Xdncrkay

Morepesok, Snezhnaya.

“There was this… one time,” You begin out of nowhere, and Childe immediately turns to you, “In Mondstadt. The Traveler was there, and he was mixing drinks.”

“Mixing drinks?” He asks, amused.

You laugh, squeezing his hand tighter. Warmth spreads throughout your body. “Yeah. Apparently there was a bartender course and Aether decided to join. Naturally, I went to visit him to witness the great bartender skills of the Traveler.” You pause, “I remember one of the drinks there; it was called ‘A Snow-Covered Kiss.’ According to Paimon, it was supposed to taste like how a flower blooms in the snow and meets your lips. Or at least that’s what I heard from when she and Aether were talking to the Liyuean lady.”

The stunt that Childe pulls next is expected, given his nature. “I bet I can give you a sweeter snow-covered kiss than some drink,” He winks, using the hand intertwined with yours to pull you into him before diving down.

Childe does not disappoint; he never does. The kiss is frosty, chilly, and yet, it is warm. It feels like sitting at a fireplace and snuggling next to him and at the same time it feels like a little breeze full of snowflakes being blown lightly into your face. A comforting heat pools in your tummy and you subconsciously shift closer to him, and he gladly welcomes the movement but wrapping his arms around you tighter.

You barely manage to think about how all kisses with Childe should be like this: slow, loving, warm and cheeky when he pulls away. Your limbs remain tangled (you can’t tell if it’s for sharing of body heat or because your boyfriend just doesn’t like letting go of you) and when you look up, it is Ajax that smiles at you.

A snowflake coincidentally lands on your nose, and Ajax giggles as he helps wipe the melted ice aside. His gloved fingers remain on your face, gingerly caressing your cheeks. “You’re not very slick about your intentions,” he hums, gazing at the little distinctive features.

“Hm?”

“It’s not odd for you to tell me about your day, but you never say something as direct as that,” he teases you, “‘A Snow-Covered Kiss’, really? Surely you could do better than that. Or you could’ve just asked for one straight away.”

You should pull away from his embrace to teach him a lesson about teasing you— you really should. You don’t, and Ajax doesn’t cover the wide smile adorning his features.

“So,” Ajax begins, and he tilts his nose down to touch yours. Puffs of warm air exit from your mouths and intermingle, and you know that the redness forming on your nose definitely isn’t due to the cold. “Was my take on a snow-covered kiss better than the drink?”

“It’s hard to say,” you hum, still intoxicated by the intimacy of that kiss, “Could you do it again? Just for me to, y’know, get a clearer taste.”

The giddiness in Ajax’s eyes is clear, and he doesn’t waste a second diving back in. And when he resurfaces, you tell him again that it still doesn’t taste sweeter than the drink Aether made you. So he kisses you again. And you tell him again. And the cycle repeats again, and again, and again. And if he ever noticed your ploy to get him to kiss you with a sky full of snowflakes and lips full of love (he did), he never said it.

Though sweet snow-covered kisses you gave you tasted nothing like the drink, you sure could get drunk on the way he handed them to you.

-

@souglias happy birthday weird fatooey ginger that sher likes ☹️ kinda short but lol it's like 11.30pm anyway your fanart did you so much justice king pop off <333

Dialogue prompt

“Never in my life have I been more embarrassed to be seen with you, you imbecile.”

“Aww you love me, admit it.”

“That is highly debatable at the moment”

EMOTIONALLY CHARGED SENTENCES STARTERS

❝  i need you.  don’t you get that?  ❞

❝  i’m right here.  i’m always here right in front of you but you never see me!  ❞

❝  you’re my person.  ❞

❝  no,  i don’t wanna have to talk to anyone else right now.  i just want you.  ❞

❝  i know you’re busy and i don’t want to bother you i just—  can i just sit here with you while you work?  ❞

❝  are we okay?  ❞

❝  honestly,  i’m always there.  in my head.  the scars on my body might’ve healed but i never really walked away from it.  ❞

❝  do you want me to make the others leave?  or we could go,  get some fresh air.   ❞

❝  look i’m not coddling you,  i’m just trying to help.  i wanna take care of you cause i,  you know— care about you.  ❞

❝  alright,  here’s your coffee.  are you ready to talk or should i find something to ramble about for a few minutes?  ❞

❝  eventually,  you just gotta learn to let go of the past.  it’s always gonna hurt,  but you can choose when to start focusing on something other than the pain.  ❞

❝  hey,  just breathe.  look at me— look at me.  in and out.  breathe with me okay?  ❞

❝  keep your eyes on me—  just focus on me.  we’re gonna be okay.  ❞

❝  no,  i’m not okay.  nothing is okay.  it never is.  but that’s just how i function most days.  so i’ll be fine.  ❞

❝  i’m not gonna pretend anymore.  i’m still fucked up from it all and i don’t know when it gets better.  ❞

❝  if you keep waiting until you’re done ‘working on yourself’ before you let yourself be with the person you love,  you’re never gonna be with them.  and they’ll find someone else who is brave enough to give them a chance to love them exactly how they already are.  ❞

❝  why do you stick around?  what is it you think you see in me?  ❞

❝  not everything needs an explanation.  i care about you.  i don’t have to sit here and figure out why.  i just do.  so maybe you should try just accepting it too.  ❞

❝  i don’t need your permission to fall in love with you.  you don’t gotta love me back,  but it isn’t gonna stop me from being here when you need someone.  ❞

❝  you love me too much.  i know how that sounds but—  fucking hell.  you shouldn’t care that much about someone like me.  ❞

❝  i don’t care if loving you hurts me.  the world already has enough pain to dole out for no reason,  at least i’ll have gotten these scars from something beautiful.  ❞

❝  if people can hate for no reason,  than i can love for no reason too.  ❞

❝  one day you’re gonna need me and i’m not gonna be there to fix it.  ❞

❝  no,  i can’t fix everything for you this time.  it’s your mess.  clean it up.  ❞

❝  i dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations,  but mine doesn’t.  not when it’s you.  ❞

❝  i don’t know how to ask for help i just— i’ve never had anyone to ask for help from before.  so…this is me trying i guess.  i need it and i’m afraid to ask for it.  that’s the best i can do.  ❞

in which: alhaitham resorts to lying on top of you in order to get you speaking to him again.

quick alhaitham thought i needed to get off my mind, making out at the end lol, potentially ooc

there were a lot of things you didn’t expect when entering a relationship with alhaitham. you didn't expect him to have kaveh as a roommate, you didn’t expect him to overthrow the government, and you didn’t expect him to resort to pettiness in order to end the silent treatment you were giving him.

it’s suffocating beneath him, squished into his soft mattress with his body weight, muscles wrapped around you like a python whilst one arm is extended outwards, balancing a book. you wonder if he’s actually reading it, but you can tell he’s enjoying himself regardless, evident through the way he often turns his head to place a kiss on your exposed collarbone, burying his face into your warmth from here to there. 

for the umpteenth time, you grunt, losing your mind just a little. his body warmth was getting too much, and you’ve been lying here for who knows how long, just staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

you want to protest, berate him for flattening you before shoving him off, but that would mean surrendering, and this time, you want alhaitham to be the one to give up first. 

as if hearing your thoughts, your grey-haired lover then glances up at you, sleepy gaze filtered through messy strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes. you almost cave at the domesticity of it all, only just stopping yourself from brushing his bangs away. 

“still upset?” he murmurs, putting his book face-down to wrap his arms tighter around your torso. “fine. have it your way, i’m going to nap.”

“no-” he perks up at the sound of your voice, raising an eyebrow as a mask of smugness gleams over his face. you shut your mouth immediately, cursing at yourself to slip up so easily, but you really needed to stretch out your legs and the other discomforts of lying like an unmoving plank beneath alhaitham. 

“what was that?” challenges your boyfriend. you don’t answer him, merely staring him down as he sits back, grabbing your wrists. “oh come on, i know you want to say something, out with it.” 

shaking your head, he scoffs at your stubbornness as if his isn’t just as frustrating, and gently caresses your hand. his touch is tantalising, urging you to give in, and paired with that lidded look of his, it’s practically impossible not to.

not many people get to see alhaitham like this, you realise. most know him as an indifferent, closed off, and unapproachable scribe, turned grand sage, turned scribe, yet you get the honour of seeing him as this. “talk to me already,” he demands gently, not letting his grip waver even as you keep trying to pull your hands away, only slipping away so far before he’s holding you again.

there aren’t many battles you can win against him, you know that, and one of them was a battle of strength. as he holds your wrists tight to your sides, his face so close to yours, you feel his earlier playfulness melting into something sincere. 

“are you still mad?” asks alhaitham, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as a pout appears along his lips. the response you give him is a petulant turn of your head. he sighs through his nose. “i’m sorry, okay? i was out of line, i should have listened to you, alright?”

his tone is uncharacteristically kind and warm, warm enough for you to give in to his pleas.

“you mean it?” you tease, grinning widely at him. in the blink of an eye, the tension from alhaitham’s shoulder seeps away like sand, and he sighs with relief before agreeing, a solid ‘yes’ slipping through his mouth. “then i accept your apology.”

“you minx, enjoying the sight of me like this, aren't you-” he murmurs, and you swallow his brewing snide remarks with a kiss, closing the gap by firmly pressing your lips against his. alhaitham is not surprised by your sudden affection. rather, he welcomes it, melts into you wholly as a hand holds the back of your neck to keep you against him. you're warm and precious and everything he could ever desire, so he can't help but let his hands wander, searching for more.

as your mouths slot together, there’s a delicate exchange of apologies that words cannot express; ironic, since alhaitham knows of several ways to apologise in a multitude of languages. nevertheless, he thinks that this is the best method.

with the way you move in sync with him, he can tell that this is your favourite too. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin it with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks. he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly.

“oh? my bad. you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, hands preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does so.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

you jolt back to action when you realize what just happened. “your head-!” you scramble to touch his head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over this body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress. “what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember.

“i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...” bashfully, he looks away. you blink, glancing down at your position. you're straddling his hips, at a proximity entirely inappropriate.

...his hands are still on your waist.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)

that boy is a monster. blade

jealous, clingy and possessive blade. suggestive + fluff content. gn! reader. 1.2k wc

Romance is an irrelevant variable in his records.

There is no storage space for that kind of foolish expression in his chest, his body nothing but a tool and physical entity filled with cracks and open holes from every nook and cranny. Blade doesn’t need love that would spill from his open wounds, he is someone who had pledged to Destiny’s slave. He was way too dutiful, too focused with work and violent in nature for something like that. So he shouldn’t feel anything, not even when Kafka had noticed the way his eyes had always stuck to you ever since you had first met, how often it’d soften so slightly in your direction. The cunning woman had sent Blade a mirthful look and a quick prompt of “looks like Bladie’s in love.” which he immediately dismisses with a breathy scoff and a roll of his shoulder.

Him, in love? It would’ve been passed on as a phenomenon.

So why. Why did his chest squeezed tightly when he saw you peering up at him. Blade’s eyes twitch when Xianzhou Alliance’s General himself sends you a fond smile, leaning down so you could reach and coddle the bird that perches on his shoulder. You laughed so heartily, ruffling the feathers of the small critter as Jing Yuan watched you, whispering something with his face so dangerously close to your own. If Blade wasn’t a wanted man in Luofu he wouldn’t resort to merely just standing and staring at the scene before him. He would’ve jumped out of his hiding spot, march up, scoop you into his arms and run off, whisking you away from that silver haired bastard and taking you somewhere private so he could coax you to look at him and only him—

Blade immediately catches on to his thoughts before they could flood over the walls. Thoughts that struck him surprise, thoughts that he didn’t know he was capable of having. Then, his hand landed on his chest where an odd ripple rested on his heart. It’s so foreign and so brand new to him to feel this way. Whatever it was, Blade had initially thought he had just caught a fever. But the undeniable voice at the back of his mind is prominent. He hated every second you smiled up at him, hated how your fingers had brushed ever so slightly at the fluffs and tousles of that general’s hair even if it was unintentionally, and how your sweet and adorable laugh mingled with his in fond unison.

He hated how you were giving someone else the attention that should’ve been his alone.

So when he finally gets to meet with you, in the cloak of night and the youthful stars kissing your bare cheeks a cold wispy promise, Blade could barely hold in his reigning annoyance. You were standing by the docks when he revealed himself. His stature is rigid, almost looming predatorily at you, his eyes stark ruby. But when you spot him, instead of fear your eyes waver a gentle glow of delight. “Lovely evening we are having, come join me?”

He doesn’t respond to your greeting, nor did he close the distance between you two. “Lovely.” he repeats. “The night is wretchedly cold, although it appears you do not need my company to warm you up, you’ve already found someone else for that role.”

“What are you on about?”

Blade leans closer, a dangerous murmur leaving the crook of his lips. “Pray tell, how did your sweet little confab with the Cloud Knight General go? You seem to be getting along with him quite well, very touchy even, out in broad daylight. So shameless.”

You were surprised by his cold tone.

“You..” But instead of being offended by his degrading words, feeling betrayal or fury, Blade is surprised when you chuckle.

He bites back a retort. “Did I say something amusing?” Shaking your head, you close the distance between you and the wanted swordsman, gathering both his cold cheeks into your palms, catching him off guard.

You tip your head ever so slightly. “Jealousy is a new look on you, Blade.”

His body stiffens. Jealousy?

“Jealous, me?”

“Why else would you come to me all pouty and gloomy tonight?” You smiled. “You’re practically covered in dark clouds from head to toe.”

“I’m not jealous, don’t be so ridiculous.”

His words catch in his throat when he sees your expression; crinkled eyes, a playful grin and a slight burn on your cheeks.

“So you’re saying I’m ridiculous for thinking you were jealous of General Jing Yuan interacting with me?”

“Right.”

At his response, you let out a defeated exhale. “So that’s how you perceive me?” You take a step back from him, shaking your head. “Ah well, what a shame. Since you’ve been so adamant about the General warming me up today then I might as well just visit him now and ask—“

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence, not when you’ve felt Blade’s arms wrap around your waist and in a flash your back is pressed against one of the building walls. He has you pinned, his chest making contact with yours and ruby eyes daunting, treacherously flickering at you.

“Quit playing with me.” He grits out, cradling your face and studying every visible line in your expression. Then you jolt when he leans down and nudges his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before retreating slightly to trace his lips up and on your jawline. Your fingers tighten around his arm, face heating up at his sudden actions. “Blade?” You’ve stuttered out.

His mind moves on his own, finally giving in to this burn that could not falter. His blood is humming in his chest, heart pounding you a song as he lets his lips travel towards your cold, bare flesh. Oh how long he had actually dreamed of touching you like this.

Every teasing manner that bubbles in your throat had died and paved its way for the whimpers to come spilling down your teeth. Blade had his steady eyes on you, translating every squint of your brow or tremble of your lips, tucking it somewhere on the cabinets of his head—you looked utterly adorable, he wanted nothing more than to swallow you whole.

He’s not jealous, he reminds himself, tipping your chin and tilting his head to the side, enough for your lips to be mere centimeters apart and he cannot help but smirk.

He’s not jealous, his heart just feels a little green. He says to himself when his hands run down the crooks of your body, memorizing the pattern of your dips and falling victim to your sweet voice and warm touch.

He’s…not necessarily jealous, he thought when his eyes sought yours and his heart drew to you like a moth to a flame. Your hands wind up to tangle upon his raven locks, pulling him in, and in response he leans closer where a wall between you two slowly fissures at the seams.

Maybe, he quietly admits when his lips slot against yours like a perfect puzzle, tongue tasting your sweetness and hues as he deepens it, holding your waist firmly and thriving upon your scent on his nose, your lips on his, your touch swimming on his palms. Like you were just meant to be his.

Maybe he's a little bit jealous. Just a little.

Hyunjin *to Seungmin*: to someone who is 70% water you don’t look very refreshing.

Jisung: BUUUURNN

Seungmin: water cannot be burned

Jisung: EVAPORATEEEE

📂 fruits basket ⇢ “I CAN HOLD THE WORLD IN MY HANDS”

how the sohma boys react to you saying you can hold the world in your hands then gently cupping their face

ft. kyo sohma, yuki sohma & hatori sohma

no warning except maybe it’s kinda ooc. just pure fluff

“i can hold the world in my hands. wanna see?” you blurt out, hands combing through KYO’s hair as he rests his body on top of yours and his face buried in your neck. you’re not sure how much time has passed since your boyfriend joined you in bed but it’s only when he looks up at you that you notice his eyes growing heavy and drowsiness seeping into his visage. you almost feel bad but nonetheless, you run your fingers through his orange locks one last time before sliding your hands down to his cheeks to cradle his face. he only blinks at you until his mind eventually registers what you meant. months ago, that gesture would’ve earned you a scowl from him but he simply bonks the top of your head lightly before he nuzzles against your skin once more to hide the blush in his cheeks. “i was already falling asleep.” he mutters but he doesn’t sound pissed. you apologize anyway as you bring your fingers back up to play with his hair. it’s not long until kyo takes one of your hands and guides it onto his face, urging you to stroke his cheek. “do it again. feels nice.”

“YUKI!” you call your boyfriend’s name the second he emerges into the room. he immediately stops in his tracks, turning to the sound of your voice but before he can ask what’s wrong, your hands softly land on both sides of his face. his mind suddenly goes blank, unsure of what you wanted. “…yes?” the clear confusion written all over his expression makes you giggle. “i can hold the world in my hands,” you beam. yuki’s lips immediately stretch into a grin, adoration evident in his dark gray eyes. “yeah? so can i.” he takes a step closer, mirroring your gesture. you wait for him to say something but he doesn’t, his gaze on you not wavering even in the slightest. ever since the curse was broken, yuki has only grown more and more secure in himself. you don’t know when it began but he just started boldly flirting with you whenever he felt like it. and just like most of the staredowns you two have had in the past, you lose this one. barely able to look at yuki, you try to move out of his hold to conceal your flustered state but his hand moves to the nape of your neck, gently pulling you closer to press his forehead against yours. your face feels warmer now and you don’t even have to look at him to know he has a stupid smirk on his lips. “stop staring,” you mumble but it only makes him laugh. “you started it.”

HATORI was lying on the couch with a book in hand when you decide to disrupt his peace, moving on top of him to wiggle your way into his embrace. as if it’s second nature to him, he lifts his arms to make room for you, acknowledging your presence with a kiss on the forehead. “whatcha readin’?” you ask. hatori’s eyes flit to the book then back to you. “i’m not sure. shigure wrote it.” his impassive tone forces a laugh out of you, the sound bringing a smile to his lips. you have his full attention now so he tosses the book onto the coffee table before snaking his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his. “hey tori?” “hm?” “would you believe me if i told you i can hold the world in my hands?” the hand running up and down your back instantly freezes. “is that a trick question?” giggling at his deadpan expression, you shake your head no. you don’t wait for him to get another word out, raising your hands to brush his bangs away from his face before cupping his cheeks. “see?” you don’t miss the way hatori sucks in a breath, clearly caught off guard by the small gesture. and yet he doesn’t even fight the urge to roll his eyes, shaking his head out of affection for you while a soft smile plays on his lips. “you and your antics.” he plants a tender kiss between your eyebrows before guiding your head onto his chest. “you love them,” you tease. he sighs in content before he replies: “i do.”

— MAKE UP? MORE LIKE MAKE OUT

pairing: blade x gn! reader.

word count: 479.

thinking about making out with blade. blade’s kisses are fierce, ruthless and intense to the point it leaves your head spinning. he kisses the way he fights, showing no mercy to his enemies and cutting them down with his bloodstained weapon.

thinking about how blade knows what to do to reduce you to a whining, breatheless and squirming mess. he knows which part of your body to touch. he knows what to do to make you gripped on his clothes for support. he knows what to do to hear you whimper, pleading him to continue kissing you.

“please, don’t stop,” you let out a pitiful whine, fingers desperately clutching his shirt.

blade chuckled, his minty breath fanning your lips. he loves how pilant you become after kissing you. he loves how his touch was like a drug to you, always pulling you in for more. what he loves the most, is how you are wrapped around his thumb.

“please what? hm? if you want something, all you gotta do is ask,” he purred, raspy voice dropping an octave lower. blade teasingly brushed his chapped and calloused lips against your neck, drawing a sensitive and desperate whine from your throat.

you threw your head back, resting it against the wall behind you. your eyes were squeezed shut in heavenly bliss. you remained oblivious to blade's eyes focused on your expression, patiently waiting for you to say something. one thing about blade is how he loves to tease and push you to the edge, until his name spills from your lips.

you plucked up the remaining pride left, giving him the win. "... please keep kissing me," you whispered, embarrassed with your current state.

blade pays no mind to how humiliated you became. he was pleased with your words and rewarded you with a searing kiss. he hungrily pried your swollen lips apart with his tongue and forced his way in. it was a losing battle for you, especially when it comes to a man like him.

you would have collapsed to the ground if not for blade supporting you with one hand possessively wrapped around your waist. he had you firmly pressed against the wall. his other hand slid his way under your shirt, rubbing circles on your increasingly warm skin.

you gasped when blade harshly bit your bottom lip, drawing blood. your knees buckled when he sucked on your tongue and he finished your makeout session by pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. blade pulled away, smirking to see you panting with your face all flushed and how misty your eyes became.

blade leaned in and blew hot air into your ear. he knows your ears are extremely sensitive. a surge of pride flowed through his veins when he saw how you instinctively flinched at his action.

"how about we continue this somewhere, hm? what do you say, darling?"

note: oh to make out with blade... this might probably be the only suggestive fic i write... or not ;) who knows tbh

softest love prompts:

(feel free to use<3 i literally cried through these, but 6th, 7th, 8th prompt just--made me bawl.) (tag me when yall writeee)

"you look like a flower, the prettiest one."

touching foreheads in a hug :(

not being able to contain a smile around them

searching for them in the crowd, and they're looking right at you with the fondest of smiles

"when you are tired, love, lean on me." "and when you are?" "I'll find comfort in your arms :)"

the hands that tug a little bit closer in a hug, a little bit of both hearts spilling into the same sink, a love that spills

that gaze--tired, soft, their thumb gently rubbing your cheek, noses touching, silently mumbling an "i love you"

feeling so much yet having no words to describe all of it :/ (at times like these, actions speaks so much!!)

when they're tired and they bury their face deeper into your crook in a hug :(((

braiding their hair. making them wear cute clips >\\<

gives you random small but thoughtful gifts

noticing your lover's small habits (like how they smirk when they're proud, how they tilt their head in confusion, how they smile when they're shy)

they tickle you and you fall on your bed, laughing. they stop midway, grinning, "your laugh. oh my god!!" followed by more tickle attacks<3333

head pats !

they get shy when you compliment them in public!