UM NAT YOU KNOW WHAT IM ABOUT TO ASK BUT

My dear friend @luxielle asked me (months ago) to write about the scene between fleeing Magenta and arriving at the cabin, and—at last—here it is!

even the oceans come back to the sand

GE Saeran X Reader | Words: 2002

In the beginning, you run.

It feels strange to move fast after sitting still for so many days; your leg muscles scream as the freshly-tilled dirt of the garden turns into hard, sun-warmed pavement. There is nothing here but ground and sky, and your breath comes hard and fast as you follow the empty road around a bend and over the crest of a hill.

As you climb, you think dizzily of your arrival (ten days ago; forever ago). It is strange to finally see the road that brought you here, when you were blindfolded and silent as the grave. You want to say something about it, but you don’t have the breath.

Even if you did, you aren’t sure what you would say.

You squint into the setting sun so you can see his face: he stares straight ahead, his brilliant eyes fixed on the horizon. You wonder how long it’s been since the last time he left this place. You wonder if he’s ever left at all.

The road curves sharply ahead, and you follow just a pace behind him. His cheeks are flushed, and you worry (for a moment) that he doesn’t have the stamina to keep this up—but he doesn’t waver.

His determination, you think, shines brighter than the sun in your eyes.

You clench your sweaty hands and try for one last burst of energy. He glances over his shoulder and then reaches for your hand.

“Saeran?” Your voice comes out like a breathless squeak; gently, he steers you off the road and into a clump of tall trees.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, slowing his pace to a brisk walk. “Trust me.”

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Overdue

prompt:  I know I’m running late – I’m sorry. Things haven’t worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

- A Postcard by Lang Leav

pairing: atsumu x reader (ft. osamu)

general taglist: @graykageyama

Being the older brother, even if by mere minutes, Atsumu always felt that he had to look out for his sibling. After all, his mother instilled into him that no matter what, he should always be there for Osamu and vice versa. On many occasions Atsumu took that to mean that he could take his stuff, as long as he returns it (which he never does), because after all, they’re brothers.

On other occasions, it meant that Atsumu had to learn to be the first to set his pride aside. He reasons its because he’s the older brother, but Osamu knows that Atsumu is just too clingy to stay mad at his brother for a long time.

But there were many times, many days, many fleeting moments where taking care of his younger twin made him think “I wish I didn’t have a brother.”. Yet, the moment something happens to Osamu, he’s quick to act as the third parent.

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daybreak.

soaked in sunshine.  f!reader ; wc: 705 ; fluff. 

happy birthday, miya atsumu. you are one of two libras i will never condemn. 

there’s a smile on your face. atsumu thinks that maybe everything will be okay. 

you weave a hand through his hair, eyes searching his own. “the sun is a good look on you,” you muse teasingly. 

he rolls his eyes. “i always look good.” 

he’s not sure when he became uncertain about things ever not being okay. he’s not sure how he could with you next to him.

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summertime sadness (albedo’s version)

Think I’ll miss you forever, like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky.

an ode to heartbreak masterlist:(x)

word count: 5790

genre: smut, angst

pairings: albedo x fem! ballerina! reader

content warnings: very nsfw, minors please block the nsfw-dango tag! friends with benefits, alcohol drinking (all of legal age), taking nudes, fingering, blowjobs, unprotected sex (make sure to wrap it before you tap it!), slapping, overstimulation, degradation

want to be tagged when future oth works come out? click here!

additional notes: a belated happy new year to each and every one of you! I swear I started writing this during the shadows amidst snowstorms event because albedo got me feelin some typa way. but life got in the way so. better late than never. did you guys get albedo during his rerun? :)

“8 pm. Meet me at the studio.”

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did you think i wouldn't notice?

prompt: coming to school while sick + "i like you, like, like you."

STARRING. cyno ♡ gn!reader | COLLEGE AU |

warnings: house-husband cyno (metaphorically), lovesick cyno, not proofread, written at 2am on a school night, written before cyno's release

cyno never took you one for a fool; at least, not that much of a fool.

you have always had a knack for proving him wrong, though, because archon, who do you think you are? who are you to make him—cyno, number one apathetic-scary-man among many—worry?

well, clearly, you have a very high impression of yourself.

it all started when you didn't show up to your usual meeting spot on campus—cyno noticed, of course he did, it's you, after all. he noticed the way you didn't respond to his texts, followed by your absence and lack of notice.

it's fine, he thought, strolling to class. one hand carries a bottle of water—for him—while the other carries an uncharacteristically flavorful drink that cyno would never buy.

but he did. he did it because it's your favorite; he did it because he knows you love this particular brand, because you just love.

cyno supposes he'll just save this for when he sees you next.

to no one's surprise, he doesn't. during lunch, once again, you're gone. now, cyno is one to embrace the solitude—dare he say, he likes it. alone, the boy is able to clear his mind and fully organize his thoughts.

he likes the silence, but not as much as he likes you.

still, no reply, cyno muses, checking his phone. he's about to give in and call you, but—as stated before—you always have a way of proving him wrong.

because archons, why did you think it was okay to pass by your "usual meeting spot?" to cyno, you are the sun and he, the earth. to cyno, his entire being, his life, revolves around your warmth and comfort—with you, he flourishes in the pits of the abyss, the endless void of nothingness.

to cyno, you are as conspicuous as red laid against green or green laid against red. you are complementary among a thousand, a color so vibrant, you light up that abyss of his, that vacuum of space.

(and when he sees you, he becomes a part of that vacuum, that void; he becomes color.)

there you are. cyno stands up immediately, following you into the crowds of lunch hour. oh, there you go again—tugging him along the strings of life for he is at your disposal, your call. cyno is yours, dammit. he is yours, all yours.

you do not have to be his, though. cyno doesn't want you to be "his," because you are nobody's. what a contradiction—what a fool he has become, because who in the right mind gives themselves up for nothing in return?

cyno does. certified "don't-mess-with-me" boy has also become a lovesick fool in the face of "you."

archons, how he's ashamed to admit that... not out loud, though, celestia, never out loud.

he admits his adoration in a subtler, calmer way. cyno portrays love through widened eyes at your staggering steps, quiet curses under his breath as he quickens his pace to catch up to you.

you're sick, he deduces simply by your gait.

oh, why are you sick? what stress must your body be under? why is it you that has to suffer?

cyno's rationality flies out the window as the sun swallows him whole. he basks in the warmth that flutters through his chest, calming his stomach. oh, why you? it should never be you, the one who suffers.

"and who are you hiding from?" cyno asks, catching up to you. his breath fans your earlobe and you nearly flinch, eyes widened as you turn towards him.

a regret on your half, maybe—because the way cyno stares at you, gaze piercing your soul... it may have been a better idea to stay home, yeah?

"oh, cyno!" you wince at the sound of your own voice, tone sounding a little... dead. "what brings you here?"

cyno merely blinks, and a cough you've been trying to suppress ends up making itself known as the boy's disappointed expression wounds you fatally.

without another word, cyno's palm comes up to your forehead. lips forming a thin line at the contact, his hand leaves your face and interlaces with your fingers. tugging you back to your dorm, your complaints merely fall on deaf ears.

"wait, i have a class!"

"skip it," cyno replies monotonously, not even batting an eye. you nearly choke, because is that really cyno? straight-a student, (sort of) teacher's pet—he prefers to be called an assistant—and infamous among his department as the one person you should never ask stupid questions to... and he told you to skip?!

"close your mouth," cyno says. "a fly will come in."

"you can't even see me," you retort.

then, cyno pauses. he stops walking, craning his head over his shoulder as he merely offers you a gentle—almost uncharacteristic—smile.

"i don't need to."

it's uncharacteristic, actually. if anyone were to see that tender expression on his face, they'd start running for the hills because no way cyno is capable of looking like that.

no way cyno's usually-steeled eyes can melt, no way cyno is capable of revealing a smile so lovely, so kind, in the face of a burden (you being sick.)

but ah, yes way. yes way, cyno can gaze at you like you've stolen the world he once was. yes way, cyno can follow you like you're the lover he's sworn to keep in his past life, and the life before that, and the life before that...

cyno pulls out the copy of your dorm key, unlocking it in your stead. during the trek back to your home, your steps gradually became more and more erratic, thus heightening his worry.

why would you try and learn like this? cyno thinks with a sigh, ushering you inside. his movements are adept, as if he's done this a thousand times—and you know what? maybe he has. maybe in those past lives of his, he has nursed you, he has loved you all the same.

"don't move," he commands, tucking you into bed. "i'll make you some porridge."

hm, you think groggily, mind hazed with sleep and sickness. cyno would make a good house-husband.

you'd never tell him that, though.

cyno merely grimaces once you ask him to feed you.

"seriously?" he asks, holding the bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"yes, i'm sick... can't you see?" you cough heavily afterwards, emphasizing your point.

cyno, on the other hand, wishes he couldn't see.

"fine."

no more words are exchanged as he begins to feed you slowly. before offering you each bite of porridge, cyno makes sure to lightly blow on the food so it doesn't burn your tongue.

it's subtle, that love of his. it emanates in every touch and spoonful of porridge he gives you, but to the naked eye, cyno's affection is inconspicuous.

after you're done eating, the boy lightly brushes your head before finding a cool towel to rest atop your forehead.

"sleep," he says, barely above a whisper.

your eyes are already shut, and cyno waits patiently for your breaths to even out. once they do, he leaves to do the dishes—slightly scowling at the array of instant foods on your countertop.

he ought to cook you some real meals later.

long ago, cyno heard a tale that said to kiss someone in order to steal their sickness away. it's a stupid thing, that tale, but ah, for childhood dreams and tiny aspirations, it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot, yeah?

a queasy feeling takes over his stomach as the boy stares at you. your eyebrows are furrowed in your sleep, beads of sweat sliding down the side of your face. don't do that, cyno thinks. don't look like that.

he doesn't like it, your uncomfortable expression. stop it, will you? cyno hates how you make him feel in moments like these—how every little flutter of your eyelash and frown of your lips make his heart ache because oh, please, don't be sad.

quietly, the boy presses his index finger to your chapped lips. his eyes trace over your face, an action he'd never dare to even perceive usually—but ah, how he wishes he could take that expression of yours away.

why does it have to be you that is sick? why not him, why not him?

"i like you,"—do you know that?—"like, like you," he says to no one. he says it now, while you're asleep and unable to hear, because cyno's too afraid to do it when you can. what will you think, knowing that he loves you? what will you do, knowing that he'd rather tell the abyss than the sun?

and then, he gets up and leaves your dorm. locking the door behind him, cyno leans his back against the frame before grazing his index finger against his bottom lip.

cyno's taken. so, so taken.

this made my heart go 🥰🥰

first names

pairing: akaashi x reader

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: fluff

word count: 1.4k

summary: pure fluff in which you use Akaashi’s first name for the first time and he can’t get enough of it. should he feel guilty that he’s on a first-name basis with you while his best friend, who also has feelings for you, isn’t?

“Oh come on, you have to have an opinion. I’m dying to know the inner workings of Akaashi Keiji’s mind.” You closed your eyes and lay your head back, surrendering yourself to the sunlight.

If you weren’t in a public space, he was sure you would’ve heard the way his heart abruptly stopped at the sound of his first name. In this moment he also thanked whatever higher power was up there that you didn’t catch the pink dust on his cheeks, nor the way he briefly choked on the water he was drinking.

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hehe so~

saeyoung's reaction to his MC having a (rather intense) hand kink~? 👀

^^ ♡

[417]

Heheheheheh a rather intense hand kink. I love that.

SO. As we know, our boy doesn’t love his body. He doesn’t really like to look at himself in the mirror—he certainly doesn’t see the beautiful, adorable, alluring person that we see when we look at him. He can’t understand how it is that we see him that way.

But if there is one thing about himself he likes, it is his hands.

In his line of work, his hands are everything. They are quick and agile, nimble and clever. He has created entire languages—unravelled world leaders—with a stroke of his fingers. He is in control when he works with his hands: he can build things that feel concrete and real—robots that move and speak and seem almost alive!—he can take nothing and turn it into something. He’s proud of this; it makes him feel like he has worth, after all.

And he knows, too, that his hands are objectively attractive. He has long, slender fingers—and even though he doesn’t always take great care of himself, he actually knows how to keep his hands in good shape. He stretches them. He knows that without them, he is nothing.

So if he figures out that his hands are a turn-on for you? Ohhhhh, he has a new weapon at his disposal, and he is delighted.

You’re trying to get some work done and he’s in need of attention? Boom: a hand across your keyboard. He’ll wiggle his fingers in your face and when you laugh and tell him that while that’s lovely, it’s not necessarily alluring, he’ll run the tip of his index finger over your jaw till you shudder and forget whatever you were working on entirely.

You’re in public? He wants to hold your hand all the time. But he won’t just hold it normally—not Saeyoung. He’s running his calloused fingertips over your knuckles; he’s rubbing a circle over the pulse point on your wrist with his thumb; he’s slipping his hand out of yours and hooking just your pinkies together (and sneaking a peek at you, grinning, because he loves that his fingers can drive you mad).

When he’s driving? I mean—listen. There’s just something very sexy about him driving a car. He’s good at it, and he knows it; he’s confident; he’s energetic and focused and full of life. The sun strikes his hands on the wheel at just the right angle and you can’t help but stare. He knows you’re looking. His expression is cocky as he maneuvers the car around a bend in the road and takes one hand off the wheel to drape it lazily over your thigh. 

“You should pay attention,” you tell him—but he grins and says nothing. Take his hand in yours. Separate his fingers, one by one. Play with his fingertips. Run your hands over the long-healed scars on his palms; wrap your two hands around his larger one and hold it tight.

He wants your attention. He wants your eyes on him. He wants to know you’re thinking about him, dreaming about him—he wants his warm hand in yours. He finds everything about you captivating; if there is anything he can do to grab your attention and hold it—for as long as possible—he will do it.

You’re gonna have his hands on you all the time: a hand in your coat pocket; a hand on your waist; a hand wrapped around your arm. And fingers drifting enticingly closer—fingers tangling with yours—fingers in your hair, on your shoulders, your cheeks.

He just wants you to look at him. Kiss his pretty fingertips (he wishes you would).

ugh I am a SIMP and this fic is beautiful

more than a haircut

from prompt: “you’re cutting my hair and I’m trying not to focus on your hands in my hair and your breath on my neck”

I WAS GOING TO WRITE SOMETHING SPICY AND I CHICKENED OUT I AM BIG CHICKEN. i reasoned that akaashi wouldn’t fuck someone he just met, but it was me being a cOwArD. once i decide to not be a lil bitch im gonna try and write a pt2 maybe, bc there is ✨ nothing ✨ better than fingers in your hair, i dont make the rules. 

timeskip!akaashi x g/n!reader

fluff

alcohol consumption

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irresistible

✧ genre: xiao, albedo, childe, zhongli, and diluc x gn! reader fluff

✧ warnings: none

✧ summary: what the genshin men simply cannot resist about you

✧ note: this is basically genshin men being simps for you (as inspired by one direction's song), as they should be <33 this is a little break from some of the angst that has been appearing in my posts for a while now so yes take some of this simple fluff and i hope you guys enjoy ^^

XIAO

the adeptus finds that your touches spark a longing in him that has him wanting more every time.

he always indulges in your sweet touches, whether they are biref or lingering on his skin.

during the times he's still a bit hesitant to intiate physical affection, he relishes in the way you'd slowly take his hand in yours.

he absolutely loves it when you lean your head onto his shoulder whenever you two are sat beside each other.

his face flushes a deep shade of red everytime and you can tell he's flustered by the way he clears his throat but even then, he'd never shrug you off or ask you to lean away.

he may be rendered a little speechless but he secretly loves any sort of affection you give him.

when he gets more open in your relationship, he'll start to initiate smaller acts of affection.

he'll get close enough to brush his hand over yours, glancing at you birefly as if to silently ask whether you were fine with him taking you hand.

or when you both are spending a night at the balcony of wangshuu inn, he'll stand close enough for your shoulders to touch.

his touches aren't that big and showy, but xiao doesn't ask for much. even the smallest contact with you sends his heart soaring and pounding loudly in his chest anyways.

ALBEDO

your local alchemist cannot get enough of your eyes.

the way they glimmer and shine with joy, or the way they look at new things with such wonder and curiosity, he just loves them.

as a scientist, he likes to observe things and take little mental notes in his head. that's why he always stares at your eyes whenever you're doing anything.

whenever you're talking to him about anything your passionate about, unlike most people who stare at lips, albedo would intently look you in the eyes.

he enjoys watching how your eyes sparkle with so much passion and love, is so absorbed in the way they widen slightly when you realize he's staring at them.

he'd do nothing but smile at you softly and tell you, "do you know your eyes glitter like the stars when you talk like this, love?"

even when you're focused on something, sometimes he'll tear hus attention away from his work to look at how concentrated your eyes are on your work.

whenever you two are in the opposite corner of a room for some reason, your eyes will always catch albedo's

his heart breaks when you cry though because your eyes only shimmer with tears and pain.

would definitely wipe your tears away and ask you to close your eyes, planting sweet kisses on your eyelids in hopes that it would make you feel better.

CHILDE

this man finds your lips completely irresistible and he will never get enough of them.

unlike albedo, he's the type of person who would stare at your lips when you talk enthusiastically about something.

he'd interupt your speech with a quick peck to the lips. it stuns you for a bit when he says, "sorry, baby. you looked adorable talking like that i couldn't resist."

childe would definitely ask you for some type of kiss every single day you live.

his day instantly brightens whenever you greet him with a peck to the cheeks, hair, forehead, etc.

kiss him anywhere and his lips will begin to turn up to form a thankful smile.

he'd always reciprocate with a kiss of his own to your lips, basking in the warmth and love they provide him.

he seems a bit clingy because of this, but you can't blame him when your lips are just that soft and addicting.

on days when he's tired and worn out, your kisses act like a little energy recharge for him. kiss him once and he feels like he could defeat the entirety of teyvat.

he always feels reassured and comforted when you give him a kiss. that's something he rarely feels as a harbinger, so whenever you kiss him he makes sure to treasure it and of course, reciprocate it.

ZHONGLI

zhongli cannot get enough of your words, the way you talk.

we all know he's around 6,000 years old so he knows millions of stories and has an endless amount of knowledge and wisdom.

still, he listens intently to any stories you have for him.

it doesn't even need to be stories, you can tell him about anything and he'd still look at you with such fondness and affection.

he absolutely loves it when you ramble on and on to him. he thinks it's adorable how much you know about a certain topic.

zhongli also lives for your little praises, thanks, and "i love you"s.

whenever you compliment him about anything, pride and love makes his heart swell, a small smile adorning his features.

mutters a little, "thank you, my dearest," before placing a small kiss to the top of your head.

bottom line, he will never get tired of hearing talk about absolutely everything and anything. even on days when you don't have much to say, he loves to hear your voice.

this man trusts you immensely and he holds your words to the highest regard so anything that comes from your mouth is precious to him.

DILUC

your smile is something that will always make diluc's day a lot better.

he just finds your smile so contagious and comforting. he is unable to stop a smile of his own from making its way onto his features whenever he sees it.

he would give anything to see any type of smile grace your beautiful features.

he takes mental notes on what you love just so he could brighten both your day as well as his.

in the mornings, when your both in the comfort of your own home, he'd always peck your cheek.

as a bonus, he'd wrap his arms around your smaller figure too.

he basks in the warmth you give when you lean into his chest, adoring the way a smile automatically comes to form on your lips.

often times he would get you some of your favorite snacks or flowers before heading home as well.

his heart completely melts when your eyes widen with surprise. he definitely pecks your forehead when you smile and tell him, "oh, diluc... you didn't need to, but thank you so much. i love them."

your smile heals him and dispels all the fear, sadness, and frustration he holds. he would do everything in his power to make sure you never lose such a beautiful thing.

taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @toracius @cxlrose @chichikoi @datu-tadhana @xyliope @simplyxsinned @yaqui-soba @inky-page @mooscutely @spookii-does-stuff @the-gayest-sky-kid @yuezhong @mikachu2x @callmemeelah @xsunaryn @tiredzephh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @xxsweetdreamzxx @irethepotato @favonius-captain @aweebstuff

© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

let the past die, kill it if you have to

Fushiguro Megumi x Fem. Reader

desc: sparring with your boyfriend turns into an emotional unpacking of sorts.

a/n: okay but i promise it’s not ALL angst. i just can’t do that to myself, y’know? soft endings make me smile. also the title is a quote from kylo ren because i can’t think of another name. thank you very much.

warnings: angst, mentions death, blood, anxiety, trauma

wc: 3.5k

—

“Is… is there really any point to this,” you pant. 

You’re hunched over with your hands on your knees, struggling to suck in a breath. 

For such a pretty day, you hadn’t planned on spending it getting sweaty, much less sparring with someone. If you’d wanted to drip sweat and ruin your hair, you would have preferred to go for a jog or hit the gym… but you certainly hadn’t asked to sink your fists into your boyfriend’s hands today.

Fushiguro adjusts the collar to his white button-down shirt and sighs, “I already told you, yes.”

There’s hardly a drop of sweat on him. 

If anything, he looks refreshed after an hour of gentle sparring. The only sign of physical exertion is a slight cherry-pink tint shown on his cheeks - even then, it could just be the product of a little too much sun on his pale skin. In comparison to the dark-haired boy’s youthful stamina, you feel like a feeble, old lady; maybe you should invest in a cane so that you look like one too. 

“But why now? You’ve never asked to teach me before.”

You don’t usually whine around Megumi - he’s too practical to take your complaints very seriously anyway - but today, you just can’t seem to help it. It’s a gripe that’s been sitting at the tip of your tongue all morning. 

For someone so reserved, he really had a way of working you to the bone. Why does he feel the need to drag you out to a random field to punch and kick and fall down when you likely couldn’t even outmaneuver a child? It’s counterintuitive and a big waste of your time. 

But he doesn’t seem to think so.

“I don’t want you to be defenseless.”

You stand back up, your lungs having finally recovered. 

“I wouldn’t call this defense. You’re literally just teaching me how to slug a guy in the face,” you say flatly while looking down to examine your hands.

“Don’t try to punch someone in the face, y/n. You’ll-”

“-break my fingers, yeah, I know. You already told me that…” you glance back up and roll your eyes. “Don’t take everything I say so literally.” A smile plays at your lips.

Fushiguro sighs in response. He wears his usual frustrated frown (which he maintains is just his resting face) and trudges toward you.

You eye him and swipe a bunched-up fist across your forehead before dropping it back to your side.

In a few short strides, he’s in front of you, blue eyes hooded and lips drawn into a firm line. He gives you a once over, probably measuring how well you’re holding up so far. You just hope that he’ll call it a day… but it’s not looking like that’s going to happen anytime soon.

He blinks. Then, without warning, Fushiguro reaches down and wraps a hand gently around your lowered wrist. He uses his other hand to conduct your upper arm so that it’s parallel to the ground. You let his warm hands guide your movements slowly and meticulously while he trains his eyes on your positioning. If you weren’t already acquainted with his inscrutable stares, you might’ve been battling a blush right now, but you’ve grown used to your boyfriend’s habits.

Although, for someone who’d just been blocking your kicks and tripping you up, Fushiguro is being awfully careful with you. His fingers, scarred and rough, are delicate on your skin. 

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