lin (she/they) is an 18 y/o uni student delivering fics to your inbox. she is currently suffering from satosugu brainrot and an empty wallet due to cosplay and being an atiny. interests include but are not limited to lads (xavier main), jjk (satosugu, itafushi, and suguru geto in general), ateez (hongsami, yunho & mingi wreckers), haikyuu (oikawa fangirl), sk8 (matchablossom supremacy), alien stage, bungou stray dogs... the list goes on!
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valko isn't a dog, but he definitely sounds like one. you'll wake up in the mornings, his arm heavy around your waist. you always think he's asleep, but as soon as you try to leave the bed, he'll whine. a soft, high-pitched sound that escapes from his throat as he pulls you flush against him.
it doesn't end there. sometimes, the two of you will be enjoying a movie. you're on the couch, and he's sat on the floor, back between your legs. your hand will unconsciously drift towards his head until you're scratching behind his ears. valko does his best to keep his cool. he really does. but when your hands are so gently massaging the crook where his head meets his ears? oh, he's gone. valko will moan before you even register what you're doing, and all of a sudden, he'll have you on your back as his broad frame engulfs you from above and the movie becomes background noise.
valko will be extra careful about these kinds of things in public. but when you wander off at a company party, and he finds you by the bar with another man attempting to flirt by standing severely too close to you, he can't help it. valko approaches like a predator. he places his arm on your lower back, almost too low, and greets the man with a growl. the message is clear.
his possessiveness doesn't fool you though. at the end of the day, he'll come home saying he missed you. no, he needed you. and when he leans in to steal a kiss from your lips, you'll tug him back by his hair. his ears will twitch in desperation, and his tail will flail helplessly. valko whimpers when you make him ask for it. and you drink it up when your lips meet his.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: this came to me in a vision.
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hi, hope I'm not being annoying but you tagged your last post about sylus making reader cry talking about death as gn reader even though you used gendered terms (girl and girlfriend) thought it'd be nice to warn you, your writing is amazing btwww
not annoying at all, thanks for pointing this out :,) it’s updated now! i pasted the format from a different post and didn’t change that tag. apologies for the mistag, and will be more careful in the future!!
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: sylus x sentimental!reader | tags + warnings: no y/n, light angst, fluff, you cry cause you love him, fem!reader, mentions of death, anniversary date, drabble | wc: 986
sylus didn't mean to make you cry.
he really didn't.
but he should've known better. should've known that his sweet, sentimental girlfriend would be extra sensitive the night of your anniversary. and that his passing thought, which was terribly bittersweet, should not have been shared aloud.
the two of you are perched near the edge of a cliff. you are sitting on a blanket sylus had luke and kieran prepare, huddled into his side like you're trying to extract his warmth.
the sun sets gently over the horizon, and when you look over, sylus' face is painted in the softest golden glow.
a gentle breeze passes by. sylus, with his arm around your figure, pulls you closer.
you hide a smile and snuggle deeper into his side.
"this is perfect."
the words slip from you before you give them a second thought. because despite waking up to a pile of gifts and a freshly made breakfast, despite sylus planning an entire day revisiting places important to the two of you, and despite the loving adoration that lingers in his gaze every time he regards you today, you think you would trade it all away if you could bottle this very moment and keep it forever.
sylus traces his hand up and down your arm. you feel the rise and fall of his chest as your head presses against it.
you look up at him. his eyes are pointed toward the sunset, and you observe the softness on his face, one that only exists when met with your presence.
sylus is beautiful. you wonder if he regards this moment as highly as you do. if he is also trying to immortalize what has not passed.
sensing your curiosity, his red eyes glance down.
and god, he would never admit it, but the way you're looking up at him nearly makes him sink into the ground. he is, perhaps, one of the most dangerous men in the world. but even sylus is rendered helpless when at your mercy.
some combination of your bright eyes and the flush of this proximity overtakes him. the fact that the two of you have spent so many hours celebrating each other. the hope of having an entire lifetime to bask in.
"what are you thinking about?" you ask him. because you are curious, what with the way his eyes search yours as if looking for something. a promise maybe. a forever.
"how many sunsets do you think we have left together?"
the calm haze that was overtaking you suddenly dissipates. he continues, "every sunset we see is one closer to our last."
sylus says this like fact. like he is merely commenting on the angle of the sun or the clouds in the sky, "so, how many do you think?"
you blink. he keeps looking down at you, and you can tell he's genuinely asking. the redness of his eyes stare straight into your soul.
it isn't that you've never considered this. but to hear sylus say it? to verbalize that one day, in the distant or not-so-distant future, that what the two of you have might be severed by- well, by death?
you can't even imagine it. you don't want to, but brief scenes flash through your head regardless.
you, reaching across the bed only to find it cold and empty.
you, tending to your own injuries without a hand to hold or a voice of worry.
you, clutching at his clothing trying to preserve remnants of his scent, one that fades even when he is gone for a few days.
and then you imagine it the other way.
sylus, returning home to silence.
sylus, becoming careless in battle, without a face to fight for.
sylus, falling victim to every destructive tendency he tries his best to stop.
these brief figments of imagination are all it takes for the tears to start rolling down your cheeks.
sylus' expression quickly contorts to worry as he brings his hands up to wipe them away.
"why are you crying, kitten?"
his brows furrow as if he actually doesn't understand the magnitude of the question he just asked.
"i don't want you to die," you say. and then you bury your face fully in his chest, undoubtedly leaving a newly formed tear-stain.
at this, he only lets out an amused scoff. you can feel the air leave his chest, "i'm not going to die, sweetie."
your words are muffled as you speak into his chest. you can't look at him now because you'll only cry more, "but you just said this might be our last sunset together."
"you're twisting my words. i was being..." he pauses to think about his choice of word, "reflective."
"you were being sad."
of course sylus doesn't want his sweet girl crying, but the pout in your voice is almost too cute for him to bear. he brings his hand up to rub your back and comfort you.
"i would never die on you," he says, voice soft with sincerity. he shifts back so he can cup your face in his hands. then he forces you to look into his eyes. and in his own, morbid way, "i'll make sure you die first, so you don't have to live a moment without me."
this almost makes you laugh.
you sniffle, "but what about you when i die? i don't want you to be sad."
the corner of his lip quirks upward. he presses his forehead against yours. your breaths intertwine themselves, and he holds you like he is taking in every sensation of the moment. memorizing the way you exist by his side.
"i'll be happy i was there for you until the very end."
sylus is devoted to you with all his being, and his words bring a comfort you didn't know you needed.
but despite it being his best effort to soothe you, they also bring more tears.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: tell me why i almost cried writing this. shoutout to my sylus plushie that was sitting on my desk while i wrote this.
✉️ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ meeting officeworker!kento on your commute
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: officeworker!kento x gn!reader | tags + warnings: gn!reader, no y/n, fluff, drabble, meet cute, train, reader going to work, barely proofread | wc: 858
every part about your commute to work is a constant.
first, you file onto the same train you do every morning, shoulder to shoulder with dozens of other commuters all wrapped in the same fatigue of the early morning. then, you find an empty row of two seats and set your bag down at your feet. finally, you count down as the train makes its stops until you reach your destination.
every day, you take the same train, on the same route, and see the same people. that's why it surprises you so much when you see something out of the ordinary.
or, namely, someome.
the morning starts like any other, the rocking of the train causing your eyes to drift towards sleep. but as the train pulls into the next station, and the regular crowd shuffles in, someone new stands out.
he's taller than the the people he walks in with. that's the first thing that piqued your interest. second, well... it's hard to pick a place to start.
the man is wearing a crisp grey suit that cinched at the waist just right. he has sleek blonde hair that's somehow the perfect balance between messy and sleek. and perhaps, most notably, he has a gorgeous face. stern, serious, but soft at the edges.
it was incredibly difficult not to stare at him. so much so that you didn't realize he was making his way down the aisle.
right down to your row.
"can i sit here?" and if a person is this attractive, it should be illegal for them to have a nice voice too, right? right??
now that he's before you, there's even more to observe. his broad frame that can only be the result of years at the gym, dim green eyes that look down at you expectingly, large hands that rest on the top of the seat in front of you. and speaking of his hands-
"sorry, there's just no where else to sit," he says.
sorry? oh, right, you have to respond to his question.
"yes, yeah, go ahead," you manage to spit out. he nods in acknowledgment.
and then he shifts to step into the row, an act that nearly sends you into a frenzy because in one swift motion, his shoulder brushes against yours, and he spreads his legs just enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. the movement sends a wave of cologne in your direction too. something fresh with a hint of wood. it makes you dizzy.
you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.
maybe he thinks he's made you uncomfortable, because he begins to make small talk. something about the weather and something about a delay, and something about a topic you barely hear because for the rest of your commute, you feel like a live wire.
his voice, a deep gravely sound that you can feel coming from his chest with every word, doesn't help. every touch sends sparks up your skin, and you only briefly catch his question, "are you feeling okay?"
and the man looks you dead in the eyes with such concern, such care, that even you have a hard time believing you've never met him before.
"i'm okay, it's just- a bit warm in here," you lie. his eyes narrow. he hums like he agrees, and you honestly can't tell if he buys it or not.
now arriving...
"oh! this is my stop," you say, grabbing your bag from the floor.
when you turn to stand up, you wonder if he's going to move and let you step out of the aisle. but as you glance down at his seated form, he fails to make a move to stand up. instead, he just shifts his legs to the side.
you do your best not to get too close to him. you really do. but he doesn't really give you much of a choice.
your thighs brush against him on the way out, and you don't miss the way his hand comes to hover towards your back as if afraid you'd trip.
and just as you're about to continue on, confident about the fact you'll be daydreaming about him for the rest of the day, you feel a firm hand wrap around your wrist.
"here, for you," he says. his hand is warm as it encloses yours, and he places something in your palm.
you glance down. it's a business card.
heat creeps up your neck.
"what's this for?" the words barely make it out your throat.
"dinner."
he's looking in your eyes again. it's all he says, and your brain can't string together a reasonable response. in fact, it's going haywire.
luckily, he continues for you, "you should go now or you'll miss your stop."
you glance at the doors. they begin to flash indicating they're closing soon.
"i'll call," and then you rush out the train, sliding right through as the doors close behind you.
you look down at the business card.
nanami kento.
every part about your commute to work is a constant, but you don't think you'd mind adding something new.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: one of the many fic ideas i've had since starting my office job
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: sylus x mc!reader | summary: after a mission gone wrong, you make your way to sylus' base and force yourself to train.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ tags + warnings: angst, hurt to comfort, soft sylus, mentions of blood and injury, training until injury, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of fighting, hugging and kissing, sylus offering comfort, protective sylus, no y/n, one-shot | wc: 1.9k+ | author's note: i think i tagged everything but pls let me know if i missed anything. title from heavy by the marias
you’re deep within the confines of sylus’ base, tucked inside a training room that was all black mats and stone walls. the stale air sits silently around you—the only thing permeating it the panting of your breath and the thumps of your fists as they assault a punching bag.
an artillery of weapons lines the walls around you. you neglect them all in favor of the rubber underneath your fists, inhaling the sting like you deserved it.
and didn’t you?
scenes from today's mission flash between your eyes. you were caught off guard, ambushed by wanderers because of your carelessness.
you throw a punch, and it is like you can feel their tendrils wrapping around you again. it’s suffocating.
in the end, you took one of them down before fleeing out the abandoned building you’d been sent to scout. you didn’t even accomplish your mission, instead, running back to headquarters like a dog with its tail between its legs.
at headquarters, you did your due diligence of reporting what had gone wrong, namely admitting to all the intel you didn't secure. how could you fail at the only thing in life you’ve ever wanted to work towards?
you punch harder. red bruises begin to bloom at the tips of your knuckle. a strange satisfaction blooms from this, as if seeing proof of your efforts will make you more adept.
this is, perhaps, the worst part. the mission had been relatively simple: get in, collect information, maybe take down a few wanderers along the way, and get out.
you had done almost none of that.
that’s why you’re here, opting to get as far away from the hunter’s association as possible. what better place than the n109 zone?
when you arrived earlier in the evening, sylus was nowhere to be found. such was what you were hoping for.
you had gotten patched up at the association just in case. after the battle, you were left with a shallow but nasty gash on your forehead and several bruises to the torso.
god forbid sylus see you with an open wound, otherwise, he'd raise hell before even asking what it was from.
it was only after you arrived though, did a memory from a few months ago surface. one that certainly didn't help the shame brewing in your chest.
it was a rare instance when the both of you had run into trouble in the n109 zone. a pack of petty thieves who had chosen the wrong people to target.
when the encounter escalated from verbal threats to physical, sylus had pushed you out of the way, absorbing a nasty punch all for the sake of protecting you.
he dealt with the rest of them no problem, and with your help, but after it was over—and the thieves lay half dead in the alleyway—you had turned to him with narrow eyes and a crease between your brows.
"why would you do that?" you asked, hand coming up to push against his shoulder.
he didn't budge.
"you mean protect you?" he said, with wide eyes and a look that bordered on shock. as if he couldn't believe you'd deny his protection.
"i didn't need you to take the hit for me," you had told him, turning away. "i can handle myself."
and from then on, sylus took care of you, but he didn't protect you. at least, not in the same way. he is always there, always hovering, but never overprotective, as if your brief confession to him was all-telling about the care you were willing to receive.
this memory lingers in your mind again as you continue your assault on the punching bag. your hand shoots out, harder than the last time, and you can't help but wonder if sylus sees something about you that you don't.
that maybe you can't handle yourself as well as you thought you could.
and if you couldn't even hold your own in a fight... then what else was there for you to claim prowess for?
the next punch breaks skin.
your knuckles sting as they split.
you wonder how far you can go until your body gives in.
by this hour of night, you feel the toll. the exhaustion settles deep in your lungs and heavy in your feet. but the pain does little to deter you.
in the back of your mind, there is a nagging voice. a fear that maybe one day, you will be ten times as injured and met with the presence of a wanderer.
you have to fight.
what will you have if you don't?
"weren't even going to tell me you were coming?"
a deep, velvet voice interrupts the room. for once, it is the last person you want to see right now.
you continue hitting, eyes locked on the poor bag in front of you.
"you can't expect to come into my home and ignore me, kitten."
you feel his presence approach you. his footsteps are almost as prominent as the thud of your punches.
you hit again and again.
and like a pin dropped to the ground, you can almost feel the moment he realizes what is going on.
the blood that stains the punching bag and your hands. the bandage pressed against your forehead. the sloppy fighting stance you're sure you've adorned but couldn't be bothered enough by to care.
a large hand wraps itself around your wrist before you can make contact again.
before you can throw yourself out of sylus' grasp, he pulls on your arm. it's not hard enough to hurt, but it is enough for you to be fully turned towards him, hands catching against his chest for balance as his arm wraps around your waist.
the look on his face is stern, red eyes automatically scanning down your face and body. it is a look he tries to make deliberate but one you recognize as frantic.
the last thing you wanted to do was worry him.
"i'm fine-"
"you're hurt."
you attempt to pull away from him, but his hold on you is firm. you remain flush against his chest with the only place to look being up at him. with breaths still heavy from exertion, you remain silent.
sylus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side, seemingly deciding that your injuries were not the highest of his concerns.
"you better have a damn good reason why you didn't tell me sooner," he says. his voice is lower than normal as if restraining himself from an outburst.
"i can-"
"and why you're injured."
"sylus-"
"and why there's blood on your hands."
he spits the words out. his breath is warm against your cheek. his grip tightens around you. you are so, so close to him.
it's hard to tell if your heart is pounding because of his intensity or his proximity.
you can tell sylus is angry. not at you, but at the helplessness he must feel.
you know sylus better than anyone, so you know his questions are an attempt at finding reason before blowing the roof off his own base.
beyond what he asks, you see the downward frown at the corner of his lips. the gleam in his eyes that are shining for you, only barely shadowed by fury.
there is something about this look in his eyes that breaks through to you.
and all of a sudden, every emotion you had attempted to harness under the guise of training came through in the form of tears.
all at once, you buckle into sylus' arms. ones that let go of your wrist and instead bring you even closer into his embrace. the two of you sink to the floor, and as the tears fall from your face, his arms are the only steady things in the room.
what you don't see is the way his expression cracks, just for a second, as if his heart is breaking just from the sound of your sobs. any ounce of anger he had been harboring disappeared all at once.
he rubs your back as you cry. gives you a minute, maybe two.
"tell me what happened."
and you do. every last bit of it. from the weakness you felt fighting the wanderers to your failure of a mission.
you don't even mean to confess all of it. just enough so he understands why you're crying, but once you start, it all comes spilling out.
the words tumble from your lips. you speak what must be incoherent sentences. this is all you have ever worked towards. it's the only thing you could trust yourself to do well.
you even tell him about the time he took the hit for you in the alley. something that is as simultaneously haunting as it is irrelevant.
and beneath what you say, sylus knows exactly why it is so important to you for you to protect yourself.
he responds to your confessions with soft hums and brief nods. at some point, his hand comes up to pat your head. you think the action makes you cry more.
sylus gives you time. for this, you are most grateful.
he lets your breathing even out and your tears slow their fall. it is only then does he pull back from the embrace he wrapped you in. you almost don't want to look him in the face knowing how the crying looks on your face.
but the look in his eyes when you meet them is anything but bothered by that. instead, it is a look you almost mistake for pity.
because in all the time you have known sylus, he has never looked at you with only love. it is always a fraction of the expression, mixed in with concern or curiosity or lust.
but in this moment, sylus looks at you with pure adoration. you feel it in the depth of his gaze. in the dilation of his pupils. in the way his entire being would bend the rules of the universe just to be here before you.
his thumb comes up to brush a tear from your cheek, and he cups your face in his hands.
"you are not a failure," he says it with more belief than you think you've ever had for yourself in your life.
"do you think you got to where you are by being weak? every battle is a testament to your strength, even the bad ones."
sylus leans back and moves to hold your hand, running a feather-light touch over the newly split cuts.
"i will not let you hurt the strongest person i know."
he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your wounds. his words come slow and sincere.
"and if you ever feel like your hard work isn't enough, i will do everything in my power to get you where you want to be. just say the word."
at this, he brings both of your hands to his heart, bringing you ever so much closer. and slowly, as if asking for permission, he inches his lips towards yours.
the kiss is sweet.
his lips capture yours, and a heated warmth spreads through you. it is filled with all the love he cannot put into words. a promise of all the truths he has just expressed.
sylus is not the cure to your doubts, but he is a form of severance.
in the dim light of the training room, he embraces you so lovingly that you can't help but believe these doubts could one day dissipate.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: is this one-shot just me projecting? maybe LMAO. this is my first time writing sylus and lads in general, so i hope you enjoyed! i've been deep in the lads rabbit hole, and it's the only thing on my mind lately lol. i know people who are taken aback by the concept or the nsfw aspects of it, which i understand isn't for everyone! but at the end of the day, lads is so special because of the comfort, adventure, and love it offers. that's part of what inspired me to write this :3 and for these reasons, #bringvalkoback!!! (ps thanks for reading my rant)
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Johnny Storm / Human Torch
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<- back to fic rec masterlist / Previously included in Miscellaneous Fic Recs
✉️ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ meeting officeworker!kento on your commute
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: officeworker!kento x gn!reader | tags + warnings: gn!reader, no y/n, fluff, drabble, meet cute, train, reader going to work, barely proofread | wc: 858
every part about your commute to work is a constant.
first, you file onto the same train you do every morning, shoulder to shoulder with dozens of other commuters all wrapped in the same fatigue of the early morning. then, you find an empty row of two seats and set your bag down at your feet. finally, you count down as the train makes its stops until you reach your destination.
every day, you take the same train, on the same route, and see the same people. that's why it surprises you so much when you see something out of the ordinary.
or, namely, someome.
the morning starts like any other, the rocking of the train causing your eyes to drift towards sleep. but as the train pulls into the next station, and the regular crowd shuffles in, someone new stands out.
he's taller than the the people he walks in with. that's the first thing that piqued your interest. second, well... it's hard to pick a place to start.
the man is wearing a crisp grey suit that cinched at the waist just right. he has sleek blonde hair that's somehow the perfect balance between messy and sleek. and perhaps, most notably, he has a gorgeous face. stern, serious, but soft at the edges.
it was incredibly difficult not to stare at him. so much so that you didn't realize he was making his way down the aisle.
right down to your row.
"can i sit here?" and if a person is this attractive, it should be illegal for them to have a nice voice too, right? right??
now that he's before you, there's even more to observe. his broad frame that can only be the result of years at the gym, dim green eyes that look down at you expectingly, large hands that rest on the top of the seat in front of you. and speaking of his hands-
"sorry, there's just no where else to sit," he says.
sorry? oh, right, you have to respond to his question.
"yes, yeah, go ahead," you manage to spit out. he nods in acknowledgment.
and then he shifts to step into the row, an act that nearly sends you into a frenzy because in one swift motion, his shoulder brushes against yours, and he spreads his legs just enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. the movement sends a wave of cologne in your direction too. something fresh with a hint of wood. it makes you dizzy.
you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.
maybe he thinks he's made you uncomfortable, because he begins to make small talk. something about the weather and something about a delay, and something about a topic you barely hear because for the rest of your commute, you feel like a live wire.
his voice, a deep gravely sound that you can feel coming from his chest with every word, doesn't help. every touch sends sparks up your skin, and you only briefly catch his question, "are you feeling okay?"
and the man looks you dead in the eyes with such concern, such care, that even you have a hard time believing you've never met him before.
"i'm okay, it's just- a bit warm in here," you lie. his eyes narrow. he hums like he agrees, and you honestly can't tell if he buys it or not.
now arriving...
"oh! this is my stop," you say, grabbing your bag from the floor.
when you turn to stand up, you wonder if he's going to move and let you step out of the aisle. but as you glance down at his seated form, he fails to make a move to stand up. instead, he just shifts his legs to the side.
you do your best not to get too close to him. you really do. but he doesn't really give you much of a choice.
your thighs brush against him on the way out, and you don't miss the way his hand comes to hover towards your back as if afraid you'd trip.
and just as you're about to continue on, confident about the fact you'll be daydreaming about him for the rest of the day, you feel a firm hand wrap around your wrist.
"here, for you," he says. his hand is warm as it encloses yours, and he places something in your palm.
you glance down. it's a business card.
heat creeps up your neck.
"what's this for?" the words barely make it out your throat.
"dinner."
he's looking in your eyes again. it's all he says, and your brain can't string together a reasonable response. in fact, it's going haywire.
luckily, he continues for you, "you should go now or you'll miss your stop."
you glance at the doors. they begin to flash indicating they're closing soon.
"i'll call," and then you rush out the train, sliding right through as the doors close behind you.
you look down at the business card.
nanami kento.
every part about your commute to work is a constant, but you don't think you'd mind adding something new.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: one of the many fic ideas i've had since starting my office job
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ series
some kind of congressman (congressman!bucky x fem!reader)
✉️ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ johnny storm deliveries
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ blurbs
johnny storm x ice powered gf 𖹭
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ one-shots
baby, i'm yours (johnny storm x fem!reader) ಄ 𖹭 - you accuse him of having commitment issues. But if there’s one thing about johnny storm, it’s that there’s nothing more serious to him than a wager against his capabilities.
✉️ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ — visit another office
ㅤㅤજ⁀➴ ✉︎ deliveries on archive of our own may differ જ⁀➴ ✉︎
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: bf!suguru x fem!reader | tags + warnings: recently established relationship, insecurities, no y/n, fluff, drabble | wc: 745
the first time you go shopping with suguru on a date, you ask if he wants to wait for you outside.
your eyes flick towards the ground as you make a vague gesture towards the crowd of chairs near the entrance of your favorite store, decorated by other boyfriends, dads, and husbands who had no interest in accompanying their partners inside.
it was like someone had designed a little waiting area out there solely for this reason.
even before you asked the question, you were expecting a yes. that suguru would maybe offer to hold your bag before plopping himself down in an empty chair.
instead, he looks confused and even offended that you would even suggest such a thing!
“like… out here?” he asks, eyes flicking to the leisurely group that lounged by the entrance. a crease began to form between his brows.
“yeah, so you don’t have to watch me shop,” you said, playing it off with a chuckle.
truth be told, you hated shopping with other people because you didn’t want to inconvenience them. one too many instances of being left behind at a store or being told to “hurry up” or “just pick one” have made you quite wary about sharing this activity with others.
so naturally, you didn’t want this to happen with suguru. sweet, sweet suguru who offered to carry your heels when they hurt and dropped off lunch at your workplace.
in the brief couple months you’ve been dating, he’s been nothing but kind. the last thing you want would be to annoy him with something as simple as taking too long shopping.
this is why it surprises you when he responds, “why wouldn’t i want to watch you?”
his question makes you glance back up at him, and there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes. it’s an innocent and careful confusion. you can almost see the gears turning inside his head trying to figure out where your question came from.
and he must see some expression on your face that makes him back up, “not- not in a creepy way.” he pauses for a second trying to string together the right set of words.
“but i’d love to see what you're drawn to when you shop. and spend more time with you, of course,” suguru says, a small grin spreading across his lips. and like an afterthought, he adds, “but i can wait outside if you want me to. up to you.”
his words are simple, but you melt, just a little. here before you is tall, dark, and handsome suguru telling you he would love to shop with you. it’s swoon-worthy.
you look into soft brown eyes as you respond, “of course you can come in. i just asked cause in the past- i just don’t want to bore you, you know?”
suguru chuckles in your face. the sound is warm. endearing.
“you could never bore me, sweetheart.”
and he grabs you firm by the hand as he leads you into the store.
-
by the time you’re done, you’ve found that suguru makes a great shopping partner.
he offers to hold all your clothes, takes off the hangers before you try something on, and even dutifully inspects each item for loose threads and tears before approving it for purchase.
suguru is also surprisingly in tune with the rest of your wardrobe, helping you decide which shirt color will match the rest of your clothes and how you can style each piece.
and just as the worker at the cashier reads out the total, and you reach to grab your wallet, you hear a small beep!
you turn to suguru who has his phone pressed against the payment sensor and a satisfied expression on his face. a surprised expression paints itself on your face, and all he does is wink.
-
as you walk out the store, you nearly start a whole lecture, “you really didn’t have to do that, suguru. i can pay for my own clothes and-“
“hush. i know you can, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to pay for you.”
you try to think of a response. unfortunately, the only question in your head is how you ended up with a boyfriend this sincere.
suguru keeps speaking, “besides, the look on your face was cute.”
and this sends you into a frenzy that must have turned you three different shades of red. suguru laughs and gives you a peck on the cheek.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: cute little drabble i thought of after going to the mall this weekend
