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lemurzsquad · 7 months

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Hand Sanitizer

Pairing: Sakusa x gn!reader (platonic or romantic, up to interpretation)

Summary: You and Sakusa hate each other with a passion, and it's almost always a disagreement over hand sanitizer. So when you leave to wash your hands and don't come back, Sakusa learns why exactly you avoid using it so adamantly.

A/N: Okay so this fic. Hooooo boy. This fic. I've been wanting to write it for a while and finally have. It started as a "Reasons why I'm pretty sure Sakusa would hate me irl" and turned into this.

So I have a skin condition known as aquagenic wrinkling of the palms (or AWP), which affects my hands when they come in contact with water, which is what this fic is about. I never hear about this condition anywhere, and it's very lonely sometimes, and there's no real treatment for it (from what I've seen). So this is essentially a vent where I take my skin condition seriously for once instead of just making water allergy jokes to cope lol

(More info about AWP here)

Word count: 3898

cw: skin condition (non-graphic descriptions and discussion) (AWP - please read above), hurt/comfort, angst, crying, enemies to friends...?, emotionally constipated apologies from Sakusa, hand sanitizer is evil /j, vent, not proofread because I just wanted to get this done and posted to do literally anything else, (please lmk if I should tag anything else)

(Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, and everything written here is purely from my own experiences and observations. If you would like to learn more, please do your own research; this is not designed to be informative. It's purely for myself and for awareness.)

You and Sakusa had never gotten along.

You were certain you knew when it started, having been completely oblivious of one another up until that point.

It was when you were both first years in high school, and there happened to be a lizard in the classroom. You, upon seeing it, immediately proceeded to pick it up and ask the teacher to let you put it outside, to which they agreed.

You came back to the classroom, dusting off your hands, when a curly-haired boy took it upon himself to comment, “Go use some hand sanitizer, would you?”

You squinted at him, partly confused as to why he was talking to you and how you had never noticed he sat there before. “No thanks,” you answered, “I'd rather just wash my hands.”

“I don't think just washing your hands would be enough,” he rebutted with a sharp look behind his bangs. “You probably don't even know how to properly wash your hands.”

“Well, too bad! I'm not using hand sanitizer!” You were starting to get annoyed, crossing your arms.

Somehow, that seemed to make him even more disgusted, possibly at the thought that you were spreading whatever it was on your hands onto your clothes now, too.

The two of you threw jabs back and forth until the teacher separated you, which you were both happy to oblige. The animosity between you never seemed to quite dissipate even as the year went on and you became second years. You almost felt bad for the misunderstanding, knowing it was entirely your own fault, but how were you supposed to explain to this random kid that you couldn't use hand sanitizer even if you wanted to? At least, in your head you couldn't.

At some point, you and Sakusa became something of enemies within your class—renowned ones, at that. People would often ask the both of you why you hated each other so much, but your answers were vague at best.

“He's just so pretentious,” you said once.

“They're just so obstinate,” he said once.

And thus, an impasse stretched between you. You hadn't even learned his name until months after your first encounter, too bitter to really care.

Despite the efforts you both went through to avoid being within the presence of the other, you somehow still ended up nearby. Maybe it was your teachers attempting to make you get along—maybe it was the universe laughing in your face.

Throughout that entire time, you still faithfully avoided hand sanitizer like the plague. The one time the nearest bathroom was out of order for a little while and you couldn't wash your hands, you used as little of the accursed substance as you could. Whatever microscopically thin layer that coated your hands there was, you shook it off almost violently, simultaneously disgusted by the feeling of something on your skin and afraid of what it might do.

The disapproving look Sakusa gave you when he saw that was palpable.

At some point, you hated each other mostly out of principle. You'd both kept it up this long—it would be weird to suddenly just let it go since your flimsy justifications seemed enough until now. To admit that you were being unreasonable would be worse than getting along, you separately reasoned.

So when you were paired up for a project, you couldn't help but grimace. Sakusa was the first to go up to the teacher about it.

“I can't work with them,” you heard him say. For once, you agreed with him.

The teacher, however, dismissed his concerns with a wave, saying, “In life, you don't get to pick who you work with. Sometimes you'll have to try to put aside your differences to get your work done.”

It sounded stupid to you, like some half-hearted excuse so they wouldn't have to rearrange seating or partners. But it's not like you had any place to argue, so you resigned to just sucking it up.

Instead of working together, you both divvied up tasks as quickly as possible and did what you assigned yourselves—separately.

All was going well; you ignored each other and worked on the project silently. Despite other groups discussing their plans and the room being filled with chatter, your share corner was dead silent save the sound of pen on paper.

Which didn't last long when suddenly the tip of your pen snapped off. The now open ink tube spilled onto your hands, and when you tried to minimize the damage, it only got worse. By the time you dropped the pen onto your open notebook, raising your hands in surrender, they were absolutely coated in black splotches. A sense of defeat washed over you as you watched your words get covered and your paper stained in ebony.

Taking a moment to glance at your already ruined hands, you just resigned to picking up the pen and throwing it out. It was your favorite pen, which was unfortunate. It couldn't be helped, you told yourself.

Sakusa had noticed you flailing about your desk, silently judging you for the clumsy mess you made when you should have just thrown out the pen the second it broke to avoid the noir crime scene that now covered you and your area. He scowled knowing you would now have to redo whatever you had written for the project.

It was nearing the end of school, the class you were currently in being the final one of the day. You approached the teacher's table and asked if you could go wash your hands. They checked the clock to see about twenty minutes left before replying, “Make it quick.”

You walked past Sakusa's desk on your way to the door. He made the snide remark, “You could get the ink off really well with hand sanitizer.”

It took everything in you not to snap back at him, but you just hurried past, careful not to touch anything on the way out.

Sakusa knew he would never understand you. From the moment you met, you stubbornly refused what seemed to be basic courses of action. Touch something dirty? Use hand sanitizer. Eating? Wash your hands before and after to keep from touching anything.

The couple of times he had seen you wash your hands, it was very brief, and you seemed to avoid using the air dryer, opting for paper towels that were arguably undoing whatever progress you made in washing your hands.

At the same time, you avoided any task that would require you to touch dust or water. You always asked to sweep or clean windows, so much so that everyone just ended up giving you those tasks to get you to stop asking. If you did get something on your hands, you immediately wiped or shook it off, seemingly disgusted. You would even briefly run it under water just to dry it on your clothes so they weren't wet. It seemed there were things worse than water if you were willing to rinse them off.

But it was still that one avoidance that came between you: the hand sanitizer. It was practically the same as water, and it dried quickly. Even if it was comparable to washing your hands, it was still much more convenient in most scenarios. Yet you continued to adamantly refuse to ever use it. At some point you declared, “I would rather die,” when he had tried to squeeze some on your hand, earning him his wrist grabbed and pushed away.

He just didn't understand.

So when he found you sobbing in front of the stairs, opening your hands and clenching them closed into loose fists repeatedly, he was beyond confused.

You hadn't come back to class after leaving to wash the remnants of your broken pen, so the teacher decided it was your project partner, Sakusa, who should find you and return the belongings you left behind. He went over to your open notebook that remained just where you left it and noted the handful of words that were still visible.

Sakusa folded the cover over, enclosing the now dried puddle of ink. The remainder of your things he scooped into his arms, leaving the room once the halls had cleared a significant amount. As much as he wanted to just leave your things and go to volleyball practice, he figured it would end poorly.

Plus, what could possibly have kept you out of class for so long that you would have left everything behind? There was no way it had taken that long to get most of the ink off of your skin, so either you had just skipped the last bit of school or something happened. Since you hadn't taken your wallet with you with your IDs (he checked your bag when he put the notebook back inside, sure that it was completely dry), he reasoned it was probably the latter.

“Tsk.” They would have been able to get it off with hand sanitizer, he thought, brows furrowed. This is such a waste of time.

Sakusa wandered through the halls when he didn't find you by the bathrooms. He was starting to think it was a lost cause trying to return your bag; he even had to text his cousin to tell him why he would be late. It wasn't until he got to a particularly empty hallway did he hear something.

Quietly, in a dark alcove with a set of stairs leading up, a figure was huddled against a wall. Their tears were soft but anguished, stifled because it was in the environment of school. Sakusa had tried to ignore them until he realized it was you.

You held your palms up just past your knees that were pressed against your chest. You opened and closed your hands, a fresh cascade of tears painting your cheeks as you choked back a sob. You pressed—with more pressure than could have been painful—your thumb into the center of your other palm, nails digging into the back of your hand. You set your closed eyes on your knees with the hope that it might stop the water that leaked from them.

Sakusa, with great caution, approached your hunched figure. He didn't want to, he really didn't. You were the person he probably hated the most at his school, but somehow he knew he'd seem like an awful person if he didn't at least give your belongings to you directly—he wouldn't give you the satisfaction of another thing to hold over his head.

And yet those thoughts went to the back of his mind when he crouched down in front of you. His mask and curly hair obscured his focused expression as he tried to study your current state. The moment you seemed to hear him there, you held your breath and repressed your already quiet cries.

When Sakusa got close, you buried yourself further in to hide your face behind your knees and clenched your hands even more.

He frowned and something in his chest tightened. His brows furrowed deeper over his eyes and he huffed. He saw your nails digging into the skin on the backs of your hands.

“That's going to leave a mark if you keep doing that.” It came out more biting than he had meant it, but he was being serious.

It was then that you could no longer hold back your sobs, almost choking on your own tears. The grip you had of your hands softened and unlinked; instead, you lightly shook them apart from each other. Sakusa had to take a moment to process, but it almost seemed like there was something wrong with them.

He just wanted to get you to stop crying so he could give you your bag. As much as he hated the gesture, he asked, “What's wrong with your hands?”

You curled your lips in to bite down on them, fighting back hiccups. With your eyes tightly screwed shut, you upturned your palms.

The sight alone made Sakusa's eyebrows fly up in shock.

He didn't mean to, but he grabbed your wrist to get a better look. Ignoring the ink stains that faintly persisted, there were pale, patchy splotches in the center of your palm and on the side edges of your fingers; there were even some tiny pale rings on the periphery of the bigger splotches. But underneath that, the skin seemed as if it had soaked in water for hours or maybe even days. Not only were there dozens of deep crevice lines trailing from the tips of all of your fingers to their bases but the lines on your palms were more prominent, surrounded by profound, dense wrinkles that spanned the entire surface.

His eyes darted around your hand for a few moments just trying to comprehend what he was looking at. It looked unnatural—it looked painful. And when he met your gaze, he saw unidentifiable emotions flash across it. Was it shame? Regret? He couldn't be sure aside from the blood that seemed to drain from your face.

You tried to pull your hand away, but Sakusa wouldn't let go. His eyes never left yours, searching for some kind of answer. When he couldn't find it there, he asked, “What happened?” It was soft, calm, and even, enough to make you tear up a little again.

The second time you tugged, he released your wrist. You pushed your thumb into your palm again, looking away. Hiding your hands away in the space between your stomach and where your legs were still tucked against your torso, you sniffled a few times and tried to even out your breathing.

“I-It's normal… it just h-happens when I-I touch water…” You stuttered and mumbled between hiccups.

“That is not normal,” Sakusa said a little too quickly and curtly, realizing it probably would have made it seem like he was berating you.

With another sniffle, you said, “It's a– it's a skin condition.” You started to scratch your palms partly out of stress and partly out of the persistent stinging. “It reacts to water i-if I touch it for too long.”

His eyebrows knitted in concern. “Was that from washing your hands then?”

You gave a small nod, still avoiding his gaze. “I couldn't get the ink off and ended up w-washing them for too long…”

“You could have just used hand sanitizer,” he said genuinely. For the moment, he almost forgot he was supposed to hate you, more focused on being worried than anything.

Your answer was your head shaking rather fervently. “No, I can't.” You lowered to set your forehead against your knees again. “Well, actually, I don't know. I-It just scares me and I don't want to r-risk any more pain than I already have. I haven't h-had good experiences with it…”

“What did hand sanitizer ever do to you?” It came out snarkier than Sakusa had meant. He slowly lowered himself to sit with his legs crossed in front of you, your bag still next to him.

You let out a heavy breath. “I was a dumb kid in elementary,” you started. “I had an obsession with scented hand sanitizer for probably a few months. I used it multiple times a day, and even though I don't know for sure if it's related, my hands got worse after that year I think. Only after that did I finally go to the doctor to get it diagnosed after my mom did a ton of research. I agreed to avoid hand sanitizer from then on. I just don't want to risk being in more pain…”

You both went silent.

“Oh…” It was all that left Sakusa's lips. A sudden wave of guilt crashed into him. All of the times he had berated you for not using hand sanitizer and all of his snide, rude, annoyed remarks resurfaced in his conscience. He felt terrible. He felt bad. Someone was hurting and all he did was throw lighter fluid on their problems—for months—and it seemed there was finally a spark to set it all ablaze. The thought that he started it all made it worse.

“Stop with whatever weird look you have on your face.” You squinted at him and his downturned, scrunched face. You'd calmed down enough to be making quips, it would appear. “It's not like I can do anything about it.” You shrugged, half-hearted.

He searched your face again for any sign of emotion aside from blank resignation, but he couldn't find anything. “Is there no treatment?”

You shrunk down further into your huddle, not vocally answering, but the answer was still clear.

Something about the whole situation made his heart hurt; it made him upset, he realized. “So what, you just have to avoid water?”

The nod of your head to the side looked pathetic as you avoided his eyes. After several seconds of silence, you said, “I used to love swimming. It's not like I can't, it's just… it hurts and it makes me feel gross. I don't even like the beach anymore because if I go in the water and get my hands wet, there's no real place to dry them off.” You laughed humorlessly. “It's stupid. You'd think I would get more used to it and get over it as I got older, but it just made me more upset. Why me? Why did I have to get stuck with a condition that's rare and isn't really bad enough for people to care enough to find a treatment? At least, it feels that way…

“I know it's awful, but I sometimes wonder, ‘Why didn't I get stuck with something worse? Then I might have a way to treat it. Then people might care.’”

You glanced up to judge Sakusa's reaction, instantly regretting spilling your feelings and questioning why you did. Tears threatened to flood over again and spill from your eyes. You felt helpless; not only from your condition but also from being stared down by the person you were certain despised you more than anyone. You were giving him more ammo to be disgusted and to detest you, too.

But you couldn't find his face. His ebony bangs hung down like a curtain and his mask further obscured your view, his downturned line of sight completely blocked out.

When the silence was beginning to crawl around on your skin and became almost deafening, you took in a sharp breath and held it for a moment before breathing out a tiny apology. “Sorry… you don't wanna hear about this…”

“No.”

“...No? No… what?”

“No…”

Sakusa was struggling to get out the right words. How does he say sorry to you in a way that you might actually believe? How does he tell you that you're allowed to be upset, that you can talk about it? How does he make you understand that it's okay?

And how is he supposed to get you to believe it when it's coming from him?

His voice sounded almost angry but not at you—it was for you. “You can be upset,” he said between gritted teeth, hands clenched into tight fists. “No one deserves to have to live everyday avoiding something so common just to not be in pain. And no one deserves to have some jerk constantly making light of it even if they don't know.”

The way your eyes widened and water dripped down your cheeks in sudden streams said it all. “Oh…” was all you could muster before you completely broke down. No one you had ever told about your condition had seemed to fully grasp how much you were hurting inside, how every day was a struggle to avoid reminding yourself of how awful your hands were, how even looking at your own hands sometimes made you ashamed and loathing of yourself. It was a constant reminder that there would always be something wrong with you; you would always be broken, and there was no way to fix it.

Sakusa let you cry with the renewed emotional rush. He remained firmly planted where he sat, not moving an inch. He was not going anywhere.

And he didn't, even as your sobbing slowed to quiet sniffles and wiping mostly dried tears. It took a while before you finally muttered, “Thank you… No one's ever said that to me before…”

“Well, they should.” His words were curt but lacked any sharpness to them.

When you looked up to meet his eyes, he turned them away from you. Hesitantly, he uttered, “Look, I can't promise you that we'll get along, but I can assure you I'll try not to bother you anymore. No more stupid hand sanitizer comments anymore, either.” It was the only peace offering he could make for a chance to pave a path towards making amends.

You let out a breath through your nose that was close to a laugh before hiccuping, “Next thing you know, you'll be telling me we'll work on our group project together.”

“Don't push it,” he answered, quickly and humorlessly. It only made you laugh, although he couldn't comprehend why.

“It's getting late,” Sakusa tried to divert. “You should head home.”

You reached for your phone, and the little numbers on the screen confirmed his statement. Suddenly, a flash of panic crossed your face. “I don't have my bag,” you state frantically, “or any of my stuff.”

It was then that Sakusa held up the original object of his search for you, gently lowering it to the ground. “The teacher told me to bring it to you since you never came back.”

Relief washed over you in a calming rush, and you finally seemed to relax. You pulled your knees away from your chest and sat with your legs crossed. Confirming that everything was in your bag, an immensely relieved sigh left your lips in a gust.

“Thank you.” Your gaze was earnest, trying to convey just how much you meant your words to make sure it sunk in.

Sakusa just grumbled, “Whatever.” He was back to his usual self despite how he stumbled embarrassingly when he got up and realized his legs had gone numb. He reluctantly offered up his hand to help you stand, but you only looked at it for a moment, mouth pressed into a line, before you got to your feet on your own.

He pretended he hadn't tried to assist you, instead pivoting on his heels and shoving his hands in his pockets with a slouched posture. Without another word exchanged, you both headed towards the school's entrance.

The air fell into a comfortable quiet until then. When you did reach the entrance, however, you both stopped in your tracks. You turned to Sakusa, giving him a soft smile and a small wave, and headed down the street. Only when you turned the corner, out of sight, did he head back towards the volleyball gym. He was so horribly beyond late that it was almost laughable.

But he didn't care, knowing it meant someone was there in that very moment for you when you needed it most. So what if he also started to mend whatever nonexistent relationship was there in the process? What mattered was that someone told you that it was okay.

And Sakusa was okay with that. Being late to practice wasn't nearly as pressing as his long overdue apologies. What could be more important than that?

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meazalykov · 4 months

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you smell like vanilla

selma bacha x lyon!reader

warnings: none

As I step onto the field, the familiar scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the cool crisp air of Lyon's training ground. This is where I belong, where I feel most alive. As I zip up my blue windbreaker jacket, I cover my lower face with a black ski mask so the cold air doesn’t trigger my allergies.

As I place my ski mask over my face, I am reminded of the ritual I never skip. A spritz of vanilla-scented perfume consumed my nostrils and I remind myself of my signature perfume I put on before practices. The delicious scent wrapping me in its comforting embrace. It's a small indulgence, a reminder of myself and my home. And as I catch a whiff of the sweet fragrance, I can't help but cough one time—maybe I sprayed a little too much this morning.

Practice is grueling, demanding nothing but perfection for the upcoming champions league semifinal against PSG. Yet, amidst the drills and tactics, there's always the distraction lurking nearby. Selma Bacha, the best left-back in the world—she's a force to be reckoned with. But my heart flutters everytime I see her. It's not just her talent that captivates me; it's the way her french eyes light up when she's on the field, the passion that radiates from her every move.

And then there's her reaction to my vanilla perfume every time she's near me. It's subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but I see it in the way her gaze lingers a moment longer, in the way she inhales deeply when she passes by. It's a secret I guard closely, the knowledge that something as simple as a scent can stir such emotions. But Selma, she's not one to hold back.

“*sniff sniff*---hm–--délicieuse” Selma sniffs extremely close to my neck before looking me in the eyes. She smirks before walking around me to get to the other side of the pitch. I wasn't fluent in French but I had an idea on what she said, considering this isn't the first time she's done this.

Her flirtatious banter, her playful nudges – they're impossible to ignore. And though my heart races at her proximity, I fake my annoyance, masking the turmoil and gushy feelings within as I roll my eyes. It's safer this way, I tell myself, to keep my feelings hidden beneath a facade of annoyance.

“I saw that.” Ellie says as walks up to me. We both start drills on the agility ladder at the same time. My eyebrows knitted together before asking the Australian, “What do you mean?”

“I saw that interaction between Selma and you.”

“Its not-”

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t like what she did.” Ellie cuts me off with a smirk as I roll my eyes again.

See, I'm not as subtle as I think. All of my teammates, especially Ellie, Lindsey, and Danielle, see through my charade with knowing glances and a teasing grin. They know the truth, I didn’t have to tell them. My poker face might’ve been decent to strangers but my eyes can’t conceal my true feelings for the French woman. My heart skips a beat whenever Selma's near, that beneath my tough exterior lies a vulnerability I dare not show.

Hours later, as the sun sets and the day draws to a close, I retreat to the comfort of my nightly routine. The warm water cascades over me in the shower with a mingling with the scent of vanilla that fills the air. I take my vanilla scented scrub and lather it over my body, making sure the dead skin goes away before I shave. My night routine is a moment of solitude, a chance to unravel the knots of each day’s events.

But even in the sanctuary of my shower, I can't escape her presence. Selma's laughter echoes in my mind, her image etched into my thoughts. As I finished shaving and started to wash myself with a Vanilla scented body wash, I hope that she will notice the scent in training tomorrow morning.

And as I towel off and slip into bed, I can't shake the feeling that despite my best efforts, I'm falling deeper with each passing day for Selma.

The next morning after a grueling training session, Danielle corners me with a determined look in her eyes. She knows there's something I've been hiding, something I've been avoiding. However, I am the strongest on the team when it comes to hiding my feelings. With a gentle yet persistent tone, the Dutch begins her heartfelt plea.

“Danielle, not now.” I sigh, feeling drained and exhausted. But Danielle is not one to let things go, especially when it comes to relationship matters.

"Y/N, we need to talk about Selma," Danielle insists, her voice soft but unwavering. "I see the way you look at her, the way you light up when she's around. You might believe that you’re hiding your feelings very well– but you aren't. Sorry but trust me, she feels the same about you."

I'm taken aback by her words, a flicker of hope stirring within my heart. Before I can respond, Danielle continues, her words flowing freely.

"I know you're scared, Y/N. Scared of letting someone in, of being vulnerable. We all know about the shield you try to put up so you can be the “stronger person”. But love isn't a weakness; it's a strength you know?? And Selma, she's worth the risk. She won’t tell you how she feels about you unless you give her the green light."

My defenses begin to crumble, the weight of my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. As much as I wanted to say it– my words choke inside of my throat. After a quick deep breath, while shaky, I met Danielle's gaze, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Danielle, you don't understand. I'm not just scared of being vulnerable. I'm scared of being in love with her. It's like... like giving someone the power to break me into a million pieces. Especially since we are on the same team, you know? Is this how you and Ellie felt before you guys were together?”

“Yes–but we took the chance. Now we are getting married next year!” Danielle smiled. This gave me reassurance as I smiled at the shorter woman.

Danielle's expression softens at my smile, a silent understanding passing between us. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder covered with the blue lyon windbreaker.

"I get it, Y/N. I really do. But sometimes, you have to do it before it's too late. Just tell Selma how you feel so you can stop stressing yourself out.”

My heart aches with the weight of Danielle's words, the truth ringing loud and clear in my ears. And as I looked towards the goal post closest to the two of us, I knew I needed to tell Selma how I felt. If Danielle wasn’t wrong, maybe I won’t embarrass myself.

An hour later I sit in the passenger's seat of Selma’s car, the engine idling softly as Selma sits beside me, the silence between us almost tangible. Before this, I asked her in the locker rooms if we could talk somewhere. Believing that the locker room around teammates wouldn’t have been the smartest idea, we chose to go in her black suv instead. My heart races with nerves, my palms damp against my thighs covered with my black yoga pants. This is it, the moment I've been building up to, the moment I can't avoid any longer.

Before I could start, Selma spoke up first with a laugh: “You smell very good.”

I laughed softly before saying thank you. Remembering that i’ve purposely sprayed my vanilla perfume on before leaving the locker rooms to get here.

"Selma," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, "um—there's something I need to tell you."

She turns towards me, her gaze soft and encouraging, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. This look was unusual for the hyper and silly woman, "What is it, Y/N?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, knowing that this is a moment that could change everything. "I... I love you, Selma. Um— I love you more than just a teammate– I love you, as a lover" I said. I could have worded that better but my nervousness got the best of me. The French woman looks at me with a smirk before processing what i’ve confessed.

For a quick moment, the world stands still, the weight of my confession hangs in the air. And then, slowly, the smirk spreads across Selma's face again, a warmth filling her eyes.

"Y/N," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I love you too. I fell in love with you at the beginning of the season, which is why I didn't stop bothering you. I love you so much."

Relief floods through me, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as she reaches for the space on the jaw below my ear. She pulled me into a kiss which warmed my heart entirely. Her plump lips felt soft against mine and I relaxed into the feeling of finally being hers, after pretending like I didn’t want to be.

“Damn– you own vanilla lip balm too?” Selma says licking her lips, she pulls away to look at my lips before looking at my love-filled eyes again. I laughed, knowing that I did have vanilla lip balm in my vanilla collection too, “Yes I do.” I smiled.

"je l'aime." Selma says before leaning for a kiss again.

#selma bacha #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #olympique lyonnais #woso imagine #woso #ellie carpenter #danielle van de donk

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mapis-putellas · 1 year

Text

Clingy snuggles

Pairings: Scarlett x you

Words: 836

Warnings: none

Summary: You’re sick and clingy, and it’s up to your girlfriend, Scarlett, to look after you.

Notes: thank you to the sweet anon who requested this

When you succumb to consciousness on a random Wednesday morning mid July, you immediately felt off. Your throat felt itchy; your nose was blocked and your first assumption was allergies. It was allergy season after all, and you typically suffered with a bit of congestion if not a little bit of a cough.

That soon changes when you attempt to sit up and the throbbing in your head all but brings tears to your eyes. The lump in the bed next to you stirs at the unstifled whimper that somehow manages to escape your lips, and you purse your lips as you bring the blankets over your head in a futile attempt at hiding.

"Baby?" You hear her raspy voice call out in confusion, the mattress beneath you shifting suggesting she'd sat herself up. You feel her hand come to rest on your blanket clad back just moments later, and you feel yourself relaxing beneath her touch despite the fact you didn't want her to know you were here.

"Honey, why are you hiding?" She laughs softly, reaching out to tug the blankets off of your face. You allow this to happen, and despite how crappy you felt, you couldn't help but relish in just how beautiful your girlfriend was. Her blonde hair was down and a little mused from sleep. Cheeks flushed and lips quirked up into an amused smile.

The gentle smile was replaced with a small frown when she takes sight of your own flushed cheeks. Her hand was immediately reaching out to rest against your forehead, and despite your best efforts, your bottom lip begins to quiver at the gentle touch.

"You're sick," she murmurs, eyes flickering up to your own. Her eyes widen in alarm when she catches sight of the single tear that had somehow managed to make its way down your cheek. "baby, no, why are you crying?" She laughs softly as she grabs you by the underarms and hauls you up into her arms.

Your head comes to settle just beneath her chin, settled on the bare skin of her chest just above her tank top. You sniffle softly as her hand begins to gently graze over your back, arms tight around her waist.

"You're okay," she murmurs into the top of your head, "We'll get you some medicine then you'll be right as rain." She presses her lips against your warm forehead, and though you nod, you don't quite manage to release her when she attempts to pull you out of her arms.

"Baby, you need to let me go." She laughs as she runs her hand down your back before patting your behind a few times. "Come on. I can't get you any medicine if you won't let go."

Your bottom lip quivers again as she attempts to pry you off of her. Despite the fact you knew you were acting like a child, you couldn't help it. It wasn't often you got sick, but when you did, it always hit you harder than most. You wanted comfort and reassurance and became increasingly clingy with whoever was taking care of you.

Growing up, it was always your mom. But now that you were grown up a living your life, it came down to Scarlett, your girlfriend of three years. She'd seen you sick just two times during your relationship, so the embarrassment was lessened by the fact you knew she was aware of just how needy you could get.

"Come on honey, let me go." She attempts to coax again, and you sniffle softly as you allow her to pry your arms off of her. "I'll be back baby." She soothes as she cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose.

It soothes the burn of rejection just slightly, and you watch as she disappears into the bathroom with only a small pout on your lips. She was back before you could really miss her, holding two kinds of medicine along with the thermometer. Perching her ass down onto the bed next you, she cups your cheek and runs the thermometer over your forehead.

"102.3. Mhh. Quite the fever my love." She murmurs, and you sniffle softly as you manoeuvre yourself to lay your head against her bare thigh.

Scarlett stares down at you with a soft smile as she runs a hand through your hair. "You're so clingy." She teases playfully, and your lips quirk up into what could be seen as a smile as you allow her to place a Tylenol on your tongue before allowing her to help you swallow it down with some water.

Seeing no need for the cough medicine just yet, Scarlett places it back on the night stand and hauls you up so you were more or less on her lap. You adjust yourself slightly so your legs were either side of her hips, circling your arms around her neck.

"So clingy." She muses, pressing her lips against your shoulder as she settles her arms around your waist.

@goldenempyrean @bloomingflowersthings @somber-sapphic @thewidowintheweb

#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson sickfic #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson fluff #sickfic #scarlett x y/n #scarlett johansson #marvel

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moo-siala · 2 months

Text

I STILL LOVE YOU — MAX VERSTAPPEN

PAIRING: max verstappen x ex-wife fem!reader

SUMMARY: max’s ex wife finds out he’s getting married again

CONTENT: mentions of divorce, angst, sadness, cheating

NOTE: get ready to cry. i did while editing it + this is a repost from my old blog too but this one got slightly revised. some errors got fixed but it’s not 100% proof read.

As y/n sifted through the mail, she noticed a white envelope with "y/n verstappen" written in gold letters. frowning in confusion, she carefully opened it. the moment she saw the contents, she felt her heart shatter. it was a wedding invitation—specifically, an invitation to max’s wedding.

“max and eleanor request the pleasure of your company to celebrate their wedding” was written on the card in gold and black letters.

y/n felt her eyes water and closed the envelope. this could not be happening, she thought. but it’s not like her and max got divorced yesterday.

the divorce was due to his racing career. he wasn't as present as y/n and the children needed him to be, which led to constant arguments, fights, and tears until their marriage ultimately ended. this happened over three years ago, but she still couldn't understand how he had moved on so quickly. perhaps her difficulty in understanding stemmed from her own inability to move on.

she had tried everything, and by everything, she truly meant everything. she had met new people, gone on countless dates, and even ventured into the realm of online dating, hoping to find a connection that might help her move on. but nothing seemed to work. none of those men were him. some were good, hardworking, and loyal, but there was always something missing. each new encounter only served to highlight the void he had left in her life, the irreplaceable presence she couldn't seem to find in anyone else.

"mama, why are you crying?" a soft voice pulled her back to reality. "hey, i’m not crying, i just have an allergy," she chuckled, hugging leon, one of her seven-year-old twins. "julian and i are ready but he is helping emma with her bag," he smiled, hugging her back.

leon and julian were twins—practically mirror images of max. thet shared the same face, the same eyes, and the same cheeky smile that always managed to light up a room. meanwhile, emma was a carbon copy of her mother, with the exception of her blonde hair and blue eyes, inherited from her father.

the twins were only four years old when the divorce happened, and emma was just two. the process was far from easy, but both parents made a concerted effort to minimize the trauma for their children. they navigated the difficult path with as much grace and cooperation as possible, ensuring that their young ones felt loved and secure despite the upheaval. the priority was always the well-being of their children, and they did their best to shield them from the worst of the pain.

“mama! we’re ready!” julian and emma ran out of their rooms with bags in hand, “hey, be careful!” she laughed, “we’re ready!” julian exclaimed and emma giggled, “that’s good, oma will be here in no time” y/n hugged the children, or like max likes to call them, their cubs.

the doorbell rang, signaling sophie’s arrival.

about a week ago, sophie had asked if she could take the kids on a little trip to a lake she had visited with a friend near the city. after looking at the pictures, y/n couldn't say no. the children would love it, and she knew how much they enjoyed spending time with their grandma.

when she got pregnant, max suggested that it would be better to move back to the netherlands so the babies could be surrounded by family. she didn't hesitate and agreed with his proposal. while she loved Monaco, nothing could compare to having her family nearby.

when she looks back at those memories, she’s thankful that she chose to come back. she doesn’t know what could’ve been of her if she had to go through the divorce all alone in monaco.

she walked over and opened the door, smiling warmly. "hey!" she greeted, pulling sophie into a hug.

"how are you doing, sweetheart?" sophie asked, hugging her back as she stepped inside. y/n knew exactly what she meant. "i’m good," she replied softly, her smile gentle. sophie nodded, giving her a sympathetic look just as the three mini verstappens ran over to their grandma, hugging her legs and making her laugh.

"oma!" they exclaimed in unison. "who’s ready to go to the lake?" their oma asked, eyes sparkling. "me!" the cubs chorused excitedly.

they said their goodbyes as she helped sophie put the kids in the car.

“i’ll let you know when we get there” she told y/n, “sounds good, and send pictures, please” y/n smiled in return, “i will. and honey, if you need anything, just give me a call” she pulled her into a tight embrace, “i know, thank you, soph” “no problem”

—

ass the dedicated mother she was, or as max fondly referred to her, the lioness, y/n found herself feeling oddly restless whenever her children were away—simultaneously bored yet remarkably productive. with them gone, she efficiently organized weeks of work and meticulously cleaned the entire house. completing her chores left her with a sense of satisfaction, prompting a leisurely shower before descending to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

while deeply focused on cooking, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. perplexed, since she was only expecting sophie’s visit that day, she set the knife aside, quickly washed her hands, and hastened to answer the door.

“uh, hey?” she said opening the door, “hey, how are you?” max asked, “i’m good. your mom already left with the children so…” “i’m here to talk to you, can i come in?” he asked, “sure…” nodding, she opened the door a bit more for him to come in.

“are you busy?” he asked after you closed the door, “not really. just cooking” she walked back to the kitchen, max followed.

max sat in one of the stools as he watched her wash and chop some vegetables for the salad she was preparing.

“what did you come to talk about?” y/n looked up, his blue orbs finding her beautiful eyes, “i wanted to know if you got the…” “the wedding invitation? i got it today in the mail” she nodded, her tone coming out a bit dry even if she didn’t mean to sound that way.

“are you mad?” he asked, “why would i be? congrats, by the way” she said, adding her favorite vinaigrette to the salad, “don’t be like that…” he sighed, “like what? am i not supposed to congratulate you now?” her eyes found his once again.

“you know exactly what i mean, y/n” he said, “i don’t know what you mean and i’m not in the mood to fight. i’m tired and hungry, so can i please enjoy my salad?” she asked and he scoffed, “i can see it in your eyes, y/n. there’s something you’re not telling me and i want to know what’s going on” he sighed, “we’ve been divorced for almost three years, but remember we were married for four before that”

she felt her eyes water but quickly wiped the tears away.

“i’m okay, max” y/n said while grabbing a glass and pouring some juice in it, “you’re about to cry, tell me what’s going wrong, i want to help” he softly said, and that’s when she broke.

"i don't know max, maybe the fact that once again i'm the one who's going to be all alone?" her voice broke, "the fact i'm the only one who's going to come back to an empty home when the kids are spending time with you? or maybe it's the fact that for some reason i can't move on with my life but everyone else can! you did, why can't i?" by now, she were a crying mess.

move on? he never moved on. his family knew it, his friends knew it, everyone knew it, he knew it.

he was never able to move on from her, the love of his life—the woman who lifted him up when he was feeling down, who cried tears of pride after almost every race, the woman who showed him a new depth of love when he became a father, and the woman he lost because he messed up.

seeing her crying broke his heart, but it also gave him hope. hope that the woman he deeply loves, loved him back still, even if it was just a little bit of it left.

he liked eleanor. she was good with the kids and kind to y/n, but she wasn't her, and she never could be. eleanor, younger than him and eager to settle down, was someone he found comfort in, at least temporarily. he went along with the idea of marriage, thinking he had nothing to lose, until the day she poured her heart out to him. it was then that he realized eleanor could never replace the deep connection he had lost with his former wife.

"i never wanted that divorce," he said softly as he walked over to her. "and you think I did?" she sniffed, wiping away her tears. “you asked for it..." he began. "because I got tired of giving you signals and second chances that were never taken, max," she sighed, her voice heavy with emotion. she looked up at him, hoping he would understand the weight of her words.

max felt like shit, to say the least. hoy could he be so dumb? how could he throw away his family and the love of his life just like that?

“please give me one last chance, i promise i’m not going to fail you and the cubs again”, he sat next to y/n on the couch, grabbing her small hands and squeezing them softly, “max, you’re getting ma-“ “if you don’t want me to get married i won’t. i just need to hear you say it”, he interrupted her.

y/n was in utter shock to say the least. could he really be serious? the gravity of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving her struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation.

“i am serious. you know it” he said, almost as if he could read her mind, “please baby girl, i need to hear you say it”, he pleaded, staring into her eyes.

y/n took a deep breath.

“maxie… please… please don’t get married” she softly said, eyes watering and lips trembling. max sighed in relief and hugged her tightly, “i’m never letting you go, ever again” he grabbed your face and kissed her softly.

“i hope you stick to that promise” “you know i will, schatje”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines

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snzluv3r · 1 year

Note

Would you be able to do a holdback wav? Or one where you announce?

thank you so much for the request!! i tried to hold back for as long as possible but it was So hard with how itchy i’ve been with my allergies lately. after about a minute it became impossible to hold back and i think all that building up i did made the sneezes that much harsher, because these were seriously some of the harshest sneezes i’ve ever recorded for a wav!

if you’re not into all the building up, i start sneezing around the 1:00 mark and continued (despite my best efforts, i swear) pretty steadily until the end

#i really hope you enjoy! if it’s not what you were thinking i can redo it #my wavs #snz wav #sneeze wav #these sneezes were so harsh i know they might not sound like much but omg #so big and harsh i was snapping in half at the waist every time #the longer i’m around the cats the more intense my sneezes get honestly

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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AITA for getting upset at my best friend for calling me a hoarder in passing?

My (29NB) best friend (also 29NB) have been going through major crises lately at the same time—we will call them Sun. So, yesterday, they sent me a text, when we weee talking about how they haven’t wanted to be over at my house for a while, mostly bc they don’t like my partner…although the subject was in discussion bc my partner and I are splitting up, and I will be living alone again in a couple months. At some point in this discussion, they mentioned the more pressing matter that’s caused them not to be over as much is that they are very allergic to one of my cats—but only the one I just adopted a couple years ago, they’ve had no allergy issues w the other one and they love her very much, she is their niece.

However, at one point, they mentioned that a few years ago, when I was using drugs a lot more irresponsibly than usual—to the point where I got injured from falling down the stairs—they had been speaking to my other close friends. Which is appreciated, and I knew about this already obviously since there was an intervention that happened around that time…the way they mentioned this was upsetting. Specifically, they mentioned that “they approached [other friend of mine] about my drug use bc they thought I was becoming a hoarder” and that MAJORLY triggered me—specifically the hoarder comment. The woman who gave birth to me/raised me is a hoarder, which is a well known fact to just about anyone who is close to me irl, especially anyone who’s known her irl, and ESPECIALLY Sun, who worked as her caregiver for quite a while. Also being compared to/told I am just like my abusive egg donor is the thing that will hurt me the most, bc she is the most cruel, manipulative, abusive people I’ve ever had in my life.

So the thing is, my house is indeed very messy…I have too much junk around, and it’s very difficult for me physically to keep anything clean. It’s actually one of the reasons I’m separating from my partner, and as ashamed as I am about it, I understand. However, it’s not a hoarding disorder at all—I don’t hold onto anything I don’t need out of sentimentality, and if I could wave a magic wand and simply get rid of all the extra shit I don’t need/make everything nice and clean, I would. Unfortunately, I am very disabled with too many chronic pain/fatigue conditions, and actually cleaning the house/sorting through shit to get rid of takes immense physical effort. But whenever someone offers to help me, I jump at those opportunities! I take things to be donated all the time (if I’m able to sort through the stuff that needs to go) and it’s entire worlds different than my egg donor refusing to give up several bins of my baby clothes bc she can’t bear to part with them, despite them never seeing use in her possession ever again.

So, I responded to Sun’s mention of a past conversation thinking I’m a hoarder, with offense and saying it hurt me. We had been discussing just downsizing and how we will be going through my stuff as we pack for the new place, and had mentioned that I should make sure to get rid of certain clothing things if they have holes/are worn out/whatever, which to me, sounded like they think I have a hard time throwing clothes away even if they’re not even wearable anymore. With that and the hoarding accusation in mind, I told them I was very hurt by this. I made sure to be respectful and kind yet assertive, but after explaining how this was an unfair assumption/description of me, they got upset and said I should’ve asked for clarification before coming at them.

Now, do me, I wouldn’t have even considered they meant anything other than how I interpreted it, so it would never have even occurred to me to ask for clarification if I’m not even aware there’s a miscommunication. Apparently, the reason they mentioned getting rid of clothes that have been too worn out is an issue they have themselves, but this isn’t anything I was ever aware of, and once again never would’ve thought was referring to anyone but me. They also say they’re aware that it’s my physical difficulties that make cleaning physically painful for me…but honestly, that’s not anywhere near the same as having a hoarding disorder, which is indeed what they’d accused me of.

Of course, I know the both of us overreacted—me, being offended about being accused of being a hoarder (especially since my immense difficulty cleaning the house is part of why I’m separating from my partner and is therefore something I’m incredibly sensitive about right now) and them, being offended that I took what they said wrong and being upset over some things they didn’t actually intend w what they said…but I’m just not sure if maybe I AM in the wrong here, for expressing being hurt by being called a hoarder here, or if I really am making the entire thing a big deal out of nothing.

So, AITA for voicing my offense at being called a hoarder?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mymainwastoocluttered · 2 years

Text

When Vil Doesn’t Play The Villain (Vil)

Vil gets transmigrated into his favorite novel.

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Another indulgent, low effort thing to distract me from my allergies

— (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

“Vil… no… I’m–ah! Mhn… I’m still married!”

“To a man who will never love you as you deserve.”

Vil blows on her sensitive neck, enjoying the shivers that shake her body, enjoying the knowledge that he’s the only man that has made her do that. After weeks, months trying to win her affections, he finally has her; her mind, her body, her heart are all his, and soon the band on her finger will be his too.

To think he’d die a terrible death, only to transmigrate into his favorite novel. Vil hadn’t known if it was good or bad luck, until he met his favorite character, and now he knows for sure that it is the best of luck. To be able to share an existence with her, to be able to see her hair dance with the wind and her skin be kissed by the sun, to be able to hear her sweet voice directed to him…

Vil had fallen fast and hard.

(Y/N) went from his favorite character to his favorite person faster than the chandelier that fell on him in his past life hit his head.

Now, if only she weren’t married to that repugnant male lead.

Princess (Y/N) Branco, the ultimate villainess of the novel named “Wishing By The Well”. The villainess who, contrary to most in the genre, actually keeps her role until the very bitter end thanks to her incredibly sharp mind and outstanding skills, a woman who needed to be killed off in her sleep for no legal means could ever touch her. A woman who could’ve ruled the world, but only wished for her husband to not disgrace her with a public affair.

Vil had loved her from the very beginning of the story, and only finished the novel because of her. (Y/N) had been raised to marry the prince from a very young age, being born in a ducal house. She never had any problems rising to the demands of the people around her, her diligence and hard work trampling any difficulties she encountered. And as a noble, she had long abandoned the sweet dreams of love and adventure.

She admitted multiple times through the book that she would not mind if her husband had a secret lover, or got himself a concubine. All she wanted was to be respected as the first and main wife, so she had less to worry when she rose to the throne with the prince—who undoubtedly needed a woman like her to reign in his stupidity. But that disgusting fool simply refused to do something so small like keeping his pants on.

He practically worshipped the ground the “Main Character” walked on, gifted her dresses and jewelry and many other luxuries. He went everywhere with her, and gave in to her silly commoner whims easily like a sheep follows a shepherd. And in the end, it all reflected terribly on the princess, who quickly got ridiculed for being “incapable of keeping her husband interested”. For every dress he gave the mistress that became a trend, it was a new designer that taunted the princess by trying to sell her the same design. For every jewelry he gave the mistress that blinded the passersby, it was a new jewelry store that told the princess her chosen piece wasn’t available anymore. For every gesture of love he showed towards the mistress, it was a new line of mockery thrown the princess’ way.

And despite all that, (Y/N) kept herself beautiful, and showed herself ruthless. Even cruel at points. It was glorious to read as she’d finally let go of the shackles she kept around herself so she could become the perfect princess, and showed the dangerous, poisonous black widow that hid behind a fan.

And it had been even more breathtaking to watch it with his own eyes.

Duke Vil—the original owner of the body, conveniently also named Vil—was supposed to be the second male lead, to follow the protagonist like a good little lap poodle; jumping and barking when she asked, and then obediently stepping back and whining in sadness while she threw herself at the arms of another man. Vil—the one who took over the body—had despised the character, thinking he’d be better off devoting himself to the villainess–

And now he can correct that plot hole with his own lips.

“Soon, my dear, everything will fall into place, and the ring on your finger will carry my name instead, and the crown you deserve will be yours,” he promises her in a feverish whisper, drunk on her presence.

“Won’t royalty be too burdensome to you?” (Y/N) asks, meeting his searing kisses with her own. To be the one to see this monument of a woman soften and relax, that’s why Vil got his second life.

“My dear, I’m already killing a future monarch, nothing can burden me if I have you.”

“How villainous~”

“If anything, we’re saving this country.”

She laughs, resting fully against him, giving him the permission to pick her up and take her to his room, and Vil does so quickly, not one second to waste when he has her in his arms.

The one time he isn’t a villain, he’s usurping a throne for his beloved.

Maybe there was some rhyme to those castings back in his first life.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader

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solomons-poison · 9 months

Text

Ugh I saved the asks to my drafts to work on it and now Tumblr won't let me edit it so I'm tagging you instead 😑 @yarnnerdally This one kind of escaped the requested prompt but I hope you enjoy lol

♞: Caring for each other while ill

Pairing: Nanami Kento x GN!reader

When you first heard a sneeze in your classroom, a feeling of dread immediately filled your chest. You tried to brush it off, attribute it to simple allergies or some dust. But once your other students started to sneeze as well, you knew what was coming. It was cold and flu season, and everyone seemed to be coming down with something, leaving you surrounded by the sick.

You had tried your best to maintain distance with your students and keep up with hygiene and sanitation, but it was too late by then. It was to no one's surprise when you fell ill, sniffling and coughing and sore all over. Poor Nanami had recently moved in with you, and between training the same students and sharing a space with you, he quickly followed suit.

Despite Gojo's repeated efforts and offers to look after you both, you and Nanami decided to quarantine in your home instead, thankfully recently stocked with tissues and cold medicine. It was a little strange at first, admittedly, being stuck together like this without your students to interrupt. But perhaps this was the opportunity for some one on one time with your boyfriend.

You knew, deep down, that Nanami was a caretaker. It was evident in the way he handled the students, always thoughtful and caring in the way he spoke to them and taught them how to fight. But it became even more apparent in his care for you. Although he was equally as sick, the man was unstoppable, cooking warm, comforting food for you and fetching you things for your fever and cough. Often times, he knew what you needed before even you knew, warming your heart at just how sweet he was. So you did your best to reciprocate, making him rice porridge, tea with honey, and getting him warm compresses for his aching muscles. You were both suffering, but at least, you supposed, you were suffering together.

The whole situation was also giving you terrible daydreams of what married life would be like with Nanami. You didn't like to assume where the relationship was going, although him moving in wasn't a minor move by any means, especially by his standards. But as he showed his expert skills at caring for you, you just couldn't help it.

Gojo, who had been checking up on the two of you daily, seemed to pick up on your feelings without even mentioning it to him, something you always found irritating about him just as much as it was useful. Just as the same daydream began to cross your mind again, your phone chimed with an incoming text.

[7:26PM] Satoru☆: soooo what do you think Nanamin would be like when you're married? 💒

You could feel your face heat up at the question, and you knew the cause wasn't your cold. Thankfully Nanami was busy cooking dinner, giving you time to respond, but you could imagine the exasperated sigh he'd let out if he caught sight of Gojo's message.

[7:29PM] You: We literally just moved in together, we're not even thinking of marriage yet

It was a lie, but you'd be damned if you'd admit your daydreams to Gojo so easily.

[7:30PM] Satoru☆: oh please, moving in together is the same as getting married for him

[7:31PM] Satoru☆: and anyway you can't tell me that him taking care of you doesn't make you think about it?

Damn him and his annoying perceptiveness. You deigned not to answer his question, but Gojo never made it easy to ignore him, as your phone blew up with several more messages.

[7:35PM] Satoru☆: cmonnnnn Y/N you know you've thought of it ;)

[7:36PM] Satoru☆: Y/NNNNNN

[7:37PM] Satoru☆: helloooooooo

[7:38PM] Satoru☆: you can't ignore me forever, you know you've thought about husband Nanamin before 💖

You couldn't help the exasperated sound that left your mouth, rolling your eyes at his childish behavior. You finally went to reply to his texts when someone took the phone out of your hands. Looking up, Nanami now held your phone, looking at you worriedly before glancing at the contact name on your phone.

"I was trying to tell you dinner is ready, but you weren't responding. I heard your phone keep going off so I thought something happened, but I see now it's just a pest," he said, brows furrowing in distaste. Nanami always tried to shield you from the annoyances of his colleague, making you smile.

"It's just Gojo. He's just being silly while he checks up on us. It's nothing to worry about," you said.

"I see," he replied, now looking over the text messages. You worried for a moment about what he would say, but Nanami simply huffed before typing out a response.

[7:41PM] You: This is husband Nanamin. Stop texting my spouse or I will have to block you.

He quickly sent the message, not allowing you to see what he wrote, before setting your phone to silent and tossing it onto the couch. He then pulled you up and into his arms, his face finally relaxing.

"That should distract him for a little bit. Now, come eat some dinner prepared by your loving husband," he said, leaning down to peck your lips.

Instantly, you could feel your cheeks burning, and you struggled for a response. Nanami only smiled at you before turning to the kitchen, leaving you a flustered mess. Perhaps getting sick was the best thing that could have happened to you two.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #the minx can write ✍️

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callalillywrites · 5 days

Text

Candle Making and Scents - Their Sweet Omega One-Shot

Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Jake Jensen / Beta!Pre-serum Steve Rogers / Omega!Reader

Word Count: ~860

Summary: Their Omega's candle-making has come a long way since its humble days, and they can't help loving her more for what she can do with her skills and business.

Warnings: not much really, lots of fluff and fun

A/N: It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

Omega’s business starts off as a hobby really as she puts herself through school.

It’s only after she makes her first few sales and completes a craft fair that she realizes she really likes making candles more than anything.

Her first website isn’t the greatest, but that’s easily fixed with some help from Ransom and his family’s connections. Sure, it means dealing with the wretched bunch, but it’s worth all the negativity that surrounds them. They help her business explode despite all their patronizing comments.

She’s determined to make her business the best, and she even succeeds.

When she meets Jake and Steve, she’s expanding her business with one of Ari’s connections. That connection gives her the first of many brick-and-mortar retailers who will ultimately carry her products.

Learning more about Steve’s asthma, she does take more precautions than she did before. This is even more true after she moves in with them. These precautions include showering off whatever scents she works on before she goes anywhere near Steve. While his asthma is mostly under control, some elements are more prone to set off an attack than others. She doesn’t ever want to be a reason for setting one off.

Now, that’s not to say Steve doesn’t enjoy her candles.

He loves them.

He especially loves them and her when she researches the best products for those with allergies and/or breathing issues. Any candle she makes for Steve contains these products and the lightest amount of scent she can get away. They’re also wickless since he uses a warmer over actually lighting them.

His favorite scent (and Jake’s) is her cinnamon roll one.

It reminds them of the day they met her and how she smelled. Every time they get a hint of cinnamon roll, a smile spreads across their faces. They’re actually known to hoard her cinnamon roll candles and only use them when they have absolutely no other options.

When she first discovers this secret of theirs, she’s a little confused, but that soon gives way to just loving them all the more.

Sure, she doesn’t make them these candles but every six months or so. Usually about the time their old, unused candle has lost all its scent. It’s something that she’s happy to do because they never fail to give her the loveliest smiles for her efforts.

Like Steve, Jake adores her candles and loves to burn them in his work office.

They’re even a big hit with his coworkers as they ask about them. He’s lost count of how many he’s converted into paying customers for his sweet Omega.

Each time he walks in and sees the latest candle she’s given him, he can’t help but relax and dive into his daily duties.

The only ones he doesn’t really share with his coworkers are the cinnamon roll ones. As much as he knows they’ll love it as much as he does, he gets a bit possessive of them, wanting to save the scent for him and him alone.

He’ll keep these in the bottom drawer of his desk and bring them out when his day takes a turn. Whether it’s taking on more duties or dealing with a nasty client, he only needs to take out one of these candles to help ground him again. It’s enough to remind him he’ll be back home with his Beta and Omega soon enough.

To Jake, she can’t make a bad scent.

Well, that’s not entirely correct.

The first time she brought home some of the more masculine-scented candles some of her retailers asked for, he had to hide his face.

It’s not that the scents weren’t good, but he really didn’t like the thought of her making anything that could potentially remind her of other guys.

Steve’s reaction is slightly better, but yeah, he’s not the biggest fan, either.

Their reactions don’t go unnoticed, either.

Omega spends a few weeks developing two new scents in secret, only revealing them when she has just right.

When she brings them home, Steve and Jake are confused until she explains those are the scents she associates with them. Both lack even a hint of the masculine scents they don’t appreciate, but they do have some more unique combinations.

Jake’s is a combination of gingerbread and snickerdoodle, both of which he’ll spend hours munching on while he works behind his computer. There are other scents that deepen the overall scent, but those are the strongest notes.

For Steve, she goes with a white currant mixed with cranberry prosecco. Something about the mixture of sweet and tart just always brings her back to her sassy, protective Beta.

The two of them love these scents, and like their absolute favorite scent, they never share these two combinations with anyone else. No, this is just for them.

The more her business grows, the more her Alpha and Beta are there to support her.

They’re even known to help her when she does an odd craft fair now and then, doing their best to help sell all the candles she’s made. It usually works, too, earning her enough extra spending money to spoil them (and herself).

*****

Main Masterlist

Tag List: @thezombieprostitute

#alpha jake jensen #beta steve rogers #omega reader #pre serum steve #a/b/o verse #a/b/o dynamics #x female reader #their sweet omega #jake jensen x steve rogers x reader #jake jensen x reader #steve rogers x reader

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ghostofafruit · 4 months

Text

I'm moving over to focusing on my more longform fics! But I have a bunch being planned, so I wanted to know which one had the most interest!

It's Not Really a Secret - The continuation, and completion, of the already long ago started Merlin fic. Uther discovers Merlin has magic, but Merlin discovers he's immortal. I've got a further 5k words written for it already!

Title-less Good Omens x MCU Spider-Man crossover - Post s2 Crowley needs a change of scenry, and with the help of some friends, he finds himself living in a shitty apartment owned by a shady landlord. Post NWH Peter is struggling with his new life, but at least he's not homeless anymore even if his apartment is odd and his landlord is shady to say the least. (It's a neighbours crossover basically)

The Misadventures of Rose Tyler - A series of 17 3-8 chapter fics following an immortal Rose Tyler as she tries desperately to return to her birth universe. Hijinks ensue in other universes, sometimes crossover hijinks.

Peter Parker, Totally Not a Half-Blood - Peter Parker is perfectly ordinary, he's not sure why so many people seem to think he's not. His spider-like nature is entirely because of the spider-bite. So what if he already had spider-like allergies before the bite? Or a love of high places? Or weaving? He's not, despite what so many may say, the son of Arachne

Title-less Doctor Who x MCU crossover - The Doctor and Rose find themselves stranded in an alternate universe. Despite their best efforts, the Tardis refuses to move, at all. They have no choice but to blend in. Rose get's a job at Midtown School Of Science and Technology, and gets pulled into chapheoring on the school trip to Stark Industries. Along with helping out with that, her and the Doctor have figured out that Spider-Man is young and feel the need to help him out.

Married Life - A Doctor Who Series 2 AU with the Doctor and Rose being married, featuring episode rewrites, original adventures, and plenty of hijinks

Title-less Hells Belles x MCU crossover - When the blip happened, half the entire universe ended up in the grand lobby of the after life. Several volounteers and employees of the Front Deathsk had watched parts of the blip happen. The blipped don't count as dead, and as such can't face universal judgement. Between the hellp desk, the front deathsk, and several blipped heroes, they figure out a pocket dimension for half the universe. In this pocket dimension, on it's Earth, Peter reveals his identity as Spider-man, mostly because he'd already spent days wandering around in the ruined suit helping out. When the blip gets reversed, the majority of the blipped Earth resiednts keep Peter's identity secret, those that try to reveal who he is aren't believed. When his identity is revealed, the blipped try to help him out. This one is the most convoluted and would take a lot of planning!!

#fic planning #fanfic #bbc merlin #merlin tv #good omens #spiderman #mcu #doctor who #percy jackson #crossovers #hells belles

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immoralimmortals · 5 months

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A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 9: This December

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: It's hard to play the entire piano, end to end 88 keys, with just one set of hands. It's impossible to go through life totally alone, no matter how well you convince yourself otherwise. Itachi, Kisame, and the traveler discuss the little things that set her world apart from that of the shinobi.

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is This December by Ricky Montgomery, lyrics not entirely in order.

CONTENT WARNING: the overall warning for the fic is especially prevalent in this chapter. Allusions to suicide, suicidal behavior and ideation, self harm.

I also now have a playlist with each song in order of appearance :)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It's just a little bit, it's just a little bit

Lonely in this home

It's always colder on your own

My darlin', I

I let the season change my mind

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kisame keeps an arm’s length about as well as the traveler can ignore how a full size piano could be taken back to the mansion with just a scroll and a puff of smoke. That is to say: it was, for certain, a noble attempt. She’s watching him now, bumblebees idling by as he re-sides the brick wall in humid summer air. Ivy pushes forth from its cracks, poison and otherwise alike, so he had rolled his eyes and pretended like he wasn’t going to be the one working on this chore anyways, having no allergy. As if Itachi would sully his pretty hands.

In this time together, the princess’s knight hasn’t been so bold as to ask...why? He knows she’s lonely. Damn, so is he! But she was told, right? That her first set of bouncers weren’t the exception but the rule for the rest of ‘em. It’ll be her fault, he excuses himself, if anything amiss were to threaten that lovely little neck of hers. He’s still stuck on the stage of denial where it’d just be for the mission if he did- and he should- make the offender pay dearly, direly, desperately.

The woman contemplates, too, but at a different pace, eyelids low and sleepy under the blanket of midday humidity. Contradictions are smothering: guilt for feeling guilty. But she’s an adult, and prolonging the sensation makes her weary. Best she can do is do her best, and in this case, it means to think about other things until that part of her psyche settles down. Ironically, this shift causes another part of her mind ramp up— a rather metaphysical sort about this predicament she finds herself in. Kisame, of course, is a part of it, but he is not the whole: she is unhappy about her happiness. Sadness can survive even in summer air.

Under the shade of the back porch awning, deep in a trance, it takes her a second to recognize a second shadow has layered over her, just a bit darker where she sits.

“Mm…? Oh. Thank you.” A cup of tea passes between the Uchiha’s hand to hers, ceramic hot to the touch, but not too hot as to burn in your grasp. It’s an uncanny skill he has, this perfect steep; a personality like his would be well suited for a cafe, she muses. Steam raises as the cup tilts at her lips, a mist collecting on her rose-pink lenses that sit on top of her head; they aren’t the best at being sunglasses, but they’re cute, and that’s a good enough reason to still have them. Slowly, knowing her as jumpy, the gentleman raises a finger and pokes the object, just enough that she can feel it start to part her hair.

“I haven’t seen these before.”

Despite his efforts, she blushes a little; memory of Kakuzu’s confusion over them have made her a touch bashful. “Glasses. Use them to read.” She points to the sky with a finger of her tea-holding hand, the other cupping her chin while its elbow leans on her knee. “Help with the sun.” There’s only the slightest shift— tilt of his head— as he contemplates the usefulness of tinted reading glasses.

...Strange girl, indeed. His own brew perfectly balanced above his lap, Itachi sits on the stoop beside his ward, his partner’s work and grunts as much of a buzz in the background as the bees in long-untamed rose bushes that line the property. Thoughtfully, he allows a relaxing pause before he prods the traveler further:

“Do many have such glasses where you come from?”

Lazily, a “mm-mm” negative-toned hum and shake of the head answer him. It’s like she’s sucked dry of energy. “Clear or black tinted, just like here. Bought ‘em because they made me happy.”

He takes in the details of her, lax in a noonday breeze. Rosettes— tiny and pink— adorn her white dress in vertical rows, frocked with thin, blue lines that match the powder tone of the sweater she’s tied around her waist. Certainly not attire she chose to travel in, the sort of ground to cover between here and Hoshigakure. This is merely one reason among many that she is not of Hoshigakure, of course, a fact so obvious he sees no point in berating the matter when he can get right to the heart:

“What brought you all this way from the stars, Miss Takara?”

He won’t be able to tell, but she isn’t nearly as eager as she used to be, back at the bar with her job and patrons. “I just… I don’t know... It wasn’t worth it anymore, I guess.” She shrugs, the weight of the matter much lighter upon her shoulders than it should be thanks to many, many hours of reflection. “I just wanted to be done with it all, end it the way I wanted to. On my own terms, you know? As much as I could.”

The man tilts his head even further, closer, as if proximity will assist their connection, and he answers softly. Her own words are tinged with a poison, regardless of her relaxed attitude. “...You speak of severance of an utmost degree…” His gaze is kind. It understands. “It must have been difficult.” But her eyes just look through the trees. For as warm as the cold man is, so is the warm woman being cold in turn.

“Just seemed like the logical thing. That’s all.”

“Miss Takara…” She’s just an inch away, both as he leans in and as he pulls the curtain of her mind away. “...What in particular pushed you so—?”

“Can we talk about something else?!”

It’s the first she’s ever demanded anything of them, let alone in such a tone. The woman bares her teeth and pinches her brow. The change stands out enough to warrant Kisame look over his shoulder in concern. The calm of lazy days is broken, in pieces in her fists. As such, the woman is abruptly too seen.

“I—oh…" Immediately, as if on command, she becomes as small as before. "Sorry. That was out of place. Sorry.” Itachi masks his surprise well, dipping his head in acceptance of her behavior.

“It’s understandable.” And it's no lie. Such emotional affairs...difficult to unwrap without tearing a layer or two. But still, she’s too unsettled to continue this dance around speaking her destruction, and she picks herself up from the steps of the porch.

“Excuse me—”

The cup of tea is set behind in her stead, dappling light washing over and away until she’s walked back into her home. The knight watches in silence, up until the very last bit of her is out of sight. He frowns at his fellow Akatsuki. “Are you going to—?” He won’t admit it’s too good to be true, living like this, and so it’s a relief when Itachi shakes his head. The easy way of the Sharingan is not a necessary one, to accomplish the mission. Persuasion will remain as talk.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I wanna see you with your head wide open

Empty in the ground, gone without a sound

Just another white elm growing at the end of town

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Only in my

No...that’s not right.

Her wrists raise again to press the keys:

Only in my dar

Hm. No. No! This shouldn’t be so difficult. Her silhouette is framed by the wall of the newly dubbed “piano room”, walls blackened with indoor shade while the outside glows with color. Itachi takes it in before stepping further towards the musician, the fuchsia of her glasses becoming clearer as the branches outside fade into bright, blinding light of the sun with his changing position. She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t look. The music simply continues:

…Or it is trying to.

“What’s wrong?” the raven inquires from the doorway, interloping for his real concern. His eyes need not look at the piano. “Is it not tuned?”

“No…” the woman hums, unhappily. “It’s fine. It’s… It’s me. It’s the song.” There’s such a sharp frustration in her voice that was never present before, in this past week of daydreaming together, playing house. “I’m used to it sounding more full.”

Itachi blinks. “What’s missing?”

“Instruments that don’t exist.”

A rather blunt answer for how the woman typically presents herself, now a bit of a rose like her garden rather than a shrinking violet. Well-versed with thorns, the man draws closer behind the piano bench. As he does, he notes how this woman looks as if she was made to exist in this room, now that it’s been properly attended to; floors rustic but comfortable, a soft shade of brown wood that match her boots; a seat with a blanket and pillow neatly set atop, embroidery flourishing the edges of fabrics; the birds sing hardly some feet away as they do their best to peer inside, past antique curtains and old glass; a kitschy clock with tick tick ticks as a reliable metronome. Her fingers decide to go on their own, lyrics now wayward as she pins her thoughts too sharply onto black and white. Itachi, as always, listens, but he receives more than he anticipated.

It shouldn’t be so easy to catch an Akatsuki off guard.

“You are all...incredible.” Villains live on her tongue with such love. Could anyone but of another world treasure them? But that word has more meaning, here, than just to compliment. She refuses to look up. “You have wonderful abilities. Magic.” The performer has hardly seen anything of this place, but it’s more than enough to witness a man sink into the ground and a piano evaporate in a cloud just to arrive here in the middle of nowhere. She’s eager for more, but she is afraid— afraid, for obvious reasons, reasons like the magician’s red eyes.

“Why?” This question is so rehearsed that there’s no need to focus upon it, no need to stop playing idle music. “Why me? What makes me so special?”

Itachi answers simply. “You know why, Miss Takara.” But she shakes her head to this.

“Kind of. But. I don’t! Not why I’m here. Not what I’m useful for. Itachi, I-- I didn’t come here on purpose. I just woke up. And it had happened.” He furrows his brow, every so minutely.

“No explanation whatsoever…?” It’s hard to believe not even a clue in the laws of her dimension, what can and cannot make sense. “Do you not have higher powers, where you were? Chakra?” Another shake.

“I don’t even know what chakra is! What I had was just...reality.” The word is wistful under her breath. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Perhaps you can try," her confidant offers.

And perhaps that's a wrong move of his in this chess game of feelings and semantics, as now she’s fallen mute. Her hands stray from the piano. They fold on her lap. He’s right behind her, now, but she still won’t shift to see him. A phrase repeats in her head, one of the voices that’s resided like an itchy scar for years, that she’s pushed away into the crowd of the village bar, or the traffic at rush hour, or the meaningless chatter of a TV screen. Those sounds are not here to pacify the voice, to rescue her away. She has no place to hide from it now, as she wonders what color Itachi looks at her with:

What have you done today to deserve your eyes?

“And what if it’s worthless to you?” The voice objects to her worth, to how she can see what's so good about living when she contributes so little. It's a question that logically brings another next, sorrow heavy in the space between them. “What then?”

He pauses, but unlike hers it is done in precision. The performer has her own answer that she wants to hear, and he knows another cannot become until this has its say.

“Itachi... Zetsu told me something." It's hushed, it's vile, it stings the way she speaks of him. It's like how you speak of a disease. "I’ve heard you’ve done something terrible. I’ve heard that you killed people.” It is true, and yet he must pretend he is unbothered, merely allowing she continue her interrogation. “Why not torture me? Hypnotize me again? Get it over with and go back to your lives?”

...

She waits. She waits and waits and waits like each tick of the clock above her head is slowly poisoning her air. There’s nothing she can do about fate; just make it quick. But Itachi sees her as his mirror, aware of what is behind the glass of their window, light shining bright enough to blind. He knows the tactic, the reflection of questions back without answering his.

“Why are you so eager to suffer?"

“Because...—” A justification so quick breaks so easily, and so does her voice, the answer so obvious. “Because…” But can she say it? She can’t catch her breath. As the truth is spoken, it nearly chokes.

“It’s...too good to be true.” She whispers something a sin to even acknowledge. “I still need to wake up."

No more flowery words or vague analogies.

"I still need to die.”

Without her conscious say, the woman's own hands have been fidgeting and rubbing so hard they might become raw, her fingernails pinching at her cuticles to tear skin away shred by shred. Maybe if the woman keeps pulling, she’ll unravel, and this will all be done. Crying shouldn't be so hard, but she’s already shed so many teardrops for her own sake. In the time they're needed most, they do not come. Surely, this is proof that dying would be of no regret. The crow looks with sad eyes, so hurt that he's expected to see her as a vulture does carrion.

“Takara-san…” So this is what she keeps inside. Burning intensity, ice-cold flame, feels intimately familiar. Who would he be to ignore such a plea? A black cloak shuffles like crow feathers around the unoccupied side of the bench and fills her lonely space. Because he knows this suffering so well, so too is there knowledge that this isn’t the core of her being but the veneer, the protection of something precious that you want left alone, lest a glass shatter so fine it becomes diamond dust. “You don’t deserve that.” A hand with a crimson plaque gently grasps her own, pulling bleeding fingers away from their small self-destruction. The player allows it, though her hissing mind does not cease. Please don’t waste your time on pitying me. Her blood will dry on his skin.

“It isn’t about deserving it. I told you. It just...made sense to do.”

He’s getting an idea, now, of how she ended up this way, so frayed and delicate and yet so wide open to whatever comes. It’s the kind of person you are when you meet the end. The raven weaves his fingers between those of the ghost. The muscles in hers tremble with effort, as they refuse to melt into his as they craves to.

“What if you can make it worthwhile?” he proposes. “Is there nothing to enjoy? You told me you liked the rain. That dragonflies shimmer so beautifully in the sun. ...And what of us? Do you not enjoy Kisame? Perhaps even me?” A bold addition, considering his reputation, but it finally makes her flinch. The queen has been captured, a move that paid off. At first her mouth grimaces, but slowly, surely, it’s a bitter smile.

“...The guilt card…” her voice quivers, the tiniest touch of gratitude amid playful seething. “That’s what we call this back home…”

With no worthy reason not to, just for him, she gives in. She lets him hold his hand, soft flesh giving way under his. A killer can comfort she who perhaps is the next prey. The wolf and the lamb need not carry on tradition, not just yet.

“Please promise me something.”

“...Anything.” She’ll never know the weight his vow holds.

“When it’s all about to end...tell me. Whenever that becomes the plan. I have no reason to fuss over it. I don’t have anything to lose.”

But you guys.

He already spoke his seal, his dedication, and so Itachi finds it unnecessary to taint the moment with a mere verbal confirmation. Her smile becomes more genuine, and gratefully, she rubs his knuckles with her thumb. Eyes close again, this time with a closer semblance of peace, and a blind hand raises by its wrist once more. It isn’t trying yet for the melody; she merely...appreciates the notes. She lets them resonate deep in her, its echo up her bent arm and into her heart. The player studies them individually and by their own merit rather than failure to replicate a certain song, returning to the basics of what makes a sound pleasant to the ear.

With two silhouettes side by side, layered into one person with two heads in the dark, maybe there’s a new version of what “complete” means. A rendition. A remastering. A rearrangement. How can one note mean so much? To seep such emotion into cold-hearted murderers...a talent, indeed.

The next step in healing is to try move on.

“Itachi,” she repeats, about to outdo herself. “What do you like?” She beats him to the cop-out: “Besides time with me.”

While a question he’s gotten sarcastically once or twice in the past few years, it has never been one with an answer. You either know him well enough to not need ask, or you do not. And with his own mission, it leaves few worth the time to see firsthand. However...her happiness, however brief, is part of this journey now. To indulge her is to unlock his secrets. It is a risk worth taking, and so he closes the gap until he’s right up to her side and can whisper innocent things from terrible lips.

“My brother,” he begins with the most obvious, the sun his planet revolves around. He hears her murmur of surprise. “I left him when he was small. But everything I do...I do for him.” He’s never...seemed happy before. Placid, yes, perhaps even content but...happiness is what this is. She can hear the smile just underneath his collar. “When he said my name...nothing surpassed that joy. He loved playtime with his big brother. He wanted his shadow to be just as long as mine, if only to keep me safe. He loved being where he didn’t belong, just to stay beside me. ” And Itachi regrets that he cannot do the same.

Itachi’s happiness stings.

The rose leans into him more, and the Uchiha welcomes the intimacy that scratches him with her gentle touch.

“He sounds...incredible,” she repeats, though different in meaning. A cracked eye sees his free hand raise, and a finger that has sent many to hell tries to join her in heaven with a single, harmonic voice.

Ding…

It joins her perfectly, something deep from her on one end and bright from him upon the other.

“He is. He always will be.”

And that’s enough. She needs to return the favor, thinks the crow: “And what of you? What do you like?” With the question, her finger inches just a little closer to his, just a little higher in tone.

“I…” Dumb things make her heart race, as ever. Her cheeks tinge the color of her glasses. “It’s the first thing on my mind, is all. Just the first. That I miss from home. Don’t laugh.” The woman knows he will not, and yet fear necessitates this verbal ritual, this disclaimer. She knows how he would answer, that any little thing that keeps her alive is worthwhile.

“I like...cotton candy. I like how puffy it is.” She pushes back shame for not praising things of grander value to the universe, as her own existence is so very small, and its buds deserve to be nurtured by the only one who can garden for it. “I like that it’s soft. That it can be pink. Or blue. Or yellow. It’s always so pretty. It’s like a cloud from your dreams.”

Itachi’s hushed voice betrays wonder. “...I’ve never heard of such a thing.” His receptiveness puts heavy shoulders a little more at ease, setting her burden a little more upon the ground.

“It isn’t...a sophisticated taste. It’s just sugar. But it’s whipped so, so fast...that it’s like silk. It’s like spiderwebs. And then as soon as it’s in your mouth...it melts so fast that it’s gone.” She holds back an ironic comment on how this could be like other forms of joyousness, but that’d be rude to him.

“I like…” She purposefully selects something alongside her grievances with an infinitely connected world. “...Pictures of cats. Where I come from, it’s so easy to share things. To show things. And so much of it was dedicated to just showing how silly or happy or cute your cat was.” Her smile widens, sweet as the sugar clouds he can only imagine. “I love cats.” Love. That’s progress in his purview; he didn’t even have to press for such emotion. “Do you like cats?” All of a sudden, she’s looking at him, and her eyes are as bright as the morning they searched for the piano standing in front of the pair. “I like all of them, but I really like orange cats.”

And suddenly, something clicks.

He sees it now. A part of her, deep inside, is so very, very small. She sheltered it so much from the suffering in her skin and bones that this piece of her soul will never quite grow all the way up. The magician takes her question very, very seriously.

“...The brown ones. With soft tones and darker points.”

“Siamese!”

And then it happens. She laughs. She laughs unhindered and out loud and without guilt. Itachi sees something familiar, and he remembers that this is what it means to be alive. This is what peace can be...

...Is, before him, for him, now.

This is how the rest of a lazy summer day passes by. Much to the ease of Kisame's mind, he finds the woman enraptured in joy and stories and so many- many- flutters of excited hands. Part of him is so goddamn relieved he didn’t fuck up so badly that rainy night prior that he sucked all the hope out of her precious bleeding heart… But also part of him didn’t know she had this kind of energy in her, that this kind of behavior was beaten out of her with no return. So after brief surprise, it returns to grateful ease. What is it with Itachi and women…?

...No, it isn’t worth framing like this so simply, Kisame surmises, seeing the way black eyes soften with her reflection in them. So even Uchiha can feel love...

Tentatively, with the guide of a red-ringed hand, the traveler gets some help passing barefoot past the road of coals and thorns and on the way to some sort of freedom, as much as can be found in a situation with no choices. The new man is greeted warmly as he enters.

“What’s all this about?” Kisame joins in, pulling up the chair to join one old friend and one new. Bashfully, the woman releases her grasp from Itachi’s— the hold unseen by the swordsman in the first place— and presses her reddened fingertips together. “I’ve been thinking about things that cheer me up. What do you like?” she invites so quickly it takes him off guard.

The taller man looks up to his partner and either receives the permission he is seeking or does not in those dark eyes. With hesitation, as if he could make her cry with just a word, Kisame engages the childish quandary, putting his true, bandaged favorite that's normally strapped to his back in temporary second place.

“Well…” he begins with a scratch of his chin, worried it won’t be up to par with whatever preceded him, “...I quite like seafood.”

“Seafood?!”

At first he’s afraid, she’s so much louder than he’s ever heard her, but those are stars in her eyes as she jumps up.

“I love seafood!”

With slow acceptance, the blue man raises a brow and one side of his mouth. “...Is that so…?” She nods, eagerly, and so it’s impossible to hold back a chuckle. “Then we’ll make a date of it, princess.”

“Oh my gosh!” Two fists pump the air, the woman’s expression as determined as one can be over fish. “Yes! Next time! Next time we’re out!” She turns to Itachi, just a notch quieter. “...Next time we’re out?” As if he’d do anything else, he pauses before giving his own quiet nod. “Yes!”

The shadows change shape over the hours, and the three silhouettes are now in color with it so dark outside. Normally such a figure in triple-headed shape alone would be more akin to a hydra, what with 2/3 being some of the most feared men in all of humankind, but the third makes their picture mean something else entirely. Unknown, what other analogy there could be for something with three faces, but it is remarkably more sweet.

“—And you can use it to watch videos!”

“Hm? Videos?”

“Like movies! Wait, do you have movies? Films?”

“Of course we have films, we aren’t cavemen!” Though Kisame doesn’t know her movies have sound and color.

“Okay, so it’s like a film, but it’s shorter— no, it can be as long. Or longer! But it’s usually pretty short. And you can say whatever you want in them, or do whatever you want!”

“Sounds trite.”

“It is! It was awesome. I liked one channel who talked about his farm—”

“Channel?”

“Yeah, where you would post your videos!”

“Post? Hold on, princess, I thought this wasn’t a physical place. How can you post on anything that’s not, say...a billboard? A pole?”

“That’s just the word for it, Kisame, I didn’t pick it!”

“How unusual…”

Itachi watches the two banter as she tries to paint them a picture, a mere sketch in the corner of a massive masterpiece that is an entirely separate manner of existence. For someone who hated it so much, these details still make her bubble with glee, grin like it’ll all be just fine. But then it grows late, and as the moon rises, so does the dreamer’s hand to suppress a yawn. Kisame offers her a hand, though she takes before understanding his purpose.

“We’ve kept the songbird up for so long that she lost her voice!” he teases, and even though she comprehends this tone, she still shakes her head in refusal.

“No, I haven’t lost it yet. Just one last thing. One more—”

It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be complete. But it can be something else.

“Itachi?”

The dying man returns her gaze. She does not flinch at his coal-black eyes.

“Help me with something?” Even as she requests, her hand is already taking his again, and an angel guides two fingers to make one chord on the piano, pressing for him in multiple lengths.

Dmmmm… Dm. Dm. D-d-dm.

“Just like that,” she explains. “Every so often, when it feels right. That’ll be a big help for this song.”

Having slumped onto the floor somewhere in the past couple subjects, she outstretches her fingers for Kisame’s hand again, signifying she’s ready finally for his aid, and she’s lifted off the ground. Once the wrinkles upon the lap of her dress are pressed off, the woman returns one again at the bench, Itachi having not moved from it. Their sides touch again. He’s numb to the thorns. The scent of rose is intoxicating, dizzying in its contrarian, painful innocence, and he notes to be wary of it in the long times to come.

“I’m going to sing for you guys.” Confident as the statement is, the next one makes it waiver: “...If that’s okay.” But she knows it’s okay, so she does not wait. An inhale winds up her nose and an exhale shoves out fear clinging to her throat. Two wrists raise and press the keys, once they pulled down her lenses so she can view her situation with rose-tinted glasses. Unspoken questions ruminate, fuel the engine of her soul:

Can we be friends?

But what if it doesn’t last?

Does it matter?

So she sings:

Only in my darkest moments can I see the light

I think I'm prone to getting blinded when it's bright

She sighs melodically, to her new rhythm, as she tries to describe to them what it’s like to want to hurt, to ache, to die, when things are getting better.

Well, this December, I'll remember

Want you to see it when I do

Oh, oh, oh

God knows I do

Suffering makes you doubt joy, joy makes you doubt that you’ve suffered. Both are veracity of being alive, and yet so easily they can be swayed to the benefit of the negative. Guilt for allowing yourself happiness: it’s something these men know, too. They need little explanation. The passiveness, as if existence is merely erosion of the self instead of the building of your mountain, your accumulation of many, great, little things. It's a form of self-harm. Itachi is perfect in his role; he knows just when to add in his given chord and give her strength.

I'm alright if you're alright

I'm okay if you're okay

It's this state, in this state I'm living in

It's just a little bit, it's just a bit

Maybe, this December, I'll remember

Want you to see it when I do

Oh, oh, oh

God knows I do

The ghost will ride joy out as long as it lasts. Maybe someday, Itachi will see how cotton candy compares to dango. Kisame tries in vain not to have this moment change him forever, for the better. Heaven doesn’t need to pass away just yet. And then as the song fades and it’s time to retire for the evening, single words between the three make each other a promise:

Goodnight.

We will all still wake up for each other in the morning.

#akatsuki x reader #aswtn fic #songfic #itachi x reader #kisame x reader #i had...a lot of trouble writing this one. i had a completely different chapter and decided while im happy its out of my system #it is not what i wanted in the story. part of why there's a gap of time on my part between this one and the last #but i like how it ended up :)

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 1 year

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Yes, hello! I am currently dealing with allergies in my dorm room. May I please have any of the Noah's Ark Circus crew taking care of an s/o who has an awful case of allergies? I'm talking similar to seasonal allergies but year-round and unpredictable AF. I hope I'm not asking too much.

never too much! aaaaaaaa

Well, she’s doin’ the best she can, but… wot exac’ly is she s’posed t’ do?? Other than fetch you anything you need, which she’s already doing. It’s not as if she knows of anything that can make a person stop sneezing, after all. And, although she sometimes gets a little irritated by the repetitive noises when symptoms crop up, she knows it’s a her problem and not your fault. She’s definitely sure that you’re infinitely more irritated with it all than she could ever be. Still, the best way to help eludes her… you just tell her what you need and she’ll do it, she simply doesn’t have any ideas of her own which might help. Other than giving you kisses on the cheek and running a loving hand through your hair, as long as you’re alright with that. She can’t ‘fix’ anything; she’s a great emotional support, though, and maybe that’s all she really needs to be.

Errrrr… damn… ‘e don’t s’pose some kinda tea might ‘elp, would it? The first time he experiences this he’s almost in shock, seeing that they’re treating it like this is normal for them. He’s pretty sure something like that would drive him mad — regular hayfever in the spring is bad enough! Despite that he might get a little bit of it himself, it’s nowhere near as severe as (Name)’s, and at least that slight bit he goes through lasts only a couple of months. He’s the type to dote as much as he can, offering possible remedies that he’s asked around about and reminding his S/O every so often that he’ll do whatever they need him to. It makes him pout some, to see them in a not insignificant amount of misery with nothing he can do about it. At least he’s there, so he prides himself on making sure he takes very good care of them.

Lord, but they never seen someone sneeze so many times in a row! Ain’t (Name) dizzy?? If nothing else, they understand that yes, their darling is probably a little lightheaded from all that. Immediately following any kind of allergy attack, Freckles is quick to let their S/O lean on them, or they’ll reach over to steady their sweetheart. They have no shame in the way that they try to help, mainly because it’s the kind of thing they’d hope someone who loved them would do for them. That’s what it should be, shouldn’t it, to treat someone you love the way you want to be treated? Of course, they’re forever giggling about it, teasing their S/O: “Oi, y’ exaggeratin’ this jus’ ‘cause y’ want me t’ ‘old y’? Y’ don’t need an excuse f’r that!” It’s mostly an effort to get them to smile and make them feel a little better during moments that might be a struggle. None of it really bothers Freckles, and they’re perfectly willing to ask what they can do to be of help. Whatever their darling needs, they’ll get!

Haha, goodness… they’re a sight! Aww, ‘e ain’t laughin’ at ‘em, ‘e’s jus’… th’ situation’s a li’l funny! While he’s never really seen someone with these kinds of allergies before, he can certainly imagine that it’s not a good time at all. He and his family have run into a lot of different people in their lives, so this sort of thing doesn’t really surprise him despite it being something he’s never encountered until now. Honestly, his poor darling; he’ll have to take them to visit Doc and see if there isn’t anything which might take the edge off, however small it may be. Aside from that, he’s always more than glad to take care of them. All they need to do is tell him what they need, and as long as it’s something that’s physically and financially possible, he’ll find a way to make it happen. He also thinks he’s hilarious, because he counts their sneezes, and gives them a half-affectionate, half-cheeky, “Bless ye ten times, m’ love!” once they’re finally done. Just smack him to train him out of that habit!

Wot the devil… are they alright?? They’re not comin’ down with somethin’, are they? He’s far more likely to assume it’s illness, (mostly in the beginning), than he is to think it’s some kind of year-long hayfever sort of condition. Although he hasn’t ever heard of anything like that, he doesn’t have any problems accepting that’s what’s going on once they tell him. It makes him wince a little whenever they complain about their eyes watering, because he’s had his own issues with vision, and he’s a bit scared that it could lead to them not being able to see. Thankfully, he doesn’t often show his fear, and just does whatever they need him to do. If they’re okay with him carrying them around just in case they start sneezing, so that they don’t get dizzy, he’ll do that. As well, they don’t need to do anything other than mention something that may help, and he’s off to go get it or set it up or whatever they need. He doesn’t think anything of it, but he’s really incredibly attentive.

Good God, wot is goin’ on with them?! Even when ‘e’s sick as ‘ell, ‘e don’t sneeze or sniffle ‘alf as much as they do! Much like Jumbo, Peter is definitely inclined to think it’s a cold or something rather than allergies. While he’s got his own respiratory and immune issues, well… he complains in the beginning that his beloved is “bein’ drama’ic, surely it can’t be that bad??” He thinks they’re exaggerating for sympathy and rolls his eyes a little. (This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s sometimes faked an extra sneeze or two so that he can ‘prove’ he’s so sick and has to sit out practice or performances. Nope. No projecting here.) Once it clicks that they literally can’t help it, he freaks out in a panic that he was so mean. It’s like watching a switch flip — he’s suddenly at their beck and call, fetching whatever he thinks they’ll need even before he thinks they’re going to ask for it. He surely feels bad about acting so dismissive, so he desperately wants to make it up to them. He might even apologize as he’s trying to take care of them. Dammit, he doesn’t want them to suffer!

(… How many times was that?) Hm. Not sure, Emily. Seven, was it? (Good grief. They’re never going to stop, are they?) Both he and his friends are all startled the first couple of times they see it happen. Actually, it’s a little funny, because Snake tends to sneeze at least five times in a row whenever he does, so he’s borderline relieved to see that it isn’t just him that happens to. Of course, he’s usually sick when he does, and he’s practiced for years to try to keep his from being noticed. (Name) looks a little dazed and annoyed, just… not really surprised. And they don’t seem ill. Tsk. Even though he doesn’t know exactly what it is, other than some kind of long-term hayfever, he knows that any cold remedies probably won’t work. So he tries some of the folk remedies for hayfever that he knows, gently sliding them over toward his sweetheart with eager eyes that beg them to try it. It puts him in pain to see them suffering, so he wants to ease it a little, if he can. If nothing else, he’s content to curl up with them and just… be there. Emotional support Snake, all the way.

One, two, three, four… Lord, ain’t it ever gonna let go of ‘em? They jus’ look so damn itchy ‘n’ uncomf’table! She couldn’t imagine having to sneeze so many times in a row, and coupled with the sniffling and watery eyes that apparently come with whatever this is, she’s quietly worried about her S/O. It extends into her going to see Doc, asking about if such a thing is normal and if anything might be able to help her darling out. That must get old, and she certainly knows how old it gets from the fact that she and Peter tend to catch a cold seemingly every two weeks in the winter. As far as she can picture, that’s a taste of what this year-round hayfever must be like for (Name). If they could see through their sneezing, they’d notice her watching them with a blatantly concerned expression whenever it happens. As small as she is, she thinks she can give them some help, or at least be of comfort. It’s not going to stop her from trying, anyway, so she likes to just lie down with them as often as she can, an attempt to get them away from whatever might be bothering them and a chance to relax. If they tell her anything will help, she’s prepared to go get it. She just… she wants to take care of them. Any way she can.

#Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Beast #Dagger #Doll/Freckles #Joker #Jumbo #Peter #Snake #Wendy #reaction #romantic #fluff #hurt/comfort #whump #UGHHHH they all care so much pls #one hell of a queue

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chiomaus · 4 months

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brother's wedding retrospective

GOOD

it was a nice time. i had fun. i danced. i drank. i rescued some baby robins.

got to see my family.

got to meet my baby nephew for the first time.

got to spend time with my parents.

beautiful city. beautiful weather.

there was a magician!

ate some delicious food both at the wedding and the two days either side. bonus: i didn't have to pay for it.

i felt very capable navigating the trains despite so many transfers, busy london stations, getting around the underground, and dealing with setbacks.

spent 4.5hrs on the train friday and about 5hrs on the train today. delays / cancellations both times. keep telling myself it was good practice for getting the trains in germany. i didn't mind too much bc i quite like taking the train. started feeling quite ill in paddington station though bc it was so hot and humid. just as i was starting to get bored on the train, a woman came round asking people fill out questionnaires, so i hope great western rail will find my feedback useful.

airbnb was so tastelessly furnished but in a funny way (the owner had her own terrible art all over the flat).

we didn't get to see the aurora borealis (why call it the northern lights when you can call it the aurora borealis) but i had a nice time looking at the stars with my dad just away from the wedding venue.

BAD

it basically felt like our family was an afterthought. in his speech, my brother actually mentioned his (now) wife's parents before our OWN parents. it really feels like he is just quietly exiting our family and just joining hers. this means i probably won't get to have much of a relationship with my nephew unless i really put an effort in. and since i am 4-5hrs away that's kind of tricky. me and my brother never really had much in common but i thought being siblings would mean something. on the bright side, this further confirms my suspicions that i am my parents' favourite child.

addendum to the above: my mum and her sister (ie my aunt) are coeliacs. anyone with coeliac disease or allergies knows that you often get forgotten when it comes to catering. you would think, of all places, my brother would make a point to cater to our mum and aunt. they got the same food as everyone else minus the main bit which contained gluten. they also didn't get to have any pizzas later.

barely got to spend any time with my nephew bc he got stolen by his maternal grandmother (ie not my mum). we arrived early to the wedding and i get a bit nervous just standing around so i was walking him around the grounds in his stroller. just nice to spend time with him and have a job to do. then (maternal) grandma asked to "borrow" him and she basically spent the rest of the day and evening fussing over him. she lives super close to them, so it's not like she never gets to spend time with him. meanwhile, i had literally met him for the first time that day.

aside from my parents and maybe my aunt and uncle, i still ended up feeling very much on the outside, even with my cousins of the same age. i really did my best to join in but it feels a bit like being the new kid at school who is always somewhat Other simply due to everyone else knowing each other so much better. idk i internalised this stat i read a while back about neurotypical people "clocking" autistic people within about 30 seconds and feel like i never really know what i'm supposed to do or say with people most of the time. the only person that made a point to include me was a very drunk dutch woman who invited me to dance with her. (she was very funny actually. she kept singing the first line of "don't stop me know" randomly in the taxi and called the taxi driver "mr man" several times.)

peak drunkenness hit me around 22:00 when i decided to stop drinking bc i was starting to feel a bit ill and morose, but of course everyone else continued drinking, so i was sitting around feeling lonely and inept while surrounded by drunk happy normal people. you're not really meant to drink on SSRIs so i was trying to be sensible. idk if that's related to how tired and morose i ended up feeling.

related: i do enjoy weddings and i always cry a lot of happy tears hearing the speeches and seeing the bride for the first time in her dress, but being single at a wedding feels like everyone except you is in a happy loving relationship. the last wedding i was at i was in my first proper relationship and i felt like love was something i could have after all. and well without getting too much into it, i'm single again, and thinking to myself "but i deserve to be loved, right? right????". just continually shouting down the voice that tells you "actually there's a big reason why you have so little dating experience and it's a Bad one". again i don't want to start going into the background of that failed relationship, but i feel like i was offered a single crumb of love before it was snatched away from me, and i'm left sitting here thinking "but i want the loaf! i want the loaf!!!" idk man im being patient but after a while you start to think that love isnt something that's supposed to happen to you.

so yeah i am feeling very physically, mentally and emotionally tired now. i have two (hopefully calm) days at work then on wednesday i am off to germany for a week on my own. so i'm just going to focus on that and all the fun and interesting things i'm going to do and not on how bad/sad/mad i am feeling after this weekend.

you could spend a billion £ on a wedding and it still wouldn't be as good as my friends' wedding last year. to spend nearly a week with people i have always felt accepted and loved by and not ever doubt whether i belonged there was such a wonderful thing. sadly i don't think any other friends are planning to get married any time soon but god i think i am done with weddings for a while.

anyway some pics:

always a good journey if i get to see some interesting pylons.

magic trick where the magician "fired" a tiny man at a deck of cards, leaving a stickman-shaped hole in half the deck and the stick man on the card i had picked out and signed earlier. i got to keep the card as a fun souvenir.

two very inept baby birds. they kept flying down into the enclosed courtyard and i kept putting them back in the rafters where they were safe.

we saw the cathedral. we did not pay the £19 per person to get any closer.

it's great when there's concrete.

the horrifying moment when your train is due in 4 minutes and you still don't know what platform it will be at. or if it will even be arriving. this happened to me in heathrow last year, and my plane back from germany also got cancelled, so it's a bit anxiety-inducing.

only funny to me but i enjoyed seeing some DB trains! in england!

anyway thanks for coming to my post see you have fun

#in this post: big whines

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