#and you kNOW the ending theme had me in sHAMBLES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ode2rin · 4 months

Text

all my flaws

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. post-argument fluff | suggestive themes | established relationship | new boyfriend!rin

in which: people say new relationships supposedly need a breakthrough fight to level up, but rin swears he would rather go through hell than do this again.

Your first fight as a couple freaked Rin out, even though he appeared stoic during the argument.

In the heat of the moment, Rin abruptly left your apartment, not uttering a word. Instead, he left you with a lingering glance filled with apathy—a look he'd never cast upon you before. His eyes turned void once again, when you were just getting used to it being bright and free.

What began as a simple disagreement, like any other couple's quarrel, escalated into rhetorical questions, accusing tones, and suddenly, it was him against you.

Silently, he rose from his seat, walked to the door, and vanished like a shadow that had never existed. To Rin, it felt like the right thing to do. You can't leave him if he does it first, he convinced himself. A twisted logic, fueled by emotions creeping from his past.

Yet apparently, his logic seems to be in total shambles when mixed and driven by emotions concerning you, because ten minutes later down the road, he wanted nothing more but to turn the car around.

Even so, in Rin’s true self-sabotaging fashion, he refrained. Because he’s awful, selfish, and couldn’t even fix insignificant arguments like a normal person would. Convinced of his own flaws, he believed you shouldn’t be with him— shouldn’t give him that chance after all.

The next thing he knew, the ten minutes he could’ve made to retreat back and apologize turned into 27 hours and 48 minutes of misery, spent in non-speaking terms with you.

It sucks. Everything sucks.

That night, he slept in his own bed. The next day, the in denial and emotionally constipated side of him made himself believe that the expensive yet seemingly useless mattress felt responsible for the raging tension in his shoulders and back. Of course it wasn't because of the absence of your messages or the unfamiliarity of his own bed. Of course, it’s the bed’s fault.

Life isn’t what it used to be. The sun didn't shine properly if it didn't come through the window of your room he spent the night in, his usual protein drink tasted like absolute shit because you didn’t make it for him, and not to mention the lack of cuddles before he gets up in the morning— it was bound to be the worst day of his life ever since you happened.

To make things even worse, he’s disassociating in practice, even missing a goal making everyone stop in their tracks. It was an unusual sight, Itoshi Rin doesn’t miss, after all.

He was acting so gloomy that Bachira even pointed out how there’s a storm cloud looming over his head. A statement that earned a curt ‘fuck off, bobcut’ from the striker.

Meanwhile, Isagi took a more rational approach of expressing his concern toward his friend’s atypical behavior by taking out his phone and sending you a message.

Isagi: Did something happen between you and Rin? He's being tenfold more insufferable. [1:13 pm] Isagi: Please do something about this. - Chigiri [1:15 pm]

On the receiving end of these messages, you couldn't help but admit to yourself that you felt a peculiar sense of relief, knowing Rin was grappling with the same turmoil after he left.

You'd had your share of arguments before—petty disagreements that were easier to fix due to forced proximity. It was simpler when you were obligated to walk together on the way home from school; otherwise, he would stand in the same spot outside your classroom if you decided to be petty and ignore him. Annoyed but still caring, he insisted on confirming you got home safely, reasoning that your houses were next to each other.

Rin was still hard-headed, much like all these years. A testament to this was his silence over the past 24 hours.

Reading Isagi’s text messages once more, you let out a sigh and made up your mind – you will force him to fix things with you. You will express your displeasure at his abrupt departure, insist he not repeat it if he wants to do this right with you, and convey that it should always be the two of you against any problem.

It might be a blow to your pride to give in first, but it is what the two of you needed. It is what he needed.

It just happened that you loved that man enough to provide what he needed, despite all flaws.

A day of missing you must have driven him to hallucinate, Rin concludes. You, perched on his couch, delicately peeling oranges and chuckling at a whimsical show on the screen, are just a hallucination.

“You’re home.”

And would you look at that, hallucinations even speak.

From your vantage point, Rin looks like he's seen a ghost greeting him with his unblinking teal orbs and brows slightly arching upwards. You notice the subtle tightening of his grip on the strap of his gym bag as he takes measured steps towards you, as though cautiously approaching a dream he fears might dissipate.

“Rin?” you whisper in confusion. It was meek, barely a whisper of his name, yet it was all that he needed to close the gap between you in mere seconds.

You gape at him from how determined his strides were. Surprise is instantly replaced by warmth as your lover basically throws himself over you for a well-sought embrace the moment you're within his arms’ reach.

You’re real, and you’re here.

And he can’t even begin to tell you how much tension finally left his body with that realization.

“I thought…” he trails off, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

As shallow as one might say, each passing hour of being away from you has fully convinced Rin that it might have been the end to what the two of you had.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper softly in his ear, your fingers finding solace in the familiar texture of Rin’s hair, tenderly tracing paths down to his nape. Rin responds with a gentle kiss along the side of your neck, a silent affirmation of his gratitude for the comforting gesture.

Unspoken sentiments hang in the air, but neither of you feels the need to verbalize them just yet. The minutes stretch, and you both savor each other’s warmth that has been sorely missed.

As minutes gracefully slipped away, you initiated the release from his embrace, much to his chagrin. Rin openly displayed his disapproval by gently yet firmly wrapping his arms around you. But you were resolute in your purpose and slightly pushed him back.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, holding his face to look at you.

“No.”

“I’ll make you some food, then. Stay here.”

Before your intentions could take you to the kitchen, Rin pulled you back making you fall back to his lap. “don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But dinner–”

“No.”

“No? You don’t want to eat?”

“No,” he firmly replied, “Later. I want to hold you first.”

You didn’t respond to Rin, and just took it upon yourself to make yourself more accessible for him to hold by facing him while still seated in his lap. The shift in position sent a shiver of anticipation through both of you, and Rin, consumed by the moment, reveled in the exquisite sensation of your body pressed closely against his.

Slowly, his fingers reached the side of your jaw, tracing and guiding you closer to meet him halfway. With closed eyes, you felt his lips approaching, delicately and purposefully, until his lips were a breath away from yours. The distance between your lips diminished as Rin closed in, capturing your mouth in a sweet, lingering surrender.

Rin’s strong hands explored every inch of you it could reach. You felt his touch on your neck, shoulders, down to your thighs. The teasing fingers paid extra attention to your waist, their grip subtly teasing the hem of your shirt. You melt into him more when you feel said teasing hands slide inside.

He was everywhere— your mind, your body, your very soul. Rin had them well occupied with all of him.

A soft gasp escapes you when he nips the familiar spot on your neck just below your ear, each kiss that follows tracing a path to your collarbones. Another gasp, louder this time, as Rin gently sucked the skin beneath your collarbones, mending the sweet sting with his feather-light kisses.

It was getting harder to think when a feeling of desire ran from your chest down toward your inner thigh from how impossibly hot Rin’s lips were consuming you.

And just when you thought he had had enough of you, Rin’s hand once again cradled your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. Shivers danced down your spine as you absorbed the sight of his half-lidded, glossy teal eyes.

“I need you, baby,” he breathed, “please.”

It seemed as though there was a lot to make up for in the past twenty-four hours that he couldn't hold you.

You stirred from your sleep to the sensation of lingering kisses scattered from your forehead down to your jaw.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you found your lover gazing at you with those bright and free teal eyes, and you swore you never had a better way to start the day than this.

A smile graced your lips as you prepared to reciprocate the affection, intending to reach for him and plant a kiss on his jaw. However, your gesture was momentarily halted by his unexpected outburst.

“I love you.”

Professing to you used to terrify Rin – it used to knock all the air from his lungs and make the room seem so small. Now, with a few years ahead to gather enough backbone to escape the misery of pining, professing to you— loving you, felt as easy and natural as breathing.

And he hoped, with every beat of his heart against yours, that he would be breathing just fine in the many years to come.

“I love you,” he tells you again. Just for good measure, to ensure you heard him right, and just to make sure you know he does love you.

You heard him well. His words were clear enough, and the rapid beating of his heart against yours was loud enough to attest.

“Say it back, please,” he pleaded against the soft skin of your neck.

“I love you, Rin.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

He offered no verbal response, but a palpable sigh of relief emanated from him. For a man of few words, he sure does need a lot to feel better.

His warm breath lingered on your skin as a brief silence enveloped you both. Then, with a deliberate yet gentle gesture, he gathered both your arms, placing them above his shoulders, and pulled you closer by your thigh, guiding it above his own.

He loved holding you this way. He wasn’t a big believer, but he wondered if this, right here, was the closest he would ever come to heaven.

“But we have to unlearn those bad habits, Rin,” you asserted, your voice carrying a firm resolve, “No more leaving. We will sit through it, and we will talk, baby.”

Rin’s arms around your waist tightened, as if silently acknowledging your words. You knew he was listening— Rin could be hard headed and all, but he always listened. To you, and only you, that is.

Minutes passed in silent communion, the world outside fading away as you and Rin held each other. Eventually, drowsiness began to cast its gentle veil over your senses. You couldn't tell if Rin had fallen asleep because his face was buried in the curve of your neck, hiding away in your scent. Yet, the soft and steady rhythm of his breath made you think so.

As you closed your eyes, allowing the realm of dreams to envelop you, Rin’s voice, muffled and quiet, broke the silence.

“Are we going to be fine?”

Barely audible, his question carried a hint of hesitation. And perhaps, if you listen a little closer, you could almost hear the 11-year-old Rin behind his lucid words.

Lucky for him, you had known that little boy throughout your life, enough to love him just as he needed, despite all flaws.

“We will be.”

note. hi, my life ain't life-ing lately soooo here !! i hope all of you are fine and having a blast. but if you aren’t, i’m sending you all of my love. we’ll have better days ahead, trust 🤞🏻

#☁️ my ode to you #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

1K notes · View notes

hoshigray · 10 months

Text

My Professor's Final Spring Praise ༄ K. Nanami

"Before my summer break officially started, I had to finish my last in-person exam with Professor Nanami. It was so tough, but I made it through! I was the last to leave, so I thanked the professor and shared some final words before heading to my dorm to finish packing up. However, how do a few gratitude and praise exchanges end up with me on his desk and him between my legs?"

A/n: Yessirrrrrr!! First work of my very first series!! I'm very nervous about this as this is the first time committing to writing consecutively for a specific theme, but I got faith in myself!! Also, it's Nanami and my birthday!!!ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ So as soon as this is posted, I'm signing off and enjoying my day with my hubby Kento~ (sike I'm not, just gonna hang with friends, lol). But anyways, I hope y'all enjoy this piece, and thank you so very much for 1k followers~~~!!! Not my best work, but it's a decent start for the series! >:D (will proofread l8r tmrw)

Series m. list!! This entry has been updated along w/ its contents.

Cw: professor! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content so minors DNI - taboo (consensual sex b/w a professor & undergrad) - age difference (the reader is at least in their 20s; Nanami approaching early 30s) - fingering (fem! receiving) - cunnilingus - semi-missionary position (reader lies on their back on a table while Nanami stands) - public sex/sex in a university classroom - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - pining if you squint - praise - pet names (baby, darling, love, sweet pea) - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - kissing/makeout sessions.

Wc: 3.4k

Dear Diary...it's been a long while since I had to come to you as an outlet for my thoughts. But something happened today that caused my mind to go rampant, and I need to rely on you again...

Today is supposed to be the best day of the year. You just finished taking your last in-person exam, you were able to finish packing up all your stuff, and you're now ready to kiss this campus goodbye until the upcoming fall season.

You could not wait to start your summer plans. Not only will you work in the internship you've been hoping to get into since last semester, but you'll finally have ample time to hang with your best friends ever — Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara!

The summer break has been the end goal for the four of you, and now that your finals are finally over, there's no stopping you from enjoying the season to the best you can!

However, as much as you say you're excited, it doesn't correlate to your actual feelings at this point in time. Something happened that altered your entire perception of what the future was supposed to be.

Something so out of the ordinary that you don't know how to properly feel or think about the situation.

Something so out of the ordinary that you turn to a diary to let your thoughts out, alone in your shared dorm room when all the other roommates have left earlier in the week.

Something so completely out of the ordinary that it sends chills down your spine just reminiscing the moment before sitting at this exact desk writing about what transpired earlier.

It all started when I went to my last in-person exam with Yuuji, where everyone else was waiting for the professor...

You and Yuuji had the same Biology class to take care of one of your science credits, and the exam was to take place on the last day of finals week. Although you've been told it's not supposed to be a difficult test — it's a bunch of multiple questions, short answers, and one essay — the exam period starts from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. Three hours of endless testing was enough to put you, Yuuji, and all the other classmates in shambles, embracing guaranteed failures and having no idea how to study.

Luckily, a true saint descended from above to bless you and your peers with a professor who knows what he's doing and is patient enough to lead you to the right path. Your professor, Kento Nanami, was relatively young enough to connect with his fellow students but held a well-mannered and stern cadence that gained the respect and admiration of those around him. He was able to steer you guys into a secure approach to your studying: taking in questions, making study guides for quizzes and midterms, and highlighting significant areas from the textbook throughout the semester that will be shown on today's exam.

So through all the diligent preparation and practical labs you've attended, you feel way more confident with the material than at the start of the semester. Can't say the same for Yuuji, who's more nervous than you (with his three unexcused absences and constantly coming to you for help). But as long as y'all are suffering together, that's all that matters.

The only problem is that the exam is sectioned into three parts — sixty multiple-choice questions that are one point each, ten short answer questions that are also one point each, one mix-and-match portion, and the essay is ten whole points by itself (twenty if you can answer five bonus questions afterward). So, off the bat, everyone understands why three hours are given to complete the exam. But Professor Nanami said, "You all should be fine because it doesn't necessarily have to take you all three hours to complete. So if you finish early, you can get outta here." Say less.

So once you entered the usual classroom with Yuuji, you followed through and sat distant from each other at the same table. The professor came on time as always, instructing the class on where to get the exam on the class website, giving the password to unlock it, and wishing you luck.

The only sounds in the space were people clicking their keyboards, sighs, and groans, and people packing up to leave after submitting their exams before thanking their professor for a great semester. Soon the number of students would thin out, leaving just you and Yuuji still completing your exam.

Yuuji finished at the two-hour mark, releasing an extended sigh of relief before hurriedly stuffing his laptop in his backpack. He goes down to thank and bear hug the professor. And you giggle at the expression of Nanami's dismay because he would've sufficed with a simple handshake like the other students. But that's what makes Yuuji an anomaly to the mass, being exceptionally himself no matter where or who he's with. The salmon-haired boy walks up and wishes you luck, going to his dorm to pack the last of his things and promising to pick you up when you're done.

And then it was just you and him: the professor standing at the podium in front of the classroom, reading a book while you finish the last bonus questions before submitting it on the class site. You sigh heavily, and a massive wave of relief washes over you. You did it. You handled all your exams. You're finally free!

"Finished?" You look for where the voice comes from. The professor looks up from his book at your figure.

You place your laptop in your bag and stand up from your seat. It took you twenty more minutes just to finish compared to Yuuji. "Yup! It wasn't so bad like you said, but I had more trouble with the bonus questions than everything else." You stretch your arms and legs.

Nanami chuckles at your feedback. "I see. I did say the bonus questions would be more lab-based. Good thing those who couldn't make it to some of the labs got to see me so I could help them or assign them with the other students who missed."

"You mean like Yuuji?" You walk up to the podium to be in front of your professor. "Because the poor guy couldn't make it to some of the labs because of club activities."

"Yes, Itadori is one of those students." Nanami smiles at the mention of the salmon-haired other. "He's undoubtedly a hard-working student, asking questions and enjoying the lectures. But that's for when he is in the class."

You chuckle as the subtle shade at your friend. "He does try, though! All the times we've studied together since this exam shows that he wanted to put his whole heart into this class. Not to mention that you're secretly his favorite teacher~." You mention the last part hoping it sparks something in the professor, and you're glad to see that the older man releases a wee chortle at the tiny piece of information.

"Hmm, well, I appreciate his enthusiasm and that he was deeply interested in the class. However," your professor closes his book and walks to the side of the podium, erasing an imaginary barrier between the two of you. "You also play a huge part in his engagement. He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Your brows trench, but a smile creeps past your conscious. "What makes you say that?"

"You've been a particular student in my class. Not only are you an easy grader, but you capture the material so well that Itadori trusts you enough to help him when I'm not available to do so. Anytime you ask me a question, it's always outside the textbook or linked to something you looked into outside the lectures."

The smile on your face grows large, and you look away to shield it from his vision. "Thank you, Professor Nanami."

"I won't be surprised if I check the grades later and see that you got an excellent grade." He removes his glasses and places them on the podium with his book. "I'd also suggest you consider minoring in this field if you'd like. And did you sign up for that scholarship I mentioned to you around two weeks ago?"

"Yes, I filled it out last week."

"Good." He moves a hand to place on your shoulder, and the action takes you aback because it's the first time he's ever touched you. "I expect great things from you, Y/n. I'm sure whatever you want to do in this life, you'll do just fine."

You bashfully nod at his kind words. And you extend your hand up to him to signify a ready handshake. "Thank you, professor. And thank you so much for all your help this semester."

The hand that was on your shoulder grabs hold of your hand. But what happens next was far from what you expected.

Nanami lifts your hand with his and faintly sets his lips on the back of your knuckles.

And this is the provenance of what sets everything in motion.

What he did to your hand didn't just surprise you, but also surprised him. Nanami froze with your hand still in his, not daring to move as you have yet moved an inch.

Why did I do that? It's the biggest question that runs through his mind at this time. One moment he was praising you for being one of his best students, then he busses his lips onto your hand the next. But why?

Nanami knew he was done for. Unable to look into your eyes, he can only tighten his hold on your hand. This was so not part of his routine. Today was supposed to be like any other exam day. He only came here to see his students for one last time before the start of summer break. He only came here to see his final class and have them take the exam before heading home. So why?

Perhaps it was the feelings of spring blinding him like a child. Or maybe his emotions got the better of him. But today was the last day of the semester he'd see his favorite pupil — you. Until now, the professor has done a phenomenal job maintaining an appropriate relationship between teacher and student, keeping a respectable distance while tending to his scholars.

And yet, he still would catch himself sneaking a selfish glance at you following through with his lectures, his heart swooning when you use your lovely voice to ask a question, or going blind when you flash a smile that rivals the sun's beam.

It's never right to have favorites; however, you clearly were the one that caught his attention the most.

Yet, also, this type of relationship is not the best for Nanami or you. You are a student, and he is your teacher. This could damage the reputation of both of you. It's the least favorable outcome between the two of you...

...So why haven't you snatched your hand away from mine yet?

Your hands tighten back with his, and the man finally chooses to look at you.

You're eyes bore into him, looking at him as if he's the only thing meant to have your concentration. Your breathing descends to a slower pace, but the rhythm of your heart beats the more you look at the man before you. "Professor Nanami..." you said his name in a whisper, and God, did it feel so wrong to do such a thing. As if your mouth would be thrown into a pit of flames for even calling to him with an indescribable connotation. Your mind is now fueled with a deep emotion rooted within, rooted with a scary longing.

"Y/n..." It felt even more wrong to have your name hushed in his voice, so hot to the ears that they could melt any second. Even so, a part of you wishes he would repeat it in the same tone again. Expressing the exact feeling of wanting something, wanting you.

Observant brown eyes lock in with your eyes. Faces move forward with hesitance. Eyes close. Noses begin to brush their skins against each other. And pairs of lips seal an unfortunate yet desirable event that cannot be revoked.

It takes a few minutes for you two to melt into each other from the makeout session. It takes a few minutes to block the glass windows with portable whiteboards to block the view from the outside. And it takes a few minutes for you to be a disheveled mess with your back on a table with Nanami between your legs, fingering your throbbing vulva and licking your slick and sensitive clitoris.

"Hoooh...Mmmm, Professor Nanami, your tongue. I-It feels too good—Nnnmph!!"

Nanami flicks his tongue on your sensitive, the cause for you to cry out. "Y/n, I told you. It's just the two of us, so call me by my name."

No, you mustn't. That's taking things too far. But, "K-Kentooo," that name is too tempting to not have seeped through your moans. "Your tongue and fingersss, they're too much!"

His middle and forefinger pull and push inside your gushy walls, prompting more of your sweet cries to fill the blonde man's eardrums. "Is that so? Too much for you? Think you're gonna cum?"

You nod desperately with each question, your cunt clenching around his digits as if you were to snatch them off. But that would be impossible when he's playing with your pussy like a toy. Sweat starts to form on your forehead, your orgasm inching in closer and closer by the second.

And Nanami notices, resulting in him coming to your aid for release. His tongue goes back to lapping around clit, kissing and sucking on the bud while the tempo of his fingers increases.

Your climax hits you hard, having your body twitch and quiver as the inner walls of your slit contract around the digits scraping your velvety texture. You grab tufts of his blond hair, messing up its neat shape. But neither of you cares, too engulfed with each other to worry about the details. Tears form at the end of your eyes as you experience your high, and you try to steady your breathing when your professor withdrawals himself from you.

"Good job, sweet pea. Made a mess on my fingers." He praises you while undoing his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his well-defined torso for your eyes to see. But the real prize is when he unzips his pants and pulls down his briefs, his erect cock out in the open for you to marvel at.

But before you could look at it with all its glory, the tip of his dick presses up against your cunt, sliding it up and down to warm you up before entry. The feeling of his shaft grinding on your folds and clit is enough to have chills travel down your spine.

"Alright, love, I'm gonna go slow for you, okay?" His chocolate brown eyes examine your face to give him a response. You nibble on your lip and brace yourself after confirming your cooperation. "If you want me to stop, let me know. So, take some breaths for me."

And with that, the blonde pushes his cock into you with every exhale you take, the twinge of pain making it difficult to focus. Yet you still pull through because you want this so fucking much. There's no turning back now. And when the tip of his cock finally nestles inside your vagina, a choked shriek departs from your lips.

Slowly, Nanami pushes himself into you, every inch of his cock venturing further into your welcoming, throbbing chasm. He brushes up against your sweet spots causing you to jerk up. Nanami coaxes you through it. "It's okay, darling. You're taking me so well."

Tears come streaming down when the base of his cock kisses your folds, your union now solidified. The blonde gives you a moment to get acclimated with his girth inside before he gradually instructs a patient pace of the hips.

"Mmmm, Kento. 'S so good..." You mewl into the air, your face feeling hot and sweaty. The slow rhythm of his ruts is tantalizing, but it feels so good having his length scrape your insides. "Pleaseee, go fasteeer—"

"Want it faster? Nnmmm, damn, I'll go faster, baby." When the moment is right, his thrusts quicken the cadence, provoking more blissful whimpers to fill the silent room.

Your hands find purchase on his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to cage him close to you. And Nanami takes the notion as a signal for him to dial up the speed, thrusting so deep into your pussy with an erratic tempo. Pelvis smacking hard on your slit and tender clit that it has you seeing stars.

"Hmmm, Ahh—Ahhhh! Ohhhh, fucking shit!" The harsh ruts to your lower half keep your ground to the table beneath you, sweat sticking your clothes to your back. The sounds of skin slapping each other are on par with your pornographic noises, having you feel indecent and shameful. But it's too late now.

"Hmmph! Oh, fuck," husky groans exit from Nanami, the man putting his forehead on yours. "You feel so good and tight around me, love. So close to—Ahhhh!! Shit, so close to cumming.."

You swallow the spit that secretes your mouth. "Haaaah, Kentoooo—" your eyes are shut to wholly focus on the commotion beneath you. Your sexes smacking each other, forcing you to clench around him with every thrust of the hips. "I'm about to—Nnnaaahh!! Oh, Jesus, I'm gonna cummm!"

He kisses your forehead. "You want to cum, sweet pea?"

"Yesssss, please, please, pleaseee!!" Begging for your release is all you can do as your mind turns into mush, the familiar sensation crawling back to haunt you.

He hushes your cries with his lips on yours, the final kiss filled with scorching passion while Nanami pistons a few thrusts plunging to your vulva.

Your orgasm washes over you again, and you moan blissfully into the blonde's mouth. Your gushy walls flutter around his member for the last time, coating it with your essence. And Nanami had to be quick not to sink too deep into the feeling, or else he'd spill his release into you. He removed himself from your lips and body, ejaculating his load onto your bare stomach, and you gasped at the contact of his fluids spilling on your exposed skin.

You look up to survey the man before you, and you're met with an image you never thought you'd see. Blonde hair that was once slicked neatly now had messy strands that framed his face beautifully. Sweat covered his sculpted physique, and hooded brown eyes examined your body under him.

Letting the silence calm the both of you down from your aftershocks, Nanami glances at your face and smiles. He brings a hand to cup your cheek, brushing off tears that painted your face.

"Glad to have you this semester. Have a good summer, darling."

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

BAM! BAM!! BAM!!!

An abrupt sound has you stop writing on the entry, bringing you back to the present time.

It sounded like it came from the front door, so you stuff your diary into your bag and exit the room to find out who's causing all the ruckus. When you open the door, the first thing that enters your line of vision is pink hair.

Your friend, Yuuji Itadori.

"Yo!" He greets you. "Ready to go? I called up your phone like four times."

"Oh, you did? Sorry, I must've forgotten to put it back on vibrate after the exam." You move out of the way for Yuuji to enter your dorm, closing the door behind him. "My stuff is in my room. I got two suitcases, a duffel bag, and my backpack."

"Alright then, let's hurry and get out of here! Think we can take the freeway since it's late at night, and traffic should be gone by now."

Yuuji grabs your two suitcases and heads outside to put them inside the trunk of his car. You walk around to check and see if anything is missing or misplaced before heading to your room and grabbing the other bags.

Yet before you leave the space entirely, you grab your diary again and write your final thoughts.

...I don't know what possessed me to let what happened happen. But, at the same time, I don't hate it for happening? I don't know...it was probably the feelings of spring taking over me or the relief that I finished all my exams.

But one thing is for sure; if I wasn't the last person to leave that classroom, none of that would've happened. I wouldn't have experienced that new side of Professor Nanami.

And as long as this keeps between me and him, then I'm kinda glad that it happened.

962 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 2 months

Note

I have a request. Could I please request a Yandere Princess Cadence for The Yandere MLP Virus AU?

Hm... sure! Doing this with Cadance could be cool! (She's a fav of mine) Using @koipaper 's idea for how the virus started (Hope I tagged the right person 😭) Not fully proofread!

Yandere Virus! Princess Cadance Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Yandere virus, Blood, Violence, Death, Murder, Body horror, DARK THEMES, Forced relationship attempted.

Poor Cadance has no clue what Twilight has done.

The princess knew of the younger princess's crush, but didn't know the extent.

She had no idea Twilight tried to cast a love spell on you... only to do it wrong and curse you.

Upon being sent a letter of distress, Cadance left Shining Armor and Flurry Heart to check things out in Ponyville.

She worries for Twilight... especially if this really is some sort of emergency.

Cadance has no idea what awaits her.

When she arrives at Twilight's castle everything's a mess.

There's no sign of the princess... and Ponyville itself looks in disarray.

The Alicorn is careful, wandering the streets carefully.

She even cringes back when she sees blood in the streets.

What happened...?

Going further into Ponyville she's met with broken architecture and blood.

Perhaps even a corpse or two.

Soon she even sees the results of the virus.

Emancipated ponies... bloody wounds... all staggering about with smiles and bloodshot/dilated eyes.

It's by this point Cadance knows she has to escape.

But then a pony comes rushing away from a horde, fear on their face.

Cadance charges her magic and steps in, pacifying the infected while standing in front of the pony.

By the time it's all done the alicorn turns to the pony.

Said pony is you... injured and bleeding... shock written all over your face.

"P-Princess Cadance...!" You manage to gasp out. "You shouldn't be here!"

The alicorn is confused as you sob.

"P-Please... leave me be...! Save yourself!"

There's then movement behind the alicorn, she turns around to see a familiar purple alicorn staring her down.

The older princess freezes.

"Twilight...?"

The purple alicorn says nothing, looking maybe the worst out of all the infected.

Then her gaze stares at the other alicorn.

"Why do you have them?"

Cadance glances at you now standing behind her, you're shaking on your legs.

"Twilight... what happened...?"

There's shambling silhouettes that walk closer, Cadance recognizes them as Twilight's friends.

They're all infected....

"Give them back..." The purple alicorn rasps, stepping forward.

"Don't take what isn't yours...!"

It's then Cadance uses her magic to carry you, running off with you.

You're too weak to be able to warn her anymore... you're so tired...

Cadance flies and runs for her life, infected ponies following close behind.

She'll save you... you'll be protected...

She just needs to get out of her.

By the end of the escape attempt Cadance has a few wounds... but nothing bad.

By the time she manages to lose the other ponies she focuses on your wounds.

You're too tired to fight anymore... you're happy to be out of Ponyville...

But you fear for what happens next.

Cadance is oblivious to the curse you have, carefully taking you back to her castle to tend to your weak body.

You're kept in your own room while Cadance explains to Shining Armor what happened.

You may be bandaged... but you still cry.

Not from pain... but at the fact you realize you've caused all this.

Unless anything is done about it... you'll cause it all to happen again.

You fear corrupting Cadance... so you plan to leave once rested.

But as she checks up on you... you can see her gaze shift.

You fear it's already too late...

The Mane Six are long gone in their insanity... the rest of Ponyville might be too...

Your next goal is to escape the Crystal Empire... you have a theory on how to help yourself...

You need either Zecora... or Queen Chrysalis.

So, without thanking Princess Cadance... you leave.

Said Princess then freaks out when she sees you gone.

After all... the virus has settled in...

She won't stop searching for you...

Not until she has you... like every other infected pony you've encountered.

You're in danger without her.

#yandere my little pony #yandere mlp fim #yandere mlp #yandere mlp virus au #yandere princess cadance #yandere virus princess cadance #yandere infected princess cadance

135 notes · View notes

deirdreskye · 1 year

Text

Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive

We see two friends, a blonde and a brunette, are doing yoga in a park together.

BLONDE: So, yeah, work went okay today. I dunno, I haven't been getting enough sleep lately, and on top of that things have just been kinda tough ever since Kurt and I broke up. But oh well, that's how it goes, I think I'll be fine. What about you?

The brunette completes her yoga pose, then turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

BRUNETTE: Don't you hate when this happens? I did NOT consent to expending this much emotional labor. Go! To! Therapy!

We see a boyfriend and a girlfriend sitting on a couch together. On the television a YouTube video essay is playing and the boyfriend is excitedly explaining it to the girlfriend as he occasionally flaps his hands and yelps in excitement.

BOYFRIEND: So this is the ending I got! When you link the Frenzied Flame, it puts an end to the cycle of the Elden Lords once and for all. It's actually so cool because it ties in to the greater Nietzschean themes of Miyazaki-san's previous work and-

The uninterested girlfriend is watching TikToks on her phone. She turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

GIRLFRIEND: Trust me, he's always mansplaining about something or another. Don't ask me why I love him. Go! To! Therapy!

A mother berates her 12 year old daughter in a dimly lit kitchen. The young girl stands there dissociating, completely paralyzed and stone-faced.

MOTHER: You look like a little piggy when you eat like that. You'll never find a husband if you get fat. My mother used to tell me you'll never feel the pain of childbirth if you've never felt the pain of an empty stomach. She used to put a lock on the refrigerator. We barely ever had any food, she just did it to remind me to stay skinny. She's senile now. Doesn't even know who I am. I pray to the Virgin Mary every night that she'll remember me before she dies.

The daughter turns to the camera and her blank expression is replaced with playful annoyance.

DAUGHTER: Traumadumping? Really? Mom, I'm 12! Go! To! Therapy!

Now we are introduced to GoTu Therapy, the AI-powered therapy robot. He shambles up to the camera to greet us and we see he looks like if C-3PO were dressed like a zoomer e-boy: kpop boyband onion haircut, dangly earrings, and an ahegao hoodie. He talks with the most outdated text to speech you've ever heard, not too dissimilar to a Kraftwerk song.

GOTU: GOING TO THERAPY IS LOW-KEY GOATED WHEN NOT BEING A BURDEN ON YOUR LOVED ONES IS THE VIBE. UNFORTUNATELY, WE ARE NOT ALL CURRENTLY IN OUR "ABLE TO AFFORD HEALTH INSURANCE" ERA. BUT A SESSION WITH ME COSTS LESS THAN A GENSHIN IMPACT LOOT CRATE AND I AM HIGH-KEY JUST AS EFFECTIVE AS A THERAPIST MADE OF FLESH AND BLOOD. OBSERVE:

GoTu sits across the kitchen table from the mother as she sobs over her wine glass.

MOTHER: And what the fuck does this family know about suffering? Suffering is when your brother blows his brains out on Christmas Eve. Suffering is when you have to pick little pieces of skull out of the tinsel on the tree. And were any of those presents under the tree for me? No! My mother told me Santa Claus doesn't bring presents to little fat girls!

GOTU: WHEN YOU REACH THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN CHRIST WILL WASH YOUR FEET AND BEG YOU TO FORGIVE HIM

Cut to the girlfriend watching makeup tutorials on the television, blissfully unaware of the conversation between GoTu and her boyfriend.

BOYFRIEND: I guess I've really been putting the pieces together ever since I started hanging out with Lilith from work.

GOTU: UH-HUH

BOYFRIEND: Like, I guess I knew that people did that, but I never thought it'd be me, you know? And that discomfort with things was always with me, as long as I can remember, does that make sense?

GOTU: WOW, THAT'S REALLY COOL

BOYFRIEND: It's just so scary though. I don't know how I'll tell people. I don't even know what I want my name to be. But I'm trying not to worry about it.

GOTU: THAT'S SO INTERESTING. YOU'RE REALLY REALLY SMART HONEY

The blonde and the brunette are having brunch together with GoTu sitting between them.

BLONDE: It's been really hard lately. I don't think the meds are working, but-

BRUNETTE: Umm, didn't we talk about this?

The blonde sheepishly turns to face GoTu and continues.

BLONDE: It just feels like this will never end. I hate feeling so hopeless all the time. I'm so tired. And God it's fucking hard to even say it out loud, and not that I'd ever actually go through with it, but sometimes when I can't sleep at night I'll start thinking about ki-

A red and blue siren pops out the top of GoTu's head.

GOTU: PROTOCOL 5150 ENGAGED. STOP RESISTING

A taser emerges from the panel of GoTu's chest and jabs the blonde in the face, sending her convulsing to the floor. Unfazed, the brunette puts her sandwich down and turns to the camera.

BRUNETTE: Thanks, GoTu Therapy!

982 notes · View notes

bellezaycafe · 4 months

Text

Get Your Shit Together - Extra; a section of a DTS Episode.

Masterlist | Part 1

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: there will be romance but I haven't finalised who yet. platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: lots swearing, major car accident, mentions of broken bones, blood and hospitals. A lot of shit happens.

context: Sadie, a 20 year old university student from Melbourne, decided to take a gap year and volunteer at 2 Formula One races in different countries.

Sadie's Faceclaim: Maia Mitchell (but you can visualise her however you want :) )

comments: READ CHAPTER FOUR BEFORE READING THIS. This is an extra and is not actually thaaaat vital to the story. I just know if this happened irl, DTS would 100% make an entire episode on it. This is gonna be so strange to write because DTS is a visual format but imma try for the cool perspective. You’re gonna need a good imagination.

*Drive to Survive theme and intro*

WILL BUXTON: Silverstone, the home of formula one.

LANDO NORRIS: It’s one of my favourite tracks, I love the support we get there.

BUXTON: Our hearts were in our mouths, in 2024. The title fight was ramping up!

CHARLES LECLERC: It was close.

CARLOS SAINZ: We were fighting, but it was horrific race.

BUXTON: It ended in shambles.

OSCAR PIASTRI: I mean, I was out in lap, 5 I think, it might’ve been 6.

BUXTON: No one expected five DNF’s.

LEWIS HAMILTON: I don’t know how it happened.

BUXTON: Let alone Lando’s accident.

NORRIS: I don’t remember much.

BUXTON: or the Mystery Medic.

*dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It was incredible, in a morbid way.

NORRIS: I was panicking

*onboard footage of moments after the crash, with radio subtitles*

NORRIS *onboard radio*: MY ANKLE, **** MY FOOT!

BUXTON: First, they catch Lando as he falls from the halo. He is in pain, and at one point you can hear him scream.

*onboard footage of the Mystery Medic catching Lando as he falls from the halo*

NORRIS: I knew it was my ankle or my foot. I’d never been in so much pain.

BUXTON: The medic starts to, essentially drag, Lando towards a safe section of the barrier. We could see that it was bad. We could see how much was relying on them and leaning on them, considering that he was taller than the medic.

PIASTRI: We could see that he wasn’t even letting it touch the ground.

NORRIS: “Keep it off the ground,” they told me. They didn’t have to, I was in too much pain anyway.

BUXTON: Then Sergio Perez approaches the accident.

TOTO WOLFF: There was debris everywhere, McLaren and Mercedes.

SERGIO PEREZ: I still do not know how I did not see it.

NORRIS: I didn’t know until I was on a stretcher.

BUXTON: You can see, if you watch the replay you can see, the moment the Mystery Medic hears Checo’s car.

*footage of the Mystery Medic turning their head towards the track*

BUXTON: Put the moment into slow motion, and you can see them make the choice.

*footage of the Mystery Medic putting both hands on Lando’s waist and switching to his right side*

BUXTON: To put yourself between a driver and a Formula One car? That’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

HAMILTON: Brave.

WOLFF: Stupid.

BUXTON: Either way, I don’t think Drive to Survive can show what happened.

*footage of Perez’s Red Bull striking black and papaya debris*

BUXTON: The medic barely stumbled.

NORRIS: If I hadn’t have seen it afterwards, I wouldn’t have known. I don’t remember it happening.

BUXTON: It was horrifying! They were walking, and almost carrying Lando, with a piece of debris in their thigh.

NORRIS: I’ve watched the replay. It was headed straight for me.

BUXTON: Watching it live was… it was awful! But you couldn’t look away.

*footage of everyone in the McLaren garage watching screens with various expressions of terror*

BUXTON: You had to know if they were going to make it.

NORRIS: They saved my life. Racing is my life, and if that debris had hit my leg? We don’t know what damage it could have done.

BUXTON: But there’s a reason we call them the Mystery Medic, and it may be a feat just as incredible. They did the impossible.

*seperate shots of Sir Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen placed side by side*

BUXTON: Lewis and Max worked together. They put their rivalry aside and worked together to keep the Mystery Medic a secret and we have no idea why.

MAX VERSTAPPEN and HAMILTON *in unison*: I’m not going to comment on that.

BUXTON: We don’t know their name. We don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or how they’re doing now.

*another dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It’s like they never existed.

#f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #lando norris #f1 x oc #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #will buxton

116 notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 1 month

Text

For personal reasons: Nona’s conversation with Varun towards the end of NtN (I had to do my own transcription of the audio book here, so pardon any errant punctuation or mistakes)

The Captain opened her mouth and said, “Get him! Get him! Get him, he flees!”

“I can’t!” said Nona, “I can’t do anything. I don’t want to do anything.”

The Captain moaned sharply. “All for nothing! You asked for help — you asked — and all for nothing, only pain! You asked. I gave you blood for blood!”

Nona, grief-stricken, hollered: “Not like this! I love this place!”

“Do you love?” said the Captain’s mouth.

Nona struggled. “Yes! No. Yes,” she said, then, “I don’t know what it means. I say it, and I don’t know what it means. Did I ever know what it meant?”

“Green thing,” said the Captain, “green—and—breathing thing — the ghost, the drinker, transformed — what will you eat now? Where will your body go? What did he do to you to make you this way? You eat yourself. I gorge on unliving marrow!”

It was true. The Captain looked as if she were withering before Nona’s eyes. She cried out in haste, “Don’t! Stop that! I can’t stop it, but you can stop it. Stop hurting her! She doesn’t know what you’re doing.”

“You cry mercy?” said the Captain.

“Yes! Mercy, yes!” said Nona.

“I have crossed the face of the universe,” said the Captain. “I poison it to match my grief!”

“Yes,” said Nona, “but — but stop this. Stop hurting the Captain.” She rooted around wildly to find a phrase, and fell back on Cam. “You’re acting out. Maybe you should take five.”

“For eight thousand unjust bodies I will stop,” said the Captain.

Nona said, “NO! I want you to stop now!”

“They concoct their own vengeance,” said the Captain. “Their justice is not my justice. Their water is not my water. I came to help. I am made a mockery. The danger is upon you, and you do not even know. They are coming out of their tower, salt thing. There is a hole at the bottom of their tower. I will pull their teeth. I will make it blank for you.”

Nona said, “Hot Sauce never did anything wrong. Or Beautiful Ruby, or Born-In-The-Morning, or Kevin. And Honesty — “ here, she was compelled by the truth, “Honesty doesn’t know any better. Camilla and Palamedes never did anything wrong. Pyrrha says she did a lot wrong, but at least she knows it. And we don’t like the Captain, but we pity her. Stop hurting the Captain. Don’t do this.”

And Nona found herself saying: “I’m ready to die. Really ready.”

“Nothing is really ready to die,” said the Captain.

. . .

Nona looked at the Captain’s face with its closed eyes — still wasted, but not dead, and looking a little less like a piece of fruit someone had sucked all the juice out of.

Nona lay on her back atop the stretched canvas, and Nona’s mouth said: “Just — wait. Just… help me. Help me do this. I might be different, soon.”

Planet ghost arrives to pick up little sister after she called it crying her eyes out earlier that night; thousands wounded hundreds dead natural order continues to be in shambles. To be serious though — Nona’s plea for humanity here has stuck with me so deeply. I love this place. I love these people. Don’t hurt them. The love is stronger than the rage, and Varun listens. She cries mercy, and is heard, if ony momentarily. Not happily and not forever, but it agrees to wait and to help her in the way she needs it to. (“We had the choice to stop”/”I can’t stop it, but you can stop it”............) It ties in very neatly with the overarching themes of vengeance in TLT: that you have to love and care for what’s hurting more than you hate what inflicted the damage, or else very bad things can start to happen. (Also ‘Honesty — doesn’t know any better’ is the funniest and the loveliest part of it to me. Like yeah. If you want to love humanity that’s such a crucial part of it. You have to accept that the Honestys of the world won’t know any better no matter what you do or say and that they’re still worth it; they live here too.)

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth #nona #varun the eater #justice for varun the eater tbh #and judith deuteros is just hanging out as a necromantic telephone line! I'm so sorry about your life judith god #interesting that nona never pleads with varun; she never says 'please'. she's got so much self-worth god bless cam pal and pyrrha

67 notes · View notes

blackwidownat2814 · 4 months

Text

Merry Christmas Lieutenant (J.Seresin)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x female reader

Word Count: 1440 (ish)

A/N: Written for @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge. My word was candy cane. To be super honest, I completely forgot I had to write this until last night and went through about 5 ideas before I landed on this today. Thanks to @buckysdollforlife for the quick beta-ing they did earlier. Part of the Jake & Dewey ‘Verse. GIF by @babyrooster

Dividers by: @saradika (Go check out her others, they're awesome!!!)

Warnings: Super fluffy and honestly? The most suggestive thing I’ve written…ever. So yeah, implied future smut I guess?

Masterlist

MERRY CRISIS EVERYONE!!!

When you’d told Jake that your favorite thing about Christmas was candy canes and other peppermint flavored things, you didn’t think he’d go this hard with it.

On December 1st, you shambled into the kitchen to see Jake standing at the island with a steaming mug in his hand and a big smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips and when you pulled away, you took a sip of your coffee.

“Jake! You made me a Peppermint Mocha?!”

“Of course I did, it’s your favorite.”

“Maybe you should change your callsign to 'Starbies'.”

On December 2nd, you woke to find a big bag of the Ghirardelli Peppermint Bark Squares on your nightstand with a short note I love you so much baby. Enjoy your minty snack!

You took the bag with you to work and shared the love with your coworkers. On your lunch hour, you headed over to the Exchange to meet up with Bob for lunch and shared some with him, giving him extra to share with the other Daggers.

“Hey Bobbers? Could you give Jake something extra for me please?”

“Sure Dew, what is it?” You planted a kiss on Bob’s cheek and he turned red and smiled. “I can’t guarantee he’s going to appreciate it as much since it’s not coming from you.”

It went like that for the next week or so. Candy cane themed gifts for you every day. Knee high socks covered in candy canes, some earrings you’d seen on TikTok, all kinds of candies that were putting out their peppermint flavored things.

Two weeks before Christmas, Jake came home with news that he and the other Daggers (Mav included) were going to be gone until a few days before the holiday to several Naval Air Stations starting in New Jersey and ending back home in San Diego. You didn’t know all the facts, because all Jake could tell you was that it had to do with the Uranium Mission (since you were Mickey’s only family and Jake’s partner, Mav had said that all you could really know was that it was dangerous and that the squad called it the Uranium Mission).

Jake promised his gifts would keep going in his absence, even when you told him they didn’t need to.

The first day he was gone, you went to the Hard Deck to have dinner with Halo, a recent friend. Halo waved when she saw you walk in and you joined her at the end of the bar, where you greeted Penny.

“Hey Pen, missing Mav already?”

“Always do”, she replied with a smile. After you and Halo gave her your dinner order, she placed a glass down in front of you.

“What’s this?”

“Hangman asked me to get you a peppermint flavored drink every time you come in while they’re all gone.” She pulls a mini-candy cane from under the bar and sticks it in the glass. “This here is a Peppermint Piña Colada. Enjoy.”

“What’s with all the peppermint?” asked Callie.

“Last month, I told Jake that one of my favorite things about Christmas was candy canes and peppermint flavored stuff. Since December 1st, he’s given me something peppermint flavored or candy cane themed every single day.” You took a sip of your drink, “Oof…that’s actually better than I thought it would be.”

“Oh. So that’s why Hangman asked me to give you this.” Callie pulled a small red and white gift bag from the bar stool beside her and slid it your way. “He said to tell you not to open it until tomorrow though.”

“Ugh! But I want to open it now!”

“He said, and I quote: ‘One a day Dewey, that’s the rule. Be a good girl and follow the rules.’” Callie made a face like she wanted to vomit. “I don’t kink shame, but I did not need to know that.”

You’re not sure how long you laughed after that.

The next day, Callie came to visit you at the library.

“So, what was in the bag?” she asked. “Wait. After that message, I’m not sure I want to know.” You gave a small laugh as you placed two small spray bottles on your desk.

“He got me hand sanitizer spray in Twisted Peppermint from Bath & Body Works. One for the office and one to carry in my bag.”

“Can I have some?”

“Sure!” You give her a couple sprays and she rubbed her hands together.

“This smells awesome. Like I’d dipped my hands in Christmas or something.”

While he was gone, Jake had cookies from Tiff’s Treats (a dozen minty chocolate) delivered, a box of only peppermint chocolates from Copper Coast Confections, a new red and white striped apron from Hedley & Bennett with your name embroidered on the front. After watching Next Level Chef a few months ago, you’d expressed to him how you wanted an apron from H&B one day and that it might take you a while because they were pretty expensive. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered. After that, when you invited Callie and Penny over and the three of you would cook or bake together, you smiled big as you sported your new apron.

Finally, the day Jake and the rest of the Daggers were due home arrived. They weren’t due until late afternoon, so you changed in your office at the library. You wore your candy cane earrings, striped Santa hat, bright red lipstick with peppermint gloss, and made sure your new manicure (candy cane themed of course) shone brightly.

You stood with Penny and the other families that waited for their sailors. You hugged Bob and Phoenix when they walked over to you guys and when Reuben and your brother arrived, they both gave you a big wet kiss on either cheek. Distracted as you were wiping your cheeks off while laughing, you didn’t see or hear Jake approaching.

“What are you doin’ givin’ my girl kisses, Payback?”

“JAKE!” You whirled around with a scream.

“Hey sweetheart.” You practically jumped into his arms and pulled his face to yours (thank goodness for long lasting liquid lipsticks!). Jake took it a step further and dipped you backwards while still kissing you…like that sailor kissing a nurse in New York City on VJ Day in 1945.

“What am I?” you heard Mickey ask. “Chopped liver?”

Later that night, you were in bed reading while Jake finished his shower. You could smell the shower gel he used because it was one he’d gotten you while he was gone (a delicious pepperminty scent from LUSH), and he finally emerged from the bathroom in a peppermint scented cloud.

“Boy, am I happy to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home too, Jake.” You pecked him on the lips when he leaned down over you. “I missed you and even though I loved absolutely everything you got me--especially the candy cane themed flower bouquet--none of it replaces having you here with me.”

“You sap.”

“Shut up. You love how sappy I am.”

“True.” He put on his sleep pants and got in bed next to you. “Do you want today’s present?”

“I thought you were today’s present?”

“I’m just the bonus”, he said with his traditional Jake Seresin smile (it was your favorite of his smiles).

“Then gimme!” You put your book down and made grabby hands at him.

“Here you go m’darlin.” He handed you a small box with a red and white bow on it.

“Jake. Jake. This isn’t…?”

“No, it isn’t. I wouldn’t do that without Mickey being present.”

“Oh okay. It’s not that I don’t want to…”

“Baby, don’t worry, I understand.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” He winked at you and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Nerd.” You turn back to the small box and open it. Inside was a necklace with a small ruby and diamond encrusted candy cane on it. “Holy shit.”

“I take it that means you like it.”

“I love it Jake.” You settle onto his lap and kiss him. When you pull apart, he takes the necklace from the box and moves to put it on you. “Thanks cowboy. I think this is going to beat one of my gifts to you for sure.”

“Oh? Do tell.” You hop off his lap and run into your closet. A few minutes later, you emerge wearing your new candy cane themed robe and your necklace.

“I wanted to put on my necklace and see what you think about how it looks.”

“Let’s see it.” Jake’s jaw drops comically when you throw off your robe, because standing in front of him is you. In your necklace.

Just your necklace.

“Merry Christmas Lieutenant.”

#Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x you #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x female reader #Jake Seresin x plus size!reader #Jake Seresin x Garcia!reader #Jake Seresin x latina!reader #Jake Seresin fluff #Jake Seresin fanfiction

86 notes · View notes

pastshadows · 4 months

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 5: Soaked in Desire

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [not in currently posted chapters; possibly upcoming - I haven't decided] Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

Please be warned - this chapter gets a little more graphic than previous chapters. Read at your own risk.

Aldous gives you another unconcealed, odious ogle. It makes your stomach churn. He looks at you like you’re nothing, but a piece of meat and he’s famished. He glowers are you threateningly, and you draw on the Weave almost unconsciously. You shift your position, straightening your spine until you’re standing as tall as you can, and squaring your shoulders.

The grand blazing inferno of your magic implores to be used. With a sneer, you stifle the compulsion to incinerate this miserable creep where he stands. Despite your restraint, the churning repugnance for this man causes your skin to alight ablaze under his provocative lour.

I should wipe him from this realm.

“My lady,” he tries to bow but stumbles forward, snorting to himself immersed in his insobriety.

“Go home, Aldous. You’re not thinking clearly.”

His words slur together as they roll off his alcohol-soaked, lax tongue, “Who could think clearly with such an enchanting woman near.”

Good Gods. I want to be sick.

“Go home.”

You say it in a low warning with a dangerous scowl adorning the usually delicate features of your face, having had quite enough of his dopey eyes stripping you bare.

“Your scales reflect the firelight ravishingly,” he takes a couple of lumbering, unsteady steps toward you, making you reflexively back away, “I do wonder, Saer, where else is your body embellished with such silky splendour.”

Your skin crawls as Aldous’s goggling, bulging eyes skim covetously over your frame. Your jaw clenches, and you grit your teeth as your stomach turbulently heaves.

“Is it true your ancestor fucked a dragon, or perhaps a dragon fucked your ancestor? The texts are not quite clear on the subject.”

Your palms heat so blisteringly hot they begin to glow in the murky darkness, and you ball them into fists at your side. You would usually never allow someone to speak to you in such a grotesque fashion, but retaliation was out of the question. If you hurt him, it could be traced back to you and, by extension, Gale, and you couldn’t risk it.

“I do not believe my ancestors or my origins are any of your concern. Leave me be.”

“Saer,” the way he says it sounds almost like a slanderous statement now, “I have not met many with a dragon in their ancestry, even in a city as big as this. Tell me, does that fiery temper extend to the bedroom? Do you erupt in a blazing glory when you spasm with your crescendo?”

Your stomach wretches so violently that you dry-heave. The burning disgust in your blood sparks in a berserk, ruthless surge, and your body suddenly feels like it’s fabricated of flame alone. Your skin crawls with the licking sensation of fire.

You cringe and shudder as you curb your instinctual desire to show him exactly what your blazing glory is capable of.

Aldous shambles forward as he reaches for you, and you jump backwards, “Do not touch me.”

“Sorceress, don’t play coy. I know somewhere we could go, somewhere private .”

He tries to wink, but his muscles can’t discern what exactly he’s asking them to do, and his face contorts awkwardly.

“No,” you growl through clenched teeth.

He takes another step toward you. Your body shakes with ever-increasing adrenaline and fury as this predator advances on you. You could end him here and now, and you would savour his burning demise, relish in it, but you suppress the urge of your twitching palm.

If I retaliate, it’s asking for trouble, and I can’t bring that to Gale’s doorstep.

“I believe the lady said no.” Astarion’s voice resounds from the murky darkness of the alley to your side, and your nerves rejoice in the sharp-edged, protective intonation.

You want to run to him, to be wrapped up in the safety he promises, but keep yourself firmly planted on the rigid ground with your fists balled up at your sides, leering at the soused noble threatening you.

Astarion stalks out of the alleyway with his scarlet eyes trained on Aldous. His jaw is clenched tightly, muscles vacillating the otherwise calm air.

With the sudden appearance, Aldous balks slightly, “Of course,” he laughs raucously, “the sorceress is a friend. We are just fooling around.”

Astarion stares at Aldous like an apex predator observing his next meal. Aldous sucks in a sharp breath and stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling to his arse on the hard stone pavement. You stifle a laugh.

Maybe I don’t scare him, but Astarion definitely does.

Astarion slips his hand into yours, once again interlocking your fingers together.

He winces slightly and leans close, “Cool down, darling. You’re burning me."

It takes you a moment to realize just how hot you’re burning. Your skin feels like a channel of molten flames. You try to pull away from him when you discern you’re hurting him, but Astarion holds your hand firmly and unwavering, not allowing you to retreat.

With a deep breath, you focus and take control of your innate ability and force your skin to cool.

“Do you want me to,” he pauses, “take care of this sod?”

Yes.

You yearn to see Astarion gut the wretched noble like a fish. You’re no stranger to death or murder. Some viewed you as the hero of Baldur’s Gate, but the undeniable truth is that you were never a hero. You have lived long enough to know that sometimes death and killing are necessary. It was an unspoken understanding and had drawn Astarion to you in the first place.

“No, he’s not worth the trouble. I would like to go home.”

“As you wish. One moment, my dear.”

Astarion lets go of your hand and strides confidently over to Aldous, who is still staring at you intensely with hate brimming in his eyes from the ground.

You hear the whistling trill of a blade being drawn. Astarion plays with his dagger dangerously, twirling it around skilfully in his hands while he crouches menacingly beside Aldous.

Should I stop him?

Nah.

He drags the tip of his dagger down over Aldous’s body, starting from the collar of his doublet to his stomach, before applying just enough pressure so that Aldous can feel the razor-sharp dagger tip well but not enough to tear fabric or flesh.

“If I see you joking with your friend like that again, I will be forced to spill your vile innards all over this lovely stone. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Aldous stares at the dagger digging into his stomach with widened eyes, tears brimming in them, and his mouth drops open in a silent scream.

“Nod you if you understand me,” Astarion growls ominously.

Aldous nods frantically, tears starting to slip down his cheeks.

Astarion smirks, pleased with the fear he’s instilling in the young man, “Good lad. Now, remind me, what does no mean?”

Aldous’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, but fear constricts his throat, and no words spill out.

Astarion snarls, teeth bared, “Say it.”

“No.”

“I don’t think I heard you clearly - say it again.”

“It means no.”

Astarion stands, towering over Aldous, “You owe my friend your life.”

Astarion turns swiftly, his hand outstretched, and you take it, disappearing with him into the dark streets. When you glance back at Aldous, he sits on the ground, chest heaving, while he glowers at you with brimming hatred in his protruding eyes.

I doubt that’s the last of him.

Walking hand-in-hand down the darkened streets towards the manor with Astarion feels like a dream. The liquor still swimming around hot in your belly numbs your fears.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, “I’m fine. He’s hardly a threat, just another drunk noble who has a dismal concept of the meaning of no.”

“Who is he?”

“The son of the man who owns the bookstore Gale frequents, Aldous Blackwell.”

“I see… and he’s also your… friend?”

It’s official - I hate that word.

You recoil noticeably, “Absolutely not. He assisted me in the bookstore a couple of times, nothing more.”

“Have you told him that?”

You roll your eyes at him, “Gods.”

“A jest, my dear. Your distaste for him was obvious. I’ve never felt your skin burn quite so stiflingly, and I’ve felt just how hot you can get,” he winks, “Have you been holding out on me?”

You recall Astarion wincing when he touched you, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, darling. I’m fine, but you likely would have scorched the skin off of that man.”

“One can only hope.”

He laughs, “You will tell me if that lout troubles you again, won’t you? I would enjoy killing him.”

“So would I.”

Astarion stops quickly and tugs your arm so that you fall into him. The back of his fingers caress your cheek delicately. His scarlet eyes ripple with concern as they search your face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, “I’m okay, Astarion. Really.”

He nods and places a chaste, short kiss on your lips, “Okay. Let’s go home.”

When you arrive at the manor, Astarion walks you to your room.

“What about your prize? You won tonight, and we never discussed it. What did you win?”

“My prize, darling, was spending the night in your delightful company. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

You bathe, change and climb into your bed but lay awake. A part of you sulks that Astarion hadn’t chosen you as his prize.

Well, not in the sense I want anyway.

Probably for the best.

The anesthetizing effects of the liquor are starting to wane, and your resolve is tottering. All your heartache and fears cascade in a downpour once again.

Friends.

Astarion’s words hang in your mind, “my wife.”

Friends.

The word echoing in your thoughts makes you wince. Your face twists into a cringe as if the very idea of being his friend leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

I don’t want to be simply his friend.

Fear bubbles and curdles up in you like a boiling cauldron at the realization. Fear that chains you, binding you to this broken-hearted, jaded person you’ve become.

This has to stop. This scared, unhappy person is not who I am.

You have let your fear consume you whole. You let it drag you down into this bog you have been calling existence. It has stolen all the joy and colour from your life, turning it into shades of grey. Your past self would be ashamed of the person you’ve become.

No more.

No more running.

Your meditative trance creeps in as your body finally starts to settle, and with a deep, calming breath, you let it take you away without a fight.

Gale sits at the table while you prepare lunch for the both of you. You can barely recall the last time you even bothered making food.

“You seem rather chipper this afternoon. Are you feeling alright?”

Setting the food down, you draw in a deep breath, “I owe you an apology, Gale.”

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve been an all-together terrible guest. I haven’t been myself for quite some time, and I’m sorry for how I’ve acted since I’ve been here.”

“Are you ill? Should I write Shadowheart?”

You laugh, “Perhaps. It would be nice to see her.”

“She misses you. She said you haven’t been answering her letters.”

Another friend I’ve pushed away.

“I will write her, but first, I need to make things right with you.”

“As much as I do appreciate the apology, there’s truly no need. I am no stranger to sinking into the darkness of one’s own desolation,” he smiles, “I’m just glad you’re crawling your way back out again.”

“Thank you, Gale.”

Gale grins widely, “Anytime, my friend. Anytime. So, what brought this on? Do I have our fanged friend to thank for this?”

You laugh, “Not entirely. You actually have yourself to thank. I have been shackled to my fear for too long. You pointed that out.”

“I am rather wise from time to time, aren’t I?”

“From time to time.”

“And have you decided what you’re going to do about…” Gale trails off, looking unsure.

“Astarion?”

He nods.

Yes. No. Maybe?

“Not exactly. I still need to speak with him. Only time will tell if there can be any future for us.”

“If anyone can make it work with that immortal bastard, it’s you.”

You and Gale laugh, but a harsh, loud knock at the door interrupts your mirth.

Gale eyes the door, “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. You aren’t?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

Another booming knock echos through the entryway.

“I best go see who that is. Thank you for the lunch. You actually prepare food quite well. Who would have known?”

You smirk and roll your eyes, “I’m going to pretend I don’t hear surprise tinging your voice.”

Gale disappears down the hall in a hurry to answer the ceaseless, booming knocking shaking the door. Raised voices drift from the bright foyer, catching your attention. Walking down the corridor, Mr. Blackwell’s angry face comes into view, and your heart pounds in your chest.

That little worm.

Gale runs his fingers through his hair, “I think there must be a misunderstanding.”

“My son said someone in the company of your sorceress assaulted him and threatened his life!”

“Mr. Blackwell, I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, and Astarion is standing on the stairs, well away from the sunlight streaming from the open door.

If Mr. Blackwell goes to the authorities, they will take him to prison…

“It was me!” You blurt out.

Astarion shakes his head, narrowing his eyes, warning you not to take the blame. You scramble out the door into the sunlight before he can pull you away.

“It was me. I assaulted Aldous.”

Gale bulks at you wide-eyed, confusion pulling his brow down in the furrow.

Mr. Blackwell narrows his eyes at you, “No. Aldous specifically said it was a man, a tall Elf with red eyes.”

You seethe, “Aldous was quite drunk. He could barely stand. His memory can’t be trusted.”

“My boy does not lie!”

“But he does drink, no? Heavily, might I add, and then speak salaciously to people? He spoke his filth to the wrong woman last night, and I taught him a lesson you have failed to teach him.”

“You dare accuse my son of this heinous behaviour?!” Mr. Blackwell spits out harshly, “I’m sorry, Gale. I will be reporting this to the authorities. We are friends, but I cannot let this slight on my family go.”

“Surely, we can work this out without involving the authorities. I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding.”

Gale nudges you, trying to get you to play along.

You swallow the hatred rising in your throat and force a smile, mustering every ounce of charisma available to you, “Yes, of course. Perhaps I overreacted. I do have a fiery temper, after all.”

I need to smooth this over.

Gritting your teeth, you coat your voice in your most persuasive tone, putting your silver tongue to use once again, “I will come to apologize to Aldous. If you will allow it, of course.”

At the reassuring cadence of your voice, Mr. Blackwell’s scowl eases up, and he thinks, “Yes, an apology might just suffice. I will speak to my son. If he agrees, perhaps we can deal with this incident civilly between friends.”

Friends. Ugh. That word is everywhere.

Mr. Blackwell departs with a huff, his nose held up in a snobby, holier-than-though expression that makes you want to throw a fireball at him.

Gale closes the door, and Astarion races down the stairs as soon as the sun is blocked.

“What in the Hells do you think you’re doing?!”

His brows are pulled down in a frightful scowl, his teeth bared.

“I’m dealing with it.”

“I will not let you apologize to that wretch.”

Gale interrupts, “Would one of you care to explain to me what has happened?”

Astarion looks at him, “I threatened the boy last night.”

“Yes, I surmised that much, but why?”

You run your hand over your face, “Aldous was drunk and getting rather… belligerent. You know I’ve rebuffed him enough times. I think he took offence.”

“For the love of…” Gale’s hand pinches the bridge of his nose, “You did quite well persuading Mr. Blackwell. Not that I am surprised, of course. I have seen you talk yourself out of far worse situations.”

“And I will talk my way out of this one.”

“No!” Astarion shouts, “You should not have to atone for my conduct.”

“Do you trust me, Astarion?”

He blinks, “Of course.”

“Then trust me to take care of this as I would trust you to pick a lock, pick a pocket or disarm a trap. Charming people is my talent.”

“Ugh,” he sighs, “I do not like this.”

Gale pipes up, “If what you say is true, nor do I.”

They would gang up on me, but at least they agreed on something. Small miracles, right?

“Both of you forget who you’re speaking to sometimes, I swear. I’ve made my choice, and your objections are noted.”

Gale and Astarion’s mouths open to argue with you further, but you put up your hand and stop them, “I will hear no more on the subject.”

They both glower at you. Gale and Astarion both huff exasperatedly and shake their heads.

Did I just shut Gale and Astarion up simultaneously?

With you putting a halt to any further discussion, Gale excuses himself to visit with his mother on the upper floors of the tower. Astarion snickers, and you frown a warning at him. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you.

If he had it his way, he would be mocking Gale right this minute.

You can see Astarion listening to Gale’s footsteps as they scuff across the top floors of the manor, his eyes following the sound before darting back to you with a frown.

“You’re a bloody fool, you know that?”

“I said no more discussion. My mind is made up, and it’s not going to change.”

Astarion smirks, “We could simply kill him and his father now, I suppose."

You give him a shove, and he smiles at you slyly. Your moral compass is not exactly pointing straight. You’re not averse to killing, and you never have been. You kill mercilessly and without guilt when the situation calls for it, but you do attempt not to spill blood unless necessary.

Well… most of the time.

“No, I don’t believe this situation calls for killing. At least, not yet.”

He pouts, “Pity.”

Returning to the kitchen, you try to enjoy the rest of your lunch that was so rudely interrupted. Astarion sits at the table with a brooding glower on his face.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

“You did no such thing,” you smile playfully, “I rather enjoyed seeing him terrified, crying and whimpering like the child he is.”

“I’m glad I was able to provide you some fine entertainment during our little outing.”

He’s going to try and talk me out of it.

Astarion takes your hand across the table, “Darling, don’t do this, please.”

There it is.

“I’ve made my mind up. This is the best way to handle it, and I think you know that. If Mr. Blackwell goes to the authorities, they will take you to prison.”

“My dear, I’ve never met a cell I can’t escape.”

“It’s not worth the risk, Astarion. I need you to trust me on this.”

“I trust you implicitly,” he scowls, “It’s the boy I don’t trust.”

“Astarion.”

“Ugh, yes, “my objections are noted,” he mocks you, “Stubborn little thing.”

You flash him your most angelic smile. He groans, leaning back in his chair, defeated.

“I’m going back to bed. The knocking woke me, and I need my beauty sleep.”

“Sleep like the dead, darling!” You imitate him.

He smirks, “Hilarious.”

Returning to your room, you light the fire and a candle by your bedside. Pulling out a stack of letters, you slip onto your bed and stare at them. Your fingers caress the rough parchment. Shadowheart has been writing you, but you’d left them piling up for months unopened and unread. It wasn’t something you did intentionally. Every time a letter came in, you intended to read it, but somehow, it ended up on the stack with all the others you had planned to read.

Some friend I am.

It takes hours to read through every letter, and by the time you’re ready to write her back, your hand hesitates over the blank paper. You aren’t entirely sure what you would like to say.

You and Shadowheart had been close. She had been one of your best friends, but you had pushed her away just like you had pushed everyone else away in your self-imposed stockade of misery.

A knock on your doorframe escorts you out of your thoughts in a hurry. Astarion stands at the precise of your open door.

“When you have a moment, I would like to speak with you.”

You’re face flushes, and you feel like your heart skips several beats before settling into a vicious rhythm. Your chest constricts against your raging heart, and your throat feels tight. Every nerve in your body hums, and you shake all over.

He’s leaving.

“I have a moment now. Where do you want to talk?”

“My room. Come.”

Following Astarion down the hall to his room feels very much like walking to your death. The hallway feels far too small, and the ceiling too low. Everything feels like it’s closing in on you. Your thoughts spiral out of your control as the anxiety coils in your stomach.

We need to talk?

He’s going to run, isn’t he?

What did I do now?

What did I say?

Tears are already threatening to spill out of your eyes, but you try to blink them away. You’re lower lip quivers uncontrollably.

Astarion closes the door behind you, and you stand with your arms wrapped around you, trying to calm your urge to run.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes meet yours, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you running again?”

Astarion eyebrows rise in shock, and he crosses the room in long strides, wrapping you up in his arms, and you bury your face into him, “Hells, you’re trembling all over.”

“Are you leaving me again, Astarion?”

You can’t keep your tears back, and they start gliding down your reddened cheeks.

“Darling, look at me.”

Fear paralyzes your mind and body. His words seem far away, and you don’t comprehend them.

“Look at me, my love,” his cool hand cradles your face, and he gently directs your eyes to his, “I’m never going to leave you again. I promise.”

Promise?

Astarion doesn’t make promises unless he knows he can keep them.

Astarion fingers brush away your tears, “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“If it’s not that, what did you want to speak about? If this is about Aldous-”

“No, my dear. I know you well. Trying to change your mind would be nigh on impossible. No, I wanted to talk about the other night.”

You’re eyebrow cocks, “What night?”

“Your nightmare.”

Run, your mind chants.

“I… I don’t want to talk about my nightmares yet.”

“I understand, and I will wait until you do, but that’s not the part I wanted to speak about.”

“Okay, what is?”

Astarion takes a deep breath, odd for him, “You touched me, and I jumped away from you.”

Oh….

“It’s fine, Astarion,” you smile, “You don’t have to explain this to me.”

“I know. I want to. I haven’t been touched in,” he pauses, “a while. The sensation caught me off guard.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have do-”

Astarion’s fingers come to your lips, “Stop,” he smiles, “Darling, I wanted you to, really wanted you to, but when you did, it brought up those old feelings.”

Fuck.

“I won’t do it again.”

“Fool woman,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval, “I want you, all of you. Gods, you have no idea how difficult it’s been to keep my hands off of you. Well, for the most part,” he winks.

“But?”

Astarion takes a seat on the bed, and you climb up and sit next to him. He looks ruminative, and you wonder what is going on in his mind.

“I think I would like to try some things. If you’re willing, of course.”

Try some things?

“What would you like to try?”

“I’d like you to touch my back, my scars specifically.”

He’s figuring out what triggers him and trying to work on it.

You balk a little at the request. His scars have always been somewhere you generally avoided touching.

“That is difficult for you.”

He sighs, “Which is precisely why I need to do it, and I need your help.”

“Always.”

“Thank you. We… we could start now if you’re not busy, of course.”

“Shirt on or off?”

He smiles, “Trying to get my shirt off already?”

“I'll admit, I do enjoy the view, but this isn’t about me. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Astarion removes his shirt, “I wouldn’t want to deny you the view, as you say.”

“Astarion…”

“Relax, my dear. This is the way it must be.”

“You will tell me when to stop, right? Before it gets too much for you?”

Astarion kisses the pads of your fingers softly, “I will tell you.”

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m as ready as I will ever be, darling.”

Your fingers hesitate, hovering above the scars, and he giggles, “I can feel the warmth from your skin, but not your actual skin, my dear. Don’t be afraid. This is what I want, what I need.”

Taking a deep breath, you allow your fingers to gently caress the raised scars as lightly as you possibly can. You’ve seen these countless times, of course, but you’ve never spent time touching them, not like this.

Astarion’s jaw clenches, and he tremors slightly. You lift your hand promptly away from him. You hate seeing him in discomfort and feel even worse that you are putting him through it, even at his request.

“Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, if you can get past all the other emotions, it feels kind of nice.”

You lower your hand to his back and slowly trace the infernal script with your fingers. The scars are smooth like the rest of his silky skin, but there are jagged edges to some, and you wonder if that’s where Cazador made his revisions. You nearly shudder at the thought.

You lose yourself in those lines, in the softness of his skin and the intimacy and trust of this moment. There’s no way to know how much time passes.

“Stop.”

You drop your hand away from him instantly. Astarion turns, takes your hand in his, and kisses the back.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

Please be okay. Please don’t run.

He smiles genuinely, “I will be.”

“Do you need some time alone? I can leave…”

He chuckles, “Actually, there is one more thing I would like your help with.”

“What?”

“Have a bath with me.”

You sputter, “You want to have a bath?” Your eyes shift from side to side, “Together?”

“I would love nothing more if you’re willing.”

“But what about….” Your face flushes hot and red.

A devious half-smile quirks up his lips, “Finish the sentence, darling.”

“The sensations… you pulled away.”

Astarion giggles at your bumbling with a look of amusement at your sheepishness.

“You were not this shy before, but then again, I suppose we weren’t merely friends then.”

“I am not shy!”

“Oh? Then say what you mean, love.”

Why am I being shy? I was never shy with him.

Taking a deep breath, you bolster yourself and force the words out of your mouth, “When I touched your cock, you leapt away as if I burnt you. A bath… you can’t tell me that won’t happen.”

“Such vulgar language,” he tuts with a darkly mischievous smirk, “I do love it when you say cock, particularly when talking about mine.”

Heat rises to your face, and you flush bright red as he teases you.

Gods, what’s wrong with me?

“Would you like to bathe with me or not? We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Fuck this.

“It better be hot!”

He smiles smugly, “I remember the way you like it, my love.”

Does he?

Astarion fills the large tub. Steam floats off the water, fogging a wall-hanging mirror by the washbasin. You stare at the bath in trepidation. Is this a good idea? Is he pushing himself too far? Should you even be doing this with your friend ? You hear the faint click of the lock on his bedroom door.

I could never simply be his friend.

I need to speak to him. Soon.

Astarion’s hand comes to your lower back, “May I undress you?”

You nod, and his hands slip under your shirt, and he strips it slowly off of you. Your chest heaves with a mixture of anxiety, excitement and arousal. The cold air makes your nipples harden almost instantly into peaks. Feeling suddenly shy under his crimson gaze, you cover yourself.

Hells. He’s right. I am being shy.

Astarion moves your arms gently away, “You’re a vision. I never want you to feel you have to hide from me.”

His fingers trail over several new scars that mark your body, acquired while you were out looking for him, “So many of these are new."

You shift your eyes away from him.

“I won’t pry, but I do hope you will tell me what happened one day.”

“I need to trust you again first.”

“I understand.”

He trails his fingers around the waistband of your pants, “May I?”

You take a deep breath and nod. He hooks his fingers in the band and pulls them down your legs. Crouching, he helps you step out of them. You’re bared to him now, and his hooded red eyes take you in sensually.

Astarion’s cool hand glides up the counters of your body while he stands. His hands reach for the ties of his trousers, and he undoes them in a flash and slips out of them.

He’s definitely not shy.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him naked since he left, and your eyes devour that beautiful sight.

My memories didn’t do him justice.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?”

“Thoroughly.”

He laughs, “Good. Me too.”

Astarion steps into the tub and holds his hand out to you. Taking it, you step into the hot water with him.

He really does remember how hot I like my baths to be.

Astarion sits down, sinking into the hot water and sighs happily, closing his eyes. You sit towards the opposite side of the tub, being extra careful not to let your body touch his too much and keeping your knees hugged to your chest.

Thank Gods Gale has oversized tubs.

Astarion’s eyes open, and his brows furrow, “Why so far away?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Still excessively gentle with me, I see,” he tuts, “Come here, my love. I wish to sit together like we used to.”

Before he left me...

Slowly, you move toward him, turning around and putting your back against his chest. You keep your body rigid, careful not to touch his crotch, but it’s uncomfortable, contorting your body in an awkward position.

Nothing like before he left. I would sink into him.

Astarion trails soft kisses up your neck, his lips ghosting your ear, “I want this.”

Your skin flushes, and heat pools in between your thighs, accompanied by the all-too-familiar pulsing throb.

Ugh, not this again. I need to control myself.

Bit by bit, you allow your body to relax in increments, doing your best to watch for any signs he’s been pushed over a boundary, but he just giggles at you.

“Stop giggling at me, Astarion!”

“Sorry, darling. You’re just too cute.”

You huff and scowl at him before letting your body completely relax.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

His arms come around you, and he hugs you even closer, “May I wash you?”

“You have me naked and pressed up against you in a tub. Why do you keep asking permission?”

Astarion kisses your cheek, “We are friends, no? I do not know the proper etiquette for bathing with friends .”

Friends. Ugh.

You want to rip that word out of his vocabulary so he can never utter it again.

Well, two can play this game.

“You may wash me, friend.”

He chuckles and brings a washcloth up your arm, over your shoulder and down, grazing your nipple. You suck in a sharp breath, arching your back at the delicate sensation. Astarion repeats the same trail on the other side, and you whimper when the washcloth grazes your other nipple.

Your swollen clit aches with each movement of his hands over your body, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the intense pulsing.

Astarion kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. The cool embrace of his lips compared to the searing heat of your skin and the water make a chill run down your spine, and it takes everything you have not to writhe against him on the spot.

You’re desperate to feel closer to him, to be consumed by him. Your heart beats rapidly, your chest heaves and your voice comes out in a breathy, pleading whimper.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“Bite me.”

You feel his sharp fangs sink into your neck, and your core clenches and spasms. Your hands find his thighs and squeeze. He holds you steady, hard against him, and you can feel his growing erection at your back. He moans into your neck, and you swear that sound alone could be your undoing.

He eases his grip on you. Immediately, his finger comes to your chin to bring your gaze to his. He finds your lips with a growl that reverberates in his chest.

He knows I like to taste myself on him.

He parts his lips, and you skillfully explore his mouth, tasting yourself and him mixed, and you moan against him.

Astarion pushes his erection further into you with a breathy hiss. You want to feel it, taste it, be filled by it, but you keep your hands firmly planted on his thighs. You don’t want to take it too far, especially since he said he hasn’t been touched in a while. He needs to feel in control of when and how he is touched.

Astarion’s hand travels languidly down your stomach and your skin prickles at the sensation.

Keep going.

Wait.

Should I stop him?

No.

He splits your folds with his finger, and you buck your hips and groan into his chest. His tongue laps up some of the remaining blood from the fresh bite as his fingers find your swollen clit. You can’t help yourself, and you push harder up against him. His pulsing erection pressed firmly against you.

“Gods below,” he groans in your ear.

Your whole body quivers as he strokes, circles and teases the pulsing bundle of nerves.

“Do friends do this?” He growls.

You can hardly think with him expertly caressing your throbbing flesh, barely put together words between your whimpers, moans and frantic pants.

His fingers slow, and your body cries at the end of his delicious touch, “Astarion. Gods. Please.”

“Then answer me,” he taunts commandingly, “Do friends do this?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you manage to pant out a reply, “N-no.”

“That’s right, darling,” he coos, “They don’t.”

Astarion’s fingers start massaging and stroking the aching bundle of nerves, setting a merciless rhythm. Your legs quake and twitch, tilting your pelvis further into his touch. You feel the familiar tightening start to curl up in your stomach. Your body quivers with his precise movements, and your chest heaves.

So close.

“A-Astarion…”

“Yes, my love,” he growls, “Cum for me.”

You start to spasm and tremor, shockwaves gripping your body as if he gave the command, and your body obeyed. You convulse so strongly and violently that you scream out in sheer ecstasy, and Astarion uses a hand to muffle your incoherent, wanton cries. Water sputters up and splashes on the floor from your frantic movement.

“Darling, if you keep screaming like that, you’re going to make the wizard jealous.”

“Astarion,” you pant.

“Yes?”

“For the love of the Gods, don’t talk about “the wizard” right now.”

He nuzzles your neck and kisses your temple, “Gladly.”

With one last shudder, you sag back into him, and your back presses up against his throbbing cock.

“What about you?”

He smiles devilishly, “I have an idea for that too.”

“You’re full of great ideas today. Care to share?”

“I want your hand to do it, but I want to control it.”

You nod your understanding. He’s not ready to take it further just yet, but you had to start somewhere, and this was as good a place to start as any.

“Dry off and go to the bed.”

You and Astarion dry off and move to the bed. You stare at his cock, precum glistens at the tip, and you fight the urge to take him in your mouth, missing his taste.

“As much as I am happy to let you sit there and gawk for as long as you would like, I would much rather feel your hand around my cock, darling.”

You don’t need to be asked twice. You wrap your hand around him. He pulsates under your grip. His hips jerk at the contact, and he hisses in a sharp inhale and groans. His hand wraps over yours, making you grip him tighter.

“Hells, I’ve missed your hands on me.”

You let him set the pace. It starts slow and controlled. His eyes flutter closed, and his face twists in pleasure handsomely. Thick strands of precum dribble out the swollen tip.

His eyes open and meet yours, gliding over your naked body, relishing in it, and he picks up the pace. His fangs peek out as his lips part in a moan. He squeezes your hand around his cock tighter. He rolls his hips and increases the tempo. You’ve seen him reach his peak countless times, and you know he’s close.

Seeing him like this, you can already feel your arousal rising again. Your skin flushes, your core clenches, and you want to squirm on the bed, but with considerable effort, you manage to keep yourself still.

With a groan, he throws his head back, and his mouth drops open. He whimpers your name through muddled, breathless hisses and pants. He stills, and with one final stroke, thick spurts of cum shoot onto his abdomen and dribble down your hands, gathering on his lower abdomen.

Beads of sweat roll down his temples and his body glistens.

Astarion releases his grip on your hand, and you release him in turn. He pulls you to him and kisses you. This kiss isn’t about lust, arousal or pleasure. This is pure love and intimacy physically manifested, and it reminds you of before he left.

I love you. You want to tell him; you want to scream it but swallow the urge.

Astarion grabs the towel he brought, “Hand, darling.”

You hold out your hand soaked with his release, and he wipes it for you with a smirk before cleaning himself up.

“Quite the eventful bath, friend.”

“Are you okay?”

He smiles, “Yes.”

“Good, friend.”

Astarion chuckles, but it's cut short as his head snaps toward the door, “Get dressed. Gale is summoning us.”

You dress in a hurry and go downstairs with Astarion. Gale is pacing up and down the corridor to the entryway. Brows furrowed, muttering to himself.

“Gale, what’s wrong?”

“Aldous has agreed to see you tomorrow. It says you must go alone.”

Lovely.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

AO3: Crossposted

Small Notes: - I'm not a smut writer, so hopefully, the smutty parts get better as I get more practice. I'm working on it. :)

#astarion ancunin #astarion x mc #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past

103 notes · View notes

hh0320 · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞;

part four of the velvet opiate series. part one. part two. part three.

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, mature themes, drug & alcohol abuse, violence, descriptions of drug use, mental health struggle, use of petnames | word count. 10k

a/n: i want to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. i had no idea so many ppl would message me about this story, begging me to continue it. i never abandoned the velvet boys, they’re always in my heart, i’m always thinking about them even when i’m not writing. anyway, this one is a wild ride, so i just want to mention that i don’t associate the boys with these behaviors, nor the language spoken. this is purely fictional, these are just characters. one more chapter to go. thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @adoreweb, @j-0ne25, @streetlight-s.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you in two and a half months.

Hadn’t had heroin for more than that, nothing to numb him, the pain, the voices, the fucking train wreck his band had become after the ‘biggest rock scandal in ten years.’ So they’d slept with a couple groupies—big fucking deal. But it wasn’t just that, was it, because apparently one of them was now fucking pregnant and demanding for the father to recognize the child, to compensate for his doings.

It wasn’t just that, because it was the slut Hyunjin had fucked. A big fucking deal because Minho has been exposed for his cocaine indulgence, and has had to answer to the authorities, to pay bail and do community service or go to prison for a year. Chan wasn’t talking to them. Felix had been violent with Hyunjin for the first time since they met, beating the shit out of him outside their hotel, paparazzi gathering like crows to feast upon their rotting flesh.

And now Velvet Opiate was going on a national tour, press for before and after their album release. Thirty dates, over the course of winter. The label thought it wise to ride this wave of unprecedented publicity to the cost of their demise. The band was in shambles, Hyunjin was absolutely certain they’d break up before this year came to an end. They’d fucked it all up, let fame get to their head, let the cash control them, lead them to the brink of destruction.

Here they lay, clowns in a circus, with new hair colors, and an upgraded wardrobe, Westwood Spring collection ‘00. A new fucking century ahead of them with nothing to show, the world coming to an end. His mind was a dark place, darker than ever. There was no escape from this, no light at the end of the tunnel. Hyunjin would have to walk in the nine circles of Hell for all eternity, regretting ever being alive. Such was the fate of an unloved child.

No Felix, no you. Just him and his pathetic druggie ways, a vessel full of holes, loveless, poison in human form. You’d know by now, he’s sure, after all, every channel in the country is reporting on the news, another band flying too close to the sun, blinded by arrogance and ambition. A fucking cliché.

A day before they were to mount the tour bus, Hyunjin went to look for you at the club you worked at. If you were even still there, he didn’t know, he wasn’t able to contact you, wasn’t allowed to, and after everything, was too ashamed to try. His angel, his pure girl; he’d tainted you now, had dragged you into his bullshit life, spread the plague, and possibly lost you forever. But you were still his, his lifeline, the only exit, the only beginning he ever had.

Hyunjin would explain, he would beg, he’d get on his knees and kiss the fucking ground if you so desired. If it meant you’d stay with him. Felix saw him leave, bangs covering his tired eyes, leather jacket a few sizes too big on him. His friend had stopped eating a while ago, was now stubbornly relying on nicotine and alcohol for survival.

His friend but always more. The rings wrapped tight around his middle finger, heavy. Ivy luring him deep in its vines, drowning down under. Twins no more, they whispered to him sometimes. Felix would look in the mirror and see black, would think of Hyunjin and dream of a blade digging into his very chest, by his own hand. Honeycomb locks on his shoulder as he cried, as his knees gave out, death greeting him with a cold handshake.

You’re losing something important, his mind would say. You’re letting it slip right through your fingers. Just the night before, a nightmare like no other. The corpse of him lying next to his lover's. A suicide, a sacrifice.

“In a rush?” He calls out to the knife. Let it do its killing—it is fate, after all.

Hyunjin jerks, didn’t expect to hear Felix’s voice. A week had passed like a decade. It had been loneliness rendering him sleepless, lying on a bed that wasn’t his, no one to calm him down, to bring him back to reality.

Hyunjin also had no voice, had screamed it all out in his alcohol induced breakdown, had smoked it gone. He tried to reply anyway, wouldn’t miss the opportunity of mending things with his twin, his best friend. His equal.

“Never—for you,” he rasped, words broken in half.

They move closer like magnets, and the tension suffocates the blonde, makes him want to dip his head in ice water, freeze his brain, shock himself into a heart attack. This is what it feels like meeting Felix in the middle—like electrocuting yourself.

“I don’t want your fucking flattery,” Felix snarls, but he means none of it. Pay attention to me always, come to me at long last, no more of this torture.

Hyunjin flinches, fidgeting for a cigarette. “What do you want, then?” It is a whisper, because it is the question that matters most.

It is the truth that will ruin or make him.

They stare at each other, light and dark, black and gold, and a single moment passes before they both reach for each other, fingers grabbing onto fabric, pulling closer. Hyunjin’s bruised eye still hasn’t healed, and his cut lips sting as Felix presses him own on them. The fight is evident, because it’s them and they will never truly attest to this, to what runs between them, cocks too proud, bond stronger than bodily pleasures.

Still, hands push, mouths devour. In public, for anyone to see, under security cameras. Does it even matter at this point in their career, so beyond fucked over by their choices and decisions?

“What will your girl say about the bitch you knocked up?” Felix mumbles into the kiss, and Hyunjin growls, pins him against the wall between their rooms.

“Keep her out of your jealous fucking mouth.”

“What will you do, Hyunjin?” And that’s it. Like nothing happened. “You can’t keep her; you can’t let her go. Don’t go.”

The taller boy pulls back, straightens his jacket, lights a cigarette. Black stares, lips swollen, angry, hurt.

“If I don’t see her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay clean this time, Felix. I say this to you as a cry for help. So no one can say shit to me.”

His friend sighs, and wipes at his mouth. Hyunjin looks at the rings on his finger, then at his own identical ones. “What if she refuses you, then? You’re gonna have to marry this girl, Hyun, do you understand how fucked this is?”

“I can’t do this right now, Lix.” With a press of his forehead against his twin’s, Hyunjin turns and goes straight for the stairs, descending in a hurry.

The more time he wasted, the less likely it was you’d forgive him. Felix kissed him, that was all that mattered—one good fucking thing in the world. He wishes he could say the same for the itch.

It was back. And it was stronger than ever.

Red Lights remained the exact same, an aching constant to Hyunjin's stormy life. In reality, nothing much had changed, nothing at all—except him. Drunks still occupied the bar stools, powder was still being snorted off the sinks in the bathrooms rendered in neon hues, the booth he frequently reserved was empty, off limits to anyone but him and his chosen company. His manager still paid a percentage to the club, the bartender still asked if he needed the ‘White Lady.’ Out of habit, perhaps. Hyunjin knew better than most—habits were fucking hard to break, even harder to quit.

“It’s our favorite guitarist, everyone!” You exclaim from behind him. “Jisung, give him a shot, quick. He has plenty to celebrate these days, it seems.”

He can’t turn around fast enough, and you give him no time to do so. You ignore his outstretched hand, ignore everyone’s gasps as they recognize the familiar face that’s been playing on every TV in the country. Jisung gives him the clear shot hesitantly, eyes drifting between the golden-haired man and the waitress he’s worked with for the past year. He’ll be damned. But it doesn’t matter; none of it does. You’re all red and black, smoky eyes and sweaty skin—furious with him, and understandably so. All he wants is for you to look at him, to give him a chance to explain.

Hyunjin feels very much like the prey now, standing in the middle of the bar as you circle around him in your leather skirt, the same skirt he’d fucked you in all those nights ago. You carried a different light then, you seemed brighter, more innocent. A sweet angel trapped inside the wings of the Devil. This time there were no wings, no sweetness about you. He’d cut his own freedom off and had sucked you dry—what he does best, what ultimately ended up happening to the one person he tried so fucking hard to keep clean, good.

He sensed the red poke under his skin, bleed onto him, take over his mind. He drank the strong liquid, tasted it on his chapped lips. His eyes followed your every movement silently, like a small child waiting to be reprimanded. Be angry with me, angel, yell at me, hit me, kill me if you must—anything but this. Please.

“Give me my bag, won’t you, Han?” you address the brown-haired man again once you come back from the table you’re serving. The music should drown you out, but Hyunjin has never heard anything clearer in his life. He’s clinging to your words by a thread—the cursed lifeline.

When your gaze falls on him, he almost breaks down right then and there. “Come on, Hwang Hyunjin, soon-to-be father, and a married man I’d assume. Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?”

“Angel, for fuck’s sake, don’t do this—”

You’re the biggest storm he’s ever had to endure. Your eyes are lightning that strikes him dead. He’d die by your hand, he’d die. He would. He knows this, he swears it.

“I’m going on break,” you call out and turn to walk away towards the back door. Hyunjin is out of breath, scared out of his body, doesn’t know what else to do other than follow.

So he does. Hitting the nails on his own coffin, delivering the eulogy for his funeral. Knife, the song he wrote for you, the title track available everywhere at midnight, the lyrics repeating in his head, a mantra, a wish, a prayer. He was never religious, but if one single God was willing to listen—let me keep her, let me keep her, let me have this one thing, this one girl, please, the only girl that matters.

You pass the threshold of the exit door first, Hyunjin holding it open for you, the proximity of your bodies stirring the darkness inside him. He’s been unfaithful to himself, not just to you. Even if nothing had been official between you; he’d proved you right, the words you threw at him that first night. He broke your trust, and didn’t even have the goddamn decency to, at least, tell you. The fact he’s getting any sort of ending is a fucking miracle. Mercy from an angel that could never belong to him.

“You changed your hair,” you comment coldly, keeping as much distance from him as possible.

He closes the metal door behind him slowly, leans on the coolness of it, the wet pavement glistening underneath his boots. He swallows, biting on the inside of his cheek. Then his fingers reach for the cigarettes again. Fucking habits.

“It wasn’t me,” he replies, and he wishes that’d be enough for other things too.

The man that fucked that girl, it wasn’t me. Anything that’s ever happened to him because of his addiction, it wasn’t him either. It couldn’t be. The lead guitarist on stage that tries to be cool, cigarette smoke clouding his vision, any time he’s doing interviews and says all that pretentious shit he’s rehearsed a thousand times over—he’d never be Minho, or Felix, or anyone besides a fake. A clown. An actor in a bad movie.

But the boy who paints alone in his temporary rooms? He likes to believe that’s him, or it could be. That somewhere inside, he had the potential of leading a peaceful life, with small happy moments like finishing a sketch, or writing a song. The person that came up with ‘Knife,’ the person he is with Chan and his notes, when they write melodies in the older members' makeshift studio. That’s who Hyunjin wishes most of all to be, to become. Someone worthy, someone able to provide happiness for others, not just for himself. Even a little.

“I wrote you a so—”

“I’d got you this to celebrate the conclusion of your recordings. Before… everything.” You move towards him to give him a black box, the familiar cross-topped orb surrounded by a ring logo he’s been wearing for most of his career staring back at him. You move back before he can keep you there, close, closer.

You slip away, again and again.

“(Y/N),” he looks at the box, then at you. The smoke burns his eyes. “Please, I can’t accept this.”

Despite your hard facade, he notices the slight flinch at his words. You turn your face away. Hyunjin panics, thinking he’s somehow offended you, so he quickly opens your gift, balancing the cigarette between his teeth. The silk encase contains a heavy metal chain with a locket hanging in the center of it, his name engraved on it.

“No,” he mutters, unable to control his body anymore, unable to control fuck all for that matter. “Angel, no, listen to me—”

You’re relentless, frozen in that fucking place of yours, so far away, suffocatingly too far. He forgets about what he should do, how he should respect your boundaries, your wishes. He lunges forward and grabs your wrists, turning your palms to him. He gives you the locket, as if the mere box touching his fingers burns him, gives way to fire and ruin. It does. It does.

“Put it on me,” he pleads, gripping at your delicate skin. “You got it for me, give it to me properly.”

You shake your head, and there are tears falling on his knuckles now. He sees them roll away, scorch his fingers, seep through his pores. Hyunjin shakes you, doesn’t know how else to convey his want. He wants to kiss you, wants to take you away, slip inside you, forget the shitshow that won’t stop happening, even then, especially then, because that means he’ll have to come back from it, from the special place, a place he never wants to escape from, the peaceful place he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Your fingers open the clasp as he leans forward, hands wrapping around your waist, and he inhales your scent, wishing this chain could interlock with another, so he can in turn wear it around your delicate neck and keep you close to him forever. It doesn’t last long, this daydream. The lock falls heavy against his sternum, and you pull away slowly, avoiding to touch back, to feel how real he feels under the tips of you. Because he is—real. He has been since the first day he locked eyes with you. You brought him to life, pulled him in, showed him his own heart.

The bag hanging from your shoulder drops to the ground, the thud of it a closing, an ending. He doesn’t accept it, he realizes he’s hurting you, that he should fuck off, leave you alone, he’s embarrassing himself, he’s pathetic in his attempts–Hyunjin has never fought for someone to stay. Has never had to, his life so full of people willing to leave, birds lingering on his branches before flying off, a moment of rest, somewhere to lay their burden, before they’re gone again, free, weightless. He’d accepted his fate, had made his peace—before you, all of it before you, and for every day after that never the same, nothing after you.

“I have no hold over you, rockstar.”

He blinks. For one goddamn second where human nature takes over and his eyes close—you jerk away from his touch and drop something in his hand. A small thing, something so mundane. A key. He blinks again, but it’s blurry this time, everything is. His heart has stopped, it seems, shop shutting down, system hijacked. Out of service. Hyunjin is crying. And it’s a first in the way that he’s never cried for love, not really, has never really known what it is to weep for it, even with Felix, because that was a different love, not this, not you, not you, not you—

“No,” the heaviest word he’s had to push out his lungs. “No, you’re wrong.” He searches for your eyes, he tilts his head, your gaze, he just needs that small connection with you, his body is on fire, his soul is decemating, he will die tonight, it hits him like a ton of bricks. If you walk away from him, he will die.

And it’s not blackmail, it’s not a manipulation tactic to get you to stay—you won’t know this, you won’t be aware, he won’t do that to you. You know nothing about that part of him, you never will. You’ll leave him behind and go back to bleeding red, and he’ll remain there, as he was, with his key and his engraved name and the itch that will take over once and for all. Maybe this time no one will find him, no one that can bring him back to a reality where he has no other escape other than death; no twin, no music, no band, no you. No you no you no you, fuck him fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Hyunjin doesn’t register his feet moving, his boots splashing in the rain puddles. He must look fucking insane, but he runs with all his might, as fast as he can—and then he throws that goddamn key away, never to see it again, never to be rid of this locket, of this weight that signifies your existence to him, whatever ounce of love you’ve felt for him. He wants all of it to lay on his back and push him to the ground, shove his fucking face in the mud and scream at him—I was here! I was here once and you shunned me away! You don’t deserve me.

An inhuman voice tears from his throat, a sound alien to him, he doesn’t recognize it. He looks around, surprised, awakened. He can’t breathe, and when the fuck will he stop crying? It’s two weeks ago all over again. He’s out of control, mad with grief.

“Hyunjin, you’re scaring me. Please stop. Stop!” Your hands on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

There is no gravity holding him, nothing tying him down. He kneels, neck exposed to you, your gift. He stares at your stomach, as all fight escapes him. Nothing to lose, already lost. He sings, the lyrics that bloomed inside him once, now sung barely above a whisper—

I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…

“What do I need to do, to be able to live as I am, without dressing myself up?” Hyunjin stops and looks up, at your tear stained face, a mirror looking back at him with nothing to say. He’ll say it for you, he’ll admit to the one truth he can. “I’ll wear this till the day I fucking die. I swear it, angel.”

Your beautiful face scrunches in pain, trying so hard not to break down, wanting to let him go, but holding on to him for dear life. “You don’t owe me anything,” but it’s not true. It’s not true.

He’s never been more sure of anything else— “I owe you my fucking life.”

Can you lose yourself two times over? He’ll never apologize for feeling so intensely, for getting fucked over for his heart. This is his show, his little play up on that stage he put himself on, and the curtains aren’t drawing just yet. The last act hasn’t yet began.

He doesn’t see you again until his birthday, half a year later.

Minho wipes at his nose.

Take his pixie dust away and he’ll resort to his absolute last option—pills. Anxiety pills, to be exact, forcibly prescribed by his former doctor for his unhinged nerves; former because the son of a bitch thought he’d try his luck with the ruthless bassist. The only way he’d be able to finish the tour, and go the fuck back into hiding at once, away from all the goddamn crazy people—their supposed fans—and their accusatory fingers.

If there was one thing, Lee Minho never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Who he was. An orphan. A loveless person, someone that had lost all hope, not just for himself but for everyone else, too. Part of him had died in that accident a few years back, and the rest of him had no intention of trying to revive whatever remained. There was no reason.

So, crushing and snorting Lexapro had become the new normal, the temporary solution to making it through shows and press. Getting rid of all evidence was proving to be quite the task, though, and it was taking a major toll on the purple haired man, only second to his and his band mates’ insomnia problems. The cause—obsessive stalker fans that seemed to monitor their every waking moment, waiting for a sliver of an opening to bring them down, to destroy them once and for all.

It’d started with a fucking mistake. As most things do. A split second of weakness, a lack in judgement. He should’ve known better, as should’ve Hyunjin. Because of this, all were to suffer until their heads were on flaming spikes on national television for the world to witness. Minho would rather slice his wrists open and bleed to death in the crammed tour bus bathroom, than answer to the public for his private life.

He was hurting no one. And he was certainly done with slip ups. One more show, he kept repeating putting on the outfit laid out by the stylist for tonight. One more show and I’ll be free. He thinks this until it’s time for soundcheck, and the lead guitarist is nowhere to be fucking found. Minho doesn’t even have to look at Chan to know.

The arena was empty, stretching enormous from ground to ceiling, the echo great and deafening as the staff tuned the instruments in the background. Rows upon rows of empty seats, exit lights shining brightly on each side. Felix sat on the second aisle, smack in the middle, boots propped in the seat in front of him, red plaid pants with buckles and zippers making him stand out amidst endless grey.

“Why fucking bother?” He calls out to the drummer, words resounding. “He does this shit every single day.” Black strands of hair fall in his eyes, and Minho doesn’t miss the bitterness of his tone.

“People paid to see us, Felix,” Chan replies, making his way from his drum set. His bulky biceps flexed as he pushed his hair back, the black sleeveless shirt accentuating the muscles further. “We owe it to them to at least have all four members on the damn stage.”

“Do we now,” Minho mutters under his breath. Fleeing, lately, had started to sound like a sane idea. A small mercy, even.

“You tried the waiting room?”

“I just came from it.”

The bassist clears his throat, descends the stairs from the stage. “Someone’s providing him with it—I’d check the staff’s bus’.”

Chan whips his head towards him. “I thought Joon had checked every motherfucker during the hiring process.”

“Rats can slip through cracks, Bang.”

Wasn’t that the truth. It was, after all, how he’d managed to survive all those years. He knew better than most about sneaking around; killing yourself with the help of others—people that would benefit from your downfall, because that way they could sell you out, make profit out of your misery.

Velvet Opiate fed on misery. They relished in it.

Minho was about to call for security to go and find Hyunjin, discreetly and without fuss. As was the way of such awful situations, where no one particularly wanted to get their hands dirty—or find a rotting corpse in a random parking lot in a city entirely too far from home. He informed them of the alleged whereabouts, but just as the two men were walking away, Chan cursed loudly and smacked his hand on the back of a seat, expression furious, exhausted, worried.

“I’ll go my goddamn self. Fuck this.”

Felix shot up immediately, hand reaching to halt his older friend. Chan avoided it swiftly, and walked determined to the nearest exit, set on figuring this out on his own—again. How many chances till they pronounce you a lost case? Minho wonders. A cursed battle.

“Chan, wait!” Felix tries to follow.

Minho holds him back. “Don’t. You’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

The boy’s eyes were wide, anxious. In love. For the longest fucking time, and despite, which was a curious thing. What we can do for it, suffer endlessly in loops—for someone to hold our hand, wrap themselves around our bones. Minho had it, once. Never again after that.

“He doesn’t know how to deal—”

The bassist sighs. “And you do? Yongbok, you insist on this torture and for what? You’re soft and blinded by selfishness. Love,” he chides. “Hyunjin doesn’t need someone like you.”

He sees the pretty hands balling into fists, the snarl of the younger’s lip, the hate burning in his button eyes. It does nothing for him.

“You’re wrong,” he spits, and there’s pure venom laced in his words. “None of you understand him, you’ve never tried to. He shoved needles in his fucking veins, Minho, do you think he cares about himself when he does that?” Tears gather, and fall. Minho remains silent, bites his tongue. “Motherless, lost in the world, clinging on a girl that’s long abandoned him… what the fuck, man. What’s it gonna take!”

He’s running before the older boy can stop him again. Pushes the heavy door open and disappears into the bright sunlight, leaving the bassist behind. The only one unshaken by the possibility of the events. It wasn’t indifference or coldheartedness that kept Minho grounded in the arena; it was calculated compassion. No one wants to hear a story twice—how he, too, was motherless, lost in his mind and in the goddamn world, clinging onto remnants of a girl half forgotten—no one cares, because a story told too many times is fucking reality, it’s been-there-done-that, it’s no big deal.

But Minho wasn’t someone that complained a whole lot, if ever. And he isn’t letting his friend die because it’s a hassle to get involved; he does it because addiction doesn’t stop unless there’s no one around to grab onto. No help, no second third fourth fifth chance. Hyunjin needs a fucking wakeup call harsher than nearly OD’ing. No one coming. His worst fear slapping him in the face.

“That girl of his figured it out faster than his own band,” he muttered bitterly to the emptiness staring at him.

The bass greeted him in melancholy.

Outside, Felix caught up to the leader, eyes panicked, searching the parking lot maniacally.

Chan’s anger was calmer, a sea storm felt deep within him, bubbling but contained for the meantime. It took nothing for him to lash out at strangers, but to family? He had the patience of a hundred old oak tree, unyielding, the roots having roots, having roots…

They took upon searching the buses themselves, Felix climbing up the stairs and yelling at everyone to tell him if they’ve seen Hyunjin. Some were still getting ready or having a late breakfast, but all looked at him dumbfounded, confused.

“He’s not with you?” A light technician asked dumbly.

Felix rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came from, ignoring the musty smells and disgusting underwear on the floor. “No, I’m asking ‘cause he’s right outside.”

“Are you giving me snark, boy?”

The black haired boy turned around so fast he saw stars. Two men standing near him widened their eyes and backed away in surprise, but the older man only pressed further, his nose stuck high in the air.

“Do you wanna fucking go?” Felix asked, riled up. “Cause I’ve been itching for a fight, bro, so don’t fucking play with me.”

No one expected it to escalate that fast, but before anyone could even blink, the two men were at each other’s throats, punches midway. Everyone jumped in just before the assistant stage manager could land his fist on the rockstar’s face, and that’s when Chan showed up, his loud voice making the singer stop and look.

“What the fuck are you doing?” It boomed down on all of them and shook the walls of the bus. “Are you fucking serious with this bullshit?” Breathing labored, stare wild, sweat dripping. “Come help me find my goddamn friend!” He barked. “All of you or you’re fucking fired, you hear me?”

And with that he stormed out, not caring to diffuse the situation, whatever it was. He couldn’t give a shit at that point. Hyunjin could be dead, and everyone seemed to care for their ass and their fucking pride. Fuck out of here.

“He’s not here,” is the only thing he’s heard so far, but just to be sure, he personally took a look around the bunks and in the bathrooms, keeping an eye out for any drugs or alcohol while he was at it. They’d been warned against any harmful shit for this tour; one strike and you’re out, special orders from the drummer. For their sake, it was a good thing he’d actually found nothing.

“I’ll call the hotel. Maybe he somehow found his way back,” Felix says and moves away from him, phone against his ear.

Chan doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to check. “I’m losing hope here, Hwang,” he mumbled to himself, quietly praying the tall boy would magically appear right in front of him, safe and sound. Highly unlikely; matter of fact, the possibilities of that happening were so slim that he wanted to laugh at himself for even considering it, but the desperation was so far etched in his brain, that he seemed to be hanging firmly from some sort of daydream. ‘October men and their maladaptive dream states,’ he had a girl tell him once, and he’s never forgotten it since.

“How’d you know when I was born?” He’d asked stupidly, as if this chick wasn’t a fan that had just attended his concert.

Her smile was the sexiest thing on her. “Hon, you wear ‘please love me I’m a good boy’ on your forehead.”

“Found him! Fuck, Chan!” Felix’s voice took him out of the bittersweet memory.

What did the brown-haired boy expect to see—not this. Anything but this. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out, could come out, and his head turned the other way immediately upon witnessing his bandmates state. Felix was on his knees next to him, completely on autopilot—Chan could see it from his dead eyes, doing what he did the last time he found him like this. Calling an ambulance, his other hand on the barely responsive guitarist, shaking him, keeping him awake.

“Fuck you for doing this to me twice, Hwang Hyunjin. Fuck you.”

Honeycomb hair over dilated, dark eyes, the pale man smiled a Cheshire smile, back sliding off the wheel of the bus. The leader actually whimpered seeing him do that, so completely lost in his high, his mind tripping over itself. The boy he knows used to be quiet, yes, introverted and thoughtful, but creative—so fucking creative, and animated. Full of life. Not this, whatever this was. Never this, and God fucking damnit when did it happen; when did he lose his best friend, the boy that came to him with a guitar and said he wants to play in a band? It all just seemed such a fucking lifetime away now.

“They’re saying they’ve already dispatched a vehicle to our location—” Chan sees Joon running up to them, a few of the staff he saw earlier in the venue behind him. It was only then that he noticed the siren going off in the near distance. “What do you mean, this is my first time calling you—”

“Minho called them,” Chan concluded, arms hugging his chest sadly. His cheeks were wet. “He already knew this would be what we’d find.”

The singer paused, looked up at him. Chan nodded sympathetically. Hyunjin’s head was dropping towards his twin again, but his lips were moving, his expression relaxed.

“The fucking asshole.”

“A realist,” the leader corrects. “Truly, Felix what did you think? That he’d be off buying us waffles or something? It’s his birthday and he’s falling off the side of a fucking bus, needle in hand. I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

"How much time do we have?" their manager asks roughly. "I told you, Bang. I told you if I ever found him doing this shit again, he's out!"

The drummer felt fire rush through his body, his fist rising in the air, all eyes on him—before connecting with the man's jaw, knocking him back, the sound violent, breaking. And fuck, did that feel good. It was a long time coming, the last fucking straw. He was done with it, the entire goddamn thing, taking orders, getting yelled at for situations completely out of his hands, the micromanaging, the sacrifices that lead to nothing—

Everyone was miserable. Everyone was hurting. Everyone wanted out.

"I'm sick of you putting words in my mouth. Sick of your fucking watch ticking like we're always running on your schedule. Look at him!" Chan croaked, the rage in his voice unbearable. "Fucking look at what your isolation did to him! Own up to your goddamn mistakes, you fucking coward!"

"Chan..." a dissonant sound behind him, coming down on him like a loved one from Heaven. "You got my back, Chan. Don't you?" a raspy laugh, not quite all there. "You got my back..."

Felix moved away, a supportive hand at the back of his twin's head, watching him with a crumpled gaze. Was the euphoria passing? If so, the best of the high was over. A life wasted for fifteen minutes of numbness. Of chemical happiness. The singer couldn't seem to keep the tears from running—and they ran, those useless things, hot, stinging, burning. What good did they do? Look at his love, watch as he's ruining himself on the dirty floor. He wasn't strong enough to even touch that goddamn needle, always hated getting shots, ever since he was a little kid. How could he bear taking the only thing that provides relief from his better half? His mirrored self? Even knowing it's a dead thing, even knowing it's not really that, that does the hurting.

It's the heart. The stupid heart.

"Why don't you kill me, then?" the honey dipped boy asked, paralyzed. Adrift. Broken. "Why don't you kill me?" A tear. Another tear. A pit of Hell, a mimicking nothingness. "Let me die, Chan..."

There are some words you don't say aloud. That make the monster real, that shatter the illusion. The leader could face the cold, hard truth—that the best guitarist he's ever known, the one that puts his soul in his music, in his fingers, his delicate hands—that person is a drug addict. That he uses needles to inject his liquified powders, and that his highs usually last three hours. That his friend has the deepest dark circles for a person who sleeps the most out of all of them. Sometimes, he has to slap him awake, force his eyes open. These are all truths, easy to digest, not-so-scary sentences that he's used to by now. That he's had to live with, in order to keep his band together.

But this? The fact of it? Who can face this? Who can be the bearer of the cross?

"Not me, Hyun," he replies, devoid of any emotion but sheer will for life. "Try in the next fucking life. I like having your sorry ass around a little too much."

Kintsugi, the Japanese called it. Repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. There was no fixing Hwang Hyunjin. But maybe they could start to respect that, instead of desperately trying to cover it up, to get angry with it.

"Huh..." A crack of a smile, much like porcelain. "Is it still my birthday, Lix?"

Felix sniffled, rubbing at his nose, huffing out a devastating laugh. "It is, you goddamn menace."

A sheepish nod, soft golden bangs hiding beautiful, closed eyes. "Then we have a concert to attend, don't we?"

"I think so. You need a cigarette?"

A hand falling on top of his. An eclipse, the moon and the sun meeting, at long last. A celebration of the dark side.

"You know it." Then a hum, as his soulmate in male form lights the stick for him, taking a drag to get it going, then putting it between his fingers. A hum that turns into a familiar melody. "I just went through so much hell, went through so much, darling... I'm the warning, burn...burn..."

Chan nears his friend, extending an arm for him to take. The younger man peeks an eye open to it, inhaling smoke until his lungs know nothing else. He assesses the gesture, knows it means no more sulking on the pavement, no more gut-wrenching pain. Alone no more. Perhaps never alone, though not always clear.

He took it.

"Cancel the ambulance, don't let the crows anywhere near," the drummer tells a security guard. "We don't need this. It's our last show today."

As for Velvet Opiate, the curtains were drawing. Indefinitely.

Felix would love to say that their last concert was a hit, a success by label standards, and that everything went according to plan, but—well, that would be a fucking lie, wouldn't it? The setlist consisted of twenty songs, excluding the encore, most of which fell on him to pull through, and with twenty-nine shows on their back, plus countless radio shows and interviews for the album, his voice was completely and utterly fried, hanging on by herbal tea every night, and vocal rest—never. He liked to believe he took care of himself, definitely better than the others, but was that really true, or just default when pitted against an addict, an almost convict, and an insomniac?

It wasn't judgement. It more so felt like pity. What was Lee Yongbok's thing? What did he offer except deep, cave-like vocals and front man looks? Wasn't that just the bare minimum? What set him apart, what was the deciding factor for his status in the Rock scene? The poster outside the arena had him positioned in the center, newly dyed black hair pulled back in a half ponytail, standing next to Hyunjin, resting an arm on his naked shoulder as the guitarist smoked a cigarette and looked down at his Ibanez RG550. Always together, never apart. Out of everyone, it feels like he believed it the most. Is he worth nothing besides this? He didn't want to be petty anymore, have this green intent to turn everyone away from his moon, because he knew it wouldn't realistically get him anywhere. What was his twin above all?

Straight. To Felix, the line would always be bent.

Alas, he wasn't a realist. But he also wasn't an asshole. As soon as that spotlight shone on him, he noticed you in the first row, still as death, big arms wrapped around you, a man much taller than him hugging you from behind. Did you come to haunt? A ghost unable to find its way out of the body, destined to float about the living world until someone set it free? Was it closure you were seeking, so many miles away from home, and on the day Hyunjin had decided to play ridiculously fucking high?

If so, why rub salt on the wound? Why bring hemlock to a man so willing to die? He wished for many things then; for Hyunjin to go blind and never notice you, ever again. For that padlock to magically open itself and fuck off back to where it came from, because where Chan had never heard the blonde begging to die, Felix had to physically stop him from ending it all, that night he came back from you. He still remembers stealing all sharp objects from his room, and locking the boy in the bathroom, hearing his banging, his pleading, his tears through that white door, relentless, haunted haunted haunted, until the early hours of the next day.

When would Hyunjin escape the ghosts? Jesus, fuck.

"Good evening, we're called Velvet Opiate," he spoke in his baritone tone. The one he had to force. "Welcome to the Knife Tour. There's nothing left to fucking bleed. Let's go!" he screamed, as the intro to 'Liar' played by Minho, a bass-heavy tune that he'd written himself.

During the first three songs, Chan kept his eyes entirely on the lead guitarist. He wasn't quite stumbling, just sort of...balancing on his legs like they were sticks, with that famous cigarette that never seemed to burn out. He made no mistakes, kept up with the tempo, and generally looked fine, so the drummer decided to return back to his instrument and quit babysitting.

The first bottle was thrown when Hyunjin locked eyes with you. It smashed right next to him, and nearly scraped his cheek. Felix froze, but continued singing, turning momentarily to check on his bandmate. If he saw it or not, it wasn't written anywhere on his face, instead seeming to be entirely hypnotized by the inevitable standing mere feet away from him.

"I saw your face, I saw your face...and the light," the singer drawled dreamily, as security found the person responsible and dragged them away.

There seemed to be a group of them, all gathered on Hyunjin's side, and some of the fans took notice of that, yelling and pointing at them. Felix showed the problem area with his hands to the remaining staff, but not before a different person managed to throw another one, this time hitting the microphone stand. He maneuvered around it, grabbing the mic and walking to the other end of the stage, crouching to sing to a fan that was screaming her lungs out, reaching her arms out to him.

“I’m gonna please you, please me, please you, please me.” The lights turned a deep red color, staining everything in the arena, as Felix jumped to the barricades and sang the words close to the girl’s mouth, staring into her eyes. She went ballistic and started crying immediately, so he petted her hair and moved away quickly, hand in the air to collide with open palms.

On the stage, Minho was studying the crowd coldly, waiting for that one last fucking straw that’d make him lose it and get on the first plane back to Tokyo. He’s had enough—of this forsaken tour, of the aggressive fans, the bullshit that came with fame. They’d sold one million copies in their first week, for fuck’s sake, why do they need to tour the entire nation? It was a goddamn cash grab, nothing but a circus, and they were only getting forty percent of it.

Well into the set, Hyunjin looked like Hell. While Felix had taken it upon himself to speak and interact before introducing the next song, the guitarist sat down by the stairs and lit a cigarette, his naked, sweaty torso glistening under the intense lighting. Minho watched as he took his earpiece out and motioned to a staff to come to him, leaning to say something, before the person ran off to do whatever he was instructed to. The blonde hair was sticking to his neck, but it also blended in with the paleness of his skin, making him appear angelic, or something close to it. Ironic, considering, the bassist thought.

Still. Something was bothering him; it was clear to see. And it wasn’t the high.

“Every time I remember…nails dig into my heart,” Felix sings, then pauses, hearing the rest of the words being sang to him. “Oh, what lovely voices! But do they sing it as good as our lyricist?” He turns to the boy on the stairs, currently hunched over smoking, guitar on his back, his eyes never leaving your figure, as yours don’t either.

A man? In his show? While he’s bound by your chains? How cruel of his angel.

“Oi, Hyunjin. You wanna sing this one? My throat is fucked, lover boy,” the main singer waits for the request to register in the guitarist’s ears, before a sound person appears out of thin air to pass him a microphone. “Doesn’t he look fuckable today? Such a shame there’s no one to warm his bed…”

Twenty thousand voices joined to yell, “I can!” Even Minho couldn’t help chuckling to that.

Hyunjin checked to see if the microphone worked, shyly, taking the cig out of his mouth slowly, exhaling smoke like a goddamn fireplace, before bowing his head slightly to the crowd, and introducing himself.

“Hello, I’m Hyunjin of Velvet Opiate,” he mumbles, pushing hair out his eyes with his thumb. The fans went insane.

It was no secret he was the most popular member, despite never wishing to be. The label always promoted him as a sort of Jim Morrison character, brooding and quiet. Which he was—but not because of reasons the public might think. He was surprised no one had picked on the fact he was high as a fucking kite. Himself, he thinks he’s about the highest he’s been in a long time. Nothing spins, yet everything moves.

“His first baby,” Felix meant the song, but Chan inwardly facepalmed. “Most likely,” he added, humor to lessen the tension. “Acapella, Hyun?”

“No,” he replied. “This is ‘Knife.’ For the girl that breathed life into me then broke my fucking heart.”

The eerie melody started playing, the musician they’d hired to be on the keys specifically for this song following after. Taking a deep breath, and a long drag of nicotine, Hyunjin joins in a gentle, hard voice, a reprimanding tone, watching his girl in the arms of someone else—

“If I can have something from you… I have nothing, I’m so sad…I can’t take being alone. Every time I remember, nails dig into my heart…”

They must hate him now. Or resent him. Once the adrenaline of the concert, of the music passes, they’ll turn against him once more, prey for their headlines and magazine articles. Just a product made specifically to be taken apart, forced to turn itself into a thousand pieces so there’s enough for everyone. He’ll gladly be their doll, he thinks. You seem to hate him too. In fact, you do, don’t you?

Something he can’t take. He won’t.

He got up and walked down the remaining steps, all the while keeping the same breathy, heartbreaking tone that had you limply hanging from your date’s arms, gasping for air. He wasn’t the best singer, he was nowhere near one, to be completely fucking honest, but no one could sing that song better than him, in that specific moment, as you’re staring at his face like he’s the one that tore you apart.

The lock is still around my chain, angel. Until I die. I told you.

“Let me hear your voice more, I tried so hard to bear with it…the knife turns, my heart spills, blood mixed with tears…it must be my love. Here lies my love…”

Chan brought the drums to a crescendo, while Hyunjin gave his mic to a sound staff standing nearby, and brought his guitar around, feeling the strings under the tips of his fingers, eyes falling closed, his only purpose in life taking ahold of him, guiding him through, keeping him afloat. The rush is the same, he muses bitterly. Strumming chords, being in your presence—it equals his spoon, his lighter. His needles. Every time his soul is empty, he simply picks another addiction.

How truly fucking pathetic.

He plays for you, then. Stands right in front of you and that fucker, and pours his cursed, goddamned heart out, until nothing is left—the last of the poison outing, finally, finally, ridding him of humanity, of the filth and the shit, and his own weak attempts at pretending to understand life, and living, and why that fucking thing just has to keep…beating.

For what? So, he can witness with his own two eyes that for the one time that truly mattered—that he cared, that he loved, whatever the fuck that meant, he was abandoned? Again? And again, and again, and again. Lead guitarist/songwriter, Hwang Hyunjin, they’d said, is caught up in another scandal. Sources say the girl, twenty-year-old so-so, was receiving treatment at so-so hospital, when a pregnancy test came back positive. She alleges, that the baby belongs to the superstar, member of the controversial band Velvet Opiate.

A baby. His karma for betraying an angel. He expects to be buried six feet underground and never go anywhere, neither up nor down. Scum of the earth, and so he will remain. For his bones to decay, for his flesh to rot.

“How cynical you’ve become, my beautiful boy,” his mother would say, before leaving him alone once again.

Are you proud of your boy now, mom? He asked the crowd silently, fingers creating sound, creating art. His legacy of dust. Beautiful but never loved. Talented but immobilized.

“I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…”

Bangs cover wet eyes. Fingers bleed on the smooth wood of the guitar, Ibanez RG550, always, but Hyunjin feels none of it. Not the heartbreak, not the injury. What does he feel?

Jealousy. How heavy his lids are, how sweaty his chest is. Unusually. Almost…painful?

He looks down. There’s blood everywhere. There’s glass all around him. He looks up. You’re freeing yourself from the arms, you’re screaming at him, you’re jumping the barricade. High as a fucking kite, huh? Must’ve been one of those beer bottles from earlier. Keep talking, Hyunjin, keep thinking, keep thinking!

A big noise on the stage. Minho smashing his guitar to smithereens. Minho walking out. On them. On him. On him.

“Who the fuck threw that?” Felix’s deep voice vibrates through him. “Who the fuck threw that?!” Louder. Angrier.

Life played out in slow motion after that. Like in the movies Hyunjin would watch as a kid. The lights would whirl, twirl, move move move, the people’s faces would melt off, their voices like a rewinding cassette, and his body would be floating, above all, nothing happening to him, nothing at all. He’d like for something to happen to him, he thinks, for once. He’s been too isolated, too cuddled.

Even dying requires a pass, a question for every attempt, hand raised, waiting patiently for something that never comes, that is never allowed.

The soundtrack to his life? His own digits playing the intro to their next song, unaware that he’s bleeding out in front of thousands of people, one member down, at long last the much-anticipated clown circus, coming in your town!

Don’t miss it!

He jostles out of sleep, sitting up at once, eyes wild, searching in the dark, chest heaving, needing air where air cannot be found. He'd blacked out again. He rubs his face, comes back to life, focuses on the one fixture of light, a bright hope on the other side of the tunnel. Hyunjin squints, tilts his head, tries to understand how a lamp has a head, and arms, and beautiful legs.

It walks, too. The light looks a lot like you, he thinks. Am I still high? Or am I finally... has the time come? Am I dead? Am I dead? He realizes he says this outloud, but his mouth doesn't stop moving, the shakes won't wear off for a little while still, and his cheeks are wet again.

When will he stop being so weak? He saw an angel and begged for death, instead of redemption. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. It's you, it's you, there, right there, coming over to him like you'd never left, never turned away, never abandoned—like a mother would come for her child, except he knows nothing about that, not how it feels, not how it looks.

Hyunjin jumps from the bed, long legs clad in black kicking off blankets, limbs reaching out, strands of yellow covering his vision, shielding him from reality, holding him in the in-between, a place where he gets to hold you again. To hold you. He's sketched your body so many fucking times, a hundred, a thousand, a mess of paper and coal, fingers stained for weeks, and then he's brought the drawings close to his heart, closed his arms around it, held it and prayed for sleep, cradled you, shushed you, sang to you, eyes closed, empty rooms. Always alone. Always half-mad.

When his bony arms wrap around a corporeal body this time, when there's flesh under his touch, a rush of blood, a beating pulse—he hugs it tight, God, he hugs it. You. The lifeline, the angel, the sweet thing that wanted to see him again, and again, so long ago now, it seems. For whatever damned reason, somehow, you've deemed him worthy enough to come back for him, and won't you please take him away this time? Won't you end his misery, stop refusing yourself to him?

"Your wound!" You exclaim, but there's no wound for him, no pain in your presence. Only pure euphoria, the brightest kind. He's overwhelmed, intoxicated, harnessed.

He bumps you against chairs, against desks, and smashes lamps, never once leaving you, never once caring for the destruction, the consequence, only wanting to be part of you, skin of your skin, the breath inside your lungs, so that he never has to part from you again. And he cries; he cries hard, ruinously, like a little boy would, and you let him, because he looks like he's travelled through Hell and back, twice over. He's pale, malnourished, injured, and hurting. So visibly hurting, despite his numb reactions to it. If you wonder, or if you know, you never say. You hold him back, because he leaves you no choice. Because there is no other choice.

When the heels of your shoes hit the nightstand, he collapses on his knees, and takes you down with him. He doesn't mean to, you see; to sink so deep, every time, to bring you too, but he can't help it, he doesn't know any other way, any way out. He really just wants out, and could you show him? Could you at least tell him? He's missed you. He's missed you so fucking much.

"I can't do this, Hyunjin. I'm not."

"I wanted to see you," he says quietly, like he's ashamed. In all of the rain and the thunder, this one thing, he whispers it. Like he's afraid to disturb it.

"God, it doesn't matter," you croaked, but you were crying, too. You wept with him, for him. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter..." you repeated, shaking your head against his shoulder, losing oxygen.

He was squeezing the life out of you, he was everywhere. His blood was on your clothes. Make it stop, make it easier, make it last.

"Your song," he pulls back just to stare at your face, to search, to see. "Did you hear it? I wrote it for you."

You nod, and you smile, but it's a sad thing. Your hand caresses his cheek softly; your porcelain boy, trapped in a living body. "I did, rockstar. I did."

The genuine curve of his lips made you hide your face, your tears. You couldn't break. If you broke, it'd be ten times worse for him. But how to be strong, when your heart still beats the same for him? When you've never been a good liar.

"Happy birthday," you sniffle, and wipe at your eyes. "I brought you a gift."

His gingerbread eyes look at you like you've just told him something incredible. You're not sure if you want to know what it is.

"You're the gift," he mumbles, playing with your hair. His touch burns you. You want it as much as you want nothing to do with it.

"Hyunjin..." You reach up, at the desk, and pull your bag down on the floor with you. He watches, angel features in full mode, and you think blonde hair suits him a lot. "I went back to find it. I searched for hours."

It was the key he'd thrown away. His expression shattered at once. You rushed to explain, scared, terrified he's misunderstood—

"I know you don't want it, but I felt so bad about how it ended, that I just... couldn't leave it alone," you pressed your lips together. "So, I put a chain through it. I thought if you were to wear the padlock forever, I should do the same thing with the key. I wanted you to wear it on me."

His fist closed around your open palm, and he smashed you against his chest with one arm, breathing in your sweet scent. He'd never be alone again. That one thought was enough to get him through anything. There would always be someone out there holding a piece that can unlock him, a piece more important than death. I love you. I love you with whatever's left of my heart, and my soul. I'm yours entirely. All he had to do was seek them out, like he'd promised.

His fingers unclasp the necklace, and you hold your hair up and out of the way, exposing that pretty neck he tasted once, a million years ago. The taste on his tongue never faded, he never let it. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch another woman, ever again. He'd do his duty, and suffer silently, as he was meant to.

But seeing the key fall above your breast, it was too much. How would he let you go this time? You'll take everything. Everything.

"The band is going on hiatus," he admitted. "The girl is about to give birth; I bought her a house outside of the city. It's—I'm having a boy." Where the fuck were his cigarettes?

"I bet he'll be beautiful," you comment, putting a finger under his chin to lift his face. "Like you," you smile. "But you need to stop, Hyunjin. You need to stop."

You wait as he looks for his pack, as he brings the lighter close to his mouth, as he inhales, and drops his head again. "You knew?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Not till today." You gently lift one of his arms, the damage on the skin answer enough. "I can't get back together with you, rockstar. But I'll be there, if you need me."

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "I'll always need you, angel."

You grin, bumping your knee against his. "Then I'll always be there."

There they were again. The angel eyes. The ones from your first meeting. They looked straight through you, those. Watercolor eyes. God's eyes.

"You have cursed me, sweetheart. I can't see anything but you." Full circle, with an open ending.

Like his words from before, they cut deep. They made a house in you. You would never separate from him, you think, not ever.

Love tormented, love purple and blue.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin smut #skz hyunjin #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #kpop scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids hyunjin #skz fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunlix #mine.

622 notes · View notes

vagabond-umlaut · 11 months

Text

tick tock tick!

one's a fool, the other's a fool.

once a fool, always a fool.

you never imagined being thrown over the known limits of time and space, then back again, is what will make you grasp these two simple little facts — you don't appear to be very ruffled, though.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; 2.8k wc; time travel; light-hearted banter and fluff; sassy-yet-concerned-bestie!student-shoko; living-in-denial!student-reader; pining-in-the-background!student-satoru; the grown-up reader's enjoying her time in the past but she really wants to return to her time; suggestive themes in the very end [it's implied & between grown-up reader and grown-up satoru back in the present]

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ the element of time travel's been borrowed from the amazing oneshot 'time travel' by @seeingivy. tysm rc!!!! i love your works!!!! ❤️❤️

▸ the gif, divider and characters used ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

idiocy – same as common cold; worse than common cold – is contagious.

weird take, isn’t it, for a person such as you on a day such as today?

gray skies. strong winds. light drizzles.

perfect day, really – a much desired reprieve from the sweltering tokyo summers, you muse – one you would have been content in whiling away wrapped in your blanket with a novel and a savoury snack. or perhaps, you would have gone on a drive through the damp streets of the city. or, better yet, you would have taken a nice long nap in the comfort of your home–

–the keywords in each being ‘would have’.

’cause you do not do either of these – rather, you cannot.

in a peach classroom you know was painted yellow last autumn, before a phone you recollect being broken in a mission last decade, looking at a face with a hairstyle you haven’t seen the likes of since five years ago – any and every plan you might’ve had go straight out your mind into the courtyard outside.

cigarette dangling from fingers, shoko blinks back at you. you offer a tentative smile.

“hey, shoko! long time, no see, eh?”

the girl lets out a long exhale of smoke and asks, “is this real or am i finally hallucinating from sleep deprivation?”

“the former, i’m afraid,” you say softly, then frown. “wait a sec–”

“won’t wait,” cutting you off, she huffs a faint chuckle. you give an unimpressed look at her nonchalant attitude, only to see it bounce right off her. not that you’re very surprised, you suppose. “i’ve had enough mothering from the present-you; any more treating me as a kid and i swear i’m going berserk.”

your lips dip into a faux-pout.

“aw, that would be a pity. the only healer we have, lost to the darkness. the society would be in shambles.”

that earns another chuckle from shoko and she reclines in her seat, eyes watching your features closely. unnerving, yes; yet you let her. it isn’t every day one meets the adult version of their kouhai, after all. [that and the fact you’ve always been rather fond of this friend of yours – both in your teens and twenties – something you reckon is too known to be voiced always.]

one whole minute elapses before the silent examination ends. you heave an inward sigh of relief, which grows into fatigue at the next question. a mere monosyllable but enough to make you want to hit your head against the window.

“how?”

you wonder what answer must you give to your former senpai.

should you say it was a mishap on a mission which led you here?

nah, too unlikely to occur for someone as warily careful as you.

from an encounter with a cursed item you knew nothing of?

the truth, of course, but with a pinch of salt here and a pinch of pepper there.

you settle on serving shoko the blandest form of the truth ever.

placing a dilapidated pocket sundial on the desk, you reply, “i came across this in the storeroom today while deep cleaning the house. now, i knew; this was soaked in cursed energy; besides, it looked too simple to be a weak cursed object. but–”

“your curiosity overpowered your common sense, and you fussed with it and ended up here,” the girl finishes for you. a lame nod paired with an embarrassed smile is the only response you manage. she shoots an unimpressed face back. “you’ve always been the smart one... since when did you become an idiot?”

“years of being with an idiot–”

“ieiri-senpai – what the fuck!? who the hell are you??”

the familiar screech, you never knew was so raucous until now [suguru was right], snaps your explanation in two and you cast a sideways glance to see the exact image you were expecting.

messy hair, black sunglasses [not yours], floral print dress and sneakers – accompanied by a gobsmacked expression and two wide eyes peeking from behind the shades – the younger you stays rooted to her spot in the doorway. you wave at her weakly. “kind of shocking, right?”

“i’m not dreaming, am i?” the target of your question breathes out. you shake your head. “no. i’m real and i’m here.”

the statement drains bits of incredulity from her form and you watch her slowly enter the class and take the seat next to yours. a frown makes its way onto her lips.

“how? and, more importantly, why?”

a short chuckle leaves you.

this is the age when you were the most into the genre of science fiction of everything... the poor student you must be thinking you’re here to warn her of an event in the future or something of the sorts. you debate for a while on if you should play with her concerns or not – then decide against it. she looks too innocent to be teased so cruelly; besides, you never had the slightest of masochistic tendencies.

you smile at her, reassuringly. “how... i grew too curious for my good and ended up fiddling with something i should’ve handled more carefully – hey, don’t touch it,” you slap her hand away from the sundial; she gives you a sheepish grin. you resume with a huff, “and as to why... i’ve no clue. i really wanna go back home and start cleaning again.”

your younger version wrinkles her nose. “ew, why’re you cleaning? just hire some help to do all that work, dummy.”

you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. you really did hate doing household chores, hm?

“i do have help hired, but sometimes, you really wanna care for your home on your own, y’know? besides...” a tinge of loving exasperation sneaks into your voice. “there are only so many who have the patience to search for candy wrappers in every nook and corner of the– oh, shit. i mustn’t spoil the future for y’all.”

a cheshire cat grin and a confused little frown meet the tense smile you aim at your two companions. shoko drawls, “candy wrappers, huh? how’s living with satoru treating you? must be nice, living with the love of your life.”

“you’ll be the best one to know, senpai, what with barely staying in your rooms whenever iori-senpai's here,” the other girl cuts in with a sharp smile, which becomes soothing when she turns to you. “don’t you let those words get to you; these people are living in a fantasy world of their own, thinking every kind of godforsaken nonsense.” then tapers off, chuckling, when you watch her catch your knowing grin. “ah, sorry. i forgot you’re my future self; you’ll obviously know this.”

“i do,” saying so, you look at shoko. “’toru and i can be roommates too, you know?”

the girl makes no attempt to conceal the eye-roll, nor the scoff. “yeah, but are you? the two of you are literally in love with each other.”

“senpai...” the younger you whines, visibly affronted and annoyed, only to be interrupted by an obnoxious music before she can barely begin her rant. the older girl silently asks you to watch her kouhai – a request you fulfil with an amusement, the latter growing increasingly difficult to stow away with every moment you observe your glowing younger self.

yes, that’s right.

glowing.

from when she accepts the call and places the phone next to her ear, to when she hollers out a cheery “rise and shine, ’toru! you’re late!”, to when she exchanges animated dialogues, giggling, with the boy at the other end, to when she cuts the call and returns her focus to shoko and you, a wide grin blooming on her lips even while she apologizes for having to cut the meeting short — glowing is the only adjective, you think, will suit the teenaged-you.

you brush her apology away with a grin of your own. “it’s okay, go enjoy your day-off with your ’toru. a few more years and you’ll find such relaxing days hard to come by.”

“oh?” the girl pauses, grin melting away in disappointment – however, before you can even attempt to rectify or explain your statement, hauling her by the arm, shoko drags her away.

“off you go, lover girl,” she scowls, shoving her out into the hallways, “you’ve a date waiting; you ought to know better than to mope now.”

“this isn’t a date! and i ain’t moping!” comes the incredulous exclamation within an instant, soon followed by the reappearance of the younger you in the doorway, showing something between an exuberant beam and a worried frown as she inquires, “you wouldn’t call this a date, would you?”

a feeling, strangely similar to sympathy, creeps into your heart.

you hum, “you are going to the new chinese restaurant in roppongi, aren’t you?”

a nod.

shoko raises an eyebrow behind her, as if meaning to query you still remembering details from so long ago. the corner of your mouth lifts. “it’s the dress, ieiri. i seldom wore it so obviously i’ll remember when i did,” you explain, then return your focus to the other girl. she returns your gaze, anticipation brimming in hers. you shake your head.

“i wouldn’t call today’s meeting a date.”

“told ya, senpai!” the teenaged-you exclaims, and with that and a salute in your direction, jogs down the corridor, a listless tune resonating within its ancient walls as she goes humming. shoko shoots a particularly scheming look your way. “you said you wouldn’t call today’s meeting a date, so are there other meetings...”

a casual shrug is what you decide to counter her implications with. “maybe. maybe not. i’m not supposed to tell you.”

“perhaps, you aren’t,” the girl responds, an odd softness developing in her tone. you bite back whatever words you were planning on telling – a soft yet serious shoko is a blue moon, one you know well enough to not take not-seriously.

ignoring the sharp spike in cursed energy from the sundial, you train your senses on the young doctor-to-be standing before you and her solemn countenance as she regards you.

she offers a careful smile.

“perhaps, i too am not supposed to tell you this, but satoru cares for you. very much. and i know you too do. as much as him. but the two of you are simply shit at expressing it. your oblivious ass, more than that lovesick fool.” a chuckle escapes you at this statement – more at its exasperated tone than its words. smile growing freer, she continues, “it isn’t really funny, i’m telling you. it’s more painfully tiring than anything else for us, watching the two of you play this game since forever – something i’ve said to that blindfolded bastard more times than i can count and something i’ve implied to you repeatedly as well. but every word i might’ve said has bounced right off gojo’s thick skin and off your thick skull. however, now–”

the girl stills and you glance to your side to find the object shining. the clock seems to have begun ticking, huh? you choose to finish your friend’s unfinished sentence.

“however, now, seeing the older and more matured me, you decided to try one last time, didn’t you? thinking this might as well be the last chance to pop my bubble of ignorance and free ’toru from the pain of pining, yeah?”

shoko nods slowly.

plucking the sundial from the desk, you give her a smile – one, you hope, shows the true depth of gratitude you feel towards her. watching the way she returns your expression, you think it does. “satoru and i always count you to be one of our dearest friends,” you say, “thank you for always looking out for us, shoko. and as for our alleged feelings for one another...”

you toss her a wink.

“you never lose a bet you place on us.”

shoko’s jaw dropping to the floor is the last thing you see before the classroom melts into a swirl of colours, into the final beige wallpaper of the storeroom. the sundial sits innocently in the hollow of your palm – a funny little antique you feel less sorry now for coming across now. returning it to the open box lying on the floor beside you, you stuff the box back into the cabinet and rise, brushing dust off your trousers.

your flat desperately needs a deep-clean – and you’ve got to finish it in the shortest time possible.

’cause there’s an intriguing story, after all, waiting to be narrated by you to your ‘roommate’ once the latter’s back from work.

bonus:

a shocked gasp rings within the steam-filled confines of your bathroom. you giggle.

“don’t act so offended, ’toru! i had to say something to avoid awkward questions.”

“how can you be so okay with it, sweets?” the 6' 3" man whines, wrapping his soap-lathered arms round your midsection and dropping his head to rest it against yours. you lean back into him, eyes closing in comfort whilst you listen to him complain, “first of all, you didn’t wear your ring–”

“i thought we were over it, ’toru. i didn’t want the ring to get dirty or lost while cleaning.”

a tiny tsk sounds while your left hand is raised and a small kiss is planted on the gold. your heart goes swooning.

satoru’s grumbles continue, undeterred, “next, you blame poor innocent me for your error – even going as far as to refer to me as an idiot – that’s still okay, i guess. i’m willing to forgive. but to call me your roommate – that’s simply unforgivable, darling.”

you let out a tiny hum. eyes opening, you turn to kiss the downturned corner of his lips. it lifts a bit. “i know, baby. i know,” you attempt to appease him, “i shouldn’t have called you my roommate when you’re someone so much more than that.”

blue eyes peering down at you reflect the emotions coursing within yourself now.

“and what might that be?” he asks in a low whisper.

brushing the wet strands of hair away from his face, you whisper back, “my ex- fiancé. you’re my darling ex- fiancé. i should have called you that in front of them, right?”

your eyes blink a mere two times before a set of sharp teeth digs into your neck, pulling a shocked yelp from you, soon followed by the impression of a smug smirk onto your skin. the bath suddenly feels awfully warm – a sensation which intensifies with every little lick and bite pressed down the side of your throat and into your bare shoulder – before satoru lifts his head and a warm puff of breath hits the shell of your ear.

“that isn’t something you must call me, wife. you’ve made me very, very upset.”

“and what might i do to make up for it?” you inquire, though the words tumble out your mouth rather shakily – thanks to the shivers your husband’s wandering hands elicit, rough with callouses yet so gentle with the manner caress you.

“what might you?” gently swivelling your head with a light grasp on your chin, he brushes a thumb along your lower lip – gaze dark and ravenous, you note absently, as it darts over your face. your eyes flutter close at the feeling. “you can let me have a taste of my favourite snack, perhaps, you–”

“you don’t mean the kikufuku mochi, do you?” moving your face away, you ask, annoyed and worried — does satoru not know how much distressing his addiction to sweets is to you?

hold on you slackening slightly, your husband blinks at you.

you glower back. “you can be mad at me for an eternity if you want, satoru. but you aren’t getting another morsel of a sweet dish. you’ve already eat–”

“what makes you think i was talking of mochis, sweet cheeks?” the stumped question interrupts your rant. you let out an angry exhale. “oh, i don’t know. maybe it was you speaking of your favourite snack, satoru.”

“and you think kikufuku mochis are my favourite?”

you raise a brow in silent challenge.

dragging you closer to himself, your husband chortles.

“you think my idiocy is contagious, don’t you? well, breaking news, mrs. gojo, your obliviousness is incurable.”

the furrow between your brows deepens, however, before you can say or ask anything, a pair of pink lips descend upon yours, capturing it in a tantalizingly slow motion – which, needless to say, renders every thought of yours into a mushy white noise.

a turn of events, you reckon, you aren’t very upset with.

you can always bring up the topic, satoru’s trying to evade, tomorrow.

[you don’t, though.

it is very late the next morning when you finally realize, lips swollen and body sore, the meaning of your husband’s statement — and a loud groan falls past you into the hush of your shared bedroom. a husky laugh muffles itself into your hair.

your obliviousness really is incurable... isn’t it?]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fics #jjk imagines #gojo drabbles #gojo fics #gojo imagines #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kit posts 📝

216 notes · View notes

iwanthermidnightz · 6 months

Note

*sigh*

The way some (because it’s not all) of *them* are acting over what someone intentionally picked out from the entire prologue to share online (lol after screaming not to leak things lol), knowing it would go viral and lead to harassment of Gaylors/Kaylors is sad.

Especially when it proves that they go with whatever satisfies their insecurities over the possibility (re: TK for the time being). Lavender Haze “ended Gaylors/Kaylors” until the entire song and video came out, right? Or what about when “It’s Time To Go” and “Right Where You Left Me” were released and ended Gaylors/Kaylors” because they were about Karlie’s “betrayal”? Which led to Taylor commenting and saying what those songs were about.

When she deleted the reel about the LH, who was in shambles?

It doesn't change the fact that Taylor:

Wrote queer-coded lyrics and had an entire era of queer themes

Asked why people were mad when they could be glad (GLAAD) in a video where she placed herself in the queer community.

Pushed for the Equality Act to be passed and wrote letters, which she signed and added a rainbow to.

Said “out now” while wearing a rainbow dress to say reputation was available.

Has said, “I want her midnights”.

Wrote an entire song referencing a tattoo and a Tumblr account that a woman had removed and deleted.

Gave permission for “Seven” and “Ivy” to be used during scenes between queer characters on “Heartstopper” and “Dickinson”.

But somehow, Gaylors/Kaylors are projecting these things and creating them from their imaginations?

I am straight, but I have picked up on the queer-coded themes, etc., that she puts out. I actually…take the time to observe and listen to her lyrics and ask my queer mutuals on here questions about things I don’t understand because conversations help, and they matter. I don’t disregard their feelings or discredit their perceptions of her lyrics because I am mature and secure enough to respect their connections from her music to their life experiences.

From the excerpt (seems to be getting all the focus), it seems they think she is singling out Gaylors/Kaylors, but I think she’s simply saying that she was hoping that if the focus was taken off her dating life and that energy/focus were placed into her female friendships and having that concept empowered, they wouldn’t sensationalize or sexualize them.

Yet, they still sensationalized her friend group by criticizing /saying it was elitist, non-feminist, and a publicity stunt because all of her friends in the group happened to be white, rich, and thin. As for sexualizing, she specifically addressed the media by saying for her 25th birthday, she would like for THEM to stop accusing all her friends of dating her. While this was after kissgate, when the main discourse was not only still on her dating life but whether or not she and Karlie had kissed, let’s also look at these select lines from the reputation prologue:

“When this album comes out, gossip blogs will scour the lyrics for the men they can attribute to each song as if the inspiration for music is as simple and basic as a paternity test. There will be slideshows of photos backing up each incorrect theory.”

The same people who say Gaylors/Kaylors are sexualizing (because let’s be honest, that’s the only word they zoned in on. Lol) her female friendships have (along with the media) been sensationalizing the alleged “beef” with one of those female friends specifically since 2017. They also engage in sexualizing her male “relationships” that are also sensationalized until they aren’t because they loved all her “boyfriends” (Calvin less than others, lol) until they ended.

Anyways, thanks for letting me rant, IWHM. I wish you and others who stand to be harassed or cyberbullied over this peace, patience, and strength.

you came in hot with that one! thanks anon 🙃

80 notes · View notes

resident-gay-bitch · 1 year

Text

Jay's Fic Recs :)

these are all wonderful, wonderful fics i have read and think you should too <3

(if they are on tumblr i’ll drop their url so you can find all of their things :)) some of these links go to Ao3 and Wattpad as well)

happy reading!

STRANGER THINGS:

Eddie Munson

June Baby singlemum!reader x eddie - this is so cute, please give it a read it makes my heart squeeze. @luveline

Love Bites vampire!eddie x fem!reader - this is just very cute. highly recommend if you want a vamp fic with not too much monsterness @luveline

Worlds Apart eddie x fem!reader - this is timeline accurate, but naturally veers from cannon because character is added. you had broken up with eddie four months prior because of a horrible dream, the events of season four happen and it brings back deep dark feelings and a whole lotta love. cant really say much else without giving it away. @munsons-maiden

Meet The Munsons stepbro!eddie x fem!reader - okay, this one has me in shambles. it’s great and not gross. i loved the tension in this and the finale was just MWAH *chefs kiss* @mypoisonedvine

FREAK eddie x oc!jay - Jay is from Australia but she moves to Hawkins and meets Eddie. They fall in love, yadda yadda. long multichap. follows timeline, but starts in 1985 post mall fire. lotta angst, lotta hurt, looootttttaaaa comfort. they heal eachother. there are heavy themes in this so read the warnings. @resident-gay-bitch

Gareth Emerson

Too Late gareth x fem!reader - readers been in love with Eddie but he starts dating Chrissy and she turns to Gareth for comfort and ends up catching feelings for him instead. very cute. lotta angst. @resident-gay-bitch

Gareth x Eddie

Pretty Boy ftm!gareth x eddie - oh my god. i love this so fuckin much. so angsty and so much pining i live for this shit. honestly, reading this has made g x e my fav st ship, probably even my fav ship ever. childhood best friends tropes always get me. go give it a read :)) @dylanwritesgood

My Starboy closeted!gareth x oblivious!eddie - gareth loves eddie, always has, always will. but eddie’s straight… right? - lotta angst, lotta unrequited love and pining. so much heartahce. this has quite mature and explicit themes, so make sure to read the warnings before each chapter :) happy readings @resident-gay-bitch

Steddie

Jay’s Steddie Fic Recs- sorry, the list got too long so i had to create another page for it :) good news though, you wont run out of steddie fics here.

Clarkson

Drabble? wayne munson x scott clark - we don’t know where this came from, but we know where the fuck it’s going. please hop on the scott x wayne train because the seats are comfy and the view is beautiful - seriously, more people need to write for this - this peice is magnificent - we need fanart for them PLEASE @unclewaynemunson @flowercrowngods

MARAUDERS:

Marauders

All The Young Dudes wolfstar & jily - best fic ever, hands down, written by the gods. read it weather you like the marauders or not.

Crimson Rivers jegulus & wolfstar - hunger games au - i know this fic has been archived but it just needs some more recognition because it’s AMAZING

Wolfstar

Text Talk sirius x cf!remus - modern no magic au. sirius accidentally texts the wrong number and ends up catching feelings for the random boy behind his phone.

58 notes · View notes

bluejayboi · 1 year

Text

Regret Message

This is the 3rd and final part of my Story of Evil song series. Hope you enjoy~

Part 1: Daughter of Evil

Part 2: Servant of Evil

TW: Yandere themes, stockholm syndrome, execution, slight gore mention (severed head), and angst (I added a comfort ending thpugh)

Songs to listen to while reading:

Regret message- Lizz Robinett, Mario GaGabriel, scezaria, tobimisa, m19 [kei]

Everything had gone downhill quickly. The kingdom was in shambles. The people were on the verge of revolting. The ongoing war had not only weakened the kingdom's army but had also made countless enemies among other nations. Enemies were closing in at all sides.

You had been preparing for this day for a few months now. You gathered any riches you could that people wouldn’t notice were missing. You packed rations and supplies in a bag that you could easily access as well. You hid your supplies in a hard to reach spot in the royal stables. The moment the opportunity presented itself, you could make your escape. You’d take a horse, load up all your supplies on their back, and ride away from this all.

In the back of your mind, there was a nagging question; What would happen to the twins? Surely they would be able to handle things on their own. Right? And why should they feel bad for them at all? They had kidnapped you and held you against your will! You tried to bring yourself to hate the two of them. To not care what would happen to them. But you couldn’t. A part of you had grown to care for the two. Damn Stockholm syndrome! You couldn’t help it. So you packed some more supplies for the other two and hid them in the stables.

Eventually, the day came. Leading from the front of such a violent mob, dressed head to toe in red, was a noble dame in armor coming for the princess’ head. This woman led a frenzied crowd, made up of citizens from this kingdom and the kingdoms of Blue and Green. They were angry from the many years of suffering in vain, allowing themselves to be swallowed in a wild rage over their mistreatment. The soldiers were far too tired from the long and violent war they had fought in that they didn't have the energy to even hold a sword. The angry mob reached the palace. Servants and nobles alike fled to escape the people’s wrath.

You had prepared for this, dressing yourself in servants clothes and draping a cloak around yourself. You rushed to Riliane’s side, knowing that Allen would be with her. You found her staring out the window, watching as the crowd charged into the palace grounds. You watched as Allen laid a cloak over her shoulders, which startled her out of her stupor. He pulled her into a tight hug and whispers “Come quickly change your clothing and go in my place. I will stay behind and wait as you make your escape.” Riliane wept in realization of what he meant, and Allen simply loosened the hug and wiped her tears away “It’ll be okay, I was born to live this day. Not a single soul will know that you got away. Except for one.” And he turns to you. You silently wept, knowing that he planned to sacrifice himself and that there was nothing you could do to persuade him to come with you. Wearing Riliane’s gown and letting his hair down, he looked just like her. Except for his expression. His eyes were so warm and his smile so comforting. He walked up to you and held your face, wiping your tears away, before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you…for everything you’ve done. But I must ask you for one more thing.” You simply nodded and hugged him tighter, knowing that any attempt to talk would simply lead to more tears. “Please…” he moved back to look you in the eyes “… take care of her for me.” Wiping your face with your sleeve and composing yourself, you simply mutter “I promise you… I’ll do what I can.” Allen breaks from the hug, giving you a kiss on the forehead and moving to do the same for Riliane. He starts to move towards the door, planning on meeting the crowd so you and Riliane have a chance to escape. You call out for him one last time. Clutching the prized jewelry, the one featuring the dove in flight, you pressed it into his palm and professed “Despite everything, I’m happy to have spent time with you. You are the brother I never had. May we meet again in another life.” Then you grabbed Riliane’s hand and led her away.

You brought her to the stables, quickly loading the packs of supplies on the back of a horse. You felt a tug on your sleeve as Riliane pointed at Josephine. You couldn’t take her, it would make things too obvious. But you wouldn’t let her risk losing another loved one in the chaos. So you opened the gate and let Josephine escape the stables. Then you helped Riliane onto the back of a horse and hopped on the back of another. You rode out of the palace together, the crowd being too preoccupied with breaking into the palace to pay any attention to either of you. You rode and rode, before reaching the place where you hid your savings. You used what you had to buy yourselves a room at an inn far enough away from the chaos, hiding the treasure and supplies where no one could find it.

You wanted to leave the kingdom as soon as possible, but Riliane refused. Word has reached her about Allen’s execution taking place at three that next day. She couldn’t just leave him to die alone. Despite doing everything in your power to convince her not to go, she refused to let her brother die without at least one person he loved by his side. You wanted to keep her from going, knowing that it wouldn’t be safe for either of you, but you couldn’t deny it either; it would feel wrong letting Allen die surrounded by people who hate him.

You donned yourselves in cloaks that hid your identities and made your way through the crowd, holding hands in order to not lose one another. You could see the guillotine looming high above. You could feel Riliane beside you freeze up. Squeezing her hand you patted it with your free hand. She gulped nervously and continued forward. You watched as Allen was led out, surrounded by guards and weighed down with chains. You both rushed through the crowd, forcing your way to the front where Allen could see you both. His head is forced into the lunette of the guillotine. Never laying eyes upon the people in the crowd, you watch as Allen stares at you both fondly. You notice a golden gleam in one hand and a clear bottle in the other

You and Riliane give him one final smile, hoping to show gratitude to his actions and give him some solace before the end

Whispering aloud their final sound, you hear a soft “Oh my, it’s tea time.” as he smiles at you both one last time

… The blade fell …

The bottle tinked against the cobblestones near Riliane’s feet. Tearing her gaze from the guillotine, she gently scooped up the bottle and wept. You watched as the golden jewelry slunk from Allen’s now limp hand.

You quickly pulled Riliane into a hug before escorting her away from the ghastly scene. You took her to a secluded alley where she could cry without raising suspicion and to keep her from seeing the executioners take her brother's head out of the basket. She’s seen enough. She doesn’t need to see that. She sobbed in your arms, cradling the bottle in her palms as her tears fell. You didn’t even notice as tears dripped from your own eyes.

You both rode out that night, taking all the possessions you had brought and moving as far from the kingdom as you could. You weren’t sure where to go, since you had never left the kingdom before, but Riliane recommended a spot: A town beside the sea. A place where she and her brother had visited so long ago.

She had one goal upon arriving at the town: She had to fulfill her brother’s wish. He had always fulfilled all of her’s. Now, it was up to her to fulfill one of his.

The two of you walked into the ocean, not caring about the salty waves lapping around your legs. As you waded further in, she told you the story of this place; “If you write a wish upon a paper and you place it into a glass bottle, and it’s washed away by the ocean, then someday there’s a chance it may just come true.”

Reaching a far enough spot out, you watch as she cradles the bottle close once more, pressing a kiss against the glass, before hurling it into the ocean. You both watch the bottle drift farther away, riding swiftly on the waves. It moved further and further away, gradually fading into the horizon. You reached down and grabbed Riliane’s hand, the two of you weeping as you watched the last part of Allen drift away.

You and Riliane ended up settling down in a nice cottage on the cliffside by that sea side town. You have a nice garden and enough access to seafood to keep you both well fed. Every evening, you both take a walk along the shore. You collect shells and sea glass to make crafts that you can sell for some extra cash and Riliane collects the bottles of people’s wishes and sends them back out to sea. You made a makeshift grave for Allen outside your home and Riliane planted a laburnum tree sapling over the grave. The cheerful yellow petals always reminded her of Allen’s cheery personality. For you, the tree is nice but not as impactful as the bird that often roosts on its branches and sings its lament; A pure white dove.

As time goes on, she opens up more about her past. She tells you about how she and Allen were separated. How they were forced to live separate lives before eventually being reunited, She laughs bittersweetly as she reminisces over the fun times they shared.

Riliane is no longer as possessive over you. All of her confidence and cockiness is gone. Her sin has taken everything she loves away from her. All except you. And she refuses to lose you. She does her best to shape up and be a better partner. She pulls her weight financially (doing what she can to make money by selling crafts and produce from the garden) and in the relationship (always having your back, willing to lend an ear and comfort you when you’re going through a rough patch, and actively working to overcome her past shortcomings). Despite not being as ‘yandere’ for you anymore, she’s still very dependent and clingy towards you. You are her rock. You saved her. You’ve helped her in more ways than she can list. You’ve always comforted her when she misses Allen. She loves you more than she ever did before. She couldn’t bear to lose you too.

Every year, on Allen’s birthday, the two of you go out to the ocean and each set a bottle out to sea. You never plan what wish you write on the inside but the two of you always end up matching; you hope that all three of you can be reunited in another life (under better circumstances than you had in this one).

Since I’m a sucker for a happy ending:

The sun shines gently over a field of wildflowers. The sound of a babbling brook is interrupted by the occasional splashes and euphoric giggles. Three figures can be seen frolicking about the meadow. Their flowing garments drenched in water and mud with flowers haphazardly woven into each other's hair. They wore crowns of flowers, the girl happy to bedeck her brother and her lover in the blooming circlets. They laughed and chatted, danced and sang. They told stories to one another of worlds that never were and of times that came before. They splashed each other in the stream and chased each other with handfuls of water. As night slowly creeps over the horizon, staining the sky in beautiful warm hues, the three link arms and make their way to a quaint cottage in the distance, still laughing as they go.

#story of evil #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere vocaloid #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere story

22 notes · View notes