your head up and down, moaning at his taste and thickness on your tongue.

With a particularly harsh downward thrust of your head, he reached the back of your throat, instantly causing you to gag and you pulled off him, whining and sniffling with tears ebbing over your waterline.

"Good girl," he cooed breathlessly, chest heaving and palms cradling your face, hushing and settling you when you continued to whine out. "Doin' so well, got me a little whore in the making, hm?"

He pushed you back onto his cock, guiding you down, down, down until you were gagging once again, though this time you didn't pull off of him, you couldn't, not with the strength he was using to hold and keep your head down. Your nose brushed against the course thatch of hair that littered his pelvis and you tried to resist gagging at the stupidly large intrusion by breathing steadily through your nose.

You wanted so badly to rise for air, to ease the soreness that started to buzz in your throat, but although this was your first time, a true beginner, he still treated you like one of his most proficient whores. Coughing and spluttering, drool started to slip from your mouth and down your chin, so messy and slick, dripping down the length of your neck, saturating your pink nightgown and settling in the space between your tits.

"Fuck," he groaned, "gonna fuck this little virgin throat, gonna make you choke- doesn't that sound good, sweet girl?"

With the way you sobbed and moaned around him, he took it as a yes, keeping a good, firm grip upon your tresses to bob you up and down as he pleased, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth in the middle.

You grew light-headed, crude, sloppy sounds filling the air along with your constant gags and you quickly slapped at his thigh, urging him to let you up, to go easy on you and let you catch your breath. He didn't stop, however, didn't even slow down, purposeful in messing with you and teaching you that he was in charge-- he would decide whether you needed to breathe or not.

He chuckled at your vulnerability, stopping his thrusts to to sheath himself deep down your throat and keep you still, just the feeling of you gagging around his shaft was enough to stimulate him.

Eventually, he let you up for breath, marvelling at how you coughed and struggled to catch your breath, your throat feeling entirely abused and sore each time you swallowed. His pretty cock jolted at the sight of you, so messy and whoreish, hair tangled and spit dribbling down your chin.

"Breathe, darling," he cooed, cupping your tear-stained cheeks between his rough palms and pouting at you mockingly, pressing a rather condescending peck to your forehead. "Bein' so good-- almost done, sweetheart, just gotta make daddy cum and then you can rest that lovely throat of yours."

You breathed shakily, settling down on your haunches again and grabbing his slick cock in your grasp.

"Okay, Daddy," you sniffled, such a sweet girl, even with a cock in your hand.

Tommy guided you down, conducting your movements with a thrust and push to your head, keeping you pliant and submerging himself within you, and if your throat felt this good his head reeled at the thought of your pussy-- so tight and virginal, untouched, not even by your curious little fingers.

He'd have all of you soon enough.

You could see his stomach muscles clenching, thighs flexing from under your palms and you hummed around him when you noticed his thrusts growing sloppier.

"Fuck," Tommy groaned, breaths haphazard and shaky, "you ready, sweet girl? You ready to taste Daddy's cum? Y'gonna swallow it all, aren't you, otherwise m'gonna have to force feed it down that pretty throat."

You stared up at him as best as you could, fluttering your lashes, tears spilling and clouding your vision, though you blinked them away, eager to see him, to see the way his face would contort, how beautiful he'd look whilst shooting cum inside your mouth.

One, two, three more thrusts were all it took for him to start convulsing, cock jolting on your tongue and spilling his seed, coating the walls of your constricting throat. He was groaning, moaning out loud, sounds so pretty you had to keep your thighs clenched tight.

"Shit- good girl, such a good little whore, you are."

He continued to ride his orgasm out, until he grew far too over-sensitive, pulling himself out of your mouth and lifting your head up, spent and eyes hooded watching you swallow his seed and hum at the newfound taste-- something you already found yourself becoming addicted to.

"Look," you beamed, still teary-eyed and shaky on your knees, you opened your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue for him to marvel at, completely clean of all traces of his cum, now deep in your belly. "swallowed it all, daddy- just like you said."

Tommy's head started to spin, praising you at how good you had been though he felt strange, heart thumping in his chest at the mere sight of you, he felt soft, a small smile on his face without realising.

He thought you were wrapped tightly around his finger, however he had begun to realise in such a short time it was the complete opposite way around.

#tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut #cillian murphy blurb #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader

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lijojo · 10 months

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genshin men as one-night stands

premise: after a blurred night of passion, you try to leave your one-night stand's house. how do they convince you to stay?

tw: suggestive, minors dni

Spoils You Rotten

wakes you up to the smell of pancakes and coffee. usually, when you have one-night stands, you usually are quick to change and book it. but the smell of pancakes was just so heavenly, you let curiosity get the best of you.

when you get to the kitchen, you're welcomed to the sight of him in a frilly apron, flipping pancake batter on the pan. he hums to himself until he turns around to see you, gaping at him as if you'd just seen a ghost.

"good morning, love. do you want me to run the bath now? i know you're probably a little sore from yesterday. i have some scented candles in the cabinet, although i'm not sure which one you'd prefer so i wanted to wait for you to get up so you could choose."

"what—" you gulp, trying to process the sight before you.

he tilts his head, puzzled. "is something the matter, love?"

"i'm—i'm just surprised, is all," you try, "i didn't peg you as the type to have...um...one-night stands."

he chuckles, sliding the pancakes onto a plate. "i don't."

he turns to you, his eyes locked onto you. "you're not a one-night stand. i fully intend to get to know you better. now, i'd pick up that jaw off from the floor, dear. you're going to let the flies in."

snapping out of your bewilderment, you close your mouth.

"good. now, would you like to take a bath? the muffins should be done in ten. i can bring your breakfast over to you in a bath tray when it's ready. and maybe after..." he gives you an unexpected smile. "i can massage all your sore parts?"

zhongli, alhaitham, diluc, tighnari, kaeya, albedo

Will not physically let you leave the bed

you literally can't move. not even when you try. when you wake up, you find yourself in a bear trap. you're legs are tangled with someone else's their arms locked around your waist in a vice grip. instead of chirping birds, you hear the thudding heartbeat of their chest resting below your ear.

when you try to maneuver out of his hold, his arms only tighten around you more. he groans lowly in your ear, shifting a bit.

"what's the hold up?" he murmurs into the crown of your head. "stay."

so much for sneaking out unnoticed.

you stiffen at his morning voice. it's unexpectedly raspier than you'd expected. he takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead tenderly, a lot tenderly than a usual one-night stand would.

"i have some errands to run." it isn't entirely untrue. surely, there must be something you need to do today.

he stares at you for a long second before huffing. "five minutes won't hurt, those errands can wait."

"wait but—"

before you can brace for it, he's already turning on his side and taking you along with him. he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses.

"you weren't thinking of leaving right after a night of intimacy, right?" he mused. "i thought you enjoyed last night. i certainly did."

you flushed at the memories. as much as you wanted to leave as you'd planned, it was awfully comfortable in his embrace. it was warm, soft, and welcoming.

"stay for a little longer, okay?" he cooed into your ear, pulling the covers over you. "at least, long enough for round two."

scaramouche, cyno, thoma, kaveh, itto,

Finds excuses to make you stay

the moment you make any sign of leaving, he's already calling for you to help him with something.

you try getting out of his grasp first thing in the morning? he's asking for a kiss on the cheek to wake him up, he can't get up without it. picking up your clothes off the floor? he's already offering you an extra change of clothes, not to mention helping you put it on. he even smiles at your flustered state. getting ready to leave? he's tugging your sleeve, offering his many amenities at home that are seemingly much better quality than yours: his cleanser, his cute headbands, his moisturizers.

and you can't say no. not when he's giving you those eyes. so you end up staying.

in a blink of an eye, you find yourself suddenly helping him smooth out the outfit he asked you to choose for him, hands running down his torso. leaning towards you, you can feel his eyes digging into your skin.

"thank you, sweet thing," he says, pressing a kiss on your nose.

"it's no problem," you mumble. "but i really—"

"how about staying for a cup of water?" he offered. "you know how important it is that you drink water first thing in the morning. it's supposed to be good for your skin. digestion too."

"well, alright—"

"and while we're at it, what about a movie? i have some classics i've been dying to watch and it's always better to watch with somone else."

you end up staying wayyy longer than you expected doing the small things: sorting through books, doing face masks, watching halfway through a movie, eating breakfast together, helping him look for butterflies on his front yard, getting the mail together. all while the two of you exchange jokes.

by the time it's well into the afternoon, you finally snap out of your daze, realizing the time.

"you just noticed?" he grins. "how cute. well, thank you for putting up with my antics, sweet thing."

he kisses you softly on the mouth.

"think of this morning as an advertisement for the other mornings to come, whenever you want to stay the night again. you won't regret it."

kaveh, itto, childe, ayato, kazuha, venti,

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impactedfates · 5 months

Text

Detective Oblivious - Various Genshin Characters x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your best friend lately has been acting strange. Could they have a crush on someone?! You have to get to the bottom of it…though perhaps you can start by noticing how they look at you

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Alhaitham, Ayato, Kazuha, Xiao, Yelan, Ningguang

★ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Fluff + Maybe a bit of Crack

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: HSR Ver Here // Semi-Proof Read

Honestly I don't blame you for not noticing Alhaitham likes you. He's very hard to read. But at the same time, it doesn't take a detective to notice how he's more careful with his words when talking to you. He doesn't necessarily care what you think of him, even if he likes you, however he does wish for you to see him in a more positive light.

So even though you've been friends for so long, his sudden change in how he talks to you is so you can hopefully see how he feels about you as he believes you'd be able to notice but well...much to his dismay and annoyance, you don't.

You got the part that he likes someone, but not that those feelings are directed towards you. Have you not seen the longing stares he gives you when you're doing anything? How he's more lenient in what you're doing?? How when he was The Acting Grand Sage, how he always looked over anything you wrote to him first???

Clearly not as, as when he enters his home he can see you talking to Kaveh to see if he knows anything about who he likes. Kaveh, noticing him behind you, simply smiled. Although Alhaitham wants to confess to you, he'd rather him telling you directly or you finding out yourself without the need of help from others. And Kaveh knew this...

"Oh, he likes yo-"

A book was suddenly thrown at Kaveh as the Scribe quickly took you away.

"Wh- hey! He was going to tell me something"

"Didn't want him to say something I should be saying...I should be the one telling you I like you"

Many people caught on to the way Ayato treated you differently towards others, in fact. Both Ayaka and Thoma knew he liked you before he himself knew. Yet, why was it that everyone but you knew how much he held you dear to his heart?

Ayato never had much free time to be frank, however unlike his other friends and even family. He would never send anyone as many gifts as he did to you. Anytime you liked something you'd have it delivered to your house right away. You always thanked him for it, beaming as you looked at it. Although you did slightly feel bad as some of the things you off handily mention wanting are quite expensive. But the Commissioner doesn't care. Seeing that smile is enough for him.

What he does care about however, is how dense you are towards his acts of affection. As stated, he gives you more gifts than anyone else he knows. But another thing he does that he's surprised doesn't get you to catch on, is him "jokingly" calling your Mx Kamisato (he's half joking, he does want to marry you)

What surprises him more is that you somehow think it's directed to someone else?? You question him on who he's referring to even though he was looking directly at you.

Eventually he gently backs you into a corner and makes you face him, turning your chin towards him.

"My dear...I've tried everything but you don't get the hint. So I'll say it here...I love you~"

You found some poems that Kazuha had written, and it's about someone. In fact, it's about someone romantically. This caused you to quickly search for who said love poem is about.

One of the kids witnessed you ranting to yourself about who could've taken the samurai's heart and told Beidou, who then found it amusing enough to tell Kazuha who at first laughs it off before realising you've likely read the poems he wrote. He is thankful you haven't found out it's about you, but at the same time. He doesn't think you've met anyone that's like you, and the love poem does describe you near perfectly. Still...at least you haven't found out?

He watches from a small distance as you glance at him before looking away. This happens a lot, especially when he's talking to a friend who questions your behaviour. In fact, you've done this so much that people assume you're Kazuha's partner and want his attention. They even comment about it to which you both politely explain that you're just friends.

Eventually though, he makes no comment when someone assumes the two of you are dating, which makes you question him which leads to you finally figuring out who the love poem is about.

"Wait so...the love poems..."

"Is about you yes, I like you"

I can see him being quite confused himself when he realises he likes someone and might even tell you about how he's feeling. He won't directly say who it is but he tells enough to let you know he's fallen DEEP in love with someone.

Now the two of you are trying to figure out just who's the one making his heart beat faster and clouding his mind. In truth, Xiao quickly realizes it's you that's causing it. But he can't tell you, he's a bit too flustered to tell you, especially with how cute you look trying to figure it out yourself.

So he lets the search go on, he allows you to drag him to meet various people and see if he feels his heart beating faster. And while it does, that's only because you're beside him. Nothing else. He was happy enough to let you guess till you gave up, he didn't think you'd like him back anyways.

However Hu Tao would beg to differ, she's been listening to you rant about how you loved Xiao and all that stuff. In fact, she's even heard from Zhongli that Xiao likes you. So when you come along with the Adeptus in tow and ask him if he feels any different towards her. She has a feeling she knows what's going on. And why not play matchmaker?

"You don't feel anything at all?"

"No..."

The funeral directly quickly piped up, gently pushing you into Xiao's arms and watching his face burst into shades of crimson.

"What about now? Having the love of your life in your arms is bound to make you feel something right?"

She...out right flirts with you. And not in a way to get info from you, just...actual flirting. Yelan knows what she wants and tends to get what she wants. More so in terms of information, but she also wants you and will try anything to make you realize her feelings for you.

She probably knows you like her as well, so this should be easy right? Just flirt with you and you'll get the picture right?...Yeah...

"I would love to spend the future with you y'know darling~ Especially in the same house"

"Oh that would be great"

"Exa-"

"Rent would be so much cheaper if we were roommates"

She...finds your obliviousness cute...in a weird way though. She finds it even more cute that you do in fact recognize her flirting eventually...but think she's using you as practice. Now she spots you trying to figure out who it is so you can help her more. And "act" like her crush. She does need to eventually tell you so you can stop searching, I mean. The answer is clear if you look in a mirror.

"C'mon Lanlan, you need to tell who you actually like"

"Hm? Oh but I am sweetie~"

Ningguang is obviously highly respected and of course has her own set of admirers. You used to see her reading each letter with care and consideration before laughing. Not in a hateful way, truly she's grateful people like her that much. But recently she seems to read them a bit faster, seemingly searching for one name in particular.

It's clear to you she wants a certain person to be in her pile of confession letters. And you'll figure out who. I mean, what better way to help your friend then finding out who she likes and seeing if they like her back right :D

Well...word got to her that you've been searching through some of her things, nothing personal but just around her office. Not to mention observing her more closely lately which she plays off as you being interested in what she has to say. But when she hears that you've apparently scared a poor soul with some of your questioning she goes to confront you.

To which you weakly explain you want to help her find out if her crush likes her back or not. She simply laughs a bit, surprised. She's been giving you special treatment ever since she found out her feelings for you. You've been given bigger discounts because she just cannot let her "darling" pay so much. Alongside other things she thought were obvious hints in the hopes you'll write her a confession letter.

"Well...if you want to help me find out if they like me back, answer me this"

"Yeah?"

"Do you like me?"

Anyone else find it hard to know when someone likes them? Cuz I do, hence this idea sprang forth. Not all the characters included are ones I simp for but I thought it would be interesting to add them (I literally only simp for Alhaitham and Ayato out of the characters included tbh nsoaorgr)

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zkvry · 8 months

Text

Are You Laughing at My Brother? | Shelby Brothers x Sister!Reader

Summary : Y/N is just a year younger than John Shelby, though her immense instinct to protect her older brothers against their enemies reveals that the Shelby name is not to be trifled with.

Warnings : cussing, misogyny, death threats, guns, descriptions of violence, racism

Additional Information : > takes place in early season 1 ; Billy Kimber era (minor spoilers) > written in third person perspective (she/her) > 847 words | 6 minutes

Author's Note : decided to use some gifs along the way, might be distracting for your reading - I apologise. My first work on here, please let me know how you find it! Enjoy <3

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"Are you laughing, at my brother?" She speaks, appearing from behind the bar. For the first time since they've dared to enter the Garrison, Billy Kimber and his two men flinched slightly at her sternness. This only lasted a split second. Still, it didn't go unnoticed.

Billy Kimber flashes a cocksure smirk, pleased at the presence of something less dreadful than matter at hand. "And what do we have here,"

John lets out a humourless laugh. "I'd be careful with that one. She's feisty," He warns Billy Kimber with an all-knowing look.

Billy Kimber rakes his eyes over her physique. "This is no place for a whore - even a pretty one at that," He tuts mockingly, shaking his head.

Arthur inhales deeply as he fights the very last nerve to not cut the cheeky bastard across the face - to not slice his eyes for looking at his dearest little sister. The word 'whore' bounces around in his head. Arthur's lips twitch, knuckles turning white as he grips onto the arm rest for restraint.

He was waiting for a signal - a sound or nod of approval from Tommy or Her. Hell, he thinks, even John could command it and he would bloody do it. No questions asked.

Nonetheless, She makes her presence known. Almost like clockwork - one of the Shelby brothers stand and holds out his chair. In this moment, it was John. He extends his hand and escorts her to his previously occupied seat with care. Recklessly, he drags a chair for himself from a nearby table beside them, and plops down.

Billy Kimber clears his throat wearily but still as arrogant as before. "Right, he's the oldest, you're the thickest. I'm told the boss is called tommy so it can't be this woman you lot here seem to worship. Then I'm guessing that's you, cause you're looking at me up and down like I'm a fucking tart, " He spits out.

Thomas finally unclenches his jaw, the throbbing pain creeping onto him. He puts on a calm façade. Unmoving, he looks to Her direction.

Only when he saw She hadn't intervene, he spoke. "I want to know what you want. And which one am I talking to, which one of you is the boss?" Thomas breathes out as he takes a puff from a cigarette. His finger darting around from Billy Kimber to the two men that accompanied him.

Billy Kimber shoots up from his seat, knocking it to the ground. "I'm the fucking boss, alright!? Enough parley, you fixed the race without my permission. You fucking Gypsy scum. I run the races. You fixed one of 'em, so I'm going to have you shot against the post!" He declares - finger pointing threateningly to Thomas.

"Pick it up," She leans forward onto the table, hands intertwined infront of her.

Billy Kimber looks at her flabbergasted, "What?" He furrows his eyebrows, offended.

She stands slowly, the men around her straightening their backs in alert at her movement. She stares at him, unfriendly.

"I said," She continues, leaning forward once more, arms stretched out on the sides of the table, dominating the space at the table. "Pick. my chair. up," She repeats.

Billy Kimber remains stunned, seemingly not knowing what to do. The audacity of such a woman to demand him to pick up a chair? He was shocked to say the least, and outrageously insulted.

Ready to argue and humiliate her, Billy Kimber opens his mouth but She was quicker.

"You swayed your arse in here like you own the place. Guns out like you're flaunting fuck knows what," She speaks fluently, rage settling in. "We fixed your race, you put a bullet in my ceiling. That's fair, but then you had to run that fucking mouthpiece of yours didn't ya eh?"

"Want to put a bullet in my brother's head, is that it?" Like a predator, She stalks closer to him.

As She approaches, one of Billy Kimber's men crouched down and picked up the fallen chair. Just as the chair was upright, She gathered her strength and slammed Kimber's shoulders down onto the seat and held him still.

"Why don't we put one in yours?" She whispers into his ear, patting harshly on his right shoulder.

In an instant, Kimber's two men draw their guns.

The Shelby brothers lurch forward, in efforts to protect their sister infront of them, moving to draw their own guns as well.

However, the men who were supposedly loyal to Billy Kimber pointed their guns at the man himself. A sinister smile creeps onto Her face.

"Let's do proper business, shall we Mister Kimber? Starting off with your races, " She declares, moving to lower the guns that have been drawn by her brothers and the two men working for Her.

She turns abruptly to face Kimber. "Though, they wouldn't be your races any longer after we're done here, would they? " Her face suggestive of diplomacy, but voice laced with threat.

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dulcesiabits · 4 months

Text

you arrive like a dream.

summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?

notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together

“I want to take a break from us.”

It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.

Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest.

Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent.

By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious.

The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back.

As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him.

In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.

Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly.

You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”

“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”

Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas says.

Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return.

Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country.

By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”

Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.”

You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.

Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.

“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone.

“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”

“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.

“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.

“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”

“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”

“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?”

“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.

You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”

You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”

“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”

“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.

“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”

There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.

“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it?

“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”

“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”

“Okay. Love you!”

With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.

You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.

You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.

In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old.

–

You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.

Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.

Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.

You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.

You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.

“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest.

“But what do you want?” you persisted.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”

And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory.

You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.

Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door.

“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”

The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.

“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”

Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”

“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced.

Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.

“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.

“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”

“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”

You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”

“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”

“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.

A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”

You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.

You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”

How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.

“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”

The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.

You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.

“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”

“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor.

He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”

“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said.

“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor.

“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”

The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly.

During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.

“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly.

“What are these for?” you asked.

“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!”

“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.

“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”

“Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”

“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”

“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.

“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”

He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school?

But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.

–

You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.

There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.

Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.

But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.

You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.

You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge.

The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”

“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”

“Dinner?”

“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.

“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”

“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”

You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”

“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”

The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.

It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.

When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.

Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”

You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.

The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.

You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.

“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.

You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.

“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.

Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.

She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”

“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”

Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”

You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”

And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”

You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.

Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.

“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”

“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”

“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”

Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.

“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”

“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru.

You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.

You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.

Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.

It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.

“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?

“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of.

“I–”

“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”

“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.

“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.

You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.

“I want to talk to you again,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say again.

“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”

“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”

“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”

You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.

“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”

“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”

“Go back where?”

“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”

It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.

At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.

–

Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.

Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.

But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.

At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.

So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.

Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.

“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.

“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level.

“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee.

“I’ll try,” you said.

“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”

And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.

Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.

“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”

“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”

And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.

Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.

“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.

“What is that?” you asked him.

“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”

“Can I come, too?”

“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.

Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.

“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands.

“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you.

“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.

Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru.

“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.

“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”

“I saved it for you, though.”

Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”

There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams.

Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.

“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”

“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”

“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”

“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”

“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”

You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked.

“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.

“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.

She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”

You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”

“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.

Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”

Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”

“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”

Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.”

However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.

It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.

“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”

Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.”

“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!”

Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint.

“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself.

“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids.

“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked.

“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?”

Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint.

“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?”

“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.”

“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs.

“So we can be together forever,” you explained.

Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”

You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding.

“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?”

Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?”

You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”

–

Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain.

It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart.

When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.

You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that.

But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.

You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message.

Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.

Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.

yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3

Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances.

Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well.

You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?

You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.

Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.

You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on.

The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life.

“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face.

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!”

You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.

“I missed you,” Bachira says.

“We met a few days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”

You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”

“Did you think I hated you?” you say.

“You didn’t?” he says quietly.

“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”

Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.

“I was mad, Bachira. I…”

“You said we were best friends.”

You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Then are we still best friends?”

“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.”

“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.”

“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek.

When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze.

“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”

A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.

“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.

You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.

“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions.

“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice.

“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that.

“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds.

“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.

Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?”

“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.”

He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky.

You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you.

–

By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation.

“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.”

Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”

“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!”

“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues.

“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender.

When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.

“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”

She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.”

Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.

You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly.

It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye.

You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed.

“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!”

“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”

He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently.

The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.”

“Because of Meguru?” you repeated.

The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”

You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend.

But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.

You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team.

Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world.

He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.

It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head.

“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”

When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you.

“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.

As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.

He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.

You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now.

You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year.

During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.

It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself.

You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.

When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.

“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”

“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”

“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”

“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly.

You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.

“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”

“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”

He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”

Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”

“Uh…”

“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”

“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.

“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”

“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”

A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.

Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”

You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic. I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor.

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze.

You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”

You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you.

Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”

You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.

“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.

It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”

“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met.

Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?

“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”

You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.

“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”

Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.

“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”

“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”

When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.

You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.

Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school.

Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.

When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.

“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.”

You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”

“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”

“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”

She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.”

For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school.

No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.

A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.

When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all.

–

For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.

In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience.

You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira.

Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis.

The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers.

The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase.

“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.

“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.

“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Okay.”

“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.”

“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose.

“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”

“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.”

She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.”

“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree.

“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?”

You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.”

She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.”

She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.

How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.

Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.

About our relationship…

You pick up your phone, skimming the email.

Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.

How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy.

Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”

“What?”

“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”

“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding.

“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”

“Bachira…”

“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”

You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”

You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There’s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.

Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re going back to America?” he says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Why do you want to know about him?”

“Do you like him?”

“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.

“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”

“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.”

Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles.

“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.

“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football.

“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.”

No response. What did you expect?

“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”

Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out.

“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”

You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say.

“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.

“I guess it wasn’t.”

“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?”

“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”

“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.”

“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”

“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.

It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.”

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.”

“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?”

I’m sorry,” he says.

“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”

“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.

You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back.

“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.

“You piss me off,” you say.

“Uh?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”

“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck.

“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Sort of!”

“Pay attention!”

“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.

“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”

“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him.

“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”

Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”

“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“You did,” he says nonchalantly.

“From when we were kids,” you point out.

“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”

“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”

“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”

“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?”

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?”

You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.

“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”

“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.

It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.

“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.

“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”

“What?”

Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”

“Obviously not!”

You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now?

You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.

#liya writes #blue lock #bachira meguru #bachira meguru x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #bllk #blue lock bachira #bllk x reader #bllk bachira #bachira x reader #meguru bachira #meguru bachira x reader

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angelbarelywrites · 1 month

Text

♡ slashers scenarios | let’s get kinky

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, The Boy, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; graphic sexual content, kink content

♡notes; pretty much just kink lists babey

oh boy i hope this doesn’t reveal anything about me

also happy easter lol

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> Knifeplay and breathplay are a given with this one

> He likes to be in complete control

> And a hand around the throat or a blade ghosting the skin definitely help him achieve that

> He also loves both tying you up and being tied up, surprisingly

> Letting you ride him while he’s tied to the bed is just about the only way you’ll get the man to relinquish any of that control

> And even then he makes sure you know he’s still the boss- if you’re too much of a brat he’s slipping the restraints and fucking you so hard you walk funny after

> He loves marking you up, mostly through biting

> And he likes to keep the mask on- even if he’s at a point where he rarely wears it around you

> He’ll quietly degrade you if you’re into that- you have to earn praise though

> But if you praise him you may actually be able to fluster him for once

Thomas Hewitt

> Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink you can’t convince me otherwise

> He loves pinning you down into a mating press and watching your face as he fills you

> He’s so rough and overwhelming

> He likes to lick away your tears when it’s just too much

>And sometimes he’ll keep you pinned there well after, keeping himself inside.

> He’d let you call him daddy- and god does he get into it, but he’d be too shy to suggest anything like that himself

> He loves praise and he loves letting you know how good you feel

> Not usually verbally, but he’ll growl and moan and purr shamelessly

> He’s the king of oral, he’s like a man starved and you’ll end up overstimulated 9 out of 10 times

> And he loves when you reciprocate, especially if you don’t mind him fucking your mouth

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s a bit vanilla, not having much experience or knowledge beyond sex for procreation.

> Insert Drayton’s “sex or the saw” quote here lol

> But he’ll try anything for you at least once, he’s so eager to please.

> Most notably he makes a wonderful little submissive

> Whether you want him to bottom or just power bottom yourself, he loves being used to make you feel good

> He enjoys any and all praise

> He’s rather insecure, so he loves compliments on his appearance especially

> If you call him a pretty boy he melts

> 100 percent would love if you called yourself mommy/daddy/any other dom titles

> He loves when you sit on his face more than anything else

Vincent Sinclair

> The softest dom. He wants to take care of you around the clock, but especially in bed

> He’s a service top- it’s all for you. So much more concerned with you getting off than even being touched.

> He’s into wax play (Because it’s funny but also bc it’s underrated)

> And he likes to restrain you so he can worship you completely uninterrupted

> He’s not afraid of using toys, especially when you’re all tied up and at his mercy

> He loves taking pictures of you as well

> At first he claims it’s for reference but you know better, baby has a documentation kink

> He loves just watching too

> Trying to keep control while you touch yourself and moan his name is his favorite pastime

Brahms Heelshire

> Huge brat in need of taming

> Only a switch in the technical sense- he’ll top if you beg/bribe/pester him enough. He’s just lazy tbh

> Love love loves being both degraded and praised

> “filthy little boy” “pretty little slut” etc

> Prefers calling you mommy/daddy but can work with master

> And he’ll be your puppy if you want him to be

> He wears a cute collar and leash and lets you yank on it while you make him fuck you

> He loves when you edge him too

> Until he’s nearly in tears and whining and begging you to let him cum

> If you have boobs he’s obsessed with them

> And even if you don’t he’ll give the area lots of attention

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angelltheninth · 8 months

Note

don't know if you're taking requests or not, if not please ignore this but genshin men edging you for too long that it starts to hurt and no longer feels good so you use the safeword? kinda hurt/comfort?

Oof, that doesn't sound enjoyable at all. Lucky me I'll never have this experiance.

Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Itto, Thoma, Childe, Pantalone, Neuvillette, Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, overstimulation, crying, use of safeword, comfort

A/N: See, this is why safewords are important.

Kaeya thinks you're teasing at first, you didn't get the full word out but he pulls back a little, to hear what you have to say. Oh shit. He didn't realize that you were crying cause it was too much. He thought... okay, don't move, he's gonna go get cleaned up real fast and then fix you a warm bath to make up for this. You'll be okay.

Diluc pulls out and accidentally gets some cum over your already overstimulated pussy. He doesn't touch you from the idea of making it worse for you. Please don't cry, look at him, you did good, you told him the safeword and you have nothing to be ashamed about. It felt good for a while yeah? That's good, he at least did something right.

Itto hates seeing you crying because of him. Not just crying but full on weeping, he thought he was making you feel good but after a few orgasms your human body couldn't keep up? Well he knows your limit now. You never have to feel like you need to push past it for him, he's still got two good hands and he can kiss you while jerking off too.

Thoma feels so bad that he didn't pay attention to you enough to realize that you started crying from overstimulation. There's no need to go on, you can simply cuddle and fall asleep, or just sleep if cuddles are too much for you. If not then he would really like to hug you, kiss you, tell you how much he loves having you in his life.

Childe pushes you past your limits always except when you use your safeworld. It's when he knows you've truly had all you can take. He pushes his cock across your pussy to gather up his cum and then cups it with his hand, pushing it back in one last time before planting a kiss right above your clit. You did good, now you need to rest up.

Pantalone thought you could take more then this but perhaps his teasing from before and you not seeing him for a month was too much. Your pussy is pulsing around his cock so much, can he really pull away right now? If he stayed inside for a bit longer until you calmed down could he perhaps cuddle with you? Great, then he shall.

Neuvillette sensed there was something wrong because you don't usually cry during sex, he heard that humans can do that when they feel good so... no, no, he shouldn't have assumed. Now he's crying, making it rain outside. Are you hurt badly? It will go away? If there's anything he can do to make you feel better, please let him know.

Zhongli feels horrible for turning your pleasure into pain like this. You should have told him sooner. Never try to push yourself past your limits for him, he wants you to enjoy yourself and right now you're not. He might be hard still but that won't stop him from laying you across his chest and providing you all the hugs and kisses you need.

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moineauz · 1 month

Text

જ⁀ 𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒 , various !

synopsis: when you bring your friend to ikea to help you pick furniture for your new apartment. Pinning ensues amongst other flustering events.

including: zhongli, childe, diluc, kaeya, thoma,

side comments: pure fluff! also, please buy your furniture second-hand and support small businesses! avoid fast furniture when you can (ikea) and make mindful purchases. let's briefly imagine a perfect world where ikea is ethical and sustainable.

extra: mentions and implications of marriage, gn reader, favourites: zhongli & kaeya word count: 1,784

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

Being the friend he is, Zhongli would happily accompany you.

He is the type to have his hands behind his back as he follows you around. Lingering close yet respectfully enough.

If you ask him for consolation, he will be honest in the most tender way possible:

"Ah... perhaps this colour will be more suitable considering the lighting."

"You did need a new couch, right? I believe you will like this one."

You blink and then your cart is full.

Zhongli's advice is acutely precise, however, expect to exceed your original budget by another ghastly $500.

Not that he suggests buying unnecessary items, rather, he suggests quality, material and construction.

Begins speaking a tad excessively about colour coordination and lightning.

He will help you lift any furniture parts if need be!

Gradually, the trip would become a joint effort by the two of you. As if you've been shopping and living together for years.

"Look at the dining table ( Name )," Zhongli commented. The lighting of the room glittered above, illuminating your face slightly as your hands glide over the wood varnish. "It's wonderful, isn't it? You'd be able to hold all the dinner parties you wanted."

You smile gingerly, and soon you are standing next to him by the kitchen sink. "Definitely, Childe would no longer have to sit on the floor."

Zhongli chuckles and you share a teasing grin. "At least we picked out a table already- much cheaper."

Zhongli raises an eyebrow, "Oh? Perhaps we can consider this one instead?"

"Personally, I think you should agree with him," spoke an employee- a soft-spoken elderly woman- "I remember when I first bought my fiancee's dining table- fun times!"

"Oh ma'am we're not-"

"Yes, my fiancee and I do agree," Zhongli gazes towards you're slightly flushed figure and smiles gently, "Yes dear?"

You blink for a few moments; gaining your footing before replying smoothly, "Why of course, how could I not love?"

You don't notice it, however, Zhongli shares a faint blush as he later pretends to cough in his fist.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

Childe has zero taste in furniture.

His mom would choose the furniture while he used his card.

Browsing through the showrooms and picking furniture is not how he would choose to spend his afternoon, however, he'll try for you!

In this case- it's the thought that counts.

If you need help reaching or lifting anything he'll do it readily.

Don't have a cart or bag? (There were lots) Childe will hold it all for you!

It becomes an inner competition to some extent to cover up for his obvious lack of skill in furniture and home design in hopes of impressing you.

“Excuse me young man, can you please reach the duvet covers for me up top?” asks a elderly man, an embarrassed smile gently plastered on his lips.

Childe turns his head towards the man and flashes a hearty grin, “Of course.”

With ease, Childe grabs the duvet set and hands it to him, “Ah, thank you,” the man pauses before speaking, his eyes in thought, “might I ask something?”

Childe blinks and replies, subtle curiosity beneath his lighthearted tone, “Go on.”

“Have you asked your partner out yet?

Childe fumbles a bit and the elderly man heaves a near boisterous laugh. "I'm taking that as a no, ay? Ah, young couples! I might not have the sharpest eyes anymore, but you've been lookin' at them since the kitchen showroom!"

Before Childe could express a response, the man pats his back and smiles. "Best of luck! I'm sure they'll say yes."

The man then ambles away and from a distance, Childe can see his small figure fade into the throng.

"Hey Childe! Are you alright?"

"Oh... um yeah!" prompted Childe, "Is there anything else you need?"

You shake your head, your fingers scrolling through the list you made, "That should be it. Are you sure you're okay? If you'd like I could hold the vase?"

Childe smiles while his bright blue eyes pool into yours, "No I'm good, let's head to check out."

The two of you saunter to the check-out counter side by side; bantering with each other. Childe's gaze never leaving yours.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐑

Diluc is not well-versed in design and colour. However, he has a keen eye for both style, price and functionality, unbeknownst to him.

You were hesitant to ask him if he could accompany you as it is without a doubt that Diluc Ragnvindr is a busy man.

Diluc himself shared hesitancy for opposing reasons.

Diluc has lived with himself and has found his dwelling to be dull in comparison to the liveliness and hospitality your former apartment held. Thus, Diluc wondered if he could be of any help.

Nevertheless, you reassured him that you wanted company regardless of his skills.

Contrary to his words, Diluc was quite valuable, especially when navigating the place.

"I found the blanket you were interested in earlier, do you still want it?"

"The colour is rather flattering... but it is your choice! Um... please don't mind me."

"Do you need help?"

Diluc doubted his opinion, however, you found yourself agreeing with him several times.

You and Diluc were currently sitting by the opposite edge of a bed, your hands inches apart.

"A comfortable bed isn't it?" you bounce on the bed a little, a smile reaching your lips, "And the mattress is only $200, a king too! I can't believe you found this deal-"

Diluc does not hear your voice, it faded just as the lights mellowed and the sensations of the blanket against his calloused hands grew fuzzy.

"... Hey Diluc?"

"Ah, yes," Diluc coughs before asking, "I'm sorry what were you saying?

You smile, "It's all good! I was just explaining how I wouldn't need such a large bed for myself."

Diluc conveys a slightly puzzled expression, "How so? If you're worried about how to carry it into the apartment then you do know that I'll assist you-"

You shake your head fervently before replying, "Well thank you Diluc! But really you don't have to-"

"Oh no, I insist."

You smile winsomely before carefully replying, "It's just... me in the apartment. I'd understand if I was living with someone- but it's not worth it in my opinion."

Diluc pauses, contemplating before replying steadily, "I believe you deserve the mattress..." There is a tentative gap between his words before he follows up, "Perhaps I... ah never mind, let's get going. You wanted to eat at Chef Xianling's restaurant for dinner right? My treat."

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇

So you invited Kaeya?

Expect relentless teasing and a carefree-complacent attitude.

However, as much as Kaeya is there for fun, he will readily assist you- not without a tease, however.

"Oh ho? Need my help?"

In regards to style and class... Kaeya can pull himself together.

However, similar to Diluc, there is a dullness to his home.

In fact, Kaeya rarely spends time in his own home: he bounces from place to place. Never lingering longer than is needed or comfortable. It is like an ever-present itch.

Yet, your home has become Kaeya's home too. Unbeknownst to you however.

It is natural for both of you.

Your home has become the longest place he has spent in. He has his space in your home, he even has a toothbrush holder and resident blanket; removing Kaeya from your home would cause an ineffable void.

Regardless of the previous facts, you genuinely invited Kaeya to come for help and company.

Kaeya makes the process entertaining! Instead of contemplating the price tags incessantly, Kaeya will smoothly subdue your worries by toying with the utensils and playing hide-and-seek in the mirror section all while slipping the item you wanted in the bag.

The two of you let loose; unwinding like children who innocently play in the kid's bedroom showhome despite being strangers to each other.

"Kaeya... do we really need this mirror?" you question dubiously.

Kaeya shares a winsome grin. "Why of course," he then gingerly places his hands on your shoulders and leans in slightly, "It holds a rather charming reflection, does it not?"

You gaze at him and sigh, "Charming? You always find ways to flatter yourself."

Kaeya merely smiles. The two of you peer into the mirror: the reflection of two souls gazing back all while Kaeya surmises.

It wasn't himself that he was referring to.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀

You're in for a treat!

You will (quite literally) get ice cream afterwards.

Thoma possesses all the skills in the "art of making a home."

Need deals or a lower price? Thoma already has a list. What about colour and style? He has a magazine and Pinterest board ready. What about functionality and material? Don't fret! He knows all the washing labels and what goes best with your lifestyle.

Tell him the night before and he is packed and loaded.

Thoma is absolutely thrilled that you invited him.

Shopping for any household items is delightful for Thoma, even more so when the two of you are browsing through all the showrooms and inspecting each countertop.

His favourite section is the kitchen.

If you have a specific budget in mind, Thoma will ensure that not a dollar goes beyond it and he will keep you accountable as well!

However, staying within the budget while scouring the store takes a significant amount of time.

Hence, instead of another $100 added to the receipt, expect another three hours.

The two of you will heave a big sigh when you finally sit down in the car.

Nevertheless, it is all lighthearted and relaxing as the two of you reenacting imagining a space together.

"We'd set the tables over there-" remarked Thoma as he pointed his finger towards the dining table, "And we can house our pans here- it would be so since to have them hanging instead of in the cabinet."

"Browsing through the kitchens is always fun," added a mother, her arms cradling her baby, "Are the two of you living together?"

You chuckle and Thoma's cheeks grow rosy. You then reply amused, "Oh no, he's a friend of mine who I asked to come along."

The mother then shares an embarrassed smile, "Oh I'm so sorry! That was so wrong of me... if the two of you are looking for a hanging pan rack then I remember seeing an installation piece down in the marketplace."

"Thank you," replied Thoma, a smile pressed on his lips, "We'll be sure to check it out!"

As the mother saunters ambles away, Thoma mutters under his breath, "Maybe we should live together..."

"What was that?"

"Oh ah! Nothing," Thoma scratches the back of his neck before responding brightly, "Do you want me to write the rack on the list now?"

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kadwrites · 10 months

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office scandal | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; polly takes you with her to run an errand.

warnings ; arranged marriage trope, bad writing?!! , typos maybe (english isn't my first language)

a/n ; i almost lost my mind writing this. hopefully the accents are better and polly is well portrayed? lmk what you think <3

you're still on your bed, your friends are on it too this time. madeline and fiona , are on either side of you, kneeling on your mattress.

"what do ya mean y're gettin' married ?" madeline looks at you with a crooked smile, she thinks you're messing with her.

fiona is just staring at you with her head tilted

"i mean i am to be wed, betrothed, spoken for,"

"okay stop." fiona puts a hand up , "when did ya decide to do that? i thought ya were waitin' to get swept off yer feet"

you sigh, leaning back and letting the back of your head hit the bed frame "it just ... 'appened..."

madeline and fiona look at eachother before looking at you

"what are ya not tellin' us?"

"yeah , what are ya hidin' ?"

you look at them both, you contemplate telling them. you haven't really spoken about this whole ordeal to anyone , not really. and its been a week and a half already

"i um" your eyes drop to your hands "my parents chose 'im for me"

"yer parents?" fiona asks with a raised brow "and how exactly did they convince ya to do that?"

"its a long story" you wave a dismissive hand

"so ya know who he is?" madeline copies fiona, tilting her head too "do we know 'im as well?"

"i think everyone in birmingham knows 'im" you mutter under your breath

"who the fuck are ya marryin'?the king of england?"

you just stare at them, you lick your lips "ya got to keep yer knickers intact."

they both nod,

"its thomas shelby"

"what?" fiona's face drops , her voice does too.

madeline just snorts a laugh and then then goes quiet and just looks at you, "y're jokin' right?"

you take a deep breath "no , i am not jokin' "

"what do ya mean y're marryin' thomas shelby?" madeline gets closer to you "how?"

"i don't know..." just look back at them, your voice soft too.

"do ya want this?" madeline asks again

"it's complicated really..."

"no its not, ya either do or ya don't" fiona's hands grab yours "do ya not want this?"

you lick your lips, you take a moment to think , howare you going to even phrase this "i do,"

"ya do know who he is right?" madeline stares at you with a confused look "he isn't just any man"

"i know who he is..." you sigh

"then how are ya willing to marry 'im?" fiona never spoke so seriously before

"i 'ave my reasons"

"i hope that they're good enough for ya to put yourself through this" madeline chimes in again

you just close your eyes and let yourself plop back against the mattress, fiona and madeline share another look.

" 'ave you seen 'im?" madeline laid next to you

"yeah" you say with a chuckle , your mind flashing images of him on the sofa.

"is he really a dish?"

madeline smacks fiona on her arm and fiona rubs it with a frown "what! ya were thinkin' that too!"

you roll your eyes, but a small smile plays at your lips "he isn't bad lookin' i suppose."

madeline looks at you with a raised brow

"fine, he's a dish, happy?" you mumble , as if it pained you to admit it

"at least one of us will be fuckin' someone attractive"

"i thought ya liked callum" madeline frowns

"i love ya madeline i do, but callum isn't exactly a sight for the sore eyes"

"when's the weddin'?"

you look at madeline "i dont know , we 'ave yet to speak about that"

"i bet it's gonna be grand , ey?" fiona wiggles her brows

"well if i'm marryin' one of the wealthiest man in birmingham i might as well make at an occasion"

"wait , did you 'ave an engagement party already?" madeline asks, with a gasp and a hand on her chest

"if i did, ya would've been there."

"he has a son , ya know" fiona's voice goes back to its soft tone

you hum and nod "he told me about 'im"

"he did?" madeline asks with a smile

"what did he say?"

"that he wants a wife that can take care of 'im,"

"won't be long till you start poppin' out babies too" fiona mumbles

"whats that supposed to mean?" you ask with a chuckle

"with a husband this good lookin'? i give ya three months, and ya'll have a little one in that belly"

"don't speak that into existence!"

"i mean..." madeline says with a smirk "look at celest, she got pregnant with sarah , what? 4 or 5 months after she got married?"

"please don't open this topic of conversation" you beg as you rub your hand over your face "im stressed as it is."

all the of you turn to look at the door when you hear is open and celest's head peaks in "polly gray is here"

madeline and fiona turn to look at eachother then at you

"why?"

"i don't know but she's waitin' for ya" celest shrugs

"i'll be right there" you get off the bed and open the doors to your closet, looking for something to wear

"polly gray ? she's the shelbys aunt isnt she?"

"what does she want with ya?"

you change your clothes in a hurry, mind racing with possibilities "im not sure" you just mumble as you put on your blouse.

they watch you as you fix your hair and then go downstairs.

"mrs gray" you say with a polite smile as you walk into the living room "to what do i owe the pleasure"

she looks at you with a look thats eerily similar to her nephew's,and you try to not turn and walk back up the stairs

"we 'ave some business to attend to"

"we do?" your brows furrow "at this time?" it was 6 in the evening after all.

"yes"

"okay." you try not to snap your own neck at that response.

you get into her car as she drives, you two sitting in awkward silence "where are we goin' ?"

she glances at you before glancing back at the road and you just don't ask again but then you see your destination, shelby company limited and you think you might just not get out of that car but you do. your heels click against the floor when you walk through the dark halls.

there aren't many people there considering the work day has already ended, but you see a woman. she's young, around your age maybe. and she greets polly, completely ignoring you but you chalk it up to maybe the fact that it's polly gray is standing next to you.

"good evenin' , mrs gray" her voice is almost sickly sweet

"do you know who this is?" she asks her, nodding at you.

she looks you up and down and then shakes her head "nah, i can't say i do."

"she's tommy shelby's fiancé."

"i didn't know he was engaged" her lashes flutter and her lips twitch as she tries to maintain her smile.

"ya do now , don't ya?" polly stares that woman down "an' i hope it doesn't escape yer mind"

you just watch as the color drains out of her face as she excuses herself and scurries back to her work.

"what the fuck was that about?" it escapes your mouth before you even think, polly turns to you "that poor girl"

"in a place like this , ya either put yer fucking foot down and let everyone know what yer place is before they decide for themselves." her voice is stern, its firm and it makes you stand straighter "an' that poor girl wants to fuck yer fiancée"

"what?" your voice is squeaky, its high pitched. "how could you possibly know that?"

"anyone with eyes can fuckin' see that."

"i.." your words die when you look at her and you realize, she's helping you. "why are ya doin' this for me?"

"i know ya might not had the control that ya wanted over who yer husband is" her tone doesn't change when she speaks "so i'll give ya one piece of advice, ya can't marry tommy if ya don't 'ave a backbone. it'll be easier for ya to kill yerself than to live with 'im."

you know polly, but not well. she and your father knew eachother as children , your father is part gypsy himself. you remember meeting her a handful of times as a child but you were always too scared to talk to her for very long.

ironically, your mother didn't like the lifestyle her nephews led, she didn't want her children to be involved in it so you didn't get to see polly much throughout your life.

but you do remember one thing vividly and its her telling you to bite your brother back whenever he bothered you "or ya'll just show 'im that he can treat ya like that for the rest of yer life, ya dont want that now do ya?" . and you did do just that when abraham tugged on your braids a mere 10 minutes later, and polly winked at you , as she sipped her tea and you just stood there smiling proudly even though your mother was yelling at you for making your brother cry.

when you hear another pair of steps walking towards you, you both turn to see tommy. he's in his usual getup sans the jacket, a cigarette hanging from his lip and his glasses are on , his hands in his pocket.

"are ya done terrorizin' my secretary?"

polly just looks at him and walks past him "i'll leave ya two to it then."

and you were left there with him, blinking at that interaction.

"terrorizin' ? thats a bit of an exaggeration"

@tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction #kadwrites

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bruisedboys · 3 months

Note

please write for tmr!thomas i beg of you

tmr!thomas x reader | established relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort, 1k words (set in the scorch trials!)

you, thomas and your friends find sanctuary from the scorch with the right arm. unfortunately, they don’t provide any sanctuary from nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

Thomas feels you shift under his arm. You’re curled into his side, arm slung over his chest and thigh pressed to his. He hums.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he murmurs back. “What’s up?”

He feels your hand glide across his stomach and your fingers curl around his hip. It makes him shiver.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Just thinking.”

Thomas huffs. Typical you, keeping yourself awake for no good reason. “Stop thinking and go to sleep then, sweetheart. You need rest.”

You muffle a giggle in his shirt. It warms his chest all the way through. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re keeping me up,” Thomas says back, only half serious. “Go to sleep.”

Eventually you do as he says. These days Thomas always always has waits for you to fall asleep first before letting himself drift off. It makes him feel better about himself. He does everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and healthy and happy, but it’s hard when you’re on your own in a sick world, running from a government organisation that wants you for your blood.

The Scorch has been unforgiving, but you’ve braved through like you always do, never once complaining, always making sure the rest of the group are okay. Thomas thinks someone as lovely as you doesn’t deserve to live in a world like this. It’s half the reason he’s as determined as he is the find somewhere safe.

Well, you’ve found sanctuary for now, at least, with the Right Arm. You and Thomas are sharing a tent with the rest of the group — Minho, Newt, Frypan — none of whom seem to be willing to seperate from each other, despite the spare tents the Right Arm offers. It speaks volumes about where the real safety net is.

Eventually Thomas falls asleep too. He’s not sure how long he sleeps until he’s woken by you. You don’t mean to wake him, he thinks, but he’s a bad sleeper at the best of times, and he’s got a sixth sense for this kind of thing, anyway.

He blinks his eyes open sluggishly. It’s dark, but the campfire still flickers outside the tent, so he can just make out your figure. You’re sitting up straight, stiff as a board. Panic slices through his heart like a cold knife.

“Y/N?” He murmurs. He finds your thigh under the sleeping bag you’re sharing and braces his hand on it to help him sit up. “Baby, are you okay?”

Thomas’ eyes slowly adjust to the light until he realises, with a pang in his chest, that you’re crying. Thankfully, you don’t seem to be in any immediate danger. Everyone else is still fast asleep, and everything’s quiet outside the tent. Still, he doesn’t like the way your shoulders are shaking.

“Sorry,” you gasp. You’re holding your face in two clammy hands, fingers cruel where you scrub at your tears. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just—“

“Bad dream?” Thomas asks gently. He can guess well enough. He’s had his fair share, and while he’s not an expert on the human mind or anything, he can see that you’re pretty shaken up.

You nod. Tears splash down your front. “Yeah,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

Thomas frowns at you as he brings his hand to your shoulder.

“Stop apologising,” he says, squeezing you gently. His drags his thumb across your collarbone, soothing. He doesnt want to think about what you’d’ve done if he hadn’t woken up. Would you have suffered all by yourself? The thought alone feels like a bullet to his heart. “It’s okay, babe, really. Can I give you a hug?”

You nod viciously. Thomas makes a pitying sound from deep in his chest and wraps you up in a hug, sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to encourage your head over his shoulder. You’re shaking like a leaf, your cheek damp and warm where it presses to his neck.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs to you. It’s all he can say, really. He can’t tell you it wasn’t real, because the chances that you had dreamed about something very real, and equally horrifying, are high. He strokes your hair, feeling a little useless but a lot sorry. “I’ve got you.”

Somebody stirs across the tent. Thomas watches over your shoulder as that somebody sits up.

“Thomas?” It’s Newt. His voice is raspy with sleep but he sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Thomas feels something akin to a rush of gratitude for his empathetic friend. If anything was ever to happen to Thomas, he at least knows for certain Newt would take care of you.

“Yeah, Newt,” he says. “Everything’s fine. We’re good. Just a nightmare, I’ve got it.”

Newt hums and his lanky figure drops back to the tent floor. Meanwhile you’re sniffling over Thomas’ shoulder, your hands screwed into the back of his shirt.

Thomas can’t be sure if Newt’s still awake, but he doesn’t really care if his friend hears him or not. He’s past being embarrassed about how much he cares for you. Thomas draws back and takes your face in his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks you.

“Not really,” you whisper back. Your anguished tone breaks Thomas’ heart clean in two.

“Okay. That’s alright,” Thomas tells you, as kind as he can when he’s up to his ears with worry. He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, rubbing away your hot tears. He gives you a reassuring smile. “Do you want some water?”

You nod. Thomas reaches behind him to pull his metal flask from a meagre pile of supplies. He unscrews the lid and encourages the bottle into your hands.

“Here, babe,” he says softly. “It’ll help.”

He steadies your shaking hands with his own and helps you have a few gulps of water. When he returns the bottle to it’s place you’ve calmed significantly. Your cheeks are still damp and sticky but your tears have ebbed, at least.

Thomas smiles at you. He’s sure he looks sick with concern but he tries not to let it show, thumbing your cheek with as much tenderness as he can manage. “Let’s lie down, yeah? C’mon, sweetheart.”

He tugs you down with him. You slump onto his chest and push your hand under his shirt. You’re really warm, but it gives him goosebumps anyway.

“You’re safe with me,” he promises. It’s a promise he doesn’t plan on breaking, ever. He rubs your back. Big, rough sweeps that have you going lax in his arms almost instantaneously. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I promise.”

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, and feel free to send more reqs for thomas!

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zhongrin · 1 year

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cium aku dong?

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, wanderer, cyno, al haitham, tighnari, xiao, ayato, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, kaveh, thoma, dottore, pantalone

◇ tags ◇ fluff, domestic, established relationship, kisses. LOTS of kisses (duh), slight angst (kaeya i'm so sorry), slight suggestiveness on some, slight possessiveness on some

◇ a/n ◇ [en] “kiss me please?” aka the ways they ask for a kiss <3 uh? what... what do you mean i clearly have favorites? i-i don't..... *nervous sweating* ANYWAY. merry xmas yall!! we all deserve fluff this holiday season so enjoy <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

“can i have my special tea?”

“darling, may i?”

zhongli is a natural at pulling you in for a kiss; most of the time he doesn’t expect you to kiss back, but he would be over the moon if you do.

you’re passing each other in the hallway of your house? he just leans towards you to place a fleeting kiss on your shoulder. you’re doing something and he passes behind you? he leans over to place a kiss on the top of your head and goes off his way. you sit beside him and plop your head on his shoulder? he smiles and scratches your scalp and places a sweet kiss on your forehead.

unfortunately (for you), on some occasions when he’s feeling a little playful, he might become a little tease; kissing you everywhere but your lips until you protest. to which he’ll chuckle fondly before finally giving in, pressing a soft fleeting kiss that promises you more when the curtains close for the day.

“kiss meeeeeeeee!!!!”

“[name]…. who was that person....?”

childe is a master of surprise kisses! he makes use of his skill to erase his presence to sneak up on you when you’re relaxing, before suddenly tackling you into a hug and kissing you all over your face.

when he’s in the mood for kisses, he becomes a ravenous kissing monster who can only be satiated after at least fifty proper kisses. or perhaps a few rounds of long, drawn-out make-out sessions.

just don’t deny him of his kisses because then he’ll brood and it’ll be his poor subordinates who get the burnt of his frustration. and if you get gifts on your doorstep with a recruit insignia badge, you probably should storm your boyfriend’s office before he actually kills someone.

“what? what’s that look for? heh, if you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked. i~diot.” *cue the heart-piercing, soul-ascending blep*

“hey. come here.”

wanderer is either endlessly taunting you for the whole day, or being very blunt (while blushing furiously) as he motions you to come over. there’s no in-between.

you either kiss him, which will result in a smug smirk and perhaps a haughty ‘hmph, knew you can’t get enough of me’. or you just don’t… which means you’ve indirectly signed an agreement for him to be a total brat™️ for the day until he’s satisfied.

ohhh how unfortunate, your favorite scarf is blown away by the wind. ooooh, seems like it’s raining and there’s no shelter, too bad you don’t have a hat that can function as an umbrella. ooooo, what’s that? you want a hug?

ha.

in. your. dreams.

and yet when you kiss him he melts into you within 0.001 seconds.

“[name], did you know? sloths never kiss on the first date…… they take it slow.”

“can i… hold you? just for a bit?”

when the kiss puns start to drop left right and center, you know it’s cyno’s way to ask for a kiss.

... the man uses his jokes to get people to be less way of them instead of saying it out loud, what did you expect?

he might not realize it, but he stares at you especially hard on these occasions. if it were others, they would have feared for your life, but you know this is cyno’s version of the infamous wet puppy eyes. personally, you think it’s very adorable because it’s so very him, so you can’t help but pretend you don't understand just to tease him more.

the population thinks you must be some kind of a beast tamer in your past life, seeing as how the general mahamatra always faithfully follows behind you and always back down as soon as your touch descends upon him.

“you’re here. come sit. now kiss me.”

“i need to kiss you so you can testify to kaveh that i am, in fact, not an amateur when it comes to kissing. it would also be good if you can rate your satisfaction on a scale of one to ten- [name], where are you going?”

at the early stages of your relationship, al haitham isn't as insufferable; he takes what he gets, and he’s taking the time to get used to the idea of how he practically has the right to kiss you now.

but when that realization fully, truly sinks in?

oh boy.

he’ll be blunt, straight to the point, and unashamed. he might be blushing the first few times when he asked for your permission for a kiss. but seeing how much you got into it, hearing the breathless way you whisper his name, and witnessing the dopey smile after he’s done with you…

aha. eureka. it appears his expertise extends to kissing too. but of course, he is, as the youngsters these days say, ‘built different’, after all.

so why would he shy away from the activity?

now come kiss him.

“did you know that fennec foxes go through withdrawals when they don’t receive at least ten kisses per day? it’s true, i have conducted extensive research on it. with me as the research subject, of course, so i know the result is 99.99% reliable.”

“there, i gave you headpats. now will you give me kisses?”

always so dramatic and sassy. tighnari loves seeing the embarrassed look that crosses your face and the adorable giggles that escapes you whenever he tries to initiate the activity.

the fox hybrid likes to pat your head and lean forward so you can press a thank you kiss to his face. he doesn’t even mind where your kiss will land.

nose? kinda ticklish, but that’s very cute of you. cheek? adorable, why thank you. lips? hmmm… do that again.

“……….. what? i-i wasn’t staring!”

“[name], just a moment…. stay still.”

please just save xiao the embarrassment and kiss him regularly.

although your boyfriend might not look like he enjoys affection, he actually does. he’s just… not used to it and has no idea how to react, much less initiate physical affection. it’s something that he needs a lot of time to get used to, especially with his condition and background.

your protector yaksha is always so gentle when he asks for your loving touches - and most of the time he doesn’t even dare to ask - but the signs are there. you’ll really have to squint your eyes and tilt your head and maybe do a handstand before you realize ‘oh he wants a kiss’.

just. cuddle and kiss him darn it.

“my, what a fine morning, don’t you agree, sweetheart? it would be even more perfect if i had a morning kiss from my lovely partner, don’t you think?”

“there you are. lock the door for me, darling. now, why don't you make yourself comfortable?”

teasing words here and there, his hand touching your arm more than usual, him stopping when you pass each other in the hallway to make some insignificant small talk even though he’s clearly hurrying to a meeting…

yeah, your overworked man is in dire need of some loving.

if you give in and pull ayato for a quick kiss, he will skip over to his next appointment with a permanent smile. once again, you’ve saved the day of everyone in kamisato estate. great work, you! pat yourself on the back because you deserved it!

but continue to ignore him and you might find yourself being called to his office just to sit on his lap for hours (which, trust me, it gets boring after a while) without kisses or any sort of affection whatsoever... so pick your actions carefully.

“i know i should be working. but i wanted to… take a break.”

“love, your lips… n-no. it's just that. um. they look dry. here, use my chapstick.”

diluc? taking a break from work??

that diluc???

either he is very sick, or he is very much starved for your love. kindly think back on your day and check when was the last time you gave him a proper kiss, please.

what's that? you gave him a forehead kiss this morning to wake him up? oh. i’m sorry to say this but that’s just not enough. how dare you starve this man for four hours with no kisses. no wonder he’s unable to focus on his documents. please fulfill his lovesick daydream by barging into his office and distracting him from work with your wonderful, soft lips….

... please?

“work? mmm…. unfortunately my battery is near-empty… o kind, beautiful soul, would you help this poor man back to his feet?”

“hello my love, i came by because your lips look lonely.”

kaeya is very obviously a teasing flirt when he’s needy or bored. mostly he adores the embarrassed look on your face; he thinks it's very adorable and endearing. it's a sight he wishes to treasure and forever imprint in his mind, to peruse when doubt and darker thoughts attack him at night.

but let me tell you a secret.

yank his stupid coat and pull him into a kiss before he can use that sultry voice to tease you. kabedon him when you have the chance to, while you’re at it. watch the cavalry captain become putty in your hands. you’re welcome <3

“my dove, would you be so kind to quench this wandering man’s thirst for your sweet kisses?”

“it’s rather windy today… there you go, all set. ah, it's okay, i'm not cold. oh, i forgot. just one more thing- *kiss*…. hehe, i can see that you’re warming up already.”

longing looks and poetic words. kazuha kisses you like it’s a stray wind brushing gently on your lips, light and dreamy and leaving you wanting for more. his ruby eyes will droop with affection as you whine and pull him back for more contact. well, who is he to reject your generous invitation?

soon enough one peck becomes two, two becomes three, and then it turns into a soft makeout session and- oh is that beidou yelling at you both to get a room? haha, it seems like it’s time to change locations…

“[name] look, i finished the blueprint for our dream house! huh? oh, yeah this is the… what, fifth blueprint? well, i can’t help it! we should have at least seven houses in all seven nations- eh? t-the mora? uhhhhh…”

“i need… i need inspiration… my muse… i need my muse…”

you know it’s bad bad when kaveh trudges onto your side like a zombie that’s been out running after people’s brains for far too long.

he slumps onto you completely (good luck supporting a claymore user) and basks in your presence, arms wound tight on your middle section. it seems like you’ve deprived him of kisses for far too long. he’ll recover faster if you hug him back and run your fingers through his silky locks. when he pulls back slightly to pout at you, and you place a sweet kiss on his lips, it’s like you’ve flipped a switch.

the legendary architect's eyes widen and his downturned lips flip upside down. he kisses you back with vigor and runs back to his drawing room shouting about some new calculations and other kind of materials he could use. what a dork.

“[name]….” *insert the most adorable, heart-wrenching, chest-squeezing, wet puppy eyes here*

“i’ll be going now. have a good day, okay? i love you!”

like a faithful shiba inu, thoma beams and stares at you expectantly near the front door of your shared residence, waiting for that kiss you never fail to give him every single time he’s about to head out to work in the mornings.

will you ignore him and risk getting ayaka to visit you because ‘thoma seems very sad and distracted today, did you have a fight? why don’t you talk it out, i know you both treasure each other', or will you be an angel and make him start his day with the loveliest gift you can bestow your loyal lover?

“based on the monitoring data of your hormones over the past few hours, it seems that you’re in need of kisses. what? me, lying? making up facts? listen to me. who’s the doctor in this relationship?”

“it appears another segment of mine has been granted the privilege of a kiss, so i demand equal treatment.”

sure, doc. hormones screaming for a kiss. will experience lethargy for the rest of the day if not fulfilled. immediate treatment is preferred as he does not want to be stuck with a grumpy, needy lover for the rest of the day, blah blah blah-

look. i'll translate for you.

he wants a kiss. dottore wants a kiss. just give the mad doctor a kiss.

huh? which segment do you give a kiss to?

….. it seems like all of them want a kiss. you know, just to be fair.

good luck.

“good day, darling. i see that you’re wearing the necklace i bought you yesterday. you look ravishing indeed.”

“come here, love. i won’t ask twice.”

with every compliment directed your way and with every piece of new jewels added to your collections, pantalone expects you to give back some sort of affection. naturally. everything is a give-and-take, no? he provides you with all the luxuries and convenience a normal civilian can only dream of, and you provide him with what he asks for.

he’s not even asking for much - just don’t look at other men, focus on him and his needs, and pull him into a kiss every fifteen minutes. it's not hard of a task at all. surely you can fulfill it? otherwise, perhaps some disciplinary sessions are in order...

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xiao-come-home · 1 year

Text

How Genshin men wake up with you;

and spend their morning with you.

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

✰ Characters: Kaeya, Diluc, Zhongli, Xiao, Itto, Ayato, Kazuha, Dainsleif, Alhaitham.

✰ Words: ~3,5k.

✰ SFW ; gn!reader, no mentions of pronouns. fluff.

Warnings: a lot of physical touch and kisses, reader is implied to have hair, ayato is a bit sus, kazu deserves the world, alhaitham makes kavehs life a bit difficult by choice. msg me to add more.

A/N: this is a sequel to How Genshin men sleep with you post, with two new characters added cuz it was fun to write :') a lot of alhaitham's morning routine is assumed because usually, id try to base it off canon, so yeah ;3;

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Kamisato Ayato:

as the Yashiro commissioner, he has to wake up pretty early. but... there's only one problem - Ayato hates it with passion. poor Thoma used to shake him awake every 15 minutes, at least three times. ayato would just swat his hands away, press his face into the pillow and sigh loudly, promising Thoma to get up in a few minutes. (he didn't)

now that you're living with your boyfriend, you share the same bed. which means a few things - he clings to you the entire night, your limbs are tangled together in the morning, and now you're the one in charge of getting him out of bed (Thoma almost cried in happiness). he annoyingly turns off the screaming alarm and snuggles back into you.

he has a habit of, quite literally - squishing his cheek against yours as he lies next to you. he also likes to nuzzle into your neck and grip you like a monkey that found the last banana in its vicinity. he hums at you and lies down with his eyes closed if you ask him questions or say anything. you can tell by the tone he hums with whether he agrees on something or not, but generally, that keeps him enough busy not to fall asleep again.

i can't stress this enough, he's ALL over you. if he's in his "cheek-against-cheek" mode, he literally cradles your other one with his palm. if his face is in your neck and you lie on your back, his fingers are intertwined with yours. the more awake he is, the more kisses are being placed by his lips.

he definitely requests breakfast in bed. at this point he's cuddled enough, so now he wants to feed you. literally. he picks up the food skillfully with his favorite chopsticks and carefully brings it to your mouth, "open up my love," he speaks in his usual, soft-spoken tone, but it's clear his morning voice is still there. "that's it, you're so good for me. is it good? would you like some more?" hmm..

just so you know: he wants you to feed him too and will pout and threaten (playfully) to go back to sleep if you don't. since he likes to sleep more, there aren't many activities you share in the morning; as a result, he cherishes the morning snuggle and sharing your first meal together a lot. Ayato is always curious to hear about your upcoming plans for the day - but he won't say no to lighthearted conversations either. he just really wants to hear your voice.

Arataki Itto:

listen. he either sleeps until 6am or 1pm. there's no in-between, sometimes he stays up all night or falls asleep on your lap on the couch as soon as he comes back home. no, he won't move.

it's hard to say whether he's a morning person - but probably not; he whines a lot into your hair when he has to wake up early and hasn't rested enough, babbling how dark it is outside and that you're too warm to let go of.

speaking of, he holds onto you in the mornings like his life depends on it - you have to work? no, no, no - just stay for a while longer, while he smushes your face right into his... um, prominent chest. you feel the warmth of his bare skin, his chin on top of your head, his large hands drawing invisible patterns of stars, clouds, or hearts under your pajama t-shirt; he sneaks a few kisses on your hair, humming in contentment when he feels you hug him back with your arm over his own hip.

he's totally willing to make you a nice meal before work though, and wake up earlier in the process. most of the time it ends up in absolute disaster and him taking twice as much time to clean it up. but... if you decide to make breakfast together, itto can actually cook up a nice meal (with "a little of your help"). while the preparations are done and the meal is almost ready to be served, the oni hugs you from behind and sways a little from side to side, nuzzling into your neck drowsily and trying not to drool on you.

generally, he's very touchy after waking up (as you can probably guess by now), so he wants to accompany you everywhere before you have to leave. he'll cuddle you before leaving the sheets, link your pinkies when you wait for the water to boil, go showering together, have his hand on your thigh if you do your makeup, attempt to help you with your makeup which might end up in very interesting results, and trying to mischievously steal some kisses just as you're about to leave.

Itto's hands cup your cheeks gently and he flashes you a boyish smirk; he leans in and connects your lips, purring as some of his unruly hair falls onto your shoulders. he always claims he "just wants to give his little sunshine a good luck kiss for the day," but in reality, he just wants to feel you real good before you depart for today. also, he really likes flavored lip glosses, and you keep buying them, so it's not his fault for giving in to your "devilish temptations"

Kaeya:

the bed is an absolute mess. the pillows are everywhere, his part of the duvet is barely covering him from the stomach down, and probably, he has one of his arms on your face.

it takes a while for him to fully wake up; once he opens his eyes just barely enough to see, he scans the room to make sure you're near him - and then he either gets up or decides to snuggle up to you, kiss your temple and go back to sleep for a bit more.

if it's a work day, he uses all his willpower (read: 30 alarms) to wake up earlier and just admire you. he likes to big spoon you and have his arm over your hip, gently grazing your hand with the pads of his fingers; Kaeya just can't get enough of the smell of your shampoo, of your warmth, of your presence.

before properly getting out of bed, he hovers above your sleeping form - it gives him butterflies to see you so peaceful; therefore, he always bends down and places a few butterfly kisses on your cheek with his pretty lashes. he chuckles lightly when he sees you stir in your sleep because of the interaction, so he gives your cheek a proper kiss and (unwillingly) leaves the warm bed.

just so you know - he WILL attempt to get in your pants if he has a day off. Kaeya's hands start to wander automatically as he kisses you awake (or at least attempts to), and if he feels like a little shiet enough - he might place his cold feet on your legs to help you wake up and have some fun! :)

you might need reinforcements if he doesn't wanna get up in winter when it's cold. Kaeya clings to the duvet like he's about to meet the grim reaper himself.

Diluc:

he has a routine that he strictly follows - but at the same time, he's an expert at being quiet and letting you sleep. he takes his time getting dressed up though - he can't help but cheat a bit and watch you snore.

even if it's his day off, he still wakes up earlier than you. but there's a catch - he then leaves your shared bed for a moment to greet his maids and order them to make you a mix of your and his favorites for breakfast. he doesn't want to wake you up, but he really wants to talk with you again - so he might do that with that precious scent of freshly prepared food..

an absolute sucker for playing with your hair in the morning. he runs his fingers through your hair in the gentlest way possible, shifting closer to you and pressing a sweet, warm kiss on your forehead that he lets to linger for a bit longer.

likewise, when you play with his hair to wake HIM up - he might just feel his heart explode and shed a few happy tears. he's never believed there will be a day he meets an angel like you, even more so that graces him with such affection, sincere affection that makes your eyes sparkle.

Diluc leaves you his t-shirt he sleeps in just before going to Angel's Share - it smells like his body wash with a little bit of his natural scent. He usually takes it off in the middle of the night anyway, finding himself to feel a bit too hot for his liking.

Either way, you love cuddling with it. He's not there physically, but it's a reminder that he made it safely and spent the remaining hours of the night next to you.

Zhongli:

he also has his own routine! he wakes up as soon as the sun begins to rise, quietly walking to the kitchen and carefully making a cup of tea for himself. he drinks his tea slowly, shuddering at the taste; his taste buds overflown with the right combination of spices. he finishes his drink just in the right time - it's time to wake you up now.

Zhongli sits on the bed and brushes some of your hair behind your ear; he kisses your forehead and begins to mumble good morning to you. He smiles at you and caresses your cheek with his thumb when he sees you trying to convince him to get just 5 more minutes.

while you finally get up and groggily change your clothes, he goes to prepare your favorite drink, be it tea, coffee, or anything else. he likes to put some mild spices in it to make your usual drink feel a bit more special and surprising. if you can't handle spices, that's fine! instead, he can give you a small snack :)

he really, really wants to brush your hair and vice versa. it's probably one of his favorite morning activities. he's trying his best not to pull your hair and if he does, he places an apologetic kiss on the crown of your hair. he'd be even happier if you let him style your hair, going to the garden or a flower shop nearby and decorating it with small flowers.

but... if you persuade him to get back to bed, he'll oblige. though, in return, you can't fall back asleep - he keeps you awake by asking you if you had any dreams or nightmares, to tell him about them, or what you'd like to eat.

he asks you to do his makeup! Zhongli's perfectly able to do it himself, but he loves seeing how focused you are on the given task, the corners of his lips going up when he hears you curse under your breath, trying to suppress his laugh.

Xiao:

a morning bird (ha!) just like Zhongli, but he has no routine... unless killing demons counts as one. considering this, he usually isn't around when you wake up :( (not that he sleeps anyway.. 90% of the time.)

however, all it takes to make him appear is to call his name - Xiao never misses it and always prioritizes you first. he might roll his eyes if you call him "just" to lie in bed with you. but it's fine - he "berates" you (not really) while almost spooning you.

there are some rare mornings shared together with Xiao, though; he says he has to watch you to keep you safe and hopes that you won't question the excuse any further, but you know it's something else. After all, his hands covering the rosy cheeks seem to give everything away.

in reality, Xiao's cold heart gets well-deserved warmth whenever he sees you sleep. of course he still wants to protect you, but realizing how much trust you have in him to fall asleep without second thoughts is more than anything he could ever want. he smiles, eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly when he pecks your face all over; his kisses are quick and chaste. even though you can't really feel this now, you know his lips leave a tingling sensation.

he lets you sleep a bit longer on his bare hand and doesn't care if it falls asleep. he's so mesmerized by your faith in him that he just does not care. even as simple as it sounds.

when the tiredness gets the best of him, the next morning you find him breathing steadily next to you. you don't wake him up though, probably because as soon as you'd do that, he's gone off to fight the evil. give him a blanket and prepare a plate of almond tofu - the disbelief on his face quickly turns into adoration, accepting the meal and savoring every bite. after he's done, he kisses your knuckles and whispers "I love you" against your skin.

Kaedehara Kazuha:

yet another person who wakes up extremely early. he opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to get used to the light; his crimson orbs scan the environment, and his face lights up when there's no danger around. he stretches his arms to shake off the remains of sleepiness and presses a good morning kiss on your shoulder.

he later decides to hunt or fish for fresh meat - depends on what you like more, but he'd be overjoyed if you let him do his signature dish! he doesn't go far, just enough to still keep an eye on you. don't worry - he's also prepared if you don't eat meat at all! he's more than happy to learn recipes to accommodate and just to simply make you smile more.

he starts a small fire nearby your sleeping form, the distance is enough to make you feel warm, but not enough to possibly hurt you. the crackling of fire wakes you up, along with the delicious smell of Kazuha's cooking. when he notices you slowly awakening, his mouth curves into a smile; he shifts next to you and kisses your nose.

he's trying to fight the grin creeping on his face every time you enjoy his food. really, that's why he does that every time you're traveling together. also, by this point - he still has a massive bed hair. please brush his hair in return. and braid it too - he'll touch the finished piece with a blush on his face and shyly thank you for being so kind to him.

also! he trusts you a lot and lets you change his bandage every morning. particular spots hurt more than the others and Kazu tries not to show his pain; but seeing how much care you're putting into it, disinfecting it, and kissing the pain away when he winces - the love stored in his heart makes the relief appear faster.

he ALWAYS makes sure you're all warm and comfy, especially in winter. Kazu covers you entirely with a thick blanket from his bag, the sole item in it during your shared travels. he's also willing to stay cuddled up together for a bit longer when he notices the snowfall outside. his warm breath fans over your neck as his arm over your waist tightens and brings you closer to him.

Dainsleif:

again, another morning person - but slightly less by choice. as soon as Dainsleif shoots open his eyes, he tries to calm down his racing heart; he lets out a sigh of relief when his indigo eyes notice you sound asleep.

he smiles shyly at your intertwined hands. he brings them closer to his face, pressing a sweet kiss on each of your knuckles, careful not to wake you up and give you a bit more time to rest.

even though you've expressed multiple times that you hate it - Dain can't stop guarding you right after awakening himself. He won't get back to sleep no matter what, keeping an eye out on the possible danger. He's aware that you don't like it - but he can't let anything happen to you, not even a scratch if he's nearby. You're everything he has left. He's lost everything else and despite being aware of the strength that gods possess, he's willing to cross blades with them if it meant extending your life more in return.

he always shifts your resting body on his - sometimes just your head on his lap so you can sleep a bit more comfortably, or entirely, so he keeps you secure between his legs, using his chest as a pillow and having his arms wrapped around you tightly.

"Good morning, my star. How was your sleep? Did you have any pleasant dreams?" is his daily mantra he says when he sees you arise. Next, Dain caresses your lips with his own in a tender kiss. if you decide that you feel cheesy that morning, answer something along these lines: "it seems like I haven't awoken from my pleasant dream yet." his cheeks will flush cherry red, hand flying to cover the blush immediately; even if you can't see it, you know it worked. it always does.

Dainsleif might not be kazuha-tier when it comes to cooking, so he prefers to take you to various taverns for your first meal if it's possible (yes, he's in mom-mode when it comes to breakfast and won't stop until you eat, because "breakfast must not be skipped. it's the most important meal!"). however, when that option isn't available, he prepares you a meal himself. some recipes are long forgotten, they taste like nothing else you've eaten before - they taste bizarre at first, but later on dain finally hits the jackpot and discovers your favorite. while your stomach gets filled with khaenri'ahn delicacies, his chest almost suffocates with the warmth and he watches you with twinkling eyes and the most tender smile.

Alhaitham:

this man. he ZOOMS out of bed as soon as the alarm rings. immediately puts on half of his clothes. when he's about to leave the room... he comes back near the bed, gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, and then moves to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee and your favorite drink.

he really wants to avoid Kaveh. he will NOT deal with him in the morning, nuh uh. unless he can make his day a bit worse than Kaveh anticipates...

either way, he lets you sleep 20 more minutes. the exact moment the clock on his wall hits 7:20am, he returns to your shared room and gently shakes you to wake you up. if you don't comply, he just takes you bridal style to the kitchen and sits you on his lap, regardless of whether you still sleep.

he loves pressing you tightly to his chest, inhaling the fresh scent of your laundry detergent and your own, natural one; he hides his face in your neck, closing his eyes. his lips connect with your neck and leave a trail of kisses, while his defined arm tightens around your waist. perhaps that will wake you up?

hearing Kaveh entering the kitchen and greeting you (and mumbling something to him too, but clearly not genuine) he looks at him with a slight annoyance. Kaveh merely lets out a "hmph" sound, clearly unaware of what Alhaitham is about to do. the scribe locks eyes with him shortly before going back to kissing your neck, but this time marking you; the obscene noises cause you to immediately awaken if you haven't, and Kaveh storming out of the room with a blush, muttering curses under his breath. Alhaitham only chuckles as you turn your head to face him, "good morning, love. you've finally woken up. we have to leave soon, so hurry up and drink it before it gets cold like last time."

on his day off, his day starts similarly - he wakes up a bit later though, but still needs his morning coffee. with the steaming drink on his nightstand, he joins you back below the cozy sheets, sitting down with his back against the headboard. he glances at you one last time and kisses your lips ever so slightly, the touch so tender that you barely register it; then, his eyes are glued to the book in hand he's been reading for a few days. if you wish, he'll gladly have you between his legs and let you snore on his chest - you don't even have to say a thing - he automatically rises his arm and waits for you to move without moving his eyes from the book. once you've settled comfortably, he pulls up the duvet and puts his chin on your head (and occasionally rubs your back gently, but denies it. even if you catch him. every time).

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