I'm A Sucker For Calm, Sunshine-y Characters Going Berserk Upon Seeing Their Loved Ones Hurt. Can I Request

stop this is the cutest shit 🥺🥺

15 + 16 with oikawa pleth 😳😽✨

ofc bb! And I saw that you were having a bad day so I wrote it with extra fluff

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Prompts: 15 "You just kissed me??" "Oh my god I just kissed you." "Do it again." 16 "This is the 20th kiss I've given you." "And yet I need more."

The crowd screamed along with the boys as they won against Karasuno in the interhigh finals.

You rushed down to the court, eyes darting around, looking for the familiar 1 on the back of his jersey.

"Oikawa!" You scream, seeing him scream in victory with Iwaizumi.

Now, you weren't dating him yet, sure there were mutual feelings, but Oikawa was too busy to act on them, and you were waiting until a point where he wasn't being followed by the many many fangirls he had.

"Y/n!" He yelled, rushing over.

Overcome with happiness and emotion, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you into a kiss, chest heaving when he finally pulled back, drunk with happiness.

"You just kissed me??" Oikawa laughed in disbelief, he just kissed you.

"Oh my god I just kissed you." His eyes searched yours earnestly looking for any indication that you didn't like him in the way you thought he did.

"Do it again." You breathed out, and he did, he cupped your face with his hands and pulled you into another kiss, only pulling away when Iwaizumi smacked him on the back.

"Get a room" He's smiling though, happy that they won and happy that Oikawa finally made a move on his longtime crush.

Oikawa rolled his eyes and leaned in to talk into your ear, the stadium still loud.

"Want to go on a date after?" Sending him a nod, you let go and point at the door, an indication of where you'll wait for him.

He nods and sends you on your way, going to bow and thank the spectators.

It's about a 20 minute wait, you reliving the kiss and how Oikawa pulled back with only admiration in his warm eyes.

"Can't stop thinking of me?" He's dressed in a regular t-shirt and athletic pants, still slightly sweaty from the game, and from the backwards tshirt and slight breathlessness you can tell he rushed out to see you as soon as he could.

"I could say the same about you."

He walks over and leans in a little, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips, wordlessly asking for consent.

At your nod he leans in and captures your lips into a kiss, it's softer this time, lacking the passion and toughness that stemmed from the excitement in the stadium, but it in no way lacked the love it held earlier.

You walk of the stadium, hands clasped around his arm, shivering slightly at the spring air.

"Oikawa, kiss." You look up to him, and see him smiling giddily at your request, pressing a soft kiss on your lips, and pulling away with a smile.

Yeah, he'd never get tired of this.

You go to a nearby convenience store, getting snack and giving eachother kisses as you walk around.

He walks you home as it gets dark, hand firmly clasped in yours, his jacket around your shoulders.

"Thanks for today." You smile, the roads becoming more familiar as you get closer to your house.

"Thanks for agreeing to be mine."

You smile and lean up slightly.

"Oikawa, kiss me."

"This is the 20th kiss I've given you." He laughs, poking your nose and smiling widely. The outdoor lamp and light from inside your house illuminate his face, causing a sparkle in his eyes and lighting his skin up.

"And yet I need more." You sigh, mustering up the saddest look you could, even with the happiness coursing through your brain.

Oikawa sighs, matching your energy despite the smile tugging at his lips.

"Who am I to deny a beautiful person their kiss?"

He pulls you into a last kiss before you head inside, waiting at your door until you lock it, before heading back and throwing a fist in the air once he dot to the street, dancing slightly, unaware of you peeking out at him through bedroom curtains.

"Dork." You smile fondly as he skips down the road, this night clearly having been one of his best, and to be honest it was one of yours too.

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: hallway

☾ warnings: f!reader, alcohol mention, drug mention, sfw shirtlessness

☾ word count: 2.4k

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summary: childe is a name so acquainted with calamity that even you cannot escape it. he wishes you could.

warnings: second archon quest spoilers, heavy angst, toxic relationships, intentional lowercase lol

childe knows you’re in love with him, and he’s in love with you too. he knows because the way your face crumbles when he rejects your love confession makes him want to disappear. childe doesn’t even really belong to himself anymore; if he did, he would choose you in a heartbeat. but his heartbeat is tied to another’s, and that heartbeat is intertwined with the inherent power he possesses, the one he can use to keep you safe.

he tells you he’s sorry, and he means it. he’s sorry he hadn’t met you earlier, because then maybe he’d be just a bit freer, a bit more able to love you the way you deserve.

but he’s selfish, and he couldn’t let you go if he tried, so he keeps you by his side as much as he can. we’re just friends, he tells himself, friends can do these kinds of things. friends don’t look at each other the way you two do, though, and everyone else can tell.

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By Choice or By Accident (Wanderer/Reader)

Spoilers for Interlude Chapter: Act III Inversion of Genesis

i made the executive decision that the traveler fucks around a bit and takes a good while longer to decipher what scara changed with irminsul and wow, that's a convenient amount of time for him to get real soft on someone huh-

(also i believe scara says he doesn't like sweets only because ei DOES like sweets and he secretly loves them you cannot change my mind, back off)

AO3 LINK

Wanderer/Reader 5,258 Words - SFW Nothing heinous. Fluff, 2 seconds of Angst, meandering narrative, skipping time a little bit, Reader is a candy maker. Very indulgent, don't take this seriously.

---

Despite its status as a hub of commerce, it’s rather obvious when a new face arrives in the Grand Bazaar. Even more so when they’re dressed like that - soft blues against striking azure, a wide hat and carefully placed body armor to show martial skill. 

When the grocer across the way brings home a straggler, your initial thought is to be wary. There’s an unsettled quiet around him as he keeps his head ducked low and his face carefully hidden. The protection on his arms and shins suggests some martial skill, yet there’s no vision to be seen on his person. 

In the beginning, you’re wary - and rightfully so. Then his head lifts and his eyes move around the bazaar before he realizes you’re staring, and something fundamental changes in that split second. The air around him shifts, the guarded expression in his eyes bleeds away, and you’re left staring at excited eyes and a smile that shines with both anticipation and trepidation. 

The grocer’s new stray becomes a fixture. One that you quietly watch from your stall of handmade sweets, your gaze occasionally broken by the excited child or curious adult, all of whom are the sources of your livelihood here. But even your regulars find it hard to keep your attention when something so interesting is just across the way. 

Initially, the first word you’d use to describe him is untouchable. Like something priceless to be placed on a shelf. Only to look at, never to hold in your hands and sully it with your touch. Even as he works diligently at the grocer and displays less than fragile tendencies, you still can’t keep yourself from marveling at the otherworldly sort of perfection. 

Then, just like that, it’s swept away in the span of a short interaction. 

While you’ve overheard his quiet arguments with the grocer about not accepting pay, you know for certain he’s been tipped on deliveries to their customers. It’s what gives him the means to tentatively cross the walkway to your stall, stand a respectful distance away, and let pretty violet eyes wander over what you have on display for the day. 

And they are pretty. A color you’ve never seen before, even in a city like Sumeru where fabrics in all manner of hues are commonplace. You’re not entirely sure that someone could accurately recreate such a shade of purple. 

Quietly, as if to keep from imposing on you, he steps a little closer and squeezes the pouch of mora in front of him with a grip so tight his knuckles turn just a little lighter than the rest of his pale skin. It’s painfully obvious that he’s nervous, but his chin lifts and his chest expands with an inhale, and you’re impressed with the bravery he’s showing to simply peruse a candy stall. 

“Please recommend something to me!”

He says it like he’s about to run into battle - and your heart that was wary at first melts. Any caution is thrown to the wind as your shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across your face, and you ask, “What do you like?”

To your surprise, he clams up for a moment, twisting at the ties of the mora pouch until you’re certain the ropes are going to unravel. The last thing you expect is a quiet, “...I’m not sure.”

Okay. You can handle that, as strange as it is. Going into your usual sales pitch with gusto, you try your hardest not to be distracted by the way he cocks his head and leans in, listening with rapt attention as you point out each little piece, which were handmade and which you had brought him, which were your favorites and which ones most people seemed to gravitate toward. 

“These ones aren’t popular, but I like them. They’re sour, but once you get to the middle, there’s a sweetness that chases it away. Just don’t eat too many, they’ll make your mouth sore!”

“It’s sour, but you say they’re good?” His fingers pinch his chin in thought as he looks at each flavor you have of the small selection. It’s no use keeping a large stock when its audience is few and far between. “Sour on the outside, sweet on the inside, huh?”

“It makes the sweetness that much nicer if you can make it through the tough bit. It’s kind of like life, isn’t it? Once you make it through the difficult parts, the moments that are softer are that much better when you’re in them.”

Violet eyes watch you in wonder, lips gently parted as he mulls over your impromptu advice. With warm cheeks, you busy yourself with straightening the rows, the smallest bit of embarrassment making your fingers shake. They don’t look any neater when you’ve finished.

He picks one of everything you indicate as your preference, carefully counting out the coins and giving a little extra that you try to place back in his hand. But he grasps your wrist until your palm is up, pushing the extra coins there and using his free hand to curl your fingers around them securely. The smile on his face is wider than any you’ve seen, cutting into his cheeks and making the corners of his eyes squint in its wake. 

“Just for being kind, that’s all.” And his touch lingers for a moment long enough to make your heart skip, your fingers itching to grasp at his own so he could stay just a little longer. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think you’ll get through all that candy in a night.” Or he could, you’re in no place to judge him for it. Certainly, children much smaller than him have performed that feat before. 

In return, he smiles sheepishly and focuses on his hands holding yours, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of your wrist. There’s no doubt he can feel your heart racing from his touch and his presence, his soft grin and the slight flush on the apples of his cheeks. “Maybe not. But… just to talk to you? I’d like to know you if you’d let me.”

If he notices your persistent giddiness for the remainder of the bazaar’s open hours, he mercifully doesn’t make any comment on it. He simply returns the next day with praises over what you’d sold him the day before, exclaiming that the sour candies were his favorite, and an earnest question. 

“Could you teach me how to make this?”

And how could you say no? When his hands were fisted at his sides to hide how they shake at the prospect of such a simple question, there’s no way you could deny something so… sweet.

That evening, after he closes up with the grocer, he crosses the pathway that separates you and offers to help you carry your goods home for the day. It’s with great pleasure you gesture to a house just two doors down - your home and workshop all in one. He doesn’t let you carry your goods, anyway.

“It must be nice, living so close. I’m glad to see it.”

“Glad?” You ask, watching carefully at how he carries a box with one arm that you often have to drag across the ground on a nightly basis. He must be deceptively strong. The hat he wears is tucked beneath his other arm, leaving his smooth hair a little mussed after a day of wearing it. 

His head bobs as he watches you unlock the door with a key from your pocket, the hinges groaning as you step inside and urge him to follow as you work to light the lamps. The answer you asked for comes as the room illuminates. “I’d hate for you to have to walk so far at night. It’s not very safe.”

“True, but the bazaar is one of the safest places in the city. And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Spending your life somewhere doesn’t always make it safe,” he pauses, just long enough to set the box of goods down on the table that dominates the center of your home, “but it’s not really my place to be overbearing about your safety. I’m sorry if that was too much.”

“No! It was… nice. Thank you for caring.” The words strike him into stillness, his hand resting on the lid of the box, thumb curling around the edge to press into the wood. His other hand rubs over his chest, just beneath the dangling ornament and pinion that jingle slightly in the comfortable silence. 

The swallow he makes is audible, a show of that nervousness that comes when he seems to be faced with sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with. To his credit, his voice doesn’t waver, even a little. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Of course I’d care, even a little.” And that endearing pink comes back again, barely visible in the lights that are just beginning to grow stronger as the flame catches the wicks.

“You’ve been nice, too. Give yourself a little credit.” 

Outside, other merchants are making their way home. The sound of carts and laughter trickles into the room, breaking the tension that’s somehow formed despite such an innocuous topic. Clearing your throat, you ask, “You know, I don’t actually know your name. You’ve never told me.”

While the tension is gone for you, it doubles down on him as his shoulders clench, and he pointedly looks away. The far corner of the room suddenly becomes impossibly interesting to him, at least compared to how you begin to move closer to unpack the box. 

“That’s because… I don’t have one. I’m just a wanderer. Any name I might’ve had, I don’t remember it anymore.”

“Do you not remember by choice, or by accident?”

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your movements as you bring the sour candies out. Pointedly, you pull a few from their bag and push them across the table to him. As if he were afraid they’d disappear, his fingers wrap around them and drag them closer. One pops in his mouth, and he waits until the sweetness makes itself known before he finally answers.

“A little of both, I think.” The candy clacks against his teeth, running along his molars from one side to the other, as if he’s preventing a single spot from being scoured by the sourness. Perhaps it’s also a tactic to delay what comes next, something you only realize when he says it. “You should know… I’m not exactly human. I’m-... I’m a puppet.”

“Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Giving him time to ruminate over that, you finish unloading the box before stowing it away beneath the table. It gives you enough time to formulate a tactful response. Palms on the table, you lean to get the weight off your feet from standing all day, and explain yourself. “That doesn’t change anything. I still like you, I’ll still teach you. You must’ve lived a long time then, huh?”

He doesn’t give you a number, and you don’t exactly ask, but the way he exhales until his lungs are empty tells you that in his mind, it might have been a few too many years to walk through. Has he wandered all that time? Alone? It doesn’t feel right to ask - so you don’t. 

Instead, as you begin to lay out supplies for tomorrow’s stock, you quietly make a promise to yourself that if you can help it, perhaps he won’t need to use the term lonely to describe himself ever again. 

—

When you first opened your stall, it was commonplace for you to grow sick after contacting so many people on a daily basis. It was just expected, it came with the territory, and you only needed a handful of months for your body to grow used to it. Nowadays, you hardly find yourself feeling ill at all.

Then there were days like today, where the world is too bright, and your skin feels too hot and too cold, uncomfortable no matter your position. The softness of your bed curls around you, cradling your aching joints as you struggle to maintain a comfortable body temperature. The windows facing the street show that the sun is already risen, though at this time of day, not as much of it makes it down to the bazaar, even at the outskirts as you are.

Wrapped in your blankets in the throes of a cold chill is how the wanderer finds you. His steps into your home are tentative - you’d given him a key, and you thank yourself for the foresight. Looking into your bedroom, his expression goes from curiosity to something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than fear.

“What’s wrong? Look at me-”

“I’m okay.” Talking makes your head feel thick and muddled, stuffed too full of the meager thoughts it requires to get words out. But he’s kneeling next to your head now, hands hovering over you but not quite touching, like he’s unsure of what to do next. It lightens your mood a little, seeing him fret like this. “Just a little sick - it goes around this time of year.”

“What do you need me to do? Do you need food? Have you had anything to drink today? Hang on, let me get a washcloth.”

And he’s on his feet, moving to your kitchen and out of your ability to call him back. A quiet laugh leaves you as you roll onto your back, snuggling beneath blankets and listening as he sifts through your cabinets to find a bowl, then fill it with cool water to bring back to you. His eyes are more focused on the bowl as he enters, determined not to spill it until he’s able to set it down on your bedside table. 

Before you can say a word, the back of his fingers press to your forehead, and he hisses through his teeth. There’s no need to say that you’re burning up, not with how he hurriedly wrings out the cloth and folds it delicately on your forehead. Even chilled as you are, it feels like heaven, and you all but melt into the blankets as the fingers of his hand linger along your brow. 

“Better?”

“Mm… yes, thank you.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself, rather than you. There’s something haunted in his eyes, something that’s clawing at the back of his mind. Far be it from your place to ask, but the fever has lowered your inhibitions, and you can’t help but lick the chapped dryness of your lips before asking what you wish to know. 

“Why are you afraid? Look at you, you’re terrified.”

The answer is immediate, maybe even instinctual. “I don’t know.” His eyes linger over your face, trailing over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the weariness that lingers. “My mind is telling me terrible things, almost like I’ve… lost someone like this. But I’ve never-... I haven’t been around anyone long enough to care. Not like this.”

He cares. About you. Sure, that was obvious enough at this point, but the fact that he puts it into words so candidly makes your heart flutter nervously. It’s been a long time since anyone would go to these lengths for you in your time of need, and for it to be him… It makes you feel leagues better already.

“I’m… I’ll make you something to eat. And get you something to drink. I’ll be back.”

The words tumble out of him, one after another, with little control. He’s nearly out the door by the time you comprehend that he’d been pink in the cheeks, fingers nervously twirling the golden feather on his chest. He cares. What a novel thought.

It doesn’t take him terribly long to return. Just long enough for your eyes to droop closed and your mind to wander off into dreams of pretty violet eyes and the faint scent of flowers that you’ve never come across before. Soft smiles, a hand running down your arm, a thumb across your cheek as a familiar voice urges you to reawaken. 

“Just a few bites, then you can sleep.”

Easy enough, when the spoon finds its way to your mouth of its own accord. Yet it’s not sentient - it’s held by lithe fingers that guide it steadily. At your back is his arm, helping you sit up so you don’t spill over your sheets. Quietly, you shift a little closer and bask in that faint floral smell that’s like nothing in Sumeru. The only way you can explain it is if you were describing the wanderer himself.

Drinking is an easy affair, thanks to the straw he’d somehow found you, and once he’s satisfied you’ve completed the tasks he’s laid out, so too does he lay you back on your bed. With distance comes a stark loneliness, and you reach for his hand as he stands from where he’d been kneeling. “Stay? Please?”

“Let me grab a chair at least. Your floor hurts.”

You want to tell him to just climb in your bed. To let you curl around him for all the comfort he can offer, greedily taking and taking because he’s always so willing to give. But the last bit of your self-control pulls you back in, releasing your grip to allow him to drag a chair across the floor to sit at your bedside with an exasperated smile. 

“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Hm… Promise?”

“I swear it on my life. I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thought before you drift off is a quiet murmur of your heart repeating that he cares. About you, about your wellbeing. He’ll be here when your eyes open, hopefully with less of that fear he’s still holding onto. The washcloth on your forehead is changed, slim fingers wipe away stray water droplets, and all the while he hums a tune under his breath that sounds like the sweetest song.

—

The wanderer has only one devastating, debilitating flaw - he’s a worrier. 

Whether it’s after a long day and you’re bone tired, or you were too busy to eat lunch, or even if you’re just feeling a little ill, he has an incessant need to coddle. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be a good look. You’re a grown woman, you can take care of yourself, keep yourself safe and cared for. 

But something about the way he does it soothes any outrage you could possibly feel. Insistent, quiet, offered with a smile that seems almost pleading. And you know that while he’s making you dinner and taking on the duty of meticulously creating fruit-shaped candies for tomorrow’s weekend sale, it’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. 

And so, if it keeps him smiling as he carefully pours soup into a bowl for you, you’re more than willing to let him get away with it. 

Chin propped on your hand, elbow on the table, you let your eyes drift closed as the weariness of the day catches up to you. The festival over the weekend was one of the biggest in a long time, and your preparations were wearing you impossibly thin. It meant longer evenings to finish creating stock, longer days to account for new tourists, and all the stress that comes with it. 

Not to mention the last straggling bits of your illness that had kept you homebound for days, still lingering after two long weeks. Your muscles still felt weak, your head still fuzzy.

But the wanderer had been a huge help, especially as the grocer had all but kicked him out of his stall to send over to yours. The grocer had been trying to foist him off on you for weeks now, and he hadn’t really needed to try that hard at all. 

The sound of ceramic sliding across the table in front of you is the indication he’s dropped your food off, and you crack your eyes open just in time to see the golden pinion of his ornament dangling in front of your face as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

Both of you freeze. 

But he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. Instead, you reach with a shaking hand to the golden feather, grasping it lightly with your fingertips and rubbing your thumb along the subtle ridges. Your curiosity serves an alternate purpose; it keeps him close, prevents him from backing away from you. 

A sigh breezes along your scalp, humid from his breath, and a shiver from you breaks you both out of the odd trance. 

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off, already anticipating the unwarranted apology for something you desperately wanted him to do again. Even standing above you, he looks incredibly small as his hands clutch at the opening of his kimono, worrying at the edges without a care for the wrinkles he’s creating. 

Letting the feather drop back to his chest, you reach for one of his fretting hands and hold it tight enough in your own that you can’t tell if the tremors come from you or him. It could even be both. Suddenly you’re filled with anticipation so strong it makes your stomach turn painfully. 

But it’s not bad. It’s welcomed, wanted. The only relief you know of is sought after with a simple question. “Could you do it again?”

“...Again?”

“If you’d like to. If it wasn’t a regretful accident.”

His lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment, then pops out with a pink hue from the abuse. You’re only allowed a second to admire the shade before the only thing you can see is alabaster and violet, your view of the world cut off as he presses his lips to yours with a clumsiness that is borne from inexperience. 

A thud rocks the table from his palm hitting it, an attempt to brace himself as he leans further into you until he’s nearly climbed into your lap. A whine brushes across your cheek through his nose - a high-pitched, cracking sort of sound that’s sweeter to your ears than any song could be, any candy could taste. 

That evening, the wanderer becomes your wanderer. 

And the world seems more vibrant, the music of the festival is more joyous than anything you’ve ever heard. Your wanderer closes your stall and guides you to the theatre to watch Nilou spin and sway. Her movements are nothing short of hypnotic, but hardly enough to catch your attention as you lean against him and let your eyes follow the cut of his jawline, the brush of his hair against his ear, the subtle pink of his blush as he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. 

For an evening, the entirety of Teyvat feels like it’s in harmony. He smiles down at you, and the stars above shine just a little bit brighter. An arm winds around your waist to hold you closer, and the lyrics to the music lose their meaning, the tune grows meandering and unimportant compared to how he smiles so, so gently. 

If asked, you’re not sure that you’d be able to think of a single thing you wouldn’t give up to recklessly chase after this feeling with him. Safe, warm, loved. It’d been there from the beginning, quietly growing subtle roots until it ingrained itself too deep to remove - as if you’d want to. 

That night, you nearly tell him you love him. Something stays your tongue, but you’re not quite sure what it might have been. Tomorrow, you promise yourself as he brings you to your door and kisses you so sweetly that you can do nothing but melt in his hold. Tomorrow, you resolve as you watch him backpedal down the street, giving you that smile you favor so much. 

Tomorrow, you promise the following day as the market quiets following such a busy event, unwilling to break the peace for a confession you’re not entirely confident he’s ready for. Instead, you prop your elbow on your stall’s counter and watch as he smiles at the grocer. As he squats to the level of a child that’s examining fruits, and offers one of the familiar candies from your stall to him. 

Over the child’s head, he catches your eye, and the placating smile turns to one that’s teeth and pink cheeks, embarrassment at having been caught with such softness but not ashamed enough to stop. In the heat of the afternoon, the quiet murmur of the bazaar, the daylight stretching the shadows long as the sun crosses its apex and begins to descend, everything feels the closest to perfection you could ever achieve.

Tomorrow doesn’t come. 

Or rather, it does, but he’s missing. The grocer mentions he’d stepped out of the city to make a run for sunsettias, then left on an errand with a golden-haired newcomer and their floating companion. The Traveler, you recognize vaguely from gossip through the grapevine. They’d keep him safe, surely, but you can’t help but feel a looming sense of dread when he doesn’t return that evening. 

For the first time in months, you eat your dinner alone. 

—

The tables are turned, for once. It’s you that worries over his well-being, so much so that you close your stand for the day and pace around your home like a caged animal. Certainly he must be fine, but he would’ve mentioned it to you if he were leaving, wouldn’t he? It feels wrong to not be aware of his presence, to not simply turn your head and have him at the corner of your vision as a steady presence. 

The grocer stops by to drop a few pieces of produce off, an attempt to check on you and reassure you of the wanderer’s safety with the Traveler. It does little to assuage your fears - nothing does, until the door opens and it’s filled with a familiar silhouette.

Except it’s… not. 

There’s a different set to his shoulders. A tension that lingers for a moment too long before it bleeds away at the sight of you. But his eyes are still the same, taking you in with immeasurable reverence that doesn’t fade even as he steps into your home that’s dimmer than the midday market outside. One, two, three long strides bring him to you, close enough to yank you to his chest and hold you impossibly tight with both arms. 

“I’m sorry.”

Even the tone is different. It’s lower, more tentative, almost as if he expects you to refuse him. Adamant, you wrap your arms tight around his waist and link your hands together, squeezing with everything you can muster as you mumble into the fabric over his chest. “You should be. You had me so worried.”

“That’s… I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re sorry for something else?” Pulling your head back, you look up at him. Nothing could have prepared you for the way his face falls, his lip drawing between his teeth as he takes in the sight of your confusion and weariness. 

There is no stalling further. His hand comes to the back of your head, bringing you back close again as he speaks over your shoulder. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Even if you think it will hurt me.”

“And if it will hurt me?”

“It’ll hurt more if I don’t ask it at all.” His chest beneath your cheek shudders with his exhalation, its wavering shaking you to your core as you realize it’s tinged with tears once he continues. “If someone walked in here that looked and sounded just like me, but they were inarguably an evil person… would you still want to stay with them?”

“Looks and sounds like you…?”

“If you couldn’t tell the difference, beyond the knowledge that for the entirety of their existence, so many of the actions they’d taken were for horrible, inexcusable reasons.”

It shouldn’t be a simple answer. The question he’s posed to you has so many layers despite its surface-level simplicity. But with the way he looks at you - wild, desperate, clinging to the hope for an answer that lets him stay close to you - it only takes you a moment to come to a conclusion that settles into place like a key turning a lock. Smooth, easy, with a satisfying click.

“Whoever that person might’ve been… they’re not who you are now.” His breath hitches, stilling under where you rest your head. Whether that’s the right answer or the wrong, you’re unsure, but you’re too far to backtrack now. “I know who you are. People are allowed to change, that’s just what humans do.”

“I’m not human.”

He’s not. He’s told you so himself that he was created, not born. But it’s easy enough to forget that fact when he’s here in front of you, trembling in your arms and clinging desperately to the normalcy you’ve unknowingly provided. The front he puts up is so convincing that you’re not sure it’s even false anymore - he’s experienced all there is to being a human.

“But you’re close enough, aren’t you? You laugh, and you hurt. You’re hurting right now. And the most important part of being a human is love.” Pulling back enough to look at him, to note the shine of tears and the harshness of his bite on his bottom lip to hide its quivering, you ask, “Do you feel love?”

“Yes. So much, it’s killing me.”

“Ah, you just need to let it out then. Of course, I’d stay with you. If it’s like you say, then there’s a long road ahead, and I’m happy to walk it with you, if you’ll let me.”

Choked laughter leaves him, high-pitched and disbelieving. It signals the floodgates of his tears falling, and he releases one arm from you to rub at his eyes to catch them before they fall. It’s a futile effort, one you’re happy to see, even as he surges forward to kiss you, wetting your cheeks with his own. 

Against your lips he murmurs, muffled and sloppy, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-”

As if you would have left him after coming to know him like this. It only hurts for a second that the thought had even crossed his mind to doubt - and perhaps that doubt will creep back in over the coming days. When things are difficult or when stirrings of a life past-lived come back to rear its head, threatening the tenuous peace he’s found. 

There are times that he looks at you with eyes that aren’t as familiar. They’re darker, edged sharply, but it’s still him. A different facet shining in the light, but if you tilt your head, you can see the core of him that lies beneath. Still the same, no matter how he refracts it. As he comes and goes, it feels as if a new page turns each time - some new, some old. A wildness exists that seeps through, visible only when he holds you a little too tight, kisses you a little too hard. 

Unsteadiness is something he’s worn since the first day you’ve met him, and with the return of memories he’d lost, it doesn’t settle over him as often as it once had. Only when you notice the shift does he avoid your gaze, the sheepish little smile lifting the weight on your heart, and his in turn.

He’s trying. That’s enough, you think.

SUMMERS WITH YOU — OIKAWA TOORU

— oikawa tooru.

⤷ genre: fluff, fluff, fluff

⤷ warnings: cursing, suggestive themes, a tiny, tiny bit nsfw - i can’t help it. not really proof read since its 4am.

⤷ word count: 1.7k

— a/n: it was about time i wrote a fic for him hehe. what if i said this was originally a hawks fic i wrote but never posted lol.

— navi. | m.list

oikawa loved summer.

summer mornings where the sun would bathe you in its radiance; capturing the soft glow of your bare back, and the cheeky glint in your eyes as you rolled on your side to face him. you’d giggle at the way your hair stuck out at odd angles, leaning into his touch as he brushed the strands away from your face. and with a pretty smile on your pink lips, you’d whisper the sweetest, “good morning, babe,” leaving oikawa with no choice but to pull you on top of him. he’d claim just five minutes of cuddling, ignoring the roll of your eyes as you snuggled into his warm chest. it was always an hour later that the two of you would leave the comfort of your shared bed.

then there were summer days spent at the beach, with you laid out on your stomach between his toned legs. oikawa could taste the sea salt, and a hit of your cherry lip gloss, on his tongue; a smirk tugging at his mouth as he remembered the kiss he’d stolen from you in the parking lot. electrifying tingles spreading across the palms of his big hands, as he continued to rub the cool lotion on your smooth skin - hands moving lower and lower-

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Would you write a Hiei from YYH request where the human reader agrees to be bait for a mission while Hiei is away and he comes back and finds out? You can decide what stage they’re at (like still crushing, in between or together, etc)

ooh, i loved this prompt! i hope you enjoy what i did with it!

run to you (hiei x gender neutral!reader, yu yu hakusho)

You’d only wanted to help.

Naive, Hiei would have called you. Foolish.

He’d be right, you think with a grimace, clamping your lower lip between your teeth to prevent another whimper from escaping. Botan squeezes your hand, her brows furrowed in concern, and Kurama shoots you a sympathetic glance but continues tending to your wound. The scent of the salve he’d fashioned from one of his plants blends with the cloying musk of your blood.

You feel sick.

“It’s deep,” Kurama murmurs, spirit energy seeping from his fingers into your wound. Over his shoulder, you can see Yusuke pacing, his hands trembling before curling into fists at his sides. “I can facilitate the healing process, but it will take time.”

You grit your teeth. Already the agony of the demon’s claws has begun to fade, though that doesn’t stop the tears from wetting your cheeks or the pained grimaces that twist your lips.

Struggling to focus on anything but the sensation of your flesh knitting back together under Kurama’s ministrations, you manage to catch Yusuke’s gaze, and though the spirit detective jerks to a stop as soon as he notices your stare, he’s quick to avert his eyes.

You want to tell him it’s alright, that he isn’t at fault for what happened to you. You had volunteered to bait the demon out into the open - it had already attacked three humans and nearly killed another, and you’d wanted to contribute to its capture. You’d known the risks.

“Focus on yourself for now,” Kurama chides you gently, no doubt guessing the direction of your thoughts by the helpless expression you’d been casting at the spirit detective. “We could all benefit from a little guilt. We should not have allowed - ” His words trail off suddenly, jade eyes darting toward where the spirit detective has resumed his pacing. “Yusuke - !”

But it’s too late.

Hiei’s fist connects with Yusuke’s jaw with a resounding crack, the spirit detective hitting the ground with enough force to shatter concrete. At the sight of the fire apparition you struggle to pick yourself up, but you’re stayed by the gentle press of Kurama’s hand and the firmness of his voice.

“That’s enough, Hiei.”

Even though it’s not directed at you, Hiei’s glare sears you to the bone. “This was his idea, was it not?”

“This isn’t the time, Hiei,” Botan interjects, lips downturned in disapproval.

Hiei’s curled fists spit flames. “Isn’t the time - !”

“Hiei.” Your voice is a reedy gasp, but it might as well be a shout for how quickly it captures Hiei’s attention. His teeth clench, his eyes darting from your face to the wound at your throat and back again.

“Tch.” The flames licking at his wrists disperse, though his thunderous expression doesn’t waver. Rather than ready another strike for Yusuke, however, he approaches you.

“Will it heal?” he asks Kurama, his voice deepened with the vestiges of anger you know he still feels, though his eyes never stray from yours.

Kurama sighs, his hand easing away from your throat with a last burst of spirit energy. “With rest,” he confirms.

“Then rest you shall receive,” Botan decrees, her voice injected with as much of her usual cheer as she can muster in this situation. “Come now, we’ll help you home - “

“We’ve had enough of your help.” Hiei’s voice is little more than a growl, and though Botan acts unaffected, her smile twitches at the edges.

Without another word, Hiei bends and scoops you into his arms. You can do little but mouth a silent thank you to Kurama and Botan over the fire apparition’s shoulder as he carries you away. Yusuke stares after you with a fixed expression, the side of his face scuffed and a little charred from Hiei’s punch, and you give him a smile you hope is assuring.

The trek home is a quiet one. Hiei’s pace is steady, though lacking the speed you know he’s capable of. His anger fails to trump his concern for you, it seems, and a small, tired smile curls your lips despite the disaster the night had become.

“Wasn’t Yusuke’s fault,” you croak, wincing at the strain on your throat but knowing you need to explain.

Hiei scoffs but says nothing. His body runs hot against yours, heat seeping through his clothes and into your skin, and though it’s a welcome contrast to the cold, hard ground and the tacky wetness of your blood spilling out beneath you, knowing it’s attributed to his anger urges you to continue.

“I volunteered,” you tell him, curling your fingers in his shirt. You wish he would look at you, rather than pinning his gaze on the horizon.

“Then you’re a fool.” The words should sting, but the ire behind them falls flat in the wake of Hiei’s grip firming around you, pulling you closer against his chest.

He’s angry, yes, but it’s more than anger that had wreathed his fists in flames.

“How did you find me?” You already know the answer, but the confirmation feels like a fitting punishment somehow.

“Your blood.” Your heart climbs into your throat. Even without the benefit of a demon’s enhanced senses, the scent of your own blood had overwhelmed you. Even now, it clings to your nose, your collar soaked with remnants from the wound the demon had inflicted on you.

And there had been so much of it.

Your next exhale is a wet one. “Sorry,” you rasp, pushing your cheek against the curve of his shoulder. You try to imagine it - Hiei’s blood guiding you to him, only to find him wounded and in pain in a pool of red - and you shudder.

Hiei slows to a stop; this close, you can feel more than hear the small breath he releases. “You put yourself at risk,” he tells you, and finally his dark eyes seek out yours, catching your gaze and holding it. “Do not do it again.”

It’s an order and a plea all at once, insomuch as you’ve ever heard Hiei plead for anything. You wet your lips, and though your throat aches with the effort of it, the words come easy.

“I won’t.”

So kiss me

Miya Atsumu x Reader | Fluff

It’s Atsumu’s last summer in Hyogo before he is due to move to Tokyo to begin his training with the MSBY Black Jackals. He has one last thing to do before he leaves.

A/N: Inspired by Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, recommend listening to it while you read!! Repost bc tags 🙃

Beneath the milky twilight, muffled giggles and clumsy feet stumble down a rocky trail, disrupting the usual quietude of the forest. It’s not long till the two figures responsible for the ruckus appear through the thick cluster of trees, steps slowly coming to a halt as they finally approach the clearing one had been leading the other to.

“Tsumu” you breathe, lips barely able to utter the name as you take in the sight before you.

Your fingers laced through Atsumu’s fall limp before they completely detach, hovering over your mouth in disbelief instead. When Atsumu had appeared at your doorstep claiming there was one last thing to do before summer ended, or, as you two both stubbornly refused to voice, before he left for Tokyo, this had not crossed your mind, not even for a second.

Beside you, the blonde is wearing a proud smile, eyes trained intently on your features that he’s so desperately trying to commit to memory. Your parted lips, the gap between them just wide enough to let out a whisper of his name. Your glistening eyes, capable of outshining even the brightest stars. Your trembling hands, opening and closing, as if unsure of what to do with itself. He wants to remember every detail.

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this is so beautiful and i’m crying

「Light: Summer Storm Edition; 光：夏雨篇」

important: as we resume hq posts, please do not forget the feelings and activism that we have built up over the past weeks/months/decades. these fights are far from over. and as always, my inbox is open to you.

pairing: akaashi keiji x gn!reader.

summary: summer comes in full force, and akaashi needs his source of light.

warning: fluff.

word count: 510.

a/n: big thank you to @occasional-haikyuu for beta-ing + being a light through The Cerebral Mess ;-; this edition of light is a take on atmospherically “light” vs. “dense”, as well as the usual symbolic + optical “light”. not that it works in chinese though ;;;

It’s raining, and I miss you.

June.

Akaashi woke up not minutes ago. The room is barely lit in a dark, dusky glow, and through his bedroom windows, he vaguely registers the distant rumbles rolling in. Rain tumbles down, pelting at the glass panes before buffering into gentle waterfalls. Their thin trails soften the pale morning light for his drowsy mind, leaving the world outside behind.

Akaashi rolls to his side, looking out at the grey sky, hazy, and the thought breathes into him again.

It’s raining, and I miss you.

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kaeya alberich's guide to love

pairing - kaeya alberich x gender neutral reader

word count - 5419

genre - fluff to angst, spicy

format - fic

warnings - MCD (major character death), slight descriptions of bodily injuries and gore, alcohol consumption, one (1) suggestive scene (skinship, mentions of removal of clothing, very very light description of sex, pet names (darling, sweetheart, dove, angel)

summary - kaeya alberich's foolproof guide to falling in love (based on his personal experience)

a/n - womp womp here's some angst with some slight spice and fluff :D (semi-inspired by "How To Finish Your Bucket List Before You Die- A Guide From Kaeya Alberich" by OHai_Here on AO3!)

RULE #1: FIND A BEAU THAT POSES A CHALLENGE; LOVE IS MOST FUN WHEN THERE'S AN ENTICING PURSUIT INVOLVED

his fingers gently traced the outline of the crystal goblet that contained blood red poison: safe enough for consumption but not safe enough to prevent his mind from falling prey to the tantalizing grips of drunkeness. though wine would usually be swimming, settled deep in his stomach, he opted to tease and tempt fate tonight and dance a misty waltz between the lines of a drunken stupor and agonizing consciousness.

"if you toy with that drink any longer, it's bound to get fed up and walk away."

you'd been sitting next to him for some time, quiet as a doll, but your beguiling, honey tinted voice sparked an intrigued glint in the swirls of his lilac eye. the ends of his lips quirked upwards, a sly, foxy glance perambulated your way with the upturn of his head to meet your piercing eyes and the gentle placement of his fingers to support his weighted chin.

"well now," he cooed, voice dripping with a rosy, sultry lilt yet no lighter than the soft, downy underbelly of a bird's feather, "that would make me up for grabs. now's your chance, darling, shoot your shot hm?"

pearls of crystal condensation snaked their way in races down the edge of his wine glass, still full with sweet temptation. but nothing to him was more tempting than to brush his thumb against the soft, velvety texture of your cupid's bow and see the cute scrunch of your nose in response. a new toy for him to tinker with, a prized addition to his collection should he manage to woo you.

instead, you set a bag of mora with a heavy weight on the bar's wooden counter—far too much mora for a single shot—and placed a palm on the counter, one on his stool, leaving you to lean uncomfortably close to him with a gem of a smile on your pretty lips; close enough for your noses to brush against one another, any more and your lips would slot perfectly against his.

"forgive me, captain, but i'm not interested."

your touch lingered even hours after you'd left the tavern with the sway of your hips and a teasing smile on your face—one that exuded confidence and stability, and had his heart battering against his chest.

kaeya hadn't realized that his mask had chipped away at the fibers with the burning embers of your aura until charles replaced his stale glass with a crisp, fresh one and slid a hearty laugh his way, "they've entranced you, haven't they sir kaeya?"

an impressed smirk was all kaeya offered in response: after all, he loved a challenge.

RULE #2: SUBTLY EXPRESS YOUR INTEREST IN A MANNER THAT EXUDES CONFIDENCE AND CHARM WHILE ALSO KEEPING YOURSELF A MYSTERY

an enigma is how kaeya would describe you.

like silky threads of crystal water or a fleeting, gentle breeze, you flitted through the gaps of his fingertips and skirted around the edges of his ears with the echo of your voice and the rims of his eyes with the grace of your presence at the tavern. it was almost as if you could read the grooves of his brain and feel the palpitating game he'd morphed into the invisible tango between your fleeting feet. "friends", was what you said, but enticing, addicting, intoxicating was every semblance of your being and he craved more.

but kaeya alberich was no man of desperation, no, not at all. he shall be fawned over, and never the other way around.

when the moon cast its gentle glow onto brick and cobblestone, he'd find himself sauntering over to your table, two glasses of delicious poison in his hands and a promise of a good time. the only offer you accepted was the alcohol he so kindly paid for. but no matter! to kaeya, this was all part of his game, all part of the hunt for your heart and the desire to see your eyes glow with his name etched in your irises.

kaeya's methods were...effective, one could say. but you were a true anomaly in his many years of experience. his charming one-liners had you doubling over in laughter and patting him twice on the back—most definitely not in a romantic manner. his cool, teasing touch in the subtle nudge of your arm or the manner in which he'd casually snake his arm around your waist only seemed to spur on your relentless teasing. he'd put on his fancy garbs and strutted his best in the streets, only to be called a "peacock" courtesy of your lovely voice and amused glint in your eyes. but the roses he'd bought from flora to tuck behind your ears just as you set off for another commission proved to be more effective in the slight genuine smile upon your lips and the quiet and hurried "thank you" whispered only for him.

it was proof, he knew soon that he'd see hearts in your eyes and feel your heartbeat from miles away only with the telltale click of his boots and signature laugh.

yet despite this, you ventured onwards merely being yourself. where most would be squealing and kicking up their feet at the sheer mention of capturing the captain kaeya's fancy, he was stunned to realize that you hadn't been affected in the slightest.

rather, it was him who'd begun to notice your teasing looks that often hurtled his way when he least expected them, or the sugary lilt to your voice whenever you called out to him upon seeing his figure in the streets. you were still a mystery, a puzzle he couldn't decipher, a story that his tongue struggled to wrap around, a mystic ornament whose origins he knew nothing of.

"captain kaeya! fancy a drink tonight?"

his head whipped upwards to meet your starry eyes, bound to no one and devoid of hearts, only an endless sea of light and constellations that were no one's to steal.

"my, you offend me, shouldn't you know my answer to that by now, darling?" he wriggled out of the confines of his thoughts and slung an arm around your shoulder, letting you lead him to angel's share for the night.

RULE #3: SHOULD YOU FEEL THAT YOU'RE GETTING IN TOO DEEP, ABORT MISSION

to his surprise, it wasn't in his fancy getups or the sultry dip of his voice nor the alluring musk he adorned or the frosted tips of his fingers, but rather the late night talks of your beloved hobbies and the stories in which silver linings never found their way into the conversation: these were what worked.

his previous beaus have all settled for what he was—what he presented himself to be. but you, you dug deeper into the caverns of his mind and had him dig up ridiculous childhood stories involving him, a certain redheaded wine tycoon, and a bucket of seashells, told under moonlight and over aged wine. kaeya settled for obliging your requests for more embarrassing childhood stories of the charming and suave captain kaeya, and he indulged in your tales of adventuring and mystical stories of scholars and monsters; if possible, he'd love to hear your voice forever and ever on repeat in his ears.

but once you uprooted the vines and twiny branches tangling his heart and revealed the tender muscle and flesh underneath, panic began to course through his veins. this wasn't supposed to happen, you were a challenge, a game to bide his time with, a mere toy to satiate the curiosity within him.

so why was he the one whose heart couldn't sit still around you anymore?

kaeya alberich is not a desperate man, and so he runs as far away as he can. no more lingering touches, sultry remarks, or roses tucked behind your ears. no more rooftop conversations shared between a bottle of vodka or embarrassing childhood stories. no more teasing dares or battle of wits when dusk kissed the top of your heads. no more: all that remained within him was barren of life and ice cold. kaeya alberich is not a desperate man, and yet his heart still longed for you. his soul cried out when you approached with bounded steps and a gleeful smile on your face, only for him to greet you with a stiff nod saved for politics and family dinners and a strained, professional smile reserved for placement when he detested using it most.

the boiling hatred for himself began to rise and build up in the thin confines of his esophagus upon the smile disintegrating from your face, leaving behind a crestfallen nod of understanding in his wake. what stung more was the fact that upon looking into your eyes, they still swirled with vibrant stars and bands of constellations, but among the barrage of light were tiny, dotted hearts that thrummed with every single second your eyes gazed into his.

but he knew and he knew well, there was no going back once he'd pushed you away well and good, even if you had begun to take a true liking to him.

he was in too deep once he realized that it hurt to push you far, far away where he could never hurt you, and you him.

RULE #4: RULE #3 CAN BE NULL AND VOID IF YOUR BEAU HELPS YOU REALIZE THAT YOU'RE AN IDIOT

satisfaction and stability is all he has ever sought out for, but such things are a luxury in a world that conspires against him. any semblance of those principles must be treated as you would a spy or a criminal: dangerous, conniving, untrustworthy. good things can't happen to kaeya—if they do, they either last a fleeting moment or are lies wrapped in glittery present paper and tied neatly with a little bow.

what were you to him? a fleeting moment? or a lie dressed in fancy clothing? the meaning didn't matter any more, he'd push and push and push until you were far away from him and he could finally breath and revel in the calmness that he no longer feared having to get hurt.

except, he already was.

his heart ached and burned in his chest upon a mere glance at your face: sullen and lacking its usual charming mirth—the same charm that persuaded him to begin pursuing you in the first place. despite his airy, fouette lined steps and the musical cadence to his voice, the emptiness where your late night chats and clinks of alcohol to celebrate nothing in particular used to sit, felt so void of the warmth that encompassed him in your company.

perhaps fate was mocking him when your knuckles knocked heavy against the wood of his door one night, and your constellation ridden eyes still contained hearts that begun to warble in his presence.

"have i upset you in some way, captain?"

his carefully constructed mask remained pristine in place, yet jostled slightly at the hammer of his heart as he fought the urge to retreat backwards and hide under the covers like a small child.

"not at all."

your arms folded themselves across your chest in a guarded manner, a frown settling on your lips. "you're not calling me pet names anymore."

like a mechanical doll, his lips curved upwards to mimic the charming smile he'd given you so many nights ago, back when it was all just a simple game to him, "oh? i wasn't aware that you liked the pet names so much-"

"it's not just the pet names, kaeya!" the rest of his teasing remarks died in his throat upon the reveal of glistening tears that threatened to fall from your lashes. "you've been ignoring me, avoiding me like the plague. if i've truly done nothing wrong, why am i being treated as though i have? i thought we were friends?"

kaeya supposed you were much like a siren, with your bated beauty and alluring voice, you'd have him jumping ship and swimming towards a false reality lest his guard be let down. even with tears rolling down your face, he'd be damned if he wouldn't test the murky waters that surrounded your archipelago.

that is: if he were brave enough to enter the tempest of waves and secure his spot among your rocky shorelines.

"is it because i fancy you?"

at the tune of your timid void, his blood ran colder than ice in his veins, stilling for a minute before proceeds onwards languidly in a stark contrast to the rapid palpitations of his heart in his throat.

his silence seemed to be enough a reply for you, "i-i see, i'm sorry, i wasn't aware that you were so disgusted with me. i thought there was a chance...but it seems i was too hopeful." his eye found yours and the galaxies and constellations within began to dim and fade with light, leaving behind the burned remnants of dull and faded hearts that littered the spaces in between.

your heels turned to walk away but a sudden surge of strength found its way into his arms and his hand caught your elbow, grip fueled by emotions he couldn't decipher.

"i'm...far from disgusted with you, angel." his mind was screaming at him to let you go, to increase the distance between desire and temptation. but his heart had taken the reigns and there appeared to be no stopping. he was completely enraptured by your siren's song.

"angel, huh?" you sniffled, dragging your sleeve across your eyes with a strained smile, "that's a new one."

"reserved for you and you alone, darling."

the familiar, teasing atmosphere felt so welcome in his arms, as did you.

"come here," he cooed, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt and full of only genuinely concern as he gently tugged you forward and let you melt into his body. so warm, so tender, and ever so soft, your body melted against the thundering flames of his heart and merged into his chest. it was a feeling he'd dreamed about for so long, and if he were still dreaming, he wished to never wake up.

"i don't understand, i can't tell if you like me or dislike me." you laughed incredulously and pressed the heel of your palm to your head, still wrapped up in his embrace.

kaeya couldn't understand either, why his mind ushered him to release you from his grip and shove your memories of warmth and sunlight to the corners of his brain to never see daylight again. in contrast, why was it that his heart demanded to shower you in affection and let you know every second of every minute just how wrapped around your finger he was.

"well, i am a man of many mysteries. this is just one more i have to decipher." upon the playful smack of your palm to his chest and the frustrated smile you sent him, his worry dissipated into thin air and joined the stars above.

"i got in too deep, you're quite enticing, you know?" his heart soared upon finally seeing the scrunch of your noise and letting your giggles weave their way through the gaps in his heart, "but that's the thing, you're my biggest weakness and i was...terrified, because let's face it, sweetheart: nothing good ever happens to me."

his last words were uttered directly into your scalp, the high and mighty, confident captain kaeya too afraid to stare into your eyes and realize how weak of a man he truly was. his arms locked so tight around your waist in fear that moving would mean time would restart again, and he was more than happy to relive this moment forever and ever.

instead, your hands found their way around his torso, and those velvety lips that he'd spent so many hours fawning over and daydreaming of what they'd feel like upon his, gently pressed themselves to the line of his jaw.

"you should've told me how you felt, you're a big idiot, you know that?" if possible, he might have sagged in relief and went completely limp in your arms right then and there, but the loving gaze in which you tangled him up in had him staying upright just to see the stars reignite in your irises,

"but you don't have to worry. i promise you," he watched with bated breath as your hands moved to hold his face, thumb gentle tracing under the fabric of his charcoal eyepatch, "you deserve genuine, good things, even if they aren't me. you deserve them."

it turns out that kaeya alberich was in fact, a desperate man. desperate in the way his hands came to cup your cheeks and tilt your head to the side, allowing him perfect access to the lips he'd dreamed of kissing for so long. you fit into him like a puzzle piece, the warmth he'd be devoid of for so long began to fill up with your scent and your name began to etch itself into the white of his irises all while your lips molded so perfectly against his.

"you are something good," he broke away, panting for air to say those few words, pressing one more chaste kiss to your lips before continuing, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

and he'd never let go again, not when you so readily dove back in to capture his lips just like you'd done his heart.

RULE #5: TREASURE EVERY MOMENT WITH THEM; LET YOUR WALLS DOWN

kaeya hadn't felt this light since he was a mere child with no weight on his shoulders or chains wrapped around his waist.

the simple slip of your hand into his had him seeing stars and breathing in a nose full of fresh roses and sparkling carnations doused in sugar and honey. you were so addicting, a new type of craving where his liver would no longer have to fight nightly battles or scream at him to cease his indulgences.

you were a drug that so easily coursed through his system and had him on a constant high with your gentle fragrance that wrapped itself in silky ribbons around his heart and your feather light touch upon his icy skin.

everything with you was an adventure to him, whether you babysat klee and played pirates for the afternoon, or stole necklaces and jewels from treasure hoarders to give back to their rightful owners, any time spent with you was time that he wished he could scoop up into a box to place in his pocket.

everything about you was so tantalizing and genuine. the minute his eyepatch fell off to reveal the hidden stories underneath, your arms found their way around his shoulders, and your hushed whispered reassured him over and over that no matter what you'd be right by his side: and that was all he ever needed. you embraced him whether he has tears running down his face, or was covered in dirt and grime from a day of fighting, you cared not for surface level appearances as you did the kind soul that laid beneath his charming layer.

but kaeya felt more inclined to look beyond the physical layers of your body in a manner of his hands skidding upwards under your shirt: cool fingertips gliding across searing hot skin eager for his touch. your hands traced the outlines of the numerous scars on his bare upper body. he watched with sheer adoration in his eyes as you covered a certain willowy patch of burnt skin rooting outwards from his shoulder with your kisses and affectionate, gentle strokes of your hands.

he fumbled with the elaborate buckles of his clothes, hands shaking despite having danced this tango numerous times. but this particular time felt so vulnerable, with each article of clothing he removed he felt his charismatic layers come undone until he was nothing but the timid, shy boy he once was. in your arms he breathlessly stole kiss after kiss from your air deprived lips and sought to take hold of all the love you could give. he traversed through the grooves of your skin up to the crook of your neck, where his eyes met yours for a brief moment before sliding shut and letting the gap be filled with your intertwined love.

with the final removal of his eyepatch, he was bare for you to see with both of your eyes for the monster he truly believed himself to be. and yet, you looped your arms around his neck and tugged him downwards, trapping him in a tender, slow, and riveting kiss.

"i love you, (y/n)," kaeya whispered against your lips, forehead pressed tightly against yours. you responded in kind with the gentle scrape of your nails against his bare, scarred back and the words he drank from your lips.

the minute you became one with him was when he finally understood what it meant to love someone with all your heart.

RULE #6: BE PATIENT, AND UNDERSTANDING

you were an enigma, truly enthralling and incomprehensibly thrilling. but perhaps too incomprehensible for him to understand at points. to yell at you with indignance in his voice would mean to surrender his right to ever be called yours, but the minute your accusing voice comes barreling through his bedroom doors, he's retreating into his shell and immediately considering the "what if's".

"kaeya, you can't be serious! you're injured, you can't possibly even think that you're in fit enough shape to be leading squadrons right now!"

he watched as you tried a gentle method of persuasion at first, only for it to escalate until you were practically begging him with a hoarse voice to please just lay back down and get some rest.

"i told you, dove," he paused, wincing to avoid any strain seeping into his voice as he shifted on the bed, "i'm perfectly fine. they need me there, i can't just say no. you know how it is, don't you, sweetheart?"

left alone to bare the barrage of a hilichurl attack, it was a miracle he managed to make it out with only moderate injuries. his shoulders were bandaged, left arm put in a brace and shin patched up for scrapes and bruises.

"please, kaeya..." he tried to catch your arm as you sank to the floor, words caught on the thorny edges of your muffled cries and choked sobs. your hands gripped onto his like a lifeline and squeezed with all your might, "you're not expendable, please, you need to get better first."

the expendable line played over and over again in his head, for years even. the guilt began to seep its way into his heart and he found himself ceding to your prayers.

"alright, dove, i promise you no more fighting for now," kaeya's large palm gently stroked the top of your head and silently rubbed away your worries, "but i am expecting entertainment while i'm bed ridden, some kisses would suffice wouldn't you say?" he broke out into a charming grin upon seeing the defeated smile on your face.

it was worth it if it meant he got to feel your lips on his. he'd take any chance to cherish this feeling.

RULE #7: SPEND YOUR MORNINGS TOGETHER IN COMPLETE BLISS

"leaving already?" kaeya's sleep ridden eyes registered the bleary image of you tugging your attire on for the day.

"yep! it'll be a short mission, i'll be back in time for lunch. should we eat at good hunter today?" beaming, you turned your eyes to him while your fingers busied themselves with lacing up the boots on your feet.

kaeya shifted to sitting upwards in bed and propped his chin up on his fist, "y'know, you'd look really good in a corset." he mused out loud, a dreamy smile on his face.

"hey, mister, you're getting distracted! good hunter for lunch today?" despite the chiding phrasing and the snapping of your fingers in front of his delirious face, it seemed just like him, you couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto your face.

"anywhere you want, darling. i'm good as long as it's with you." he watched as you padded over and sat on his side of the bed, stretching your hand out to cup his cheek only for his head to turn inwards and press a kiss to your palm.

"alright, good hunter it is."

he was sure it was a pain to get him to loosen his grip from around your waist, even as you trudged down the stairs and tried to convince him at the front door that you didn't need a kaeya-shaped utility belt.

now he wishes he never let go.

RULE #8: ALWAYS KISS THEM GOODBYE—YOU NEVER TRULY KNOW WHEN IT'LL BE YOUR LAST

even with the passage of so much time, your lips never failed to make him weak in the knees. still in the doorway of your shared home, he loathed the idea of letting you go, even if your mission was to be quick and easy and you'd be back in his arms in time for lunch at good hunter.

"can this mission be rescheduled? i don't recall the last time i had a proper day off, and i can't even spend it with you." like a kicked puppy, he pouted into the crook of your neck and swayed your intertwined bodies in the archway of the front door.

"unfortunately not," you stifled a giggle and brought his face downwards for another tender kiss, "but i promise that you'll have all of me as soon as i come back."

"you better keep your promise, darling." a kiss to your nose, a kiss to both your cheeks, eyelids, temples, neck, and one more chaste kiss to your smiling lips.

"you know i'm one to keep my word."

he never expected to be able to so freely say such weighted words without a barrage of weighted emotions clinging to his heart, but now he utters them so freely, so truthfully, and so wholly that he can hardly believe that it's his voice.

"i love you, (y/n)." with one more, lingering, tender, and gentle kiss, he could never be satisfied but it was enough to last him until lunch.

"and i love you, kaeya. i'll see you later!"

RULE #9: COME RUNNING WHEN THEY NEED YOU MOST

"s-sir kaeya..."

kaeya watched impatiently as the young knight caught his breath, dressed in his city clothes in preparation for lunch at good hunter.

"that's me, can i help-"

"it's master (y/n), t-they've been injured-!"

kaeya felt his heart still.

"send a healer after me!" he muttered lowly, grabbing his sword and coat.

the knight needed to say nothing more.

adrenaline carried kaeya's feet to where he knew you'd be, sword floating ferociously behind his back. this world couldn't take you from him, not the one good thing that's ever happened to him. anything but you.

images of your smile, sounds of your laugh, the feel of your soft, warm skin against his and the feelings that erupted in his heart when you held him so tenderly and pressed kiss after kiss to his lips...he pleaded with whatever archon, whatever deity was out there to spare your life.

but upon arriving at your mission site, it was clear that no archons nor deities cared for his mortal desires.

it was such a beautiful day: sun poured from the heavens and a gentle breeze complimented the beaming sun. but the thick pool of blood that surrounded your limp body and the mitachurl about to finish you off had him rushing forwards and impaling his sword straight into the monster's heart with a strangled cry, blood swishing in his ears once he got a proper look at you.

"no no no no no (y/n) look at me, come on, open your eyes-!" he cried out desperately, dropping to his knees. all he could see was the red that soaked your clothes from the open wound in your chest, eyes shut and rolling around in the back of your skull.

his hands clumsily fumbled with his silky, periwinkle cape, taking great care to press it to the large gash that lined your chest. "come on darling, we're gonna have lunch at good hunter's, y-yeah?" his eyes frantically searched for any signs of consciousness, and he sagged in relief upon seeing the beautiful, gem like color of your eyes peeping back at him.

"that's it, that's good, sweetheart. keep looking at me, darling, don't shut your pretty eyes, okay? the medic will be here soon, i promise." blood spattered up from your lips in a horrid cough and he felt the familiar dread and putrid stink of death come up to haunt him from behind his shoulders.

but not you, you wouldn't fall prey to the clutches of death.

"hey, hey, you're gonna be okay, i promise." but it seemed like he was trying to convince himself of something that could never be, not with the amount of blood that seeped through the thin material of his cape nor the paling of your skin and droopiness of your eyes.

"kae-ya..." your supple palm, coated in blood, staggered upwards to cup his cheek and swipe away at the tears that pooled from his exposed eyes.

when had he started crying?

RULE #10: MAKE SURE THEY KNOW THEY ARE LOVED

"no, darling, this isn't goodbye. you're going to be okay, you're going-" it was as if his words had grown thorns and impaled the thin walls of his neck: nothing came out despite his growing pleads and dwindling reassurances. the medic was nowhere in sight and his cape was soaked through with irony, sticky blood.

"kaeya..." he hardly recognized the hoarse, exhausted voice that crept out from your lips—lips that he adored so much.

his hand pressed itself against yours that firmly placed itself against his cheek, "what is it darling? what's wrong?"

the tears that had collected in your eyes finally began to trickle down the sides of your face as you struggled to raise your other hand to hold his tear soaked face in your hands.

"i love you, please don't forget that."

the mirrored world of rosy tints and honey glows began to shatter around him once he realized the true implications behind your loving words.

"i know, i know, sweetheart, and you can tell me tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and forever onwards," there was a manic desperate tone to his voice as he scrambled to put pressure on the wound and keep your warmth intact. he was sure if his knees were to dig any further into the earth, he'd become one with the dirt and perhaps that'd be a better fate than losing you forever.

"no...need to tell you...now...kaeya..." even on death's door, your stubbornness reigned supreme as your bloodied hand placed itself over the hand he'd been using to put pressure on your wound.

you arms silently stretched out towards him and he took your body into his gratefully, cradling your head to his chest as if you were constructed of fragile glass or thin marble.

his cries were ceaseless and of a man who was desperate for a miracle, for anything, just for your brevity and a moment longer where he can hold your face and kiss you without tasting the tang of blood on his tongue. even as your lips dried and breaths began to slow, his lips lingered all over your skin and left tingles in his wake, followed by strangled "i love you"s strung together with broken cries and warbled sobs.

"you deserve...good...things..." you quietly mumbled, taking great care to brush aside the locks from his face.

your words only elicited a mangled cry from his lips as his thumbs ran their soft pads over the plump of your cheeks, covered in both a mix of your tears and his, "but you are my good thing," and he repeats the words he said so many nights ago with heavy breaths and choked cries, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." and like so many nights, he pressed his forehead against yours and takes in the last sight of your beautiful eyes, aglow with love and satisfaction.

just as the medic arrives on scene, the wispy winds of your last breath fall against his lips and his world begins to crumble to dust.

RULE #11: NEVER FALL IN LOVE

date published: september 3rd, 2021

22 w kazuha

stealing him before the angst lovers can take him so true <3

. . .pairing: kazuha x reader

. . .prompt 22: ''there are a hundred ways to say 'i love you,' and this is one of them''

. . .cw: fluff!

a/n: spookii my beloved<3 /p

> fic 4/5 for my 100 follower event! <

kazuha's voice is sweet. it drips like honey and hums like an early autumn breeze-- soft and lilting. fitting for a poet.

"your eyes sparkle even in the darkness," he mumbles almost thoughtlessly, hands wandering over your face. "your skin is beautiful under my fingers. the height of your nose, the dips of your eyes. the shine of your hair, the curve of your lips..."

you find that you can't escape, unable to hide from the attention and love he lavishes onto you.

"you're beautiful," he sighs happily, eyes crinkling as he grins. "i could gaze at you forever, my love. your voice is my favorite song, your face my favorite painting."

"kazuha-"

"yes, my beloved? my star? my moon, the holder of my heart. my only wish?"

you shake your head with a wide grin, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"i love you, my prince."

"there are a hundred ways to say 'i love you,' moonflower. and this is one of them."

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