#off-canvas menu

[cssscriptcom]

Hover-triggered Off-Canvas Side Menu - Less Annoying Hotzone

Less Annoying Hotzone is a sleek, modern off-canvas side menu that slides out from the left when you hover over the left edge of a webpage. Traditional hover-activated off-canvas sidebars often disappear abruptly when a user’s cursor moves slightly outside the element boundaries. Less Annoying Hotzone solves this by implementing an overflow hover behavior that keeps the sidebar visible even when…

[cosmicsproutcake]

I think it's honestly for the best I don't have the patience to learn how to dox people, 'cause like :/ :/ :/

Yeah, if I'm looking up how to get out of the canvas mode of some program and I have to scroll passed more than 4 different how-to's, one of which is teaching how to access what I'm stuck in, I will knock your teeth out if I ever meet you in person.

I think it goes without saying that if I looked up "how to get out of X programs canvas mode" then I'm probably not looking for "how to access X programs canvas mode"

[worldgoit]

How Can I Change Off-Canvas Menu Position from Right to Left?

Introduction

When it comes to web design and development, user experience plays a crucial role in determining the success of a website. One aspect that significantly impacts user experience is the off-canvas menu. An off-canvas menu is a popular design pattern used to create mobile-friendly and responsive navigation menus. By default, many off-canvas menus slide in from the left side of the screen. However, there may be instances when you need to change the off-canvas menu position from right to left. In this article, we will explore various methods to achieve this, catering to different website setups and development technologies.

Table of Contents

- Understanding Off-Canvas Menus - Reasons to Change the Off-Canvas Menu Position - How to Change Off-Canvas Menu Position from Right to Left - Using CSS - With JavaScript - Framework-Specific Solutions - Ensuring Responsiveness and Accessibility - Testing and Troubleshooting - Common Challenges and Solutions - Leveraging CSS Media Queries - Taking Advantage of Frameworks and Libraries - Performance Considerations - Best Practices for Off-Canvas Menus - Conclusion - FAQs

1. Understanding Off-Canvas Menus

An off-canvas menu is a hidden menu that slides in from the side of the screen when triggered, usually by clicking a menu icon. This design pattern allows website developers to create a clean and uncluttered layout, especially for mobile and small-screen devices. The menu stays out of sight until it is needed, conserving valuable screen real estate and providing a seamless navigation experience.

2. Reasons to Change the Off-Canvas Menu Position

While the default left-side positioning of the off-canvas menu is common and widely accepted, there are specific scenarios where switching the position to the right may be preferred. Some of the reasons include: - Cultural Considerations: In certain cultures and languages, people are accustomed to menus and navigation elements appearing from the right side. - Existing Layout Constraints: The website's layout or design might better accommodate a right-side off-canvas menu. - Consistency with Desktop Navigation: If the website's desktop navigation menu is on the right side, keeping the off-canvas menu consistent can enhance user familiarity.

3. How to Change Off-Canvas Menu Position from Right to Left

Customizing Menu The best way, you can change to position in Customizing - Off-Canvas

Using CSS One of the simplest ways to change the off-canvas menu position is by using CSS. By adjusting the CSS properties responsible for positioning, you can make the menu slide in from the left side. Here's a basic example: cssCopy code/* Assuming the off-canvas menu has the class name "off-canvas-menu" */ .off-canvas-menu { /* Position the menu on the left side */ right: auto; left: 0; } With JavaScript In some cases, the off-canvas menu might be controlled by JavaScript. In such situations, you can modify the JavaScript code responsible for triggering the menu to slide from the left side: javascriptCopy code// Assuming the menu trigger function is named "openMenu" function openMenu() { // Code to open the off-canvas menu // Set the menu position to the left side } Framework-Specific Solutions If your website is built using a popular frontend framework like React, Angular, or Vue.js, there may be specific solutions or libraries available to customize the off-canvas menu position. Check the documentation or community forums for relevant guidance.

4. Ensuring Responsiveness and Accessibility

When modifying the off-canvas menu position, it's crucial to ensure responsiveness and accessibility across different devices and screen sizes. Test the website thoroughly on various devices to guarantee that the menu works seamlessly and remains usable.

5. Testing and Troubleshooting

After implementing the changes, it is essential to conduct thorough testing and address any potential issues that may arise. Test the menu on different browsers and devices to ensure compatibility and smooth functionality.

6. Common Challenges and Solutions

Changing the off-canvas menu position may present some challenges, such as overlapping content or unexpected behavior. To address these issues, consider using z-index and CSS transforms to manipulate the stacking order and positioning of elements.

7. Leveraging CSS Media Queries

To maintain a responsive design, leverage CSS media queries to adjust the off-canvas menu position based on the device's screen size. This ensures a seamless user experience across various devices.

8. Taking Advantage of Frameworks and Libraries

If you're using a frontend framework or library, explore available plugins or components that facilitate changing the off-canvas menu position. These can simplify the implementation process and provide additional customization options.

9. Performance Considerations

Keep in mind that any modification to the off-canvas menu position should not negatively impact website performance. Optimize your CSS and JavaScript to ensure fast loading times and a smooth user experience.

10. Best Practices for Off-Canvas Menus

When designing off-canvas menus, consider these best practices: - Keep the menu simple and easy to navigate. - Provide a clear and visible close button for easy menu dismissal. - Ensure that the menu works flawlessly with touch and keyboard interactions.

Conclusion

Changing the off-canvas menu position from right to left can enhance the user experience, particularly in specific cultural contexts or layout preferences. By utilizing CSS or JavaScript, and considering responsive design principles, web developers can create intuitive and user-friendly off-canvas menus for their websites.

FAQs

- Can I use frameworks like Bootstrap to create off-canvas menus with customizable positions? Yes, frameworks like Bootstrap offer components that can help you create off-canvas menus with the flexibility to adjust their positions. - Is it possible to have the off-canvas menu slide from both left and right depending on the user's language preference? Yes, with JavaScript, you can detect the user's language and conditionally set the menu position accordingly. - Does changing the off-canvas menu position affect SEO? No, changing the off-canvas menu position typically does not have a significant impact on SEO as long as the content and structure remain unchanged. - Are there any performance implications of changing the menu position with JavaScript? Implementing changes with JavaScript may have minor performance implications, but optimizing your code can mitigate any adverse effects. - What are some alternatives to off-canvas menus for mobile navigation? Alternatives include a traditional top or bottom fixed navigation bar, a hamburger menu, or a tab-based navigation system. Read the full article

[buckysleftbicep]

notes on napkins 𐙚 s.r

pairing: steve rogers x barista!fem!reader

warnings: nothing but loads and loads of fluff to make your day!

word count: 3k

summary: just a barista, a rainy café, and the quiet way steve leaves his heart behind—one napkin doodle at a time.

a/n: oh my gosh, i used to work in cafes, and i absolutely love this idea! please let me know what you think! love ya guys and stay safe!

The first time Steve Rogers walked into you coffee shop, you didn’t even realise who he was. 

At least not right away. It had been one of those mornings that felt like the city of New York had pulled a blanket over its head. The sky outside was a low-hanging canvas of pewter grey, and fine, steady drizzle had painted everything in a watery shimmer.

The rain was pitter pattering against the wide glass windows like a quiet metronome, while the soft hum of indie music and the hiss of the espresso machine filled the quaint little space with a warmth that made the ever so busy streets outside feel very far away. 

You liked mornings like this, where it was slow, sleepy, it smelled like cinnamon and dark roast, where the regulars would wander in, wrapped in soft scarves and sweaters as they seeked something warm and familiar, a latte or perhaps one of your shop’s best selling blueberry muffins. 

The bell above the door had jingled softly, and you had glanced up from the counter out of habit. 

Steve had stepped in almost like he didn’t quite belong, almost as if the world outside had followed him in on the soles of his boots. Tall, broad-shouldered, a little rain damp around the edges. A navy jacket clung to his frame, his hair—short and golden and tousled from the drizzle was already starting to dry off.

He had looked like a painting you could probably find in an old war-era magazine, only somehow more human. Like if you touched him, he’d be warm.

He didn’t look at you at first, he stood for a beat near the door, blinking at the chalkboard menu with a hint of hesitation, his presence, quiet but heavy, almost as if gravity had settled around him. As if even in stillness, he carried the weight of something larger than himself. 

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and offered your best barista smile, hoping to make him feel a little more comfy. “Good morning”. 

That’s when he looked at you, and that’s when it hit you. 

Oh. 

It was him. 

Steve Rogers. Captain America. The Captain America. Shield-wielding Avenger, a literal national icon, you remembered him from the school trips to the Smithsonian, blonde hair, blue eyes, war hero. He was standing in your doorway, like a quiet storm cloud, wet around the edges, slightly flustered and blinking like he hadn’t quite found his footing. 

“Uh…just a coffee,” he said finally, stepping toward the counter, his voice was low, warm, a little rough around the edges—like gravel in honey. Steve had hesitated, glancing once more at the menu above your head. “Black, please”. 

Your brain had chosen that exact moment to short-circuit. 

“Oh, of course” you had said quickly, fumbling for a cup, trying to keep your hands from visibly shaking. “Just black, coming right up”. 

You didn’t look up again, until you handed it to him. He gave you a quiet thank you, eyes meeting yours with that polite, boyish sort of smile—the one that made your stomach do something fluttery and well, mildly embarrassing. 

You watched Steve go, pretending you weren’t watching. He had taken the far corner table by the window, the one with the wide view of the street outside. He sat like he needed to fold himself smaller, shoulders hunched just slightly forward as though he didn’t want to take up more space than necessary.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him cradle the paper cup in both hands, fingertips pressed gently to the sides for warmth, gaze drifting through the window. 

He looked…tired, not the bad kind of tired, he looked like someone used to carrying the weight of the world, someone who was just quietly resting for once. 

And you felt it, something gentle and inexplicable tugging at the back of your ribs, something about the way he sat in the soft morning light, rain trailing lazy paths down the window beside him, felt achingly human. Lonely, maybe but peaceful too. 

You wiped the counter for the third time in two minutes and pretended your heart wasn’t still doing flips. 

He stayed longer than most people did. Didn’t pull out a phone, didn’t ask for wifi. Just sat, watched the rain, drank his coffee, like he had nowhere else to be. 

And then just as quietly as he arrived, he stood, tossed his cup, and left without another word.

The bell chimed as the door shut behind him. And that was that, you had stood there, blinking after him. You didn’t know he would be back the next day. 

And the day after that. 

And, well, everyday after that. 

“Morning” Steve had said the fourth time he came in, his voice a little lighter now, the edges of shyness worn down. You had looked up from the espresso machine, your hands stilling for half a second, the smile that bloomed on your face wasn’t the automatic one you have your customers, it was warmer, real. 

“Good morning, Captain” you teased, one brow raised, your eyes catching the sparkle of something mischievous beneath his usual calm. 

He had paused, just long enough for the corner of his mouth to twitch, his expression was the kind of deadpan that barely hid his smirk, like he had walked straight into your trap and yet, he didn’t even mind.

“Steve’s fine” he had replied with the kind of patience that said he had heard Captain one too many times but somehow wasn’t annoyed by it coming from you. 

You tilted your head slightly, the tiniest tilt of mock consideration, “alright,” you had said, tone as warm as honey. “Steve”. 

Because how could you not?

He had settled into his seat, shrugging out of his jacket with practiced ease, then from the inner pocket, he pulled out a small sketchbook. You recognised it now—thin leather cover, corners worn and creased, like it had seen the inside of too many pockets and too many years. He opened it casually, and with a pencil held between strong fingers, he began to draw. 

Steve didn’t hunch or fidget like most people did, his posture remained relaxed but still—elegant in its ease. His hand moved in smooth, confident lines, his brows furrowed slightly, just enough to show focus, the kind of look that said he was somewhere else entirely—in a world only he could see. 

The shop was quiet, only a few customers lost in their own rituals, and yet the air felt heavier with him in it. Not in an overbearing way, no, more like gravity, like the place had shifted around him, quietly rearranged itself to accommodate his presence. Not because he demanded it but because that was just how he was. 

When Steve left, he didn’t say much, just a soft nod in your direction and a ghost of a smile, his cup going into the trash, he had put his jacket back on, the bell chiming once more as the door swung shut behind him. 

But when you went to clean his table, you saw it. 

A napkin. Left deliberately, placed in the centre of the table like a calling card. 

Drawn in neat strong pencil lines was a cartoon version of your shop’s logo. Only the little coffee bean mascot—normally smiling beside a latte was now flexing with two tiny arms and lifting a pair of dumbbells. Big cartoon muscle, tiny sweat drops, it was utterly ridiculous. 

Beneath it, written in perfectly blocky handwriting, all caps but still somehow charming: STRONG BREW. 

You stared at it for a moment, heart stuttering like a dropped beat, then you laughed, full and bright, before you could yourself. It had bubbled out of you, warm and delighted and loud enough that your coworker glanced over with a raised brow from the pastry case. 

You cleared your throat quickly, but the grin stayed. 

Your fingers brushed over the napkin’s edge, careful not to smudge the pencil. You had folded it with deliberate care, tucking it beneath the register—behind the spare pens and post-notes and where no one else would see. 

Your cheeks were still warm when you turned back to the espresso machine. 

Steve didn’t write his number, didn’t sign his name. 

But it felt like the start of something anyway. 

And the next morning, when he walked in and said, “morning,” with that quiet little smile?

You were already reaching for the napkin.

It became a thing. 

Everyday like clockwork, Steve Rogers would walk through the door of your shop at exactly 7:33 am. 

Not 7:30. Not 7:35. 

7:33.

You checked, you started checking without meaning to, gaze finding the clock right before the bell above the door chimed, like your body had learned his rhythm before your brain had caught on. 

He always came alone, always wore the same jacket, always said “good morning” like it meant something. And always ordered the same thing—black coffee, one sugar now. A quiet evolution that made you smile every time you reached for the sugar packet.

He’d offer a soft thank you, fingers brushing yours like a habit, he would settle into the window seat like it had always been his. At times, the sunlight would catch the edge of his sketchbook, highlighting pages that had been flipped and filled with steady hands and his careful heart. 

You never asked what he was drawing, he never said. But when he left, there would always be a napkin waiting. 

A soft gift. 

At first they were silly things—almost as if they were quiet jokes that he wasn’t brave enough to say aloud. 

A tiny superhero made entirely of cappuccino foam, cape made of steam and arms mid-fight. 

A croissant with a star-spangled shield, mid leap.

But as the days passed, the sketches started to shift, they grew softer, gentler, more watchful somehow. 

One morning, you found a sketch of the front of the shop, the window you cleaned every morning before opening, the little chalkboard sign you rewrote weekly, the ivy plant that hung a little crooked in the corner—Steve had drawn that too.

All of it captured in soft, deliberate pencil strokes, the rain on the glass had been rendered in streaks, a detail so small, you wouldn’t have expected anyone to notice. 

And then, there was that napkin. 

You found it midshift, in the same spot where he always left them, at first it had looked like another cafe scene—until your breath caught. 

It was you. 

A quick caricature, drawn with a light, fond touch, clearly sketched with memory, not distance. You behind the counter, apron strings flying like wind had caught them, your hair pulled into the ponytail just the way you wore it, your hand pouring steamed milk into a cup, latte art just beginning to form. 

You weren’t glamorous, weren’t posed. You were, well, you, a little lopsided, real and caught in motion. 

And somehow…in the sketch, you looked beautiful. 

You stared at it for a long moment, frozen in the middle of wiping the table. The world around you blurred with the hum of conversation and coffee grinders, but the space behind your ribs felt full.

Sweet. Like your heart had been wrapped in cotton. 

Eventually, you folded the napkin carefully—like it might fall apart if you were not gentle. You slipped it into your apron pocket, tucked against your chest like a secret no else needed to know.

It stayed there for the rest of the day. At times, your hand would drift to it without thinking. Just a light brush, like you were checking it was still real.

And when you saw him again the next morning, smile soft and tired at exactly 7:33?

You handed him his coffee with a heart that fluttered so hard, you were surprised he couldn’t hear it over the hum of the espresso machine.

You weren’t sure when the butterflies started.

Maybe around the tenth napkin—when you had started anticipating them, looking forward to the way his sketches somehow always made your day better.

Maybe it was the first time he walked in and said your name like he’d been waiting all morning to do so. His voice, deep, soft and oh so familiar. Like it tasted good in his mouth.

Maybe it was when he laughed—really laughed—at one of your dumb jokes, head tipping back, eyes crinkling at the corners, and your stomach did something humiliatingly theatrical in response, almost as if it had turned into a stage and thrown confetti.

You weren’t supposed to have a crush on Captain America, for God’s sake.

But the truth was… he didn’t feel like that version of himself in here. Not the Avenger. Not the icon. Not the face on recruitment posters and history books.

He just felt like Steve.

A quiet man who liked his coffee strong, his sketches soft, and his mornings slow. A man who always said thank you like he meant it, who lingered by the counter just long enough so that your hands brushed a little more than they needed to.

And maybe, just maybe, he lingered on purpose.

“Do you ever take a break?” Steve had asked one slow Friday morning, his voice low, laced with something playful as he nodded toward the bar where you stood wiping a counter that had been clean for the last ten minutes.

You had glanced up, caught off guard. “Once in a while.”

He tapped the end of his pencil against the edge of the table—soft, rhythmic. “You should sit.”

You blinked, “With you?”

A flush crept up his neck, turning his ears pink. “If you would like to.”

Your heart had pounded in your chest but you nodded, untying your apron halfway as you crossed the room, sliding into the seat across from him with the kind of nervous grace that came from wanting to look more composed than you actually felt.

Steve closed the sketchbook slowly, carefully, almost as if he was trying not to scare off the moment. 

“I hope I haven’t been annoying, with all the… drawings.” he started, shy smile on his face. 

You shook your head, too fast. “No. God, no. They’re—” You smiled, a little breathless. “They’re wonderful Steve, I keep them, actually.”

His brows lifted, surprised. “You do?”

You bite your lip, a little sheepish as you nod, “I have a box under the counter, though I think I might need a second one soon.”

Steve chuckled, low and warm, but something in his expression shifted into something tender and unsure, like the idea of being cherished caught him off guard. 

Like he wasn’t used to being wanted.

Not without the shield, the red, white and blue. 

Not without the world needing him to be more.

“You’re really good,” you add gently, letting the quiet fill the space between words. “You notice things, the little things that most people miss.”

He shrugged, gaze dropping, but his smile lingered. “It really helps when the subject’s easy to look at.”

The words landed like a skipped heartbeat, your breath caught as Steve looked away, bashful, the tips of his ears reddening again.

And before you could even process how to respond, he reached for the sketchbook, flipping to a page with a kind of softness, his gaze lingering for a moment before he carefully tore it out along the seam and slid it across the table toward you.

You stared.

It was a sketch of you, different from the napkin doodles, and yet more intimate somehow, it was detailed, full of quiet stillness. The slope of your shoulders behind the counter, the curl of your fingers around a ceramic cup, the way your eyes were turned toward the window, caught in some distant thought, like you had drifted somewhere he could see but not follow.

Steve didn’t say anything right away, he just watched you take it in.

“I didn’t want to leave that one behind,” he said finally, voice soft, gentle, “Didn’t feel right, I felt like it was yours.”

You held the drawing like it might fade if you blinked too hard, your fingertips pressing gently into the paper, like anchoring a heartbeat.

“Steve…”

He leaned back into his chair slightly, running a thumb along the edge of the sketchbook still in his lap.

“I like this place,” he said, almost too quietly. “I feel like I can breathe in here.”

You looked up, eyes meeting his baby blue ones.

So do I.

But you didn’t say it.

Instead, you smiled—touched and a little dazed—and folded the drawing with careful hands, sliding it between the pages of your own notebook like something sacred.

You didn’t need to say it.

He already knew.

The napkin he left the next morning was different, this one had writing, not a sketch, it had just a few words, in that careful, blocky script of his:

“Would you let me take you to dinner? Just Steve. Just me.”

You stared at it for what felt like years.

The shop buzzed softly around you—milk steaming, cups clinking, the light drizzle tapping gently at the windows, but all of it faded into the background. All you could see was the way his letters leaned slightly to the right, almost like he had hesitated, then meant every word on it.

When you looked up, Steve was already at the door, hand resting on the knob, shoulders tense with the weight of a held breath, he turned back, eyes searching, hope flickering in those blue irises, quiet and unguarded.

You held up the napkin, a smile tugging at your lips, and you nodded.

The way his face lit up, gentle, stunned, full of that boyish wonder he always tried to hide made your chest ache in the best way.

He left with that smile still on his face.

And well, your heart stayed a little lighter for the rest of the day, tucked safely into your apron pocket with that very napkin. 

Just Steve.

Just you.

 And maybe—something beginning.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it!

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Love Me Until I Love Myself - Benny Cross

summary: Y/N is insecure and benny finds a way to make her realize that she's worth everything

"— then I was thinking we could go for a ride. Wherever the bike takes us.", Benny said, glancing at you briefly. His fingers pinched the stained material of the menu, already picturing the two of you running away for the weekend. But you were distracted. You'd be all over the idea — the excitement would be evident.

"Y/N?", at the sound of your name, you turned your head to look at him and hummed. Your hand was supporting your chin as you took him in with raised brows. "For the weekend trip we usually do. This time, I thought we could just go with the flow?"

You nodded absentmindedly, your fingers brushing the menu in his hold. "Why not... So you takin' the smoothie with the fries or somethin' else today?", you asked slowly, aware of Benny's eyes burning on your face. He knew you weren't this unusually tired after a shift - you were never tired to hear about the adventures he had planned for the both of you.

Your finger pointed at the dish you had been looking for and showed it to Benny. "I want this.", Benny stilled, glancing your way again, yet decided to stop looking for answers in a blank canvas. You'd tell him when you were ready. He stood up and grabbed the menu, heading to the cashier to order food for the both of you. You leaned back and sighed, looking for a moment of stillness.

A giggle filled the air, making you glance up. It was the same group of girls that showed up at the exact time Benny would come pick you up from your shift. Sometimes they came in earlier, probably unaware of your schedule — but it was never to order anything. You knew they were there for him. Freshly blown hair twirled around manicured fingers, plump lips that let out little giggles — anything to catch his attention.

Benny placed the menu on the counter and pointed at the dish you wanted, the action making you smile a little. The waitress nodded and made her way into the kitchen and Benny took that opportunity to look at you. He shot you a quick smile, reserved for you and you only. You looked away as more insecurities made their way into your brain.

How could a man like that be with a person like me?

One of the girls whispered something in her friend's ear, the rest of them throwing glances at your Benny. Until one of them started walking towards him. Benny was leaning on his forearms, muttering something under his breath — having known him for a long time, you knew he was complaining about the speed of the service.

The pretty blonde tapped his shoulder, making him briefly flinch and turn to his right. You couldn't detach your eyes from what was unfolding in front of you. Would he join her? Would he leave you here all by your lonesome?

Benny realized it wasn't a familiar face and huffed. "You've got me confused with somebody else.", he said sternly and straightened up at the sight of the food being placed on the counter. "Thanks.", he muttered and pulled some cash out of his wallet. The blonde turned to her friends and gave them an exasperated look. He ignored her before she could even stutter a word.

"Waited hundred years for this.", Benny sat down and stole a fry from your plate. "It ain't that bad."

Your lips twitched at his comment, your fingers also grasping a fry. "Thanks, honey.", you dipped it in ketchup and brought it to your mouth. Benny kept informing you about your weekend plans - he was unusually talkative today - yet you couldn't shake off the little scene from before.

"Are you even listening to me?", his voice snapped you back to reality.

"Sorry, what?"

Benny huffed, gripping his drink and then raising his eyes to meet yours. "Did something happen at work? Did somebody do something? 'Cause I swear to—"

You sensed his anger and quickly interrupted him, gripping his forearm. "No, no, Benny. Nothin' happened at work, I promise.", you tried to reassure him as best as you could.

His gaze lowered. "I thought you liked them trips with the bike. Goin' where the road takes us...", the hints of insecurity made your heart clench. You wanted to slap yourself for making him doubt himself.

"No, baby—"

"Benny Cross?", your heads turned in the same direction, your grip on his arm faltering. It was the pretty blonde from earlier. Benny huffed, his eyes darting between you and her.

"Yeah, 's me.", he nodded and moved his attention to the drink in his hands. But your eyes remained on her, taking in her beauty, the self-doubt finally settling in. "You need something?"

The girl smiled at him and nodded. "Earlier, you said that I've got you mistaken for somebody else... I don't think I did. I'm Lilly.", another giddy smile took over her features.

Benny stilled, your pulse picked up and your lips parted. You felt his eyes on you, but you couldn't take your eyes off her. She was perfection, he was perfection. They belonged together. Not you and him. Just them. They—

"Can't you see I'm with my girl here?", he grasped your hand and squeezed it, the girl's eyes finally moved on you, acknowledging you after minutes of gawking at him.

"Oh.", she couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice. "Thought that was your sister."

Your cheeks heated up, the feeling of awkwardness and embarrassment too much to handle right now. Especially in the presence of two beautiful people. You stood up, both set of eyes on you, but you couldn't look at any of them anymore.

Letting go of a shaky breath, you tried to stand your ground. "I, uh, I gotta go... I'll see you later?", you nodded quickly and walked out of the café, utterly mortified at your spontaneous reaction.

Benny was sat there, brows furrowing in confusion at what just happened. Did you know the girl? Why did you react that way?

He cleared his throat. "Listen, Lizzy, you talk to me again and you'll regret it, alright?", and without adding anything else, Benny walked out of the café as well. His fingers twitched in desperate need of a cigarette. He looked around and you weren't there, making him groan. There was a reason as to why he picked you up every day and one of them was the reputation of this particular neighborhood.

His mind created every possible scenario, his eyes darting around and his lips muttering curses under his breath. Until he caught sight of you. You were sitting on some stairs, your hands covering your face and your figure shaking a little. You were crying.

The Vandal hesitated, not used to this emotional state, yet he approached you nevertheless. "Hey.", he murmured loud enough for you to hear. He took a seat beside you and wordlessly wrapped an arm around your shoulder. His eyes took in the texture of your soft hair, the chipped nail polish and at the trail that your tears left on your cheeks.

Beautiful.

"Baby?", no response came from you, so he decided to wait until you cried it out. Several moments later, your body stopped shaking and your hands found home on your lap, as you were pressed against Benny's body. His knuckle dared to brush your cheeks softly, trailing to your chin, raising it up gently.

He noticed your eyes were closed, a few tears collected on your eyelashes. His knuckle lightly brushed your lips and then he leaned in, kissing you with the gentleness only he could master. You forgot what you were so upset about for a hot minute.

His lips separated from yours sooner than you wished for, but your eyes finally opened, gazing into his deep blue ones. "I'm sorry.", you murmured, shaking your head.

"I just wanna understand, baby.", Benny Cross wasn't known for being a patient man, yet the way he was trying for you was truly admirable. Your heart ached at the hurt in his tone.

"It's just one of those days...", your eyes lowered and your hands fiddled with the zip of his leather jacket. "Where nothing is right and everything I do is wrong."

Benny hummed, nodding. "Does that girl have anything to do with that?", your moments stopped at his words, knowing that the only solution was being honest.

"She's pretty...", was what you could muster, feeling the embarrassment all over again. Benny's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell did that have to do with anything?

"I thought you stormed out 'cause she called you my sister.", his words made you shift uncomfortably.

"Well, that didn't help either.", Benny shook his head and took a good look at you. A beautiful woman like yourself was insecure?

"Baby... Goddamn, I-I've never met anyone like you.", he said honestly and you turned his way, raising your eyebrows at him. "I mean it. You think I'd plan trips with anybody? And on my bike?", his words about the heartfelt love for his bike made you chuckle.

"It's just... You could do so much better than me, Benny.", you shook your head at your trembling words. Right as you said them, his hand moved forward and squished your cheeks together.

"I know what's good for me, thanks for looking out for me, baby.", he said and placed a bruising kiss on your lips. He knew that being too gentle with you wasn't going to have its effect on you. You needed some aggressive love and he was ready to hand it to you.

"Your hair, your eyes, your smile, your bad jokes are what I'm in for—"

"My jokes ain't bad—"

"And you don't get to tell me that I deserve better, 'cause there ain't nobody better than you.", his stern tone made you tear up and sniffle. "You're my girl and you're the most amazing person I've ever met.", his grip on your face faltered, your lips pouting at the sweetness of his words.

"Benny..."

He grazed your cheek. "I'll show ya how beautiful you are once we come home.", the familiar warmth made its way on your cheeks, your eyes dared to look away. "I mean it, Y/N. You're everything."

And you believed him.

A/N: I can´t seem to be able to write anything happy these days 😫 hope you still enjoyed xx

MASTERLIST benny masterlist

austin butler phone case 🌼

[phone4pills]

MAKE A WISH Chris x waitress!Reader

not proof read, long ass, don’t try if you’re lactose intolerant, london slander, send me asks about this pairing

The lone boy entered the diner, the doorbell above the sticker-loaded door ringing upon his arrival. He’d seen the bright ‘open’ sign above it on his way down the street. It was a particularly cool evening and he could’ve used a milkshake.

Finding a seat in one of the empty booths, he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his cargo trousers, opened the menu and instantly found the Shakes section. Listed were the flavours, each one as appealing as the last to Chris, who had quite the sweet tooth.

S’mores, Cherry Vanilla, Strawberry Shortcake, Oreo Cheesecake and Banana Split.

He couldn’t help but lick his bottom lip, already salivating at the thought of the S’mores shake in the huge glass, topped with whipped cream and stacked with delicious treats. Chocolate and marshmallows, as well as graham crackers and maybe even a couple sprinkles. Gosh, he was hungry.

“You know staring at the menu isn’t going to do much for your hunger. Trust me, used to do it all the time. Never worked.” His eyes peered up to be met with a distinct pair of large, pretty eyes staring back down at his under raised eyebrows. “Really?” He laughed, placing the menu flat on the table and turning his full attention to her. She nodded, pulling her notepad out of the back pocket of the light wash jeans that she had on. Her torso was clothed in a red shirt with the word ‘LONDON’ in large, pink letters on the front and her neck upwards was adorned with jewellery.

“London. You ever been?” Chris asked, eyeing the lettering on her baby-tee with a curious gaze. The girl looked down at the word painted across her chest for a split second, as though she had forgotten it was on her shirt. “Oh, yes. London, Kentucky.” His head tilted slightly before he nodded. “Right, right.”

“So, what can I get for ya…” The end of her sentence hung in the air and at that point Chris realised he hadn’t really introduced himself. He quickly told her his name and picked up the menu to relocate what he wanted. “I’d like a S’mores milkshake.” The girl scribbled down the order with immense pace and her head lifted again, redirecting her sight to Chris. “Anything else?”

He shook his head, closing the menu and placing it back in the holder. “No. That’ll be it.” Despite her confusion, the waitress shrugged her shoulders and offered him once last glance before departing on the words, “Suit yourself.”

Ten minutes fled by, all of which Chris spent scrolling through his camera roll of that day, attempting to decide which of the pictures he would post on his instagram. His brothers had texted him, wondering where he’d gone off to. He read their message, unable to find the care to respond. They knew he was alive with a phone, that was enough.

She returned with the gigantic shake in hand, carrying it with a delicate ease that drew Chris’ eye. He licked his lips when the girl placed the sweet treat on the table in front of him. She leaned on the booth across from him, cleaning down her hand on the pink apron that clung to her waist. “I’m y/n by the way, you forgot to ask.”

A heat rose to the boy’s cheek faster than a cheetah pouncing on its prey. She giggled, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, usually people don’t ask. Just thought it would come in handy if m’gonna keep talking your ears off.” Chris nodded, taking a sip of the drink through the thick, glass straw. He found sweet and savoury flavours pouring into the canvas between his lips like warm paints from the palettes of a marvellous artist. His blue eyes lit up, only getting delighted in contrast to the dark curls that fell over his forehead, caressing his brows that were almost as dark.

She grinned, already used to this kind of reaction. One glance around was all it took for her to take a seat across from him, taking a quick, self-approved break from her job to talk to the cute boy she’d met. “So Chris, anything special that brings you here?” He nodded, swallowing the thick shake in his mouth, savouring the flavour that dripped down his throat like a spiky fountain. “S’my birthday today.” Her eyes widened, wondering why he was all alone.

“You celebrated with anyone today?” She hoped he’d say yes, even give a nod. She’d have hated to spend her birthday alone, and Chris seemed like a fun guy to be around, surely he couldn’t have spent his special day without anyone. “Yeah, with my two brothers. We’re triplets.”

“That is so cool. Are you the youngest?” She leaned closer. As if she weren’t already intrigued by Chris, now she had an even better reason to be absolutely fascinated. He gave her a nod, licking the whipped cream off the top of the shake. “How did you know?” She chuckled, using her thumb to wipe the whipped cream off his nose.

[Person change]

In that very moment, time seemed to slow as you locked eyes. You could feel Chris’ breaths on your face, that was only inches from his. You peered down at his lips, pink and plush as they were, you knew kissing them was the last thing you could do freely. You knew nothing about him. Was he even single? He couldn’t be with a pretty face like that. Was he into girls? Was he into you? You cleared your throat, quickly shuffling back into your seat. “Usually kids order the S’mores shake.”

Chris took a deep breath, as though he’d felt the heat of the moment too and needed to come back down from whatever cloud the two of you were riding. “Are you callin’ me a kid?” You quickly shook your head, explaining that you only felt a bubbly, youthful energy around the boy. His cheeks were still blush-covered, as though he was a watercolour painting with a layer of pink tinting his face. “You know what, I should get back to work. Take your time with that milkshake, we’re open all night.”

Chris nodded, eyes panning down your figure as you made your way back towards the counter. He hated to see you go, but he loved to watch you leave. Mindlessly sipping away, Chris barely realised how much darker the sky had gotten outside. He just wanted to have a moment to himself. Being an adult was more complicated than he’d expected, even for someone like him who was lucky enough to have fans all over the world to support him and his brothers.

He thought about you. They way you were around his age and working a night job. He thought about how that could’ve been him, how that is the life of so many people his age. And he spent his night partying and having fun without a care in his mind. Without a doubt or lick of worry about how much it would cost him or how tired he’d be the next morning. And Chris was ever so grateful.

The boy was so lost in thought, he didn’t even realise the crackles in the distance, getting closer and closer. It was only the familiar giggle that snapped his from his thoughts and he turned around to find you tiptoeing in his direction, balancing a chocolate cake with candles and sparklers. Intricate assortments of sprinkles and icing swirls decorate the exterior of the homemade dessert. No way. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You finally reached the table, placing down the large plate in front of him and the smile that adorned his face was brighter than ever. Brighter than all the candle and sparks taking place on top of the cake. “Happy birthday, Chris.”

He wanted to cry. That entire time, from the point at which you placed down the cake to the moment you sat across from him, telling him it blow out all of the candles, nothing touched him like the smile that played on your lips when you said “Make a wish!” And you made him promise not to tell anyone. You fed him little pieces, laughing as he tried to catch all of the dessert that toppled off the fork. And he didn’t think his special day could get better. But you made that possible. You made it real.

After a long night, Chris finally received the bill. He’d expected it to have a read a longer list, but it was simple.

RECEIPT

s’ᴍᴏʀᴇs ᴍɪʟᴋsʜᴀᴋᴇ… $7.29

Total cost…. $7.29

Chris thought there had to be some mistake. Surely the cake and the extra service would cost him a little more. Plus, he wanted to see her one more time. Her smile was like a composition of melodies and rhythms formulated throughout time. Passed from generation to generation, surviving century after another as though the joyous expression possessed the sought after power of immortality. As though each pearly tooth was are token of the past, a timeless treasure worth more than humanely possible to discover in the limited space which is the imagination. As though each smile line, each crease and curve was the product of every face, married together by Mother Nature in the creation of another life, another soul. And so despite her ever so distinguishable and so difficult to miss spite for it, he loved her smile as an astronomer loves his stars. He loved her smile as a philosopher loved his literature. He loved her smile as a he loved all of her.

And he was set on calling her over again until he turned over the little slip of paper to read a note.

‘ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘰𝘺. (𝟾𝟻𝟽) *** **** ’

Tag list: @hearts4werka @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @h3arts4harry @aalixsturns

AHHHHH, this shit took weeks of effort (and Ariana grande songs). But we’re here! I reallyyy hope you guys f with this because it’s long. Anyways this is how Chris and waitress!Reader meet. Their story begins here. There will be more posted in the AU and I have more Chris AUs in my MASTERLIST. Thanks so so so much if you made it here after all of that reading, it genuinely means a lot. Please consider reposting.

[jeanbie]

SWEET UNWIND ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampies, foodplay, grumpy & sunshine, fem!reader, piv sex, silent sex (little dialogue) | wc: 6.1k

note: proudly inspired by the insatiable thoughts i had while watching charles bake his cake and kill people in "the brothers sun". also i got cheated on and felt horny, so turned to my favourite cartoon man for relief

⏤ When Levi's not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he's found that baking desserts is an excellent way to unwind. Yesterday, he made a beautifully sweet strawberry drizzled cake with cream. On today's menu, his personal favourite: cream pie.

Gangnam, Seoul; five to midnight, the city turning in for the night as bold and bright lights flicker to life, the streets lined with neon glows that on the waterfront look like blurry fireworks. While constant lines of traffic come and go, honking and revving at the lights as they hurry to wherever they need to be next, Levi switches off the egg-timer that blares to life loudly and sets it down on the kitchen island.

Behind him, baking in the oven with a warm and golden glow, is the sponge for his lemon drizzle cake. He glances up at the TV screen across the room and watches as one of the contestants drizzles extra veins of lemon curd across a wide canvas of white meringue cream, then looks back at his own display of ingredients. 

First, he heads to the oven and using the oven glove, he pulls down the door and extracts his top sponge layer. Immediately, Levi sets it aside to cool — too hot and the dollop of cream that will spread into his smooth centre will melt and dribble off like water. 

When Levi’s not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he’s found that making desserts is an excellent way to unwind. It’s a simple step-by-step process where the final product produces something he can feel proud of, and something he can enjoy with a cup of tea or even something stronger.

He’s found over the last three years or so of baking that a hard liquor blends well with cheesecake, one with crumbled biscuits as a garnishing layer. Bailey’s accents any type of chocolate dessert almost too perfectly, and even does well inside of one. Last Christmas, for example, Levi enjoyed a whole chocolate truffle infused with the alcohol all to himself.

Baking takes a level of concentration that actually requires very little of him, and being able to see something he’s made all on his own at the end of it all can often be more rewarding than the stakes in the real world, outside of his entirely too fancy penthouse apartment. His job is often too demanding, too vicious, but coming home with a bag of ingredients that will eventually transform into something beautifully delicious feels like he’s turning a switch and stepping out of one life into another. 

Outside, out there in the harsh city, Levi Ackerman is a force to be reckoned with, a danger to those outside of his inner circle. But here, inside his home, his fortress, he doesn’t have to be anybody but himself — Levi Ackerman, the man, the neighbour, the dessert enthusiast.

Now that the sponge has cooled and the decorations have been sliced and prepared, Levi takes to assembling his own version of the British Bake Off lemon drizzle cake. Instead of it being baked as a tray bake, Levi’s followed the same style as Mary Berry herself; circular, smooth and comfortably petite.

He takes the cream he prepared before and slaps it with a wet plop on the bottom layer of sponge, smoothing it out with the flat-knife until he’s satisfied with the coverage. Then, he uses a spiral technique to create a lemony blend to bite into.

He spares a single glance at the swirling iron staircase leading up to the upper floor of his apartment when he hears movement, a simple and quiet rustle of sheets and an equally low-volume groan — a stretch of some kind. Then, he looks back at his cake and sets the top sponge over the finalised inner workings of his cake and gets to work on the pipework and decorations.

It is so easy for him to get lost in the craft. One minute rolls into five and rolls into ten as he perfects the lemon slice arrangement on top of the cake. He even prepared some lemon gratings beforehand and uses them as a powdery layer on top of the smoothed out blanket of cream. Once everything is in place, Levi looks back up at the TV and watches the contestants present their final results to the judges. 

Back and forth — his eyes move from their cakes to his. He thinks his cake would have earned him Star Baker that week, that’s for certain.

Even though Levi chooses to bake after work to dispel the tension building up in his bones, he still doesn’t feel completely satisfied with his work today. The cake is as good as he can get, especially when it’s his first real attempt at a lemon drizzle. But an ache lingers in his shoulders, a buzzing feeling of discomfort in every joint and muscle. 

Today has just been extra hard. One dessert won’t suffice.

After a long haul of tracking down one of the leaders of a local crime organisation known as the Hannam Tigers, and successfully putting a few of his henchmen in early graves, Levi knows that one small cake won’t be enough to satiate his irritation for the night. In his line of work, things went wrong sometimes, even when they were annoyances he could do without. 

The Hannam Tigers operate in a network of highly trained men with highly decorated backgrounds, and even with Levi’s colourful skillset, it can be a challenge to rid them from the world. 

Levi rinses his hands under the tap and uses a cloth to dry them, catching the final portion of the competition on TV before tossing the cloth to the side and dumping his utensils into the sink. For now, he focuses his attention on the assortment of ingredients he’s set to the side to make his all time favourite dessert.

But first, he’ll need to head upstairs.

With what he needs in his hands, Levi escapes the kitchen before it swallows him into creating more and more desserts and then climbs the staircase curling up into the upper floor. Up here, there is a study that he barely uses — not because of his incompetence to utilise it, but instead for a general lack of need, considering he prefers a much more physical and hands-on approach to what he sensitively calls his ‘career’ — a small bathroom and his bedroom, which he heads for and catches a glimpse of the glistening city from the window inside, the door ajar.

Inside, he takes a few steps forward and sets his things down, looking up to make out your shape in the swamp of black bedsheets. He can barely see you in the dark, but you groan and make your presence known, sitting up on your elbows to peer at his silhouette cast by the light from the hallway.

“You finished your cake?” you ask, your voice tired but nonetheless sweet, caring, genuinely curious.

Levi makes out your face in the dim light and waits until his vision settles. Once he sees you more clearly and sees the smile on your face, he nods simply and looks back down at his messy pile of ingredients.

You arch up a little higher to see what he’s looking at.

“Bring any for me?”

Levi doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Rude,” you reply, amused and unable to make out what he’s arranging neatly on the ottoman at the bottom of the bed. “I happen to like lemon drizzle.”

He knows. That’s why he picked that episode to watch, those ingredients at the store. 

“I don’t,” he replies. Levi’s not a fan of lemon anything, really. 

The door behind him creaks ever so slightly, the light widening across the room. You sit up straighter, watching him as he falls into a carefully analysed breakdown of his mystery items.

“Can I have some later?” you ask, filling the silence with conversation. If you strain, you might make out the next episode of Bake Off beginning to play, but you search for Levi’s signature noises instead; his silent yet attentive laughs from his nose, the grunts under his breath, unbothered hums of his attention and or interest. 

Levi looks up then, and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. His blazer is downstairs hanging off one of the bar stools under the kitchen island, his shoes by the door. Now, he’s just dressed in whatever he came home wearing — there hadn’t been time to change, what with you slumbering like a princess in his bedroom. 

It’s a good thing he likes you, otherwise the lights would have been on and his work clothes off. Instead, he left you to it, heading for the kitchen when he came home and switching on his complimentary British Bake Off episode to accompany him in his regular routine of baking.

“I only made it for you,” he tells you. 

You arch an eyebrow — not that he can see, anyway. “Oh, really?”

He gives you a hum, thoughtless. You rearrange yourself under the sheets.

“I thought the whole point was to eat the dessert yourself after making it,” you say, filling the quiet moment with something as he skims his gaze over the ottoman again. 

He doesn’t look up when he says, “Well, I haven’t finished baking yet.”

“Oh?” you reply. “Something else cooking?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, he rounds the bed slightly from the right and whilst looking at you, he climbs up onto the bed with his knees. 

“What’re you making?” you question, a grin widening over your face as he looms near. You feel his hand just miss your leg under the sheets as he lays his hands flat on the bed, lifting his weight closer to you all whilst maintaining an unnaturally cool composure.

If you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he was bored by the entire exchange. His face is covered in shadows, and yet you can still see the slipping shift of something in his eyes as they catch in the light from the windows. 

Levi’s face reanimates in the city lights, now not far from your own. He curls his fingers around the bedsheet and tugs it down, exposing your legs to the cool shift of temperature in the bedroom. You shudder, leaning your head back until it softly hits the wooden headboard. 

“Pie,” Levi says.

“Mmm. I love pie,” you comment. 

He grunts, another one of your favourite Levi-sounds.

His hand shifts from the bed to your leg. In the dark, everything feels more pronounced; his ever-so-slightly rough palm smooths across your thigh and down your leg, past the knee and down towards your ankle. Once caught in his grasp, he manages to pull you from your sloped position against the headboard and back down into the pillows. He knows you're wearing nothing else from the waist down — all the more reason to tug you down and snatch a glimpse of what he knows is his.

“What kinda pie?”

Levi finds your eyes again in the dark, and you’re not sure if he planned it, but now you can see his face in a spectrum of light. His expression is flat, toneless, yet intrigue dances across his eyes as they wander across your face, down past your neck, and down to the exposed skin of your chest from underneath one of Levi’s shirts you stole from his drawers.

He says nothing for a moment. Using both hands and releasing your ankle, Levi presses his hands against your abdomen, running them up underneath the shirt until he reaches your sternum, the sloping sphere of your breasts against his fingertips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pushes the shirt all the way up over your breasts, and uses his body to part your legs until your knees are on either side of his hips.

The weight of his gaze makes you squirm slightly. 

He blinks. Licks his bottom lip so quickly you almost miss it and says very simply, “Cream.”

Your grin widens.

Levi lowers his face to your stomach, his lips pressing against the skin above your belly button. Immediately, as if practised, your hands jump up to his head of hair, your fingers threading through it as he works his mouth down from your stomach to the damp space between your legs.

A home within a home; a place he loves to push his face into when he’s had a particularly long day.

Levi doesn’t even have to put in any effort anymore. You quite contently lift your calves up over his shoulders, widening them enough to feel his lips circle around your clit, two fingers widening your folds so he can stuff his face with your cunt.

Coating your clit with a layer of wetness, he replaces his lips with his right thumb and moves his fingers, using his tongue to part you down the middle, and making you writhe against the bed with a satisfied moan. 

He’ll admit it to nobody but himself — he’s missed you. You’ve missed him, too, and the way it feels when he rubs his thumb against your nub in careful circles and plunges two fingers up your cunt. Levi could fool himself all he liked with the fantasy that baking a cake was enough to relieve his pent up stress from work, but nothing quite works to ease the burden like a face full of his favourite girls’ pussy.

Levi’s left hand drifts from your stomach to your thigh, smoothing over the top before curving down and round to the inner of your legs, his forearm wrapped around you comfortably and effectively locking you in place. He likes to watch the wetness pool between your legs as he gorges himself on your taste, but today he closes his eyes and closes his lips around you, tasting every inch of you like you’re his own slice of dessert, his favourite kind. Topped and served with a string of elated moans, just the way he likes it best.

“Mmf—!” There’s not a lot for you to say, nothing you can conjure up from the air gasping in your throat as Levi’s tongue licks laps around your clit, his thumb just shy to the side as he leaves a wet present for him to massage into your skin, his mouth very quickly preoccupied by the space neglected beneath. 

As his fingers curl up inside of you, then widen apart, your calves drop as if you’re trying to pull Levi closer to your body, and in turn he pushes his left arm down on your thigh and drags you with a smooth motion down the bedsheets and closer to his mouth. Your head arches back with the angled slope of your back, reaching up off the mattress in a coordinated performance of pleasure, and Levi finds the time to open his eyes and look up over your stomach and breasts to find your face; mouth agape and lids closed, gasping silently into the dark. 

Yeah. Out of all the desserts he could possibly create in his kitchen, he’d probably have to confess that his favourite one was one that could be made in the bedroom. 

Your hands take fistfuls of his hair and feeling the hot flatness of his tongue in the space between your clenching hole and your clit, you find your hips grinding up into his mouth, the slight nudge of his teeth making you squirm even harder beneath him. Levi’s no longer phased by the aching tightness of your fingers woven in a knot on his head. Whenever your fingers twitch and the clutch on his hair tightens, Levi knows he’s doing something right.

Every lick and nip against your cunt is matched by a groan, and as you ride the dampness between your legs against his lips, your voice thins out into a raspy nothingness. Your mouth is dry with the air of the bedroom, your eyes forcing themselves to close when they try and open to peer down at the man snug between your thighs. 

Levi feels a mixture of wet substances around his mouth and on his chin, but before he can grant you the pleasure of cumming down his throat, he pulls back.

The emptiness of the space between your legs is jarring, and almost immediately you sit up. Your hands drop from his hair and fall onto the bed, which you use to lift up your shaking body to watch as Levi leans back on his knees and retreats to the forgotten ottoman. It is only when he rises to his feet to observe the array of secret items displayed for his eyes only that you realise Levi is still wearing every article of clothing he was before. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask him, finally finding your voice as he arches over and fiddles with something that sounds plastic.

You catch the shine of your own arousal on his chin as he scans the catalogue of items.

“Preparing dessert,” he replies.

Your brows quirk, but when Levi stands upright and begins to shake something with his left hand, you feel your heart and its fast beating plunge straight to your stomach. A knot wells and tightens, and you bite a moan back and feel your thighs coming together like a magnet in anticipation.

Levi is shaking a bottle of whipped cream.

It shouldn’t surprise you nor excite you the way that it does. Levi has always had reservations about whipped cream — it should be from a bottle or made in a bowl; exclusively used as a side for a tart or cake slice, as a topping on a pancake, as the twist of sweetness on top of a hot chocolate. Levi doesn’t use whipped cream on his desserts in the same way he does as an accessory to the bake, but today — tonight, it seems as though he has found another valuable use for his generally unused bottle of whipped cream.

“This is new,” you say, feeling your ass lift off the bed as you struggle to contain your writhing excitement. Levi tests the nozzle; a burst of white cream spits out onto his finger, and without looking away he puts his finger in his mouth with all the nonchalance of a chef tasting his dish as he makes it. “I thought you didn’t like bottled cream on your desserts.”

“I like it on some things,” he replies. “First rule of baking is that you never feel afraid of trying something new.”

You hum thoughtfully as he retakes his position on the bed. It should make you laugh with the way he looks down at you while slowly twisting the bottle from left to right, but it doesn’t; it only makes you breathe heavier, your pulse quickening and legs opening as if on automatic and letting him take the space he’s claimed between them.

“They do say that it goes well with pies,” you say finally, watching as he angles the nozzle down on your stomach. The placement, if nothing else, has surprised you, and you suppress a moan of eagerness when he presses down and watches with a newfound intensity as the spiral of white cream pools out onto your skin. He’s cautious with the amount; just a small bud of cream, enough to swallow in just a mouthful.

Levi leans himself forward and pauses just before he can lick the dollop up off your tummy. 

“Clue’s in the name,” Levi replies, and with his eyes boring into your own, he presses his lips around the blob of cream and mouths it up off your body. It is entirely too fast, your jaw slacken as he pulls away, as if gauging your reaction. The yearning expression on your face has the nerve to almost look endearing to him.

He swallows. “Sweet.”

He receives from you something sounding like a whimper. Then, his finger is back on the nozzle and using the cream, he creates a trail from where he last was all the way down to your clit. 

You feel yourself clench when the cool texture of the cream sits in a melting bundle on your bud, and your teeth bury themselves into the flesh of your lower lip, biting down with extra force when Levi’s mouth shifts down to your clit and in one teasingly slow strip, he licks the trail of sweet cream up from your cunt to the wet spot on your stomach.

With his tongue, your back arches up off the bed, your knees by his shoulders. Levi is uncomfortably aware of the pooling arousal between your legs, his own forming tightness in his trousers. Watching you writhe with a glistening shine getting more and more pronounced so close to his face has proven to be exactly what he needed to unwind today, but he’s still not quite satisfied.

He’s not ignorant to the way your hips meet with the empty space he leaves when he moves away again, as if fucking an imaginary cock or grinding against an invisible set of hips. He uses his right hand to press you back flat against the bed and savours every second of your aroused moaning when he slathers your cunt with the cream, leaving no wet patch untouched. 

He watches with only minimal irritation when the cream slips down your folds into a white pool on the sheets — his sheets — but he takes its sliding as a sign to move back in. 

Levi licks the cream up as if it isn’t even there; it’s as if he’s taking gulps of you like it’s nothing, licking every inch of the cream and enjoying the wonders of your pleasure as you cry out above him. His nose brushes against the hidden bump of your clit, the feeling of his hot tongue making your toes curl behind his back, your fingers clenching around the sheets.

Ordinarily, you may have laughed at the sight of his lips coated in a white sheen, the cream on the tip of his nose, but today you can find nothing to laugh about. Every unit of energy is devoted to the tightening clench of your cunt, the tingling warmth growing inside of you as Levi wipes his nose and rises off the bed and onto his feet, right where the ottoman stands as a barrier between you.

He lets you play out your imaginary fantasy, rolling your hips into the empty vacuum of space where he was just situated and uses his hands to undo the belt around his waist. His trousers fall with an effortlessness when he undoes the front button, and he compels himself to watch you stare at him with a lustful gaze as he pulls his trousers down to his ankles. He decides he’ll keep his shirt on — it’s only fair, since you’re still wearing his, albeit the fabric is bunched up under your neck in the way he likes it.

He mounts the bed once again and meets you when you moan expectantly, and relishes in the sharp intake of your breath when he takes your right leg and folds it to the side. You look at Levi over your shoulder, your neck to the side as he presses you down with his left hand and uses the right to hold his cock.

You are once again reminded of how truly lucky you are to have a man like Levi; a man who needs nothing but your cunt in his face to get his cock standing rigid against his lower stomach.

You swallow a moan when Levi pokes the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance, and when his eyes catch yours, the sharpened edge of his grey eyes staring straight into your own, you can’t catch the cry of pleasure that escapes when he pushes himself into you, feeling you wrap around the tip of him like your cunt is a mouth on its own.

Levi watches you gasp as if pained and he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up. You’re wet enough,” he says in a low tone.

“Hmf—!” And then the length of his cock is buried inside of you, only proving his point.

There’s nothing to explain the way it feels when he’s stuffing your hole: it’s as if he was made for you, a perfect fit to make you whole. Even with virtually nothing to ease the slip into your pussy, there’s no agonising stretch, no painful play — just a wholeness that feels as natural as anything else in the world.

Levi’s fucked you so many times that he might as well claim he lives up here, and each time he makes himself at home, he’s welcomed with open arms and a swallowing gulp. He pushes his hips all the way against you, until the underneath of your thigh is squished against his stomach and you feel the slight slap of his balls against your ass.

He’s never quite fucked you from this angle before, but it’s not unwelcome in the slightest. He wraps his wrist around your thigh and holds the front of it with his hand, his left coming to hold the sinking curve of your waist, which he uses to push you further into the mattress. 

Every time his dick sinks further inside of you, you let out a moan — he moves in and out so fast it’s as if he’s trying to keep your noise at a constant speed, never wanting to be left in a silence.

Levi looks down at you as he fucks, no longer interested in the way his dick disappears into the dripping darkness of your cunt and instead entirely devoted to mapping out the pleasure on your face. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but everything he loves to see.

His hips rock against you, his shoulders tensing as you clench furiously around his length. Surely you don’t mean to be coaxing him into an early finish — surely you wouldn’t be rushing him along when he’s trying to enjoy his dessert.

The tip of Levi’s dick kisses your insides, but from this angle and the burning heat pooling in your abdomen, you don’t know if he’s hitting your cervix or deeper into your literal stomach. Levi’s fucked you from all different angles in every corner of his house, but he feels extra large today. The darkened edge of his eyes might be deceiving you, the sticky residue of cream still on your skin. 

You’re almost vibrating with pleasure as he fucks you, and all you can do is stay pinned to the bed like a doll and gasp out your praises.

Like most fucks with Levi, he says nothing besides, “Fuck,” in a dragged out, strangled type of way. He likes to make you suffer by dragging it out for as long as humanly possible, just to see you writhe and cry underneath him, your pussy pink and pulsing, begging for him to stop. 

Today, however, luck looks to be on your side. 

Unlike normal, Levi has little desire to unravel you into a sobbing mess. All he wants today is to fuck the brains out of his girlfriend and watch as her cunt fills with his cum.

Levi’s fingers clench into your skin, and for a second he closes his eyes in an effort to ride it out just a little bit longer before filling you up. When he feels your hand wrap around his wrist like a vice, his eyes fly open to look at you; you’re curled up, sunken in the bed, contorted into his favourite shape. 

Levi spares a glance at his cock swallowed up in your hole and watches with pride as he thrusts in and out of the wetness, and after a stuttering sequence of your hips jerking and mouth falling open with the release of some of his all time favourite sounds, Levi devours the sight of white squeezing from around his dick. 

He feels his throat catch. He’ll let you have that one.

Around the quivering clenches of his cock, Levi shudders and lets you squeal until you’ve run dry. He runs his fingers across the width of your connection and smooths the cum between his fingers. Then, without giving you the satisfaction of catching your breath, Levi continues his thrusting which gives him the continued pleasure of hearing you squeal and cry, your free hand reaching to the slip of sloping skin above your pussy as if you were trying to suppress the feeling rippling through you.

Long forgotten are the fingertips pressing bruises into your skin, but each thrust of his dick hitting the same spot inside you is met with an exhausted groan. Finally, when you’ve gathered the energy and courage to look up and around your body at his face, Levi lets slip what you think might be a satisfied smile, and he falters.

Ropes of warmth fill your cunt, and you hear Levi moan, loudly, and he unwraps his wrist from your leg and holds the base of his dick with his right hand. Carefully, he pulls himself out, save for the tip which remains snug in your hole, leaving no space untouched by his seed. He watches with wonder at the way your hole gapes around his cock like a mouth, swallowing his cum up until it billows out. Finally, he slips out of you, staring down at the oozing, swollen hole that is pulsing with cum. 

For a while, he stares at it, breathing loudly as he waits for all of his cum to squirt out of you; it’s like squeezing a cream doughnut and watching the sickeningly sweet contents slide out. 

Levi glances back up at you, amazed that you’ve been bold enough to watch him until the end, and he pats your waist appreciatively before rolling you back so that you’re flat on the sheets, legs apart, cunt wide.

Time to taste.

You watch as his head disappears between your legs, but he leaves no element of mystery. Your body almost jumps up off the mattress when his tongue pushes into your gaping entrance, lapping at the mixture of your cum and his and whatever else he can catch a taste of while he’s savagely licking down there.

Barely having the energy to pretend to stage a protest, you elect for moaning your approval and tiredly rake your hand through his hair again, pushing it from his forehead as you stare half-lidded at the crown of his head.

You lose count of how long Levi remains nestled down there. The only way you notice he’s no longer there is by the way he sweeps his hands down your legs and lays them flat, making note of every twitch and quiver your body makes.

Staring up at Levi and reluctantly forcing your body back up on your elbows, you grin up at him as he licks his top lip and appears thoughtful.

“Yeah,” sighs Levi, sniffing once in the way he does when he’s trying to fall back into his characteristic charade of coolness. “Homemade cream tastes better.”

Unable to argue, you heave out a laugh and meet his gaze.

“You’re fucking greedy,” you say, but that he actually does smile at. 

“So what,” he replies, reaching for another one of the items on the ottoman; a cloth from downstairs that he uses to wipe the mess between your thighs, “we both know I like cream pies. I even shared.”

You flinch when he dabs the cloth against your still-sensitive pussy. You take it from him to finish the honour, meanwhile Levi gathers the bottle of cream and whatever else he brought and never used before opting to watch you shift the cloth between your legs, throwing it back at him in a forced huff. He catches it effortlessly.

“Whatever,” you say, very slowly moving across the bed to the floor. The wooden slabs are cold beneath your feet. “I’m sure your lemon drizzle is miles better.”

Levi shakes his head affectionately and moves to meet you face-to-face when you stand on your feet. He hums when he gets there and strokes his finger down your arm, charming his way into your arms and once he’s close enough to your face, he allows a smile to warm over his features.

He dips his head to greet your lips with a kiss, the first of the day since he left you in the morning.

“Trust me when I say,” Levi says when he pulls away, his expression amused as he croons his finger under your chin and quickly leaves another kiss on your mouth, “I very much doubt that.”

[nanalite]

𓈒༷♪˚.✧ How to make a mockup like this for smaus, ocs, etc. (step-by-step tutorial ☆ no Photoshop, easy, free) (requested by @lovebittenbyevans) ✿

guys this took me two hours to make and you could probably get this done in like, 30 minutes :) I hope this is coherent <3 Please look back this image for comparisons, if my explanation is not well explained, etc.

first of all, if you dont already have one, make a free canva acount. once you're signed in, hit the purple "create design" button on the sidebar. A pop-up will appear with different design template options. For this design, we want the dimentions to be 1080 x 1080, so you can either make a custom size or choose the instagram post (square) template by either searching or scrolling through the list.

2. Now you have a blank page. Zoom in with the slider at the bottom of the page if you need to (Mine is currently zoomed in 41%). Click on the page and change the color to an off black (hex code #111111).

3. Now that the color is changed, click the "elements" tab and search "line". Click the shape and it will add it to the page automatically. These line are particularly hard to navigate and hard to get it at the right angle and length so this part might take a little longer than the rest.

4. stretch it from top to button and turn in a 90 angle so its straight on the left side of the page. Change the color of this as well to a grey tone (hex code #2F2F2F).

5. Now we'll add the Instagram logo. Click the "text" tab then click the purple "add text box" button. Write "Instagram" in the box and change the font to "apricots". This is the closest font I could find that resembled the logo font but if you find a better one, feel free to use that instead. Make the font size 19.3 (you can do this manually or do it in the text options). Change the color to grey color (hex code #707070). Add it to the upper left corner of the page like this:

6. now we're adding icons and a menu inside the border we just made. Click the "elements" tab again and search for "instagram home icon" and add the element by sketchify to the page. Click the home icon, an options icon with pop-up above the page. Look for the "Position" button and click it. Scroll to find the advanced options and you can manually type in the width and height at 26.6 and 28.7.

Move it inside the border, under the logo (photo below). Change the color again (the hex code is #707070).

7. Open the text tab and add a text box. Change the font to Canva Sans and write "Home" in the box. Change the font size to 18.1 and align with with the house icon. It will look something like this,

8. Go into the elements tab again and search "instagram search icon". Scroll until you find the one by sketchify and add it to the page.

9. Shrink it so the W and H is at 36.6 and 31.3. Move it below the home icon until a purple "67" pop ups and aligns under it. Change it to the same color as the Home text and icon (#707070). Go ahead and Duplicate the the "Home" text box and clicking it and a pop-up will show up then edit the text so it says "Search" and align with the searcch icon we just added.

10. You know the drill. We are continuing to search up more icons in the "elements" tab. Search "instagram compass icon" and choose the one by sketchify (are u seeing the pattern?). Add it to the page and change the width and heigth to 33.1. align it under the search icon just like how we did before and change it to the say colors as the other icons.

11. Do the same as before and write "Explore" in a text box and align it with the icon. We're doing the same thing for all of these.

We'll be using the same search prompt for all of these icons so just change the type of icon you're looking for like we've done before hand. Next look for the Instagram reel icon and add the outlined one by sketchify and change the W and H to 31.2 x 30.9. Change the color to the ones we've used before, align it underneath the icons above and add your text ("Reels").

12. The next icon is an outlined, "sent" one. W and H is 31.1 x 27. The text will say "Send". Then an heart outline by sketchify; W and H is 34.2 x 29.1 and the text is "Likes". Next is the "create" outline icon by sketchify, W and H is 36.8.

(p.s if you are struggling to align the icons and text correctly, shoot me a message and I'll send you the X and Y positions ;D)

If you followed it through, it should look like this,

13. Now onto step 13, we'll be adding the Threads logo. You don't have to add this but to make it look more like the actual website, I will be adding it. Open the "text" tab and add a text box. Write an "@" symbol in the box and change the font to Nanum Sqaure and the size to 24.9. Add in the bottom corner below all the icons we just added to our page. We need another text box now (Color is still #707070), write "Threads" and align it to the "@" symbol.

14. We're adding another icon now. Search "Instagram menu icon" and find a wireframe menu icon by sketchify. the W and H are 42.5 x 24.6. Add a text box that says "More". It will look like this:

We are a quarter way done now :D

15. Search in the elements tab "circle frame" and look for the one with a little border around it.

At first, the circle will be green and inside the circle will be white. Change the white to color of the background of the page (hex code #111111) then change the green to a grey color (#8D8986).

16. Add a new text box, change the font to Canva Sans and the size to 22.8 and the color is white. I just wrote "user.name" in the box. the W and H will be 153.3 x 35.7.

Enter the "elements" tab and search for a blue checkmark and find the icon by Victor Aguiar. The W and H is 28.1 by 28.

17. Search in the search box for a rectangular shape and add it to the page. Place it next to your username and checkmark icon and make the W and H to 149.6 x 38. Add another and place it next to the other rectangle shape. the W x H is 111.4 x 36.7.

Change the color of both boxes to #2F2F2F. Add a text box and write "following" then change the W and H to 82.6 x 21.8 and fit it inside the first box. Add a second text box and write "message" in it then change the W and H to 77.8 x 21.8. Change both text colors to #7A7A7A

18. Add another text box. Write "<" and turn it upside down and place it beside the "following" text inside the rectangle. Adjust the size as you need to. I also like the round the corners to around 8 so its not so pointy and square.

19. Add 3 new text boxes. Write the amount of posts, the amount of accounts you're following and the amount of followers your have. Write "20 posts", "30 following" "40 followers". Bold the numbers and change the text W and H to 116.4 x 32.7. These are just place holders that I use.

20. Open the "elements" tab again and search "frame". Choose the first one.

We want the height and width to be 268 x 252.4. Place it at the bottom of the page but we want some space between the frame and the page.

Now we'll duplicate the frame we just placed (the icon between the comment and trash can on the pop up above the frame). Place it next to the previous frame but we want to leave a bit of space between them like this:

If its a little wonky, don't worry. You can always adjust it so it looks right.

Duplicate the frame again and place it next the second frame you just placed, same distance between. Make sure they're even. Now we have a row.

Select all three frames and duplicate them. Move them above our original frames but leave a little space between them.

Again, if they're uneven, adjust them as you need to.

21. Select the line again from the elements tab. Stretch starting from the top frame to the last frame and make the color grey (#2F2F2F).

Because the line is stupid hard to navigate, use something like a text box to mark where you want it to end like this:

Delete the text box and the line with be where we want it.

22. On to the highlight reels. Seach for "add button" and find the one by Barudak Lier.

Change the heigh and width to 81.1 and move it above the border.

Search for circle frames now and add this one to the page (The same one we used for the pfp), change the width and height to 85.4 and move it next to the add button. Since this is a generic, blank template, I add about 4 of these highlight frames but you can do however many you want. You can change the border color to a gradient or leave it grey.

Add a text box now. The font will be Canva Sans, the size will be 18.1 and the color will be white. Change the text to "Add" and place it under our add button. Make more of these text boxes to place under the circle frames. Depending on which frame its under, write "Highlight 1", "Highlight 2", etc. etc. or you can give them different names and such.

23. Add another text box, write "name" and bold it, change the size to 19.1 and the W and H to 69.2 x 28.8. The font will be Canva Sans and the color will be white. It will go under the amount of posts, followings and followers.

Add another box. The font is Canva Sans, font size to 20.1, the W and H is 40.8 x 31.3 and the color is white as well. This is our "bio". Place it under "name".

Yay!🎉🎉🎉 You're halfway done!

24. Search for a shape in the elements. Look for the rectangle again and add it. Change the width and height to 460 x 760.4 and the color to an off black/grey color (#191919), placing it like this:

Get the same kind of square frame we used before to make the profile grid and make it the same size as the rectangle we just added. Place right up against the rectangle like it's its other half. Add another line like before and span across the upper half of the black rectangle as a border then add a circle frame inside the border.

Add a text box, "user.name" and align it with the frame. The text is white and the W and H is 111.5 x 25.9

25. Add more circle frame along the inside of the rectangle to resemble the comment section. Make sure the W and H of the frames are 46.1.

Add more text boxes that align with the frames you just made and write "username" again and bold them. Add even more text boxes that align with the usernames and write "comment". These are place holders for when you decide to use this template.

Add another rectangle on the lower part of the rectangle and make the color black. and search for "instagram heart icon", "instagram comment icon" and "instagram send icon". Make sure the lines are thick. Find the heart icon by sketchify, and the the comment and send icon are by Mirazz Creations. Make the lines white and make sure the W and H are the following:

Heart icon: 38.7 x 32.9

Comment icon: 35.2 x 35. 8

Send icon: 35 x 32

Next, look for "instagram bookmark icon" and find the one by Adricreative. Change the color to white and the W and H to 29.7 x 40.2. Move it to the other end of the rectangle.

26. Now add three circles frames and change the W and H to 37.2. Move them below the heart icon and have them overlap each other some. Then, add a text box and write "liked by username and 1000 others". Change the font size to 13.6 and change the font to Canva sans. the color will be white. Align this with the three overlapped frames.

27. Look in the elements tab for an emoji icon and choose the one by Soni Soukell from Noun Project. The W and H will be 32.8 and the color is white.

Now add a another text box and write "Write a comment". The color will be white, the font size will be 14.2 and align with the emoji icon you just placed.

Search for "next arrow button" by Pixeden and make the W and H 42.8 then add it to both sides of the post.

And you're all done with your template! All that is left to do is fill it but before doing that, duplicate the page so you always have an extra blank mockup if you want to use it again.

To fill the frames, upload an image (or use a Canva stock photo), drag and hover it over the frame and it will fill the frame.

Hope this was helpful and you you successfully made one :D <3

[tickfleato]

how to make cool blobby turing patterns in photoshop

i'll preface with i learned the basic loop from skimming a tutorial on youtube, but as someone who prefers written tutorials i'm sure many would appreciate one! also, the second part of this is some of the visual effects i figured out on my own using blending modes and stuff.

i'm using photoshop CS4 on a mac so some buttons and stuff might be in different places on windows and newer photoshop versions but all the actions are the same. my canvas is 1000x1000 pixels.

UPDATES (i'm hoping these'll show up whenever you open the readmore?)

it's possible to do something similar in krita using this plugin, made by the love @arcaedex

it's also possible to do this in photopea, a free browser alternative to photoshop! the results are pretty much identical.

FIRST off you wanna get or make a black and white image of some kind. it has to be one layer. can be noise, a photo, a bunch of lines, whatever. here's mine, just some quick airbrush lines:

now find the actions tab. idk what it looks like in newer versions of photoshop but you probably won't need to dig!

hit the little page thingy to make a new pattern. once you hit 'record', it'll record everything you do. the little square 'stop' icon will end it.

now you want to do a high pass filter. you can mess around with the radius to change the size of your squiggles, but the tutorial had it set to 6. experiment!

now add the 'threshold' adjustment layer. i use the adjustments tab but i think there's also a dropdown menu somewhere. keep it at the default, 128. merge it down. (control or command + E or you can right click it like some kind of weirdo)

and finally, the gaussian blur! the radius of this affects the shape and size of your squiggles as well. i like to keep it around 4.5 but you can mess around with that too.

after that, hit 'stop' on the action you're recording, and then repeat it a bunch of times using the 'play' button, until you have something you like, like this:

WOW!! that was fun!! and only a little tedious thanks to the power of macros. anyway, here's some fun layer blending stuff i like to do. it's with a different pattern cause i made this bit first.

anyway, using a black and white gradient (or a grey base that you do black and white airbrush on), make a layer with the vivid light. this will make the blobs look thicker or thinner.

then, for cool colors, do a gradient map adjustment layer over that:

and finally, my best friend, the overlay layer. just using a gradient here bc i'm lazy, but feel free to experiment with brushes, colors, and blending modes!

NOW GO. MAKE COOL SHIT WITH THE POWER OF MATH. AND SEND IT TO ME

also these are not hard and fast rules PLEASE mess around with them to see what kind of weird shit you can make. here's a gif. as you can see i added some random airblush blobs in the middle of it, for fun.

[merakiui]

Hello! Could I request flower bouquet from the miscellaneous menu.. And as for the dynamic, I'm quite indecisive on that regard, but I recall you saying it's fine to let you chose? Forgive me if I'm wrong. I'd like to order that with red velvet cupcakes & banana pudding from the midnight menu for Jade Leech, with an AFAB reader. If you are unable to do this, it is completely understandable. I hope your day/night goes well, and may you take care.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping, slight angst, royalty au (princess!reader x butler!jade) note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

It’s well past midnight when Jade finds you in the garden. He spots you milling about aimlessly beneath a stone archway. Greenery twists up the rough surface; vines spotted with tiny flowers drape like fruit from a bough. Moonlight paints you in strokes of silvery magnificence, a breathtaking sight even the most skillful painter could never hope to replicate on a canvas. Even though it’s the middle of summer, there’s a fierce bite to tonight’s temperature. It’s in his nature to protect, a bodyguard and a butler in one, which is precisely why he frets when he notices you’re dressed in a thin nightgown and a silk robe.

You’re stunning regardless of your attire. He’s always thought so. A hopeless observation, for you have never belonged to him and thus those words will remain a scandal under lock and key.

“My lady?” He approaches with even steps, his voice a gentle whisper. Despite his best efforts, you still flinch at his sudden arrival. He bows respectfully, a hand held over his heart. “Forgive me for startling you. I noticed you weren’t in bed when I came to check on you, and so I thought I might find you here.”

“Am I really so predictable?”

“Quite.” He chuckles at the pout that twists on your lips. “Admittedly, my advantage is rather unfair. I’ve known you long enough to commit all of your habits and haunts to memory.”

“You’re too good. It’s not fair…”

“Is everything all right?” Jade moves to shrug his tailcoat off, aiming to drape it across your shoulders for extra layering, but you stop him. “My lady?”

“I’m not cold. Thank you, though.”

Jade nods slowly and slides his arms back into the sleeves. “May I ask what’s keeping you up? It’s unlike you to visit the garden so late.”

“It’s nothing major. Just thinking too much about too many things. If that makes any sense…”

He hums in acknowledgement. You fidget on your bare feet. Some days Jade thinks you’d wander to your death if it weren’t for him. Having suspected this, he made sure to bring your shoes. Guiding you to the marble bench at the end of the pathway, where the space opens into a clearing enclosed with shaped shrubbery, Jade lowers to his knees.

“A princess shouldn’t dirty her feet so carelessly,” he reminds you, taking hold of your foot and gingerly sliding your shoe on.

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“In polite society, yes, very much so.”

“Polite society is the worst. How am I meant to frolic in the flowers as the fairy tales intended if I can’t even take my shoes off for such a thing?”

“You may do so in your dreams.”

“It’s not the same.”

Jade gazes at your legs from where he kneels. Should his gaze climb any higher… He snuffs that thought before it can take root. “Perhaps not, but the world within a dream is lenient and lawless. You’re free to break every rule you desire.”

He offers you his arm and you take it. Lifting you from the bench, he walks with you and admires lush blossoms alongside you. Sweet is the night breeze, bringing recollections of a childhood that has long since fled. Watching you, future heir to the throne, from afar, an unimportant butler-in-training… You’ve always been his world—the center of his vision. The single flower in a garden infested with weeds.

What he’d do to pick you and put you in a pot of his own making. To keep you solely because it is the whim of a selfish heart caught up in foolish, one-sided limerence.

“What would you do? In your dreams, I mean. If you could experience any dream, what would it be?”

Jade peers at you, taken aback. “You’re asking me?”

“No, I’m asking the flowers.” Playfully, you reach up to pat his head. He leans down to meet your hand halfway, a smile gracing his features. How fervently he wishes you would touch him with more purpose. If only your individual stations were not so far apart. If only he could become your equal just for tonight and know rapture under your fingertips. “Yes, Jade, I’m asking you.”

It’s not a calculated risk, for he knows the outcome will never be in his favor, but he acts on impulse anyway. He seizes your hand. You flinch away, surprised by this forthright display, but he holds firm. He’s determined to see this through to the end, even if it lands him a heart more shattered than when he began.

“I would become a prince and marry you.”

Much to his chagrin, you laugh. “That’s quite the lofty dream. A funny one, too.”

He squeezes your hand, insistent. “That is the truth.”

“It’s not.” You meet his mismatched stare. “It… It’s not, right? Surely you jest.”

“I have always admired you, my lady.” Testing his limits, he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “Though you may be forever out of my reach and I may be but a mere servant, that does not stop me from loving you any less.”

Your face falls. There is no reciprocation to be found in your gaze. He suspected this from the beginning, but it does nothing to soothe the sting.

He grasps your other hand, hoping to bestow a kiss to it as well, but you jerk away so quickly that you trip over your feet and land in a heap on the grass. He doesn’t make any move to help you up. Not yet, at least. Lying sprawled on your back, you watch him with uncertain eyes.

“How long?”

“The day your father rescued me and brought me in—you offered your hand to me, and you told me I would never know the dangers of the sea again.” Jade stands over you, observing the many emotions flickering on your face, before lowering to your height. He straddles you with ease. “I had never known such kindness until then.”

“Ah, right… I remember that day. You were injured so severely they put you on bedrest. You had to learn how to walk all over again.”

“In spite of everything they told you about me, you visited me regardless. Every day, at every hour, to bring snacks and toys. To cheer me up. To wish for my swift recovery. To act as my crutch. For that, I am forever grateful.” His hands slide your nightgown up, and he feasts on the sight of your panties—on the way you draw your thighs together to hide from him. “I have always stood dutifully by your side, hoping to repay you for all that you’ve done for me.”

You look delicate in the grass, your robe slipping from your shoulders. Like a pinned butterfly or an angel having just fallen from the sky, you’re a sugared fantasy brought to life.

“Jade.” You grab at his shoulders and push back weakly; he doesn’t budge. “We… We shouldn’t. I can’t. If someone were to see—”

“They won’t.”

“Yes, but I—” you turn away from him, worrying your lip between your teeth— “I can’t, Jade… I’m betrothed. F-Furthermore, it’s not safe without…protection. You can’t.”

He smiles fondly, so sickly, stupidly enchanted. With the moon just behind his head, framing it like a hazy halo, you might mistake him for an angel. His actions suggest he’s anything but.

Lifting his index finger to his lips, he shushes you. “In that case, let’s play pretend for tonight—just as we used to—and trap ourselves in a dream.”

Your refusal falls on deaf ears.

Hands crawl along the expanse of your body, feeling everything within reach. He’s overjoyed to behold you, to press down on the space between your legs and savor your staggered breaths. You plead with him all throughout it, begging him to cease now and he’ll be spared. But Jade can’t. If it kills him, he wants to have died knowing he was on cloud nine.

This has always been his dream.

For tonight, he is neither prince nor butler. For tonight, he is simply a monster—the same monster your maids warned you against when you were little: “That cursed child is no good. He will bring ruin to your father—to you, Your Highness. You must keep away, for a child of the sea is a child of destruction and agony.”

The same monster who looked on with a single golden eye, lying in wait like the perfect predator and wearing the skin of a human to hide his true identity. The same monster who took to training as if it were second nature, honing his skills as a butler and a bodyguard. Hardening a heart that has never had the capacity to care for anything other than himself and the ones who have since departed.

The same monster who loves the human he ought to hate, for it is your kind who hunt the waters he was conceived in. Who spear merfolk with harpoons and feast on their flesh and eggs like it’s a sacred delicacy. Who arrange their skeletons in aureate frames. Who mount their taxidermied tails to the wall.

The same monster who, in some distant fairy tale, could have been a king if not for the devastation of his family tree.

Dewy grass sticks to your skin. The scent of moist earth envelops you in its verdant embrace. Jade sinks in slowly, holding you down by your hips. You squirm and cry, but he persists. He could be cruel and callous, rut into you like an animal instead of a lover, but he refrains. He loves you too much, and that hurts more than any pain he could inflict on you.

You dig your nails into his shoulders. If they were sharper, you might have been able to tear through his uniform. Sweet, soft moans spill from pretty, plush lips. He kisses you, adoring the hold your walls have on him when he rolls his hips to fill you deeper.

“Jade… Jade, please,” you ramble, breathing hot and heavy in his ears. It’s musical, the way you sing for him through your tears. “Oh, please pull out. I—aah—can’t… We can’t. Please, Jade.”

Perhaps it would have been easier to hate you and your father—detest the kingdom who has rendered his home an aquatic graveyard. Surrounded in a garden of exotic blooms, Jade thinks that’s impossible. Love born from hate is thorny, impossible to quell once it’s come to fruition. It’s dug its roots into his heart and given way to the most fearsome flower.

He should have killed you. He should have held that pillow over your face all those years ago when he snuck into your bedroom, silent as a shadow. He should have, but he didn’t—couldn’t. And now he’s here, towering over you without the pillow. His hands stray towards your throat, but instead of an execution he drags you against his chest. He can’t.

Years later and he still can’t fulfill his one and only childhood dream.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes glittering. “How I wish you were as ugly as your heart…”

Raindrops spatter your face, a quiet downpour spilling from heterochromatic hues.

You fall apart beneath him, ruined in ways polite society would deem grossly impure.

Now we’re the same, Jade thinks, bowing his head when he reaches his peak. He groans lowly, his eyes squeezed shut. Monsters without homes.

Come morning, the palace is in a panic. The princess has vanished, seemingly whisked away into the night, and the only one who may have any information on her whereabouts has gone with her. Jade doesn’t worry.

No one will find you at the bottom of the sea, unrecognizable as a mermaid in an abandoned coral kingdom.

On his empty throne, he knows of no better place.

[myloveobbsessed]

Ｂｏｙｆｒｉｅｎｄ Ｙｕｊｉ

•••

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Characters: Yuji Itadori x femblind reader

Notes: none

•••

Yuji is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. He always puts your needs first, going out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable and happy. No matter what, he finds fun activities for the two of you to enjoy together ones where your blindness is never an obstacle, only a detail he effortlessly accommodates.

•••

Yuji places his paint-covered hands over yours, gently guiding your fingers across the canvas. Finger painting together has always been one of your favorite activities.?a messy, tactile way to create something together. You can’t see the colors he’s chosen, so you just have to trust that he hasn’t picked anything that clashes.

You pull your hand away from the canvas, reaching out to feel for the paint palette beside you. Once you find it, you hover your hand over it, trying to decide on a color. Before you can choose, Yuji grins and gently takes your finger, dipping it into a color himself.

“Ooo do this one”

You giggle at the excitement in his voice. “And what color is this, exactly?” Yuji hums dramatically, clearly enjoying keeping you in suspense. “Hmm… should I tell you, or do you wanna guess?”

You pretend to think, pressing your finger against the canvas and smearing the paint. “Well, knowing you, it’s probably something bright and fun… is it orange?”

Yuji gasps, feigning offense. “What? Just because I like orange doesn’t mean I’d always pick it!”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, is it orange?” A beat of silence. Then, he groans. “…Yeah.”

You laugh, reaching out to playfully smear some paint onto his cheek. “Knew it.”

•••

Yuji loves picking you up and carrying you around not because he thinks you can’t get around on your own, but simply because he enjoys having you in his arms. Of course, if you’re ever uncomfortable with it, he’ll stop immediately.

He also adores the moments when you rely on him for things. Being able to help you makes him feel good, like he’s truly doing something meaningful for you.

“Yuji what is there?” you ask as he looks over the restaurant menu a new place you two decided to try out. Your boyfriend begins reading off the menu. You carefully listen for anything that catches your interest.

“Oh! They have a this pasta it looks delicious, it has broccoli but you can just order it without if you want”

You smile at how quickly he remembers your picky eating habits. “You know me so well,” you tease, nudging his arm playfully.

Yuji chuckles, setting the menu down. “Of course I do! Gotta make sure my girl eats something she’ll actually like.”

He reaches for your hand across the table, giving it a small squeeze. “So, pasta without the broccoli, yeah? Anything else sound good?”

You think for a moment before grinning. “Dessert. Always dessert.” Yuji laughs. “Now that’s the easiest decision yet.”

•••

Though he can sometimes forget you're blind excitingly telling you to look at something on his phone.

“Hahaha! Babe look!”

You turn your head in his direction.

“Yuji..”

He freezes mid-laugh, eyes widening as he realizes what he just did. “O-oh, crap,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You cross your arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Yuji, what exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

He groans dramatically. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

You nod, lips twitching as you try to hold back a smile. “Mhm.”

He sighs but then quickly perks up. “Wait! I can just describe it to you!” He scoots closer, grabbing your hands excitedly. “Okay, so there’s this dog, right? And he’s wearing these tiny little sunglasses, and he’s just vibing on a skateboard—like, full-on pro skater mode!”

Despite yourself, you chuckle. “Alright, that does sound pretty cute.”

“Right?!” Yuji grins, squeezing your hands. “I promise, next time, I’ll remember to just tell you first.”

“You say that every time,” you tease, shaking your head. He huffs playfully. “Yeah, but this time, I really mean it!”

•••

Yuji always makes sure to ask before touching you, never wanting to startle you. Whether it’s as simple as holding your hand or leaning in for a kiss, he softly lets you know first, giving you the chance to anticipate and welcome his touch.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you nod. “You don’t have to ask every time,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. Yuji chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “I just like hearing you say yes.”

Before you can reply, his lips press gently against yours. warm, soft, and lingering, as if he wants to memorize the moment. His fingers lightly brush over the back of your hand, grounding you in his presence.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, fingers lightly tracing circles over the back of your hand. his voice is barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

You squeeze his hand, your smile growing. “I love you too.”

•••

[sandsorghum]

Casual Wear

wc: 4k

tags: Higuruma Hiromi x Reader | Humour | Character Study

synopsis: What that mouth do?

Higuruma Hiromi’s mouth is magic.

No, not for its purposes in his legal profession nor even in the leisure of his licentious pursuits, but it’s impressive for a far more fundamental reason - the act of eating, and more aptly, it’s an act which really warrants the description of a Performance. 

You’re convinced meals with Higuruma Hiromi have both enough drama and tragicomedy to rival vaudevillian theatrics or Cirque du Soleil spectacles.

With him, menus transformed into playbills and lunches became matinées. 

Currently, you’re savouring your front row seat as he launches into a Shakespearan treatise on a hamburger and some crinkle-cut fries. He is in fact delivering some diatribe about his latest case, but you find your attention rather riveted by the single tomato slice half hovering between the buns, waiting in the wings of the thoroughly wrinkled wrapper clutched in Higuruma’s hand. 

All of his neatly pressed suit is a stage and these formerly sturdily assembled ingredients, merely players. 

“And now I’m going to have to file an extradition request to the headquarters in Setagaya which will take weeks…” he scowls, practically glowering at his food as he takes a large chomp of it.

You’ve perfected a perfunctory yet sympathetic hum, which you deploy now, patting Higuruma’s free hand so it doesn’t come up to restore order to his rapidly dilapidating burger. It’s not so much eating as it is an exercise in embracing entropy; with his Jenga tower of trembly lettuce leaves, melty cheese, slabs of streaky bacon, a double patty and the obnoxiously outsized hula hoops of grilled onions. And naturally, Higuruma had the hubris to include pickles. 

You keenly watch the egg wash bronzed dome and fluffy foundations of the brioche buns slipping and squeezing through the crevices of Higuruma’s fingers, somehow disappearing faster and shrinking back to further destabilize the stack as the layers jostle and jut ahead of each other at higgly-piggly angles. With each increasingly aggressive bite, Higuruma liberates rich rivulets of meat juices to dribble all over his knuckles, until inevitably, a dollop of sriracha mayo prematurely splodges a thick wad over his tendons. 

Oh, this was going to be good.

Without skipping a beat in the monologue bemoaning his chosen vocation, you watch Higuruma start to crane his head forward to lick his wrist but then he stops himself and you’re disappointed, resigned to the assumption that this fully grown man will resort to the much more sensible option of the serviettes, which have after all, been sitting on the tray by his elbows, untouched since the start of the meal.

But Higuruma doesn’t go for the tissues - and what happens next is so much better than you could have anticipated.

Realising his cuffs are in the way, Higuruma in a singular motion instead raises both his arm and the dishevelled burger ascending aloft his head, and then proceeds to lave his tongue across his wrist. He’s quite successfully, if unconventionally, mopped away most of the offending sauce when the magic happens.

Sschhhloorpplbt.

With slow-mo melodrama and grace, the tomato slops out of the burger, landing with a watery splat! on Higuruma’s face, before skidding across the starched collars of his shirt, then careens into its final resting place - his lap.

“Drat. Knew I should have gotten the wrap,” Higuruma mutters.

You attempt to drown your snort in the last shallow dregs of your strawberry milkshake but Higuruma looks up sharply at you, as he pinches the offending vegetable off his pants and tosses it onto the plate.

Your eyes are glimmering as he futilely crumples a tissue against his shirt, sweeping over the stretched cotton canvas where he’s also made a tribute to Jackson Pollock in mustard and ketchup blots.

“You’re such an artist, Higuruma.”

“What?”

You only grin at him, licking your thumb and swabbing it along the tomatoey streak on his handsome cheek, leaving a different reddish tint in your wake.

You didn’t always think his mouth was magic — frankly it had given you the ick in the initial stages of this courtship.

Or perhaps, grotesque fascination was the correct terminology. It was perplexing, how his clothes sustained that much collateral damage during meals.

You had to see it to believe it, otherwise it was simply too baffling, just how much debris accompanied his approach to dining; although ‘approach’ implied that Higuruma had some sort of strategy or logic in manufacturing these messes, and it just wasn’t conceivable that anyone could structure this level of disaster.

But even if you didn’t witness the havoc of Higuruma’s eating habits in real time, the aftermath sometimes stuck around, goading you to reverse-engineer the chaos. There was a litany of clues you got skilled at deciphering, piecing together the (quite often literal) trail of breadcrumbs to figure out what he’d eaten that day, and with what degree of ravenous recklessness, from shoyu speckled sleeves to smears of mayonnaise on his collar — courtesy of the cup ramen he’d scalded his tongue on, or his even more hastily consumed ‘lunch’ of two takoyaki sticks.

Of course, there was still an unanswered question at the crux of these guessing games, a mystery underpinning the habitual volatility of appeasing his hunger. Because despite all of these tendencies towards frenetic feasting, there was still a certain aura of poise to Higuruma Hiromi. 

Admittedly, it’s an assessment compromised by your aesthetic attraction to him; you could readily confess there was a certain case to be made for your bias, perhaps a subconscious conflation of the merits of his wit and style, both imbued with an effortless sharpness, each enhancing the overall effect; the innate elevating the deliberate. 

He dressed smart, in well fitting suits that were rarely rumpled, as unruffled and unflappable as his own presence. For a man for whom an adherence to dining etiquette seemed strictly conceptual, practically he still presented himself well, keeping his attire if not pristine, then still remarkably sleek and clean, considering the tribulations he subjected it to at least three times daily. 

How this was possible perpetually intrigued and mystified you, until the day you learned Higuruma’s secret. 

It had been an accidental discovery, on an afternoon when you’d made a lunch hour visit.

The occasion was already nominally noteworthy, as you’d finally persuaded him to try a salad, after months of gentle chastisements about his diet.

Your triumph however, left a scattering of sunflower seeds along his chin and when he was done stabbing through the arugula, his countenance more closely resembled a truculent teen who had raced face first through a hedge maze. 

“Do I really have to finish these lawn clippings?” Higuruma whined, prodding at the greenery with his prongs. 

“I don’t remember signing up to date a man-child,” you tut, even as you swipe a napkin along his cheeks, while Higuruma tucks his grin against your wrist. Before those lips can detect and further elicit the pitter-patter of your pulse, you move to scrunch the serviette against his tie where quite unfortunately yet predictably, there are several sizable splatters of balsamic vinaigrette dressing. 

“The smell is probably going to seep through this silk,” you say with a slight frown. 

“It’s not a problem,” Higuruma shrugs, starting to loosen his tie, sliding two digits into the triangular knot and tugging it open. The fabric seemed to practically melt around his fingers, parting without resistance till it slipped down his chest. You try not to track the motion too overtly, but there’s little else qualifying as worthy contenders for your attention.

So you watch as Higuruma smoothly, almost automatically, pulls open a drawer to reveal row after row of neatly rolled black ties, as well as a stack of white Oxford shirts. He picks out the corner-most tie, and feels your gaze shift as he uncoils it around his palms and starts to loop it around his neck.

Mistaking your quizzical, fascinated focus for judgment, he states, “They’re for emergencies.”

“A dozen tie-related emergencies?” you clarify, with that tilt to your tone which Higuruma finds himself wanting, increasingly often, to see mirrored in your lips - even if it’s at his expense.

“Yes, but would you believe it’s got space for 14.”

“I do believe that, Higuruma. I’m surprised you haven’t fit a tuxedo in there.”

Higuruma shuts the drawer before you can scythe your eye over their contents again, hoping the sound of its rolling snap eclipses the death throes of the mollified whimper tickling the back of his throat. (It doesn’t.)

“The drawer does leave me with one question though.” 

Higuruma glances up from making the final adjustments on his Windsor knot. The serenity in your expression belies the innocence of your inquiry. 

“What if you have pants-related emergencies?”

Higuruma suddenly finds his tie too tight around his throat, scarcely providing a barrier to the sickle of your mouth which he thinks must be pressed to his jugular, that arresting curve he traces up to your eyes with their wicked gleam, the one he’s only seen so far in his dreams.

Be careful what you wish for...

He responds, rather raspily, “Well, I had to be economical with the space. Could hardly turn this cube into a walk-in closet.”

“No I suppose not,” you say, brushing your fingers against his discarded vinaigrette stained tie. “So you chose to prioritise the shirts and ties, which are likelier to be scrutinised.”

“Yes,” Higuruma says, grateful for the familiarity of your shrewd common sense, “Not many people pay attention to the lower half of my suit.”

Too late he catches the glimmer in your gaze flickering downwards, and he’s incapacitated by the mere dip in your voice when you reply, ever so off-handedly, “Well, perhaps such neglect ought to be rectified.”

And Higuruma realises, right then and there with a mild throb of panic, maybe he really ought to invest in a separate drawer for briefs (of the non-legal kind.)

It might be magic, or it might merely be beyond the scope of scientific explanation. 

The way Higuruma’s mouth operates is a phenomenon to be studied, a riddle of the universe, its mystique obdurate against your observations. 

It didn’t matter what the texture of the food was - boiled, baked, fried, sautéed or steamed. Carnage reigned. It was the second law of thermodynamics, mandated by Higuruma’s mouth; Entropy will always increase over time. 

Or over the course of dinner and dessert.

Soba noodles dangled and tangled off his chopsticks like the most amateurish marionette attempts, sorbets slunk off of cones at strange angles despite his best efforts to corral them with his otherwise reflexively dexterous tongue (lightning quick with quips but not licks, in this situation) and at the movies, the first thing to emerge from the gloom of the cinemas were usually the puffy white popcorn kernels adorned to his collar. By the time you’d brushed them off Higuruma, on average you’d refilled nearly a third of the bucket. 

Once, at a carnival, you found corndog crumbs clinging to his cheeks even after taking the roller coaster (which had two loop de loops) and wisps of cotton candy in his hair, their pink tufts tangling with his ink-jet fringe. And later, in the shrieking whirlwind glee of the teacups, he’d swept right into you, chuckling and clutching your hips in a spun-sugar collision of your mouths and you’d tasted the sweet detritus of his off-kilter caramel-apple kisses, crackling saccharine on your tongue.

You ride the pleasant ebb and surge of this new romance over the next months, Higuruma’s presence both thrilling and soothing, intoxicating and relaxing. You cannot help but succumb to the allure of his juxtapositions, all that remains unsolved about him - typified by that first mystery around his table manners (or lack thereof); How could a man so put together, so composed in his speech and thoughts still leave such a trail of devastation in his wake? On occasion, you are tempted to wonder if it portends some secret character defect.

Yet you dismiss this as paranoia, even knowing paradise won’t last. 

After all, you and Higuruma were trying to keep things casual. You were both savouring that phase where ambiguity embellishes and relishes an amorous atmosphere, in all its tremulous, temerarious pacing. Dancing around definitions, sidestepping expectations; simply discovering a routine tenderness, and exploring the natural rhythm of fitting into each other’s lives.

That was easier said than done, however.

That first infraction comes when Higuruma has to cancel your weekend date, after two weeks of absence and only intermittent text exchanges.

The call comes just as you’re donning your platform sandals and heading out the door. 

“I am so so sorry I am so so swamped-” There’s the Shinkansen swoosh of his apologies over the speakers, far more profuse than the excuses, sounding more wretched than frantic. For a few minutes, you let Higuruma rattle on with that barely sheathed saber-edged vexation to his tone, venting about some idiot who’d “only gone and committed perjury”, resulting in the decimation of an alibi and the implosion of a plea deal, while you glance at your wristwatch, letting the second hand slip past the 12 for a third time before you firmly interrupt.

“And then the other intern quit because they wanted to summer in the bloody Bahamas while I’m in the office on a Sunday...”

“Higu-”

“...trying to stop this damn injunction which makes zero sense-”

“Higuruma.”

“Huh?”

“I said, it’s 2pm. Did you remember to have lunch?” 

“Oh.” Higuruma responds, as if the concept of midday meals was a novelty - telling you everything you needed to know.

“I’ll bring you something.” 

“You don’t have to bother yourself, I’ll grab a bite from the vending machine.”

“Except I already have gone to the trouble. I’m all dressed up, you see I was supposed to catch up with some cute guy this afternoon.”

You can practically hear his blush through the phone, and even though you aren’t face to face, Higuruma’s voice still turns gruff as if to disguise the rush of blood to his cheeks.

“Some cute guy?”

“Yeah, he operates a kushikatsu yatai in my neighbourhood. Always gives me a couple extra sticks for free.” 

“Oh, that place has been around for what, three decades now? And you’re referring to Kazuya-dono who refuses to retire, aren’t you? The balding guy in his 60s.”

“The tycoon in his 60s, yep. And he’s considering investing in a toupee I hear.”

Higuruma feels the fuchsia spreading to the shell of his ears, your smirk pressing close against them, even through the phone. Higuruma clears his throat.  

“I see. Well, if those exciting prospects as a golddigger don’t pan out for you, could you include some shishito peppers?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll see you soon? In half an hour?” You can’t help but smile at the tender inflection of optimism in his clarification.

“Of course. The queue shouldn’t be too long at this time of day.”

“Thanks for your generosity, Mrs Kazuya-dono.” 

“Goodbye, Mr Higuruma.” 

In the privacy of his office, Higuruma grins, lingering with his ear pressed to the screen even as the call tapers to its end, reluctant to hang up without hearing your chuckle fully reverberate over his name.

At this hour, when the final stretch of a weekend is lurching towards another interminable five day cycle of labour, the office is cloaked in a kind of velvet darkness, draping heavily over the afternoon. There’s a stifling stillness even as you stride past the empty cubicles, which makes the stubborn fluorescent buzzing coming from Higuruma’s office sound even louder in this oppressive atmosphere.

His door is ajar so you walk right in to see him barricaded behind towers of folders, the tousled strands of his crow’s nest upsweep barely jutting above the turrets of the piled high case files, as he fastidiously scribbles something in a leather-bound notebook, not noticing your entrance. 

“Delivery for Mr Higuruma,” you announce, closing the distance between you and his desk.

Higuruma’s head jerks up as if he’s startled, blinking owlishly as he registers your presence.

“You’re here,” he says, gaze softening and his shoulders sagging back into some semblance of relief, the pen drooping from his hand. He reaches towards you, then notices his biro-blue polka dotted palms and sheepishly starts to retract them, but you catch his fingers in time, scattering a kiss across his knuckles.

“Yes, in the flesh. Shishito peppers and all,” you say with a smile, setting the take-away bag on the side of his table.

“Well. Damn,” he exhales, reclining against his chair for a fuller angle, all the better to drink in the sight of you. You had assembled a cute, casual outfit; light-washed denim pants paired with a cream ribbed knit top, layered over with a V-neckline sage sweater vest and accessorised with a delicate, silver flat chain. But the way Higuruma is staring at you makes you feel like you’ve just sauntered fresh off a runway. 

“Need me to do a spin?” you tease, subconsciously taking a half-step back as he stands, gaze hungrily tracking over your figure and slowly approaching as if concerned the vision before him was delicate as a dandelion in its second, spectral bloom.

“Only a fool would object,” he responds and you laugh, obliging him with a quick twirl, but before you can even fully turn back around, Higuruma has pulled you into his arms, locking them around your hips and lodging his nose in the crook of your neck. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” he mouths along your nape, fingers twitching at the small of your back. 

“Hm?”

“You, coming here looking like this and I- I just tumbled out of the house,” Higuruma mutters, hands notching warmly at your waist to prevent you from moving away. But you push at his chest and his hold slackens, ever so slightly, so you can tip your head back to scan over him.

Well, it was true, Higuruma did not look dressed for a date, let alone the office. His attire looked more appropriate as the prized exhibit at a museum dedicated to the ancient history of textiles; a tatty maroon sweater, the brand logo emblazoned across the chest now faded and indecipherable as stone tablet etchings from an archaeological dig site, paired with crooked half-frame glasses. Plus, the piece de resistance, a pair of charcoal grey joggers with their drawstrings missing, patchy at the knees from only god knows how many spin cycles and planetary revolutions around the sun.

And were those, were those crocs? You make a mental note to give Higuruma an evangelical spiel about Birkenstocks at least.

“Well, you certainly look…comfy.” 

A small groan escapes Higuruma, as he tucks his warm face against your neck, all the better to hear and feel your laughter ripple over him.

“I swear I only meant to pick up some documents this morning but then…”

“But then,” you echo mockingly, gently tweaking Higuruma’s face. 

“Time just…keeps getting away.” He gazes up at you with those pits for eyes, shadowed by despair. You know he isn’t just talking about this date, or this case.

“There’ll be other flea markets,” you shrug, “But there’s only one workaholic I’m willing to put up with.”

You card your fingers through his raven-dark plumage, feeling Higuruma’s sigh settle over your shoulders as he leans into your touch. 

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, pulling you into him and starting to graze his lips along your nape. “You’re all I need-”

It’s at this point his stomach chooses to interject with a loud, rumbly burble of bLRRRggccLHHhh.

Snickering at his belly’s betrayal, you peel yourself away from Higuruma’s peach-tinted cheeks and fuss at him to sit back down, opening the take-away bag for him.

“I forgot how good these smell,” Higuruma remarks, eyes lighting up as he tackles the plastic lid on the sauce, its tangy-sweet and savory aroma wafting into the air.

He wolfs through five, six, seven sticks of shisamo and tsukune and so on, it’s not long before flecks of the rich, glossy dipping sauce paint his lips and chin, whilst a spray of panko scatters like shrapnel over his shirt, landing on the drawer where you knew Higuruma kept extra sets of his corporate attire.

You had contended with what that easily accessible work-wardrobe implied, what his so-called closet of contingencies represented. All those spare shirts and jackets and even boxers were really evidence of someone who rarely returned to his own lodgings, who regularly spent the nights at the office, slogging on till dawn. 

He was a man who was married to his job, to Lady Justice. You had no illusions or qualms about being the paramour in that equation. But these were early days, and while you aren’t entirely certain how permanent this addition to your life called Higuruma Hiromi would be, what’s indisputable is the undivided attention he gives you, when he is with you.

He brings that intense devotion, that focus to everything he does, mind and mouth in perfect exacting synchronicity, across all his feats of adoration, articulation and now of course, mastication. 

You settle back into your chair nibbling on some suginamo, prepared to enjoy the show Higuruma always unwittingly put on. 

What you’re not expecting is your epiphany, the stunning scientific breakthrough at last.

Sitting across from Higuruma, you study the way he hoovers through a dozen (and counting) kushikatsu skewers, and abruptly, you realise he must have his own gravitational field, one that flouted all principles of physics, of astrophysics. 

You lean forward, eagerly examining the evidence before you: the glistening contrails of oil, the constellation of crumbs, all being yanked towards that relentless black hole which is his mouth, hinting at the white dwarf core in his belly, depleted of its own nuclear energy, all-consuming to avoid its own collapse.

You couldn’t help it, being dragged into his orbit, being drawn to this voraciousness you’d witnessed in other aspects of his life, singular unto the entity that was Higuruma Hiromi: A homunculus in fractious fraternity with his humanity - Someone who couldn’t stomach unfairness, which made him a glutton for punishment. His dedication was a whetstone whittling its own blade away.

Just one of Higuruma’s many alluring contradictions. 

There are others you’ve discovered, chipping and chiselling the hours out of one another’s calendars till the days gave way to a more natural erosion of the edges around your selves, marble ceding to limestone: His words are deliberate, his quietness intuitive. Quick-witted, yet with long simmering ire. A sort of brazen self-deprecation. Brilliant arguments, stupid punchlines. An empiricist’s approach to empathy, a heart siphoning off its own sentimentality. 

You behold your lover shoveling in skewer after skewer, operating on some internal combustion engine, mere mortal with a mechanic’s approach to morality, an automaton chugging on and on as if he were indefatigable.

(He wasn’t, he’d told you one evening, half an hour late to the fifth date. Too exhausted even for guilt it seemed, the confession was almost in confidence. But maybe you can do better than a Mr Perfect, he’d snarked with his trademark wry smile which, to an untrained eye, could just about pass for invulnerability. You had stared him down, your silence dredging the apology out of him with a sincerity you could tell surprised the both of you.

You didn’t expect to hear something like that from the mouth of your Tin Man, whose shine was so often eclipsed by that mind like a steel trap, in lieu of a heart of gold - so he professed to everyone else.

But that inadvertently coerced admission of his burnished cavity stirred a flutter in your heart. You’d always known Higuruma was made of rarer stuff than gold, even if he didn’t.)

“You want the last of the okra? It’s your favourite.”

You blink, dispersing the reverie you’d been indulging in, to focus instead on Higuruma holding out the tray to you. You shake your head with a smile, noticing his spectacles already spectacularly smudged with a slick of grease.

He happily polishes off the remaining skewers while he works, baggy sweater incrementally hoarding more and more morsels of food. He rolls his sleeves up, utterly oblivious to the avalanche of cumulative detritus, disappearing down the canyon of his lap.

And as you observe Higuruma, sat in his plush leather office seat, practically dressed in pajamas but somehow hardly out of place, intermittently cramming a kushikatsu stick in his mouth, and another annotation into the margins of a file, you feel that same tug towards him again. 

And you suspect you will, over and over, regardless of how frayed or unraveled Higuruma’s threads become.

© sandsorghum. 2025

[olive-fics]

Brewed Connections‎ ♡‧₊˚

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Barista Abby head-canons cus it's making me feral..

Abby's kind of a loser,quiet,alone type of person in this..

♡ Not proof read! Please do not Repost any of my work without credit pls! ♡

-Barista Abby expects you everyday as you are her regular, preparing your drink right before you come in every morning at 7:30am,total prepared and something sweet to say.

"Morning Abby.." You'd sleepily mumble in your work uniform. "Morning!" Abby replied with a soft smile, her eyes brightening at the familiar voice. "Got the usual for you.." Abby went to the side, already handing you the drink.

-Barista Abby who's heart flutters at seeing you everyday and getting to serve you. The most attractive person she's ever seen.. She couldn't help but feel her heart quicken. Your presence brought a subtle excitement to her routine, and serving you became the highlight of her day. To her, you were the most attractive person she had ever seen—your smile, the way you dressed and always looked perfect, and the small details that made you uniquely captivating.

-Barista Abby's subtle way of showing affection involves a discount on your drink—a little something just for you. Whenever you approach the counter, she flashes a knowing smile and casually rings up your order, quietly deducting a dollar from the total..

-Barista Abby’s breaks seem to sync perfectly with your visits to the café. Like clockwork, she slips away from the bustling counter, joining you at a table and talking with you.

-Barista Abby is very artistic, she likes to doodle on the chalkboard menu and the small signs outside. She doodles and adds drawings on your cup with sharpie every chance she gets.

-Barista Abby makes you Latte art with hearts or cats... I don't make the rules man..😫🙌 Some days it's a heart delicately drawn on the surface, radiating warmth and care. Other times, she surprises you with a playful cat, its whiskers expertly etched in the milky canvas.(this goes into her being creative).

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-Barista Abby who's liked you for forever finally gets the courage to write her phone number on the cup.. Handing you the cup, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, quickly masked by a warm smile. "Enjoy your drink," she said softly, hoping silently you'd notice the number and maybe, just maybe, reach out...

-Barista Abby finds herself stealing glances at her phone whenever there was a lull in customers or during her short breaks. She couldn't help but check for any notifications, hoping for a message from you, anything.

-Barista Abby finally gets a text, fingers eagerly typing out responses as she engaged in a conversation that flowed effortlessly.

-Barista Abby who talks to you for hours.. the texts turned into intermittent sleepy responses until both of you drifted off, phones in hand until you both fall asleep texting each other.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I thought barista Abby was cute idk. jsjssdfjksd... I have some gamer Abby head-canons in my drafts so be expecting(?)

Creds to..:annakozemchuk,j2l13tt3, and knmendiola0811 on Pinterest for the photos ♡

[hidden-oracle]

Spectrum of Colors

Nagi x Reader

This is my part of the [♡] Through every lifetime writing collab that me and @ethereal-moonglow are doing. This soulmate au is a mix of not being able to see color until you meet your soulmate and seeing your soulmate's steps.

This became longer than I expected, hope you all like it!

Looking at the canvas in front of you, it's a barely started painting of something, maybe it will become something the longer you work on it. In your hand you held your pallet, which to you was filled with nothing but shades of gray and different blacks and whites.

Grabbing your paint brush you tapped it on one of the shades of black you had. You can't remember what color it actually was, was it purple or blue maybe actually black this time. Whatever it is it will look beautiful to you, so that's what matters. Putting the paint on the canvas you started to make a line. "Hey ya! [Name]!" Tsubaki yelled as she swung the door open to your painting room, causing you to make a sudden movement with your brush making the line go inward instead.

"Tsubaki!" You yelled frighten at your friend who just barged in as you placed the paint brush down. "Looking good so far" She complimented the drawing with a smile. Tsubaki has different criteria to meet her soulmate so she can see the true colors of the painting.

"Come on get ready remember the tickets Himeko offers" Tsubaki said reminding you that another friend of yours, Himeko was able to score free tickets to a soccer game today. She isn't able to go to said soccer game because she would be working at it, so she offered the tickets to anyone in the friend group who could go. And Tsubaki had the bright idea of suggesting you take one to see if someone at said game is your soulmate.

It's a 'thing' in your friend group to try and 'help' (for the lack of better terms) find the soulmates of others who haven't found theirs yet. It's not really a thing actually, more of an excuse to get the more anxious ones out and about.

You gave a sigh as you got up, covering your paint pallet and putting it off to the side. "Wait for me outside," you said as you closed the door to your painting room. "okie!" Tsubaki said on her way to wait for you outside.

You got dressed in a nice comfortable outfit and headed out with Tsubaki to the soccer stadium.

-

You and Tsubaki entered the arena and B-lined it to where Himeko said she was stationed. She was working near one of the ends of the area near a roped off area with a security guard standing watch.

Me and Tsubaki looked at the small menu, beer or water. "We'll have a water each, Himeko," Tsubaki said, understanding the glance you gave her, planning on drinking after the game.

She turned around and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge behind her. As Himeko tapped her kiosks "you bought me food last time we hung out, I'm buying these waters" Tsubaki said.

You looked off to the side as Tsubaki pulled her wallet out to pay for the waters. You notice a trail of blue foot steps leading past the roped off area.

The security guard stops you "only authorized personnel beyond this point" he said. "But... I see footsteps" you said trying to explain. The guard stood his post "nice try but I'm not letting you go beyond this rope" the guard said. You know what you see but before you can open your mouth again. Himeko gave you a look telling you "Don't do anything that will get me blacklisted from here" as she gave the waters to Tsubaki.

You just sighed, you and Tsubaki are planning to wait in the parking lot for Himeko to finish her shift, so if anyone that's here is your soulmate you would probably meet them there.

-

Nagi was playing his game in the locker room "you forgot your gloves Nagi" Reo said as he held his gloves to him. He looked up at Reo, seeing nothing but shades of grey as his game read GAME OVER. Nagi tossed his phone onto his bag as he stood up and grabbed his gloves from Reo.

Ready to play soccer.

-

Half time was called, Nagi whipped sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. As he looked up at the stands, Nagi locked eyes with you. The world, starting from you, became colorful. Your eyes ,ever so beautiful was the first thing he saw in color.

He sees you talk to the girl next to you as you both get up from your seats, probably to go get refreshments. As he shook his head and started to walk to the locker room.

"Nagi what's up" Reo as him as he just sat in his locker space, Nagi wasn't even playing his video game, so Reo knew something was up. Nagi looked up at him "Reo... You have purple hair" Nagi said, Reo's eyes widen at what he said.

Reo put Nagi in a headlock "so who's your soulmate?" He asked with a smirk. Nagi shrugged "just someone in the stands" he replied.

The second half was called to start.

Nagi looked up at where you are sitting wanting to memorize your face. Reo noticed his gaze and lined it up to you, now he knows which seat you're in.

-

It was midway through the second half of the game when Tsubaki got a text from Umeko reading "was told to shut down early". So you and Tsubaki got up, so you three can all go drinking together.

You guys were at your favorite drinking spot, a little hole in the wall bar. "Seriously one of the soccer players was your soulmate!?" Umeko yelled out her question, she's normally not like this but when she gets 4 shots of alcohol of various types in her, she gets quite loud.

"Shh Shh not so loud Umeko" you panicky shushed her up as you looked around the bar hoping no one paid attention to her yelling. And luckily no one did. "Is he at least hot" Umeko asked again as she picked at a piece of bread and ate it. "Well..." You started as Tsubaki shoved her phone Umeko's face. "He is hot" she committed looking at the picture.

As the night went on you three ended up calling two friends to come pick you up and get Tsubaki's car so it doesn't stay in the bar's parking lot overnight.

-

The game had ended as Nagi looked up to where you were sitting, and you weren't there anymore, neither was your friend.

Nagi was frustrated as he started to change out of his kit and into his regular clothing. As Reo pulled his shirt over his head he asked Nagi a question "I don't like that face of yours Nagi." The face he was talking about was the same expression he had the first time they lost a game at blue lock

"she wasn't there" Nagi replied pulling down his shirt. As Nagi said, Reo was thinking of a plan on getting you and Nagi to meet.

~

A knock sounded in the apartment and Umeko turned over covering her ears with her pillow to drown out the sound of knocking. Then her doorbell was rung, whoever is at the door is making her head ache worse.

One more loud knock rang throughout the apartment, "ARGH!!" Umeko yelled in frustration as she stomped out of her and to her front door.

Throwing open the door Reo Mikage was standing there ready to knock again. He cleared his throat as a pulled out his phone "this girl is a friend of yours" Reo stated as he showed a picture from a security camera showing you talking with Umeko.

"yeah..." Umeko was interrupted by Reo "I would like to set her information" he asked. "Pay ten years of my rent" Umeko dead panned knowing who Reo is. "Be more reasonable" Reo replied back, this is going to be a long morning.

~

You looked at the stroke you made yesterday, it was blue. You grabbed your paints you covered up and started to paint again.

As you painted a face started to appear, you squinted your eyes and leaned back. It looked familiar but from where, as you racked your brain for every face you have seen. It landed on one face, a face you only saw for a second and then when Tsubaki pulled him up to show to Umeko.

It was Seishiro Nagi's face you were painting. As you connected the thoughts your phone rang, it was Umeko.

-

And that's how you came face to face with Nagi sitting together at a semi fancy restaurant. Getting to see him up close was way different then seeing him from up in the stands and in news articles. Fiddling with your fingers nervously "Sooo umm... You're friends with Reo..." You started, "of course he is, they're teammates" your brain yelled at you.

"Ah yeah we are" Nagi replied sounding uninterested. "He umm... He paid for two years of rent for my friend..." You said revealing the information that Umeko was able to get Reo to pay for some of her rent.

After a few seconds maybe minutes of not awkward but calming silence the waiter put the food you and Nagi ordered on the table.

"I like to play games" Nagi said getting frustrated at the silence. "I like games to play games to" you replied after you swallowed your meal.

"Want to hang out at my place after this and play some games" Nagi asked with a slight smile, "that sounds great" you replied with a smile.

The silence turned a bit more calming, even if you two are awkward at first, you two are soulmates. So it will work out in the end.

And maybe one day, you will show him the half finished painting of him.

[darlinluxx]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : mentions of anxiety

summary : you and your girlfriend spend a hot summer day together

a/n : can u tell i miss summer

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he sun beams down on your bare shoulders, each ray a tiny hammer against your skin. it’s the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer and the asphalt look like a melting ribbon. you shield your eyes with your hand, squinting up at the sky, a canvas of brilliant, unforgiving blue. Saebyeok sat beside you on the bench.

“hot enough for you?” you ask, your voice a little breathless.

Saebyeok doesn’t turn her head, her gaze fixed on the indifferent city beyond the park’s edge. her short dark hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to cling to her damp forehead. even in this sweltering weather, she’s impossibly cool, a study in contained energy.

“it’s summer,” she says, her voice a low rumble that vibrates through you even at this distance. a half-smile tugs at the corner of her lips, only you would notice it. “what did you expect, snow?”

you chuckle, the sound dry and raspy. “just wondering if you feel alive enough to get some shaved ice with me. the corner shop has new flavors.”

she finally turns, her eyes, those intense, dark pools, locking onto yours. you still can’t fathom how you ended up here, with her. a North Korean defector, hardened by a life that would break most people, now sitting beside you in a park, contemplating shaved ice. it’s both unbelievable and the most natural thing in the world at the same time.

“new flavors, hm?” a glint of something you recognize as amusement sparks in her eyes. “i’m not sure if i trust their interpretation of ‘mango’.”

“they had like lychee, and coconut too, and strawberry.”

you pull yourself off of the bench, feeling the dampness stick to your skin. “come on, i’ll even let you have the bigger half.”

Saebyeok lets out a small, nearly silent laugh, a sound that always manages to make something inside you unfurl. she stands with a lithe movement, all angles and sharp edges, yet there’s a grace to it that always catches your breath.

you start walking, the pavement radiating heat up through the soles of your sandals. Saebyeok falls into step beside you, her stride long and purposeful. the air feels thick and heavy, like wading through a warm bath, and you find yourself breathing in time with her, a rhythm that soothes the slight thrum of anxiety that the heat always brings.

the corner shop is a small, unpretentious affair, its shelves lined with colorful candies and plastic-wrapped snacks. the small bell above the door chimes as you enter, a welcome distraction from the oppressive heat. the air inside is cooler, the scent of artificial fruit and sweet syrup a comforting assault on your senses.

you watch as Saebyeok scans the menu, her brow furrowed in concentration. she’s so serious about everything, so focused, it’s another one of the little things that makes you adore her. finally, she points to a picture of a towering mound of shaved ice drizzled with bright red strawberry syrup.

“that one.” she says, her voice a touch more relaxed in the cool air.

you pay for the ice, feeling the stickiness of your fingers gripping the paper cup. you take a small spoon and hand it to Saebyeok.

you take a bite of your own, the lychee cool against your tongue, a burst of floral sweetness that washes away a little of the heat. you steal a glance at Saebyeok and she catches your eyes with her own. you’ve learned to read the subtle shifts in her expression, the slight curve of her lips, the faint softening of the muscles around her eyes. and in that moment you see a quiet joy, a simple pleasure, and it warms you even more than the sun outside ever could.

you finish the shaved ice in comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle scraping of your spoons against the paper cups. as you step back out into the heat, the air doesn’t feel quite so oppressive anymore. you reach out, your hand brushing against hers. she looks down at your hand, then her fingers intertwine with your own, a silent acknowledgment of the summer heat, and the quiet strength of the bond you share.

“let’s go home.” she says, her voice soft, and you know it isn’t just anywhere. it’s your home, together. your heart lifts, light as the summer breeze that touches your skin as you walk, hand in hand, towards somewhere cool and safe. you’re not just surviving in this heat, you’re living, and she’s right beside you.

[valentine-cafe]

PROFESSOR I HAVE A QUESTION 🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️

Alrighty my pookiest of bears, Alessio 781 is on the menu today and oh boy am i hungry (starving) for this man 😼😼😼😼😼👍

So. Ive always absolutely loved the bittersweetness (or straight up sadness) of the art pieces where a person cannot remember their lover, or their lover passed away and they paint and paint blurred out paintings of them in an effort to remember them but they simply cannot remember their face.

now for the scenario id like to order :3 nothing angsty, quite the opposite: What would Alessio's reaction be, if we invited him into our apartment, where we have a room we use as a painting studio, that we didn't really ever mention. So when we have to suddenly leave for something, he stumbles upon the door to the room, being confused about the fact, that he doesnt actually know whats in it and when he goes in, he just sees paintings of all shapes and sizes of him. At different times, in different settings, so many sketches of him and different parts of him (hands, lips, side of the face, back of his head, torso, etc), paintings made of him that are drawn purely from imagination yet so detailed.

Sketches of him dancing, the movements fluid and elegant, the strokes of your pen are confident, knowing. After watching him dance so many times, your hands knew exactly how to depict his movements.

Small paintings of memories from your dates with him. Sitting on a rooftop at night, looking at the busy city while you hold each other close. Having picnics at the rooftop while the sun sets, wallowing in the pink and orange sky, not being able to get enough of the fact that youre sharing this beautiful moment together.

There are even several intimate paintings and sketches of you two, nothing vulgar, it more so shows the intimacy, trust and complete vulnerability that you two shared.

But the biggest piece, covering a large portion of the wall of the room, is a painting on a massive canvas, now drying, of him smiling. Having the most carefree expression. No worries, no bad emotions, just pure happiness on his face. And he knows in that moment, that that is how you see him. Beautiful, full of life. And he can feel the pure love you have for him.

Suddenly, he hears behind him the opening and closing of your front door and when he turns around, your eyes meet.

- 🐈

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . immortal antihero ⊹ gn artist reader

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡​​​​​​​𝑢​​​​​​​𝑟​​​​​​​𝑖𝑛​​​​​​​𝑔﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a charming, smug inhuman mercenary, with a provocative sense of humor and a few punches

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... alessio finds your art studio and sees all the art you have of him ⊹ cw ٬٬ none

"Well you know, I expected you'd find this room one day but-" You let out a little laugh and rub the back of your neck. "You like it?" The sheepish question barely passes through his ears in the awe he's in.

In the heat of everything, you watch his face change to so many expressions at once. Poor Alessio. Trying to process the overwhelming amount of fondness, fluster, happiness and overall giddyness that rushes through him.

"You some lovesick rennaisance painter now?" He laughs. The happiness vibrating clear in his voice and body language. "Fuck baby, the detail and time you've gotta put into some of these."

"You make me feel more than alive when you are around me. I just. . ." You trail off and make your way over to him, body leaning against his.

"I just wanna get that kind of emotion out on paper and canvas, you know?"

His hands wrap around your middle to bring you closer and bury his face in your shoulder. You wouldn't have to draw back the curtains of fluffy black locks to see just how much his ears were glowing up with that beautiful crimson.

"Can I pose for you naked some time?"

"Alessio!"

"Issa serious question mi amor!!!"

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .