#of course it is bittersweet but it stuck with me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojonanami · 2 months

Text

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 ❞

❝ I CAN'T BREATHE WITHOUT YOU, BUT I HAVE TO... ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader (canon / multi au)

✧ summary: "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, jjk manga spoilers (236 spoilers), multiple lives, assassin!reader x duke!gojo, actor!gojo x singer!reader, prince!gojo x knight!reader, model!gojo x photographer!reader, oral (f!receiving) in a car, semi-public, making out in public, pantyhose ripping, canon compliant except towards the end, angsty, but also bittersweet / implied happy ending

✧ wc: 6,589

“Do you think we would be together in another life?” you ask, not thinking much of the question, as your fingers draw lazy circles against his bare chest, your head resting right between his shoulder and chest.

Satoru chuckles, vibration against your skin, “Of course we would, sweetheart,” his arms curl around you, tugging you higher, as he gazes up at you, “you think I could live any lifetime without you?” He murmurs, his lips finding yours, “I know we’d find each other, time and time again,”

“How do you know?” your fingers brush against his cheek, shaking as he presses his cheek into your palm, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Because, I love you,” he kisses you again, sweet lips gliding against yours, his breath warming your lips as he parts.

“You did say love is a curse,” you give a small smile, and he presses his forehead to yours.

“Then I’d want you to curse me — in every life.”

“I swear on my life,” you press the dagger to his throat, blade digging into his formerly perfect porcelain skin, drawing scarlet to the surface, “I’ll kill you, Satoru Gojo,”

“I’m flattered to be a target of the infamous blueblood assassin,” his cerulean eyes glinted like stars in the candlelight, flames flickering across his eyes like burning comets, “but I didn’t think you would announce yourself as you did — what if I called for my guards?”

You scoff, fingers flexing against the hilt of your dagger, “Then you would be dead before you uttered even a single sound and do you think I left your guards to chance? All of that schooling to be a duke and you haven’t learned a single thing have you?”

“And what have I done to end up as your target?” he hums — as you bit back a sigh stuck in your throat — you preferred your marks to be much less chatty, but all he had was his mouth you supposed, “you only target the rich and the corrupt — and while I may fit the former, I do not fit the latter,”

“You’re certainly sure of yourself,” and he’s unfazed by your reply, as his eyes wander the only thing visible of your expression — your eyes.

“Since you have not stated my crime, I can only assume that I’ve committed none, and the infamous assassin whose morals could not be compromised have been,” and your grip wavers a moment, and he takes advantage of your hesitance to disarm you, and pin you to a nearby chaise all before the clatter of your blade hitting the marble floor, “and now what’s an assassin’s price who has done all of this for no reward?”

“How do you know I’ve done this for no reward?” you squirm in his grip, but it’s ironclad, and you know all too well he could have broken from your grasp at any point, but he had chosen not to — your heartbeat roars in your ears as one question repeats again and again stuck between beats — why? “I very well may have taken a payment you don’t know of — you act as if you know of me,”

“Because I do,” the heir replies with a simple smile, “I have followed your work for a long time, and I found myself fascinated with what you do — and why you do it,”

“Honored to have caught your attention,” you say in mock reverence, your arm beginning to ache, “now do you plan to call your guards?”

“Didn’t know you were so eager to die,” he stares still, as you turn your head away from his piercing gaze, “shouldn’t you keep your eyes on your target or now your captor?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You mumble as you flinch as you squirm under his grip, sleeve riding up ever so slightly — and then he sees it. His eyes narrow, as his hand grasps at your wrist now, “hey! Don’t—“

In a moment his fingers nearly rip the fabric of your tunic to tug your sleeve up — angry red cuts and purple bruises litter your arm. Your breath catches as his eyes stare for several moments before sliding back to you — no longer a placid pool but a raging ocean.

“Who did this to you?” he says quietly, and you’re blinking, nearly slack jawed, as you try to rip your arms away, but he won’t let you, “who is it? Is it the same person who told you to kill me?”

“Stop—“

“Is it the same person who’s taken someone important to you?” and you grit your teeth in silence, “is it the little orphan you adopted? Yuji?”

And your eyes snap to his, “How do you know this? Who are you?”

His lips curl, “You told me yourself, I’m Satoru Gojo,” and his fingers brush your cheek, “it’s a shame you don’t remember where we first met — because I never forgot,”

You furrow your brow, “What are you talking about? I think I’d remember you. You’re…” you jerk your head, eyes looking him up and down — lingering on his white hair and eyes, “distinct,”

“Well what if I had black hair and green eyes, would you remember then?” And he whispers your name in your ear, and you pause, “the fireworks were nothing compared to you,”

And your breath catches — “You? But—“

“I had snuck out, had a disguise and everything, and I had planned to explore the festival alone but who do I find but you?” His grip on you loosens only to pull you a little closer, “the girl who had stolen two steamed buns and pinned me with part of the blame, making me run after you—“

“You didn’t have to run—“ and he snorted.

“Well, it was that or get caught sneaking out — so I chose the lesser of two evils,” you can’t help it, your fingers trace the curve of his jaw to the back of his ear, “are you seeing if I’m defective?” And you find it.

“No, he—“ you stop yourself, “you had gotten a small cut right behind your ear, it was deep enough that it would have left a scar behind,” and he had gotten a small cut from one of the soldiers who had grabbed them, bucking him with his sword, before you wrenched him out of there. The two of you spent the rest of the night eating food and sneaking around guards. And then finally climbing up on a rooftop to watch the fireworks.

“How did you—“

“One of my father’s advisers found me later that night, in exchange for never sneaking out again without telling him, he said he would keep tabs on you,”

You have no words, but one left — “why?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe it was because I’ve been surrounded by nothing but my family’s yes-men, and you were the one person who treated me like a person, maybe it was the fact that day was the only day I actually had fun,” and he glances at you, “or maybe it was because I was drawn to you,”

And you snort a little, “Do you believe in that fates nonsense they fed all of us as kids?”

“I think fate is a very real thing, and I think it’s up to us to seize it,” he releases you, holding your hand before bending to press the barest brush of his lips against the back of your hand, “so, will you seize it or continue to evade your fate?”

“We’ll never be able to evade the press if you do this,” you whisper, as he presses you against a wall of a secluded pillar of whatever place they had chosen to have this awards show, “and our teams will definitely chew us out if we don’t make an—ah,” you gasp, as his teeth nip at your neck, “Satoru, don’t leave a mark,”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he licks his lips, as he leans up, his normally messy white locks combed and parted to the side, his lips kiss bitten red from the liplock he had you in for the last ten minutes, and his white suit slightly ruffled and pressed against you, “you taste so sweet,” his thumb runs down your puffy lips, “and the desserts tonight sucked,”

You chuckle, your fingers toying with the hair resting against his undercut, “Think you would have been pleased with receiving the award for best actor, is that not enough Mr. Gojo?”

“The only thing that pleases me is my gorgeous wife’s singing and,” his lips find yours in a desperate kiss, and you could taste the fruity mocktail he had earlier on his lips, “and her moans when she’s under me,” his hand slides under your dress, dragging over your pantyhose clad thighs, “do you think anyone would notice if you came back without these?”

“Yes, I do,” you gasp as he tugs at the delicate fabric, “Toru, we shouldn’t—” but your pleas are half-hearted, as his lips drift to press butterfly kisses up your jaw, “you deserve me insane,”

“I know,” he chuckles, “that’s why you love me,” and you hum, your noses brushing before you meet lips again, “I love you so much,”

Your fingers cup his cheek, as he leaned into your touch, “I love you too — don’t you want to enjoy all the accolades, the interviews, the congratulations? You won such a big award, Toru, I want you to celebrate,”

“I am celebrating,” he grins, tilting his head, “I’m surprised at you, princess — and you’re the smart one between the two of us,” he teases, as he turns his head to kiss your palm, “in an entire ballroom full of people in there and all the places in the world, there’s no one place I rather be with than here with you.”

“How did I end up stuck with you?” you grumbled, your armor weighing on you heavier than other days, as you stood in front of your prince — the little sun of this kingdom and the future king, the man you were sworn to protect for the rest of your earthly days, and your best friend, for better for worse, “if the fates have written it, I must have done something horrid in a past life,”

“Do you really believe in that garbage?” Satoru raises an eyebrow, as he places his sword down from practice, waiving off his training partner, as he wipes off his sweat with a towel offered by a maid, “You know that stuff they fed to us so we wouldn’t throw tantrums during classes — so we didn’t turn into slugs for our next life,”

“Why turn into one when you are one already?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes, as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Has a slug ever looked this good before?” and you roll your eyes.

“Think your ego is going to be so large by the time you become king, your crown won’t sit atop your head correctly,” you sigh, rising to your feet, “now we must get you cleaned and dressed, you have a meeting with the—”

“I actually cleared my schedule for the rest of the day,” and you blink, frowning.

“His Majesty will not—”

“His Majesty will be fine — old man hasn’t kicked the bucket over the last fifty things I’ve done — I doubt this will be more than a ten minute lecture on decorum, fifteen if I decide to poke the bear,” he throws you a grin, as he pulls on a fresh shirt, “come, I have something to show you,”

“Show me?” you repeat, before his hand finds yours — his hands are smooth despite the constant swordplay and practice he put in — he supposed he owed that to the royal staff, tending to his looks as much as they did his health. The same could not be said about yours — riddled with cuts and calluses alike. Your cheeks burned as your unkempt hand held his — “your highness, this is—”

“‘Your Highness?’” he repeats, throwing you a smirk over his shoulder, “when have you ever called me that?”

The appearance of holding your hand as he pulled you down several hallways through the palace was beginning to attract the attention of several gawking onlookers. Your cheeks burn — and you’re not sure if it's from the stares, his words, or the fact he was still holding your hand as you both arrive outside his chambers. But you can’t stop him — but you never could stop him when it came to this, could you? It reminded you of the times he dragged you through the gardens, wanting to show you the rabbits’ hidey hole he had found in the corner of the royal gardens.

“Well I was made an official royal guard and appointed as your personal guard yesterday so I thought a little professionalism—” he unlocks his door, turning to look at you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“There’s no need for decorum between us, now is there?” his fingers find a stray strand of your hair, and presses his lips to it, as he opens his door. You glance inside to find a lovely decorated cake and a present wrapped perfectly on the table, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,”

“What—but—” and your mind realizes the date, “how did you—”

“You think I’d ever forget your birthday?” he tilts his head, as your eyes slide to him, “it’s the day we met,”

It was — the day you were brought from your home with your father who had been the king’s royal guard for many years, you were brought to be the prince’s — but you didn’t know you would find more than that in him.

“I didn’t know you did this for your personal staff,” you teased, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, “I certainly can’t imagine what they would think of you inviting a woman to your room for it,”

“Well, you are my personal guard, you’re here to personally guard me against anything, right?” and this was the nature of your relationship wasn’t it? Teasing and goading — toeing that line of proprietary before one of you eased off.

“It seems like I need to guard you only against yourself, your highness,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes sliding to you, as he says your name with a softness that you wished he wouldn’t, “you had no issue calling me that before,”

“We were only friends then, I’m your guard now—“

“Do you kiss all your friends?” And your cheeks flare, as your gaze refuses to meet his.

“That was—a mistake,” you whisper the last two words, “we can’t do this—“

“Why not?” You turn away, your eyes sliding to the cake, a frown pulling on your lips.

“Because you have a duty to your people and I have a duty to you,” and his fingers find your shoulder gently, giving you leave to pull away — but you can’t, you couldn’t.

“My only duty I desire is the one to you—I love my people, but I can’t be the king they deserve if you’re not the one beside me,” your gaze still cast downward, “I will cast away any responsibility, if I could have a chance with you, sweetheart—“

“The king has discussed your engagement with me,” you murmur, “he told me he plans to have you engaged with a princess from a neighboring—“ And his arm is wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer — your gaze lost in the endless blue skies of his eyes, “we can’t—“

“I’ll find a way,” and you scoff.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mutter, and his warm palm slides against your cheek.

“This isn’t me promising to find a unicorn when we were five, Princess,” and you chuckle at the thought of his child self trudging into the woods with carrots in hand and what he thought was fairy dust (it was ladies’ finishing powder), “I swear that we’ll be together,” and he reaches into his pocket, and holds a small box, opening it to reveal a beautiful infinity pendant, “and this is my promise,”

You bite your lip, staring at the silver glinting in the sunlight trickling in from the windows, “Satoru—“

“Finally giving in?” And you sigh.

“How can you be sure we’ll be together?” He chuckles, as he gently turns you, making you face the mirror in his room as he places the necklace delicately around your neck, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck before he clasps it. His arms slowly slide around your middle as he meets your gaze in your reflection, lips curling.

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, “Because I know I’d choose you, again and again.”

“Why did they choose him as my model again?” You groaned as you looked at the list, tossing it back on your desk, “he’s so impossible to work with—“

“The shoots are finished quick—“ your boss replies gruffly, as he stands with his hands in his pockets, “and he said he’d only shoot with you. Said he likes your work and you’re the only one who can ‘capture the real him,’ some crap like that,” he shrugs.

“Yaga, I can’t keep dealing with this man, can’t he shoot with anyone else?”

He sighs, scratching the back of his head, “Look, the magazine we’re working with chose him as the model, and he said he would only do the shoot if you did it,”

You sigh, leaning on your palm, elbow against your desk. “you’re not giving me a choice are you?”

And no, he wasn’t.

Because now you were at the studio for the sight of the shoot, getting everything ready that you could before your model arrived. You made sure his preferred makeup artist and hairstylist were available, you picked out his favorite snacks, got his preferred lighting (to be adjusted when he was on set), and had your cameras adjusted for his light sensitivity.

All of which reduced the amount of time you had to spend with this man — but not even the most divine snacks would stop him from running his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” you turned to see him, “miss me?”

“When pigs fly, maybe,” but your words don’t faze him, a mock pout on his lips, “why do you request me to do your shoots, Gojo?”

“Because it’s the only way you’ll see me,” and you sigh, as you continue to adjust your camera again, “you still haven’t given me a chance—“

“I gave you one chance, wasn’t that enough?” Before you turn to him, “look, I’m here because I have to be. I want to shoot — get in and get out and not have to—“

“One chance to talk to you — please, even if you don’t believe me or forgive me—“

“Fine,” you shake your head, frustrated, “go finish the shoot and we can talk for five minutes after,” and maybe he would stop forcing you into this situation.

Satoru Gojo was the top wanted model by all the agencies — agencies were looking to snipe him and others were looking to have exclusive deals with him — whether it was photography businesses or brands.

You couldn’t blame them, as you adjusted your lights and took a few test shots — he was gorgeous, even by model standards. From his skin to his body to his attitude, it was effortless for him. Even a bad angle or bad lighting did very little to detract from his flawless look.

The chiseled cut of his jaw put statues to shame, his eyes shone brighter than the shiniest gemstones, his charm the envy of the love goddess herself, and his smile was enough to change hearts and minds alike.

The shoots always look little time — the part that took the most time was choosing the best shots — you’d love to take one bad picture of him. Even for yourself — but that had proved impossible. Even deprived of sleep in the hours of the early morning, he was perfect.

Perfect — except for his loyalty, you supposed.

How had it gone so wrong so fast? And how did you let yourself become so carried away that you thought you were different from the others he bedded?

And the shoot was over in a moment, and just like he said, Satoru was by your side as you begin to break down the equipment, as the other staff filed out, “can we talk now?”

“If you have to,” you would give him an ear, but it didn’t mean you’d give him anything else.

“I never cheated on you—“

“Bullshit,” you reply, as you pick up the tripod you set up, “I guess you didn’t the full five minutes,”

“No, I didn’t—what you saw—“

“I saw you kissing another girl all over social media—“

“You saw me with Suguru,” he sighs, “and we weren’t kissing — we were hugging. You thought it was kissing from the angle of the picture, and before I could explain, you had blocked me on everything,”

You pause, “Suguru?” You repeat, as you pull out your phone and pull up the picture — black hair, hair half up, and they could have been hugging. And Satoru pulls out his own phone and shows you a selfie he took that same day, the meta data matching, “oh, oh fuck,”

“Was that an apology? Not familiar with those coming out of your mouth so—“

“Satoru, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, “I saw the pictures and I heard the rumors and I assumed the worst of you,” you run your fingers through your hair, “even though I knew you better than that,”

“You did, but I understand why you thought that,” he shrugged, “we had only been seeing each other for a month, but it meant something to me,” his voice softens.

“To me too,” you shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Satoru. I don’t know how to make it up to you,”

“I know,” he smiles, “have dinner with me,”

You blink. “why?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart? Everyone eats dinner, it’s a—“

“Satoru,” you sigh, “I didn’t believe you, I didn’t trust you, how can you forgive me like that? How could you want to be with someone like that?”

“Well, you made a mistake — you forgave me for the other mistakes I made during our time together, and if I hadn’t let my team convince me that my fake reputation as a playboy would help sell my image — maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with,” his fingers brush against yours, “besides, I want to believe in second chances — because I’d want to believe you’d give me one too,”

Your fingers intertwine with his, “Even when I don’t deserve it?”

And he lifts your hand to his lips, blue eyes glinting like an ocean dabbled in sunlight, “All the more for you make up for, right?”

This wasn’t right. No. No.

“Satoru, Toru, please,” your fingers cupped his face, your fingers smeared with his blood as Maki pulled gou away, “no, no!” You don’t remember screaming, but you know you did because your throat was raw, your tears streaming down your face as your hands shook, staring at the dried blood on your fingers.

He promised you he would win. He promised you he would come back. He promised you a life, a family, a home — something beyond jujutsu.

And now you were left with nothing but that.

“I’ll come back,” he had murmured in your ear the night before, his fingers tracing your cheek, “there’s no way I won’t. Have you ever seen me lose?”

You give a small chuckle, “You just got trapped in a box for almost twenty days?” And he pouts, as he tilts your head up, fingers sliding against your cheek.

“It was a one time fluke, sweetheart,” and his lips grazing your lips, “and I’m here now aren’t I?” you hum, “and I’ll always be there,”

“In every life?” He smiles.

“In every one.”

In every one — except this one.

“One would think you’re helpless, if you pout like that,” you teased, as you crawl into bed beside him, a smile on your lips, as he tugs you steadfast into his arms, “it’s only been a few minutes,”

“It felt like a lifetime,” he presses a kiss to your head, “Is he asleep?” And you nod, a sigh on your lips as you settle into bed.

“After about twenty minutes of arguing, he passed out while I was telling him a story. He’s still not accustomed to this mansion,” neither were you — you had spent a few nights lying awake after jerking from the clutches of sleep — the paranoia still rampant in your mind. But those thoughts were a little farther now as you lie against his chest, heart thrumming under your body — the very heart you were meant to stop, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

“What is it?” He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head.

“Why did you help me?” You draw circles on his chest, “you had every reason not to,” your fingers traced a line across his neck, “I even held a knife to your neck,”

“And that was very attractive,” and you roll your eyes, “what? I like a woman who takes charge,”

“Oh I know,” you chuckle, your lips pressing sweet kisses to his neck, “but I still don’t understand — you had every reason to distrust me, we barely knew each other, and yet—“

“You were still the girl I fell in love with that night,” he murmurs, “I just knew you were something special and when I saw what you were doing — trying to uproot corruption, I knew I was right. And I knew I had to make you my duchess,”

“Well I’m not your wife yet,” you tease, the words barely out of your mouth before he’s got you pinned under him, “Toru—“

“Now, I told you I was going to seize my fate when I saw it,” and he kisses you, stealing every thought from your mind and every breath from your body, his touch filling you with warmth in return, “and I see it right in front of me,”

“And what does it look like?” you smile against his lips, as he leans down to kiss you again.

“Bright.”

“Is it just me or do these paparazzi lights get brighter and brighter each time?” you rub your eyes as the two of you slide into your car for the night, the driver setting off towards your home.

“I don’t know, I was too busy being blinded by my gorgeous wife,” and Satoru’s hands are all but under your dress, sliding up and down your sides, before one cups your cheek, “did i mention how incredible you look, sweetheart?”

You hum, “about a million times,” your fingers slide against his shoulders until he’s practically lying on top of you against these leather seats.

“That’s a million times too little — you look incredible, sweetheart. This dress was made for you,” and his lips taste as sweet as his words, your fingers sliding into his snowy locks while his slide against your bare thighs, “and I can’t wait to take it off when we get home,”

“You’re going to take it off now if your hands slide any further up,” he draws a shiver from you as his hands do just that, daring further up your thighs, “Toru—“

“Don’t worry, the partition is up and it’s just you and me, sweetheart,” and he’s sinking to his knees on the floor, as his hands slide up your dress, “just keep your voice down, don’t want anyone hearing my wife, do we?” And his lips are grazing your inner thigh, his smirk against your skin, “good thing I relieved you of those pantyhose, huh?”

“Toru,” you whined, as his fingers parted your thighs, and he could see your all too soaked panties, a damp patch and the fabric nearly translucent while it clung to your clit, “please—“

“So needy — and now that mouth of yours is being as honest as this one,” his lithe fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties to expose your cunt, “all this f’me? Been like this since our make out earlier? Surprised I didn’t see your cum drip down your legs,”

And his words make you squirm, “Satoru, I swear to god—“ and his lips kiss your clit, as two fingers tease at your entrance, gathering your pre on his fingertips.

“You don’t have to call me god, Princess — just Satoru is fine,” he murmurs as his lips close around your clit, as his fingers work inside your walls, a delicious stretch that draws a pretty gasp from your lips, your head falling back against the leather headrest.

The sounds of the squelch of your cunt and the slurping of his lips against your clit rang in your ears — your fingernails digging into the seat as your other hand clamped over your lips.

“That’s it, just like that, Princess,” his tongue darts out to drag circles around your clit, while his fingers find the spot that makes you see stars.

“I’m—“ you manage, before you’re cumming around his fingers and lips, your toes curling as you do, head back against the headrest. Your eyes find him to see him looking all too perfect even ruffled, as his lips were glossy with your release, tongue darting out to clean it, before he licked his fingers one by one.

“And you were worried about the paparazzi noticing your missing pantyhose,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, a smirk against your mouth, “let’s hope no one saw that,”

And there’s a sharp rap on the window, “Sir and madam? We’ve arrived,” and his lips quirk, as he adjusts your clothes, cleaning your smudged lipstick with his thumb, as you reach up to wipe his lips where the lipstick had gone.

“Shall we celebrate my win properly?” He opens the door and slides out of the car, holding out his hand for yours.

“As we always do?” And your fingers find his, as he presses his lips to the back of your palm.

“Always, Princess.”

“Are you ready yet, Princess?” Your Prince’s arms slid around your waist, his lips already at your neck, as his ocean blues met your gaze in the mirror, “how lucky is our kingdom to have such a lovely future queen? And how much luckier am I to have her as my wife?”

“We do not know if the people will approve of me still, Toru,” you murmur, eyes shying away from his, your fingers finding the infinity around your neck, “you promised me forever, but will they grant it to us?”

“Do you have such little faith, sweetheart, in your future husband?” His fingers find your chin, tilting it upwards to meet your gaze, “I’ve already done the impossible — I charmed you over the last two decades haven’t I?”

“More like wore me down,” and he pinches your cheek, before he presses a kiss to the affronted skin, “re-defined the long game,” and he kisses your nose, “and stole my heart and soul while I wasn’t looking,”

“I never steal,” he smiles that same smile that was emblazoned in your memory all those years ago, when he emerged from the woods with not a unicorn, but a baby fawn he had frightened from very same thicket, “I only take what was given to me,” he smiles, “and you willingly handed over your heart the moment you let me into your life,”

“What was I thinking?” you murmur, cupping his cheek, “now I’ll have to deal with the politics of a kingdom for the rest of my days,”

His lips curl widely, as his lips find yours, a heat that simmers into passion and then into simple love, “I promise, in exchange, I’ll spend the rest of my days making you the happiest you’ve ever been,”

“The happiest, huh?” you murmur, foreheads pressed together, “that’s a tall order, so you think you can do it?”

“I know I can,” he smiles, his arms pulling you impossibly closer, “because I’ll never trying to make you happy, Princess.”

“You’re far too happy with this arrangement,” you say through the door, arms crossed as you pressed your back against it, “I don’t want to come out,”

“You agreed to this, c’mon sweetheart, you’ve taken countless pictures of me—“

“You’re a model — it’s literally your job,” you glare at him through the door, “I’m behind the camera — not in front of it,”

“But you’re just as beautiful in front of it as you are behind it,” and you can hear his pout through the door, “if you really don’t want to, sweetheart, I won’t make you—“

And the door opens, your lips curled in a pout as you emerge in a cerulean gown — the same color as his eyes, the very same that widened upon seeing you.

“Was this necessary?” you squirm in place, as he bites his lip, eyes raking over you, “Toru—“

And he’s in front of you in an instant, his arms winding aaaaaaaaround your waist, “I want to kiss you so badly, but I’ll mess up your makeup,” your breath catches, so his finger brushes against your lips and presses it to his own lips, a little of your lipstick sticking to his lips.

“Toru,” and his lips quirk at the nickname, “why do you want to take pictures of me?”

“Because, I want pictures of you that are just for me,” he gently takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “because I’ll never have this moment with you again, but I’ll have these pictures with you,”

“And when do I get pictures that are of you and just for me?” And he presses a kiss to your head.

“Anytime you want,” he murmurs, “we have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

Time — that was the one thing Satoru Gojo always lacked. It felt as if his whole life was an hourglass, waiting for the sand to run out — and the one time it came close, blood seeping like sand through his neck, he was able to turn it on its head, until time was on his side agai.

He wasn’t sure if time was on his side now.

He could only see the winter sky above — flecks of white he could think were snow but never be sure if that was his vision going blurry. He couldn’t feel anything — but he heard the all too distant squelch of his blood against the ground, the sounds of footsteps, the feeling of his body being lifted, a smile still on his face.

He was going home — the one person who always made his world right side up — the only person who could catch the sand that slipped between his fingers and hold it between warm palms. He forced his body to keep running — to keep going, the flow of cursed energy may have come from the stomach and his brain may be able to power his reversed curse technique — but that didn’t compare to his will to make it home — make it to you.

“Toru! Satoru!” he couldn’t will his eyes to open, only managing the barest flutter of his eyelids, “it’s okay, Shoko’s got you, I got you,” you murmur, a soft brush that must but your lips.

Love was always the most twisted curse of them all — and he knew it had always been a curse to love him. Anyone drawn into his orbit seemed only doomed to fall around him — whether it was by their choice, his choice, or fate’s choice.

Fate. That was a word he never had put a lot of stock into. Suguru always said there was a certain order to things — sorcerers were made to defend humans, and that was our duty. He had replied that fate was an excuse for people too afraid to challenge the status quo.

Maybe Suguru took that too seriously.

When Suguru defected — Satoru knew something had to change — he couldn’t let others go even when they had that blue spring. The time that he had stayed frozen in — even as everyone else left, he still lived in those moments, and so he barely lived in the present at all.

Not until you had shattered his self made prison.

And it wasn’t without difficulty.

He told you so many times that it was dangerous to love him, it was foolish to love a person like him with a constant target on their back because inevitably the target would shift to you. And he didn’t want to live in a world without you — but he could choose to, as long as you were the one who would live.

But you were steadfast in your love, roots cracking through concrete until he was covered in your ivy, entangled so deep that there was no escape—because one look from you had stolen his reservations out from under him. Because loving you was as simple as breathing — it just was.

“I would want you to curse me — in every life.”

That’s what he told you the night before this battle — because he knew if he didn’t make it in this life, maybe he could be with you in the rest of them. But how many days would it take until you couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh, the smile on his lips, the way his face looked — because he always feared the same about outliving you. He would only want to outlive you, if only because he didn’t want you to have to bear the pain of outliving him.

Love was twisted, he thought — as your lips brushed his, he could hear you whisper sweet nothings, falling on deaf ears, but heard all the same — once one found it, they cannot live without it — until they have to.

His eyes flutter open, and he sees the blurry image of your face, scarlet smeared on your face, as his hand shakily lifted to your cheek, “I love you, sweetheart,” he manages barely a whisper, “I’ll see you again, I promise.”

Maybe he did curse you in the end — because your souls were bound together in existence — to fall into each other’s orbit and live together happily in every lifetime—

Your fingers gently shut his eyes closed, as tears streamed from your own — except in this one.

“Is it really a curse to meet you again?” you had murmured that early morning, as dawn peaked over Tokyo, and his lips brushed against yours, “sounds like a blessing,”

“You know that blessings often wear disguises — and words like that always carry a price—” but his lips curl, “but if the price is to meet you and fall in love again and again, I suppose I could pay it.”

“‘Suppose?’” you repeat, and he laughs at your immediate pout.

He kisses away your pout, as you slowly melt into his kiss, “Y’know I’d pay any price to fall in love with you again, sweetheart”

You smile, “Just stay with me in this one, that would be enough.”

Did other lives matter when this was the only one he had fallen for you in this life? He wanted to stay with you here — in this moment, in this time — he wanted you in every life — not just all the others.

And he vowed that he would— his fingers twitched—

He would love you in this life too.

✧ a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i had a lot of fun writing it. it might not be everyone's cup of tea but hey, i enjoyed it. although i questioned my writing ability a lot while writing it lmao

✧ taglist: @gojolova4eva, @xxemmarldxx, @gojolvrr34, @lilbrubby, @jaixxxsc, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @elaemae, @gojonegs, @captain-shittykawa, @sillyrabbitreads, @akumicchi, @satorustorm, @equikaz, @imaginativeghorl, , @dhoranbolt, @strawmariee, @catsgomurp, @that-goth-bisexual, @fushitoru, @dazailover1900

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader

3K notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 7 months

Text

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul.

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

"I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you.

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond.

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode.

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that.

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes.

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed.

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance.

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet.

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber.

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free.

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself.

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down.

"Okay, will you count down for me?"

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future.

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han.

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song.

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head.

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words.

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing.

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them.

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed.

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out.

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones.

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses.

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness.

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks.

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you.

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han.

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

3K notes · View notes

watercurtaincave · 4 months

Note

OMG YOUR WRITING MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!11!!

I was thinking about something like pampering Macaque up?? with cuddles, kissing, gifts. I feel like he deserves it a lot even if he might not accept it so well at first:]

𖤓 !! — Pampering Macaque ♡ Macaque / reader (also thank you for the compliment! :3 I try to write to make people happy)

𖤓 !! — Macaque is the type of guy who doesn't let people close to him, at least not as close as he would want people to be. Funny enough, just like Wukong does, he tends to keep people at arms length; close enough to feel your warmth and enjoy you being here, but now close enough to where you could hurt him. Ever. He was not planning to go through the pain he has felt before, not ever in his life time.

𖤓 !! — So being able to pamper him like this, where his head was on your lap and you were slowly running your hair treatment into his hair took years of effort to achieve. Dare say, it was one of your greatest achievements; being able to slowly help Macaque heal over his past scars and learn to trust your bond, to trust you and your touch and your thoughts that he couldn't read.

𖤓 !! — It took a while for him to trust you, and it hurt at first.

𖤓 !! — You first met Macaque when MK had, in that day he decided to attack the city with his giant ghost self. Of course, no one knew it was just him until MK would tell everyone it is (after having to fight it). And you would assume, much like the rest, that Macaque was some sort of evil villain that like taunted MK at any chance he got! With big scary shadow hims, and shadow plays where he would capture the souls of MK's friends (including you at the time) and then used them to attack MK, to even hunting down MK and Wukong while you all were trying to get the three rings to forge the Samadhi fire.

𖤓 !! — And it was on that mission, after being stuck in a duplicate van that Macaque made to trick half the team, that you realized something about Macaque. It was an odd thing, though he had his own weird way of helping whenever he could. His own weird backwater way of helping MK get stronger, of helping MK see things that Wukong won't teach him, of training MK to be ready for whatever will be thrown his way.

𖤓 !! — And then something in your heart gave a tug; you had to get to know Macaque.

𖤓 !! — This wouldn't happen until later, sadly, while everyone was preparing to fight the Azure Lion and end his rule as Jade Emperor. While you should have been training with MK, Mei, Wukong, and the others, you found yourself trying to hang around Macaque all you could. When partners were needed, you were the first to call dibs on Macaque (despite the odd looks he gave you). When lunch and dinner times rolled around, you tried sitting near Macaque to strike up a conversation (usually it was only you talking). When discussing the plan, you sat on the floor near Macaque (but not too near as to make it weird).

𖤓 !! — It was safe to say your efforts were noticed by everyone.

𖤓 !! — Though Macaque didn't appreciate the steadfast approach you took to trying to 'get to know him'. He found it off-putting at your sudden interest, and he couldn't help but scowl every time you spoke his name or came near. Why would anyone take such notice of a shadow, one, and two why wouldn't you get the hint that he wasn't interested in striking up any sort of conversation? He wasn't interested in having a conversation or any sort of relationship with you. Why couldn't you just leave him alone?

𖤓 !! — But you didn't, you were as stuck in his hair like a flea and it left some sort of bittersweet taste in his mouth. Why would anyone care so much about him? Why, out of everyone, did you run over to make sure he was okay when the fight was over? You could have gone to anyone else, MK, Wukong, Mei, anyone! But why him? And why did his heart give a beat when he saw you rush over to him and frantically check for any wounds. And why when he pushed you away did you let out a sigh of relief and thanked the Jade Emperor that he was okay?

𖤓 !! — He kind of questioned if you were okay or not.

𖤓 !! — Even more so when after all the battling, when the world returned to normal, you kept up your antics: Such as, at the beach party, when Macaque had came in "uninvited" (you had invited him against Sun Wukong's wishes) and was just laying on the beach chair next to Wukong, you had came over. Macaque hoped if he didn't acknowledge you or anyone else at this party than we would have been left alone, but he guessed that was asking for too much. Especially from you. "Hey, Macaque, you want some shish kabobs? They're fresh off the grill!" Yet you're chirping voice still hit his ears, and your proud smile made his glance away. He would let out a grumble before he sat up and took one of you, reluctantly, and decided just to nibble on it here and there. He was about to turn you away, expected you wanted some sort of praise for searing the meat right, but you didn't even asked. You simply smiled, told him to enjoy the food, and walked off despite Wukong having been obviously eyeing the meat skewers in your hands and loudly complaining as you passed by him without a second thought.

𖤓 !! — And Macaque hated to admit it, but your continuous efforts were king of paying off.

𖤓 !! — Slowly, you two grew close enough where he began to seek our your company and you would happily accept it; whenever, where ever, despite what you were doing and who you were talking to. You almost instantly dropped it to make sure he was okay, first, and then just to hang out with him. And it felt nice being wanted. It felt nice being with you. You felt nice and you made him feel nice.

𖤓 !! — Dammit, you snuck your way into his heart.

𖤓 !! — And he wasn't sure when he had agreed to let you pamper him, or how he found himself standing in between your thighs in the dim bathroom light. It was nearly midnight and you had been doing your skin care routine; he came in seeking cuddles and instead found himself softly purring as you massaged his face with your face creams and gels. This might have to be a regular thing.

𖤓 !! — Later in the night, after you had taken your shower and washed your hair, you somehow coaxed Macaque to come and lay his head on your lap. He had noticed that your hair was done up tight, how it had an odd texture and light refraction to it, and he had questioned it. He had never thought you would had started putting those creams and masks onto his hair as well, talking him through it every step of the way to make sure he was comfortable.

𖤓 !! — "And this one smells like coconut," Macaque heard your oh-so-lovely voice from above him as you scooped out some of your hair mask. He had heard you speak about them before to Mei and MK, explaining to them how they could use it during a sleep over and Mei being excited because she had heard so much of the brand you were using! And then Macaque may or may not have researched the product, and it's brand, and realized how much you were actually spending on these hair care and skin care stuff. "You know you don't have to.." He couldn't help but mumble as his eyes glanced up to yours before faltering and looking away. You had already began rugging the mask in your hands so you could properly apply it. Though you paused as soon as his words left his mouth, confused and slightly concerned. "Do you not want to?" You would ask and he heard the twinge in your voice. And he wasn't sure how to tell you that you didn't need to waste your expensive things on him, because he really didn't feel like he deserved it.

𖤓 !! — He expected you to be upset, to be sad that he didn't want you to do this special bonding moment you've done with everyone else. He silently thought you were going to blame him for not being 'open enough' with you, for hating you. But, you did none of that. In fact, what you did surprised Macaque a little as you leaned down and got rather close... yet in a way where he suspected you knew you looked rather silly in his eyes. "Hey, what's going on in your brain there, huh?" And you smiled at him, speaking in such a gentle voice. "Nothing." Was Macaque's first response; His defensive response. And you responded with kissing the tip of his nose. "Hey if you don't want to do this, then I can go wash my hands and we can watch a show or something, no big deal!" And you gave him a way out, despite him knowing how much you enjoyed these sparse moments between the two of you. You gave him a way out despite his sour tone. Why? Macaque frowned at this, noticing as you would raise your head and look over at the sink. You were about to nudge him softly, signaling for him to get up so you could move, and yet he would grab your wrist. This caused you to jump and stare at Macaque as he would press your hands into his soft hair, keeping them there until he was sure you wouldn't move them. He couldn't look you in the eyes after that and he was glad you got his hint that he did want you to rub that coconut stuff in his hair; Mostly because it felt nice as you ran your fingers through his hair, playing with it.

𖤓 !! — It was a slow and long change for Macaque to accept your pampering, slowly realized that's just how you showed your love. And slowly, as he started to accept it, he started to look forward to all of it. He started looking forward to the cuddles and the presents and the nights where you both would stand in the bathroom doing skin care and the noons where you both would bake and cook and start flour wars and the mornings where you would sleep in... just enjoying each other's company.

𖤓 !! — He started accepting it all and accepting you and the possibility that finally, someone would choose him first and finally someone wouldn't leave.

𖤓 !! — all writing on this page belongs to @watercurtaincaves, please do not repost on other sites, plagiarize, or steal. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

#lmk macaque x reader #lmk x reader #lmk macaque #lmk x y/n #monkie kid #lmk #macaque lmk #macaque lego monkie kid #macaque x reader #reader x character #reader x canon #lmk fanfiction #lmk fandom #lmk swk #lmk wukong #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #lmk monkey king

704 notes · View notes

rosie-writings · 28 days

Text

For Just a Moment I'm Whole Again

Request: anon—ghost!Reader falls in love with Colby

Summary: ghost!Reader finds out that her twin flame is Colby who was born decades after she died, and upon meeting him for the first time, she needs his help to usher her on to the afterlife to be free from the purgatory she roams.

Warnings: ghost!Reader x Colby smut, Age Gap, Bittersweetness, light Angst, Fluff, and Twin Flame relationship

Words: 6.6k

No Y/N Use

Title from 'Calcutta' by Sleep Token

A/N: Technically, Reader is 19 while Colby is 27, however she died nearly thirty years before he was born, so who's older?

I stopped crying about it a few years ago.

Maybe a decade or two, I wasn’t quite sure. It’s not that I was upset about how I died, I almost forgot the pain of it all, I was upset because out of everywhere I could have died, it was in a house.

A lonely house.

After I died, apparently my friends were too traumatized to keep the house, so they sold it. I tried to get their attention. Everyday I tried to convince them that purgatory was real and they forced me into it by leaving. What was I supposed to do alone in a house that no one wanted to buy because a death occurred?

When I found out that they also rumored to their realtor that it was haunted, I wanted to slap the lives out of them. Of course it was haunted; that was your best friend trying to get you to look at me for once before I could never see you again—

I cried for years.

No one bought the house.

I slept in the king sized bed in the room upstairs alone and cold.

There was a hotspot in the middle of the house.

The house was built upon a particular mineral that ushered in traveling ghosts, and the convenient vortex in the center of it aided their arrival. Occasionally I met other ghosts and other inhuman beings that couldn’t care less about me. They probably had millennia of experience navigating the afterlife’s purgatory on earth while I was only a couple decades old.

I think I died in 1971. I couldn’t remember.

The day this house was bought, I thought I was saved.

Instead, major renovations took place. They ripped the nostalgic wallpapers off the walls and tore out the carpets that my human and ghostly feet were all too familiar with.

”How about you chose an actually appealing pint this time, motherfucker,” I spat at the contractor who walked right through me in the main hallway upstairs. I rolled my eyes and followed him into the primary suite.

Today was the day they renovated my bedroom.

”I wonder how many years it’s been; you look fucking weird. Do all men have that silly ass haircut or something now?” I asked as I sat on top of the ladder in the middle of the room. “Thanks so much for bringing your tool batteries in here. You don’t need those do you?” I felt their powerful buzzing. I felt the electricity waving through the room and I sucked it all up.

With every minute that passed, I felt stronger and stronger, until.

”Oops—“ I sighed in boredom as I knocked a paint can off the top of the ladder.

The worker whirled around with wide eyes and basically looked at me in mine, but he saw through me. I rolled my eyes again.

“You humans are all the fucking same. God, I was so damn embarrassing as a human. Can’t you at least try to talk to me? I’m so fucking—“

His co-worker called his name and walked in the room.

”What the fuck have you done?” The second shouted. White paint pooled on the concrete below me.

”At least you didn’t put floor in yet—“

”It just-It just fell! I didn’t even touch it! I put it up there like 20 minutes ago and-and it just fell!” The second worker grumbled and picked up the emptying can.

”They said there was some poltergeist activity in this house which is why it took fucking 50 years for it to be sold again.”

50 years?

My lack of heart nearly fell through the floor.

I sat on the ladder looking through them this time. 50 years? I was stuck here for 50 years with nothing to do? No one to talk to? I wanted to cry. Ghost cry sessions weren’t as satisfying as human cry sessions.

I had to get out of here.

I had to—

I stole the energy from all their equipment, but it was still not enough. Even with the electromagnetic energy pulsing through my spirit, the hotspot wouldn’t take me.

“Come on,” I grumbled. I looked through the vortex and saw spirals and spirals of unveiled spirits traveled through this purgatory called earth, and yet none would grab on to me. What was beyond? “Please! Take me! Get me out of here!”

I broke down crying again.

This was the biggest chance I had in order to leave and not even it was enough.

I curled up in the middle of the floor there and cried until I fell asleep.

Later, when the sun was high in the sky and the house was vacant, I woke up.

As I stood, I appeared in the master bedroom so I could sleep in the bed—

“What the fuck?” I asked to nothing.

The walls were white, the flooring was finished with deep warm floorboards, and the bed frame was a plush cream color with a creamy duvet.

“They did this fast. I wonder how long I was asleep for.” There was a dresser, two nightstands, and a desk that all matched in a deep brown, practically black, wood finish. “We go 50 years in the future just to be completely devoid of all color. Jesus fuck.” I curled up in the bed regardless. “Oh my god,” I moaned loudly. “Actually, I take all that back. I will give up any color in my life to feel this mattress if only for a second. This is how technology should be used, oh my god…”

I don’t remember finishing my sentence, I fell unconscious again.

I woke up to the sound of voices.

I shot to the foyer in a blink of an eye and I saw a family. A mom, a dad, three kids, and a dog, and I nearly cried on sight.

”Hello! Oh my god, yes thank everything good and mighty. You bought this house? I’m not alone anymore!” The dad walked through me. “I’m so excited—Oh my god your dog is so cute!” I fell to my knees in front of the Husky and it howled a talking fit at me, and when I raised my hand to pet it, it ran away from me so fast that it slid across the floor on its nails. “I’m not that scary, I don’t think,” I sighed and stood up again.

There was a girl, probably fifteen or sixteen, who walked right past me with something in her hands.

”Oh what’s that?” I asked as I followed her. The rectangle in her hand illuminated back at her like a TV screen and her thumbs furiously typed on some kind of keyless keyboard. “Holy shit! Is that one of those phones that all the futuristic movies talked about? We have them in the real world now?” I nearly screamed. I plopped into a vacant barstool next to her. “I would have loved that,” I grumbled. I devised a plan to steal it from her in her sleep and play with it all night.

I watched as she turned it on again.

”A passcode?” I questioned and I was ready to memorize it, but suddenly a blue light scanned down her face and it unlocked by itself. “Now that’s—“ I got out of my seat and backed up from her. “That’s weird. Can that detect ghosts?”

“Come on! Let’s go in the pool!” I gasped when the younger boy ran right through me and out the backdoor. I smiled when he cannon balled in the pool out back.

“Lukas! It is 40 degrees outside, get your ass in the house now!” His mother screamed, and I laughed.

“Oh yeah, they put so many cool pool toys in the chest out there,” I told him as I stepped foot outside. “You would love them in the summer though. It’s pretty cold—“

I must have walked too far out of the house, because in a blink of an eye, I teleported back in the middle of the vortex.

”God help me,” I sighed, and I started to devise my game plan to get into that girl’s device in the night.

It wasn’t easy.

The moon was high in the sky, and I walked in the girl’s bedroom cautiously. Not like she could see me, but I could make noises and I didn’t want to scare her.

Her phone lay on the table next to her bed with a cord coming from it, and she slept soundlessly next to it. I picked it up.

It illuminated to life and I gasped. I read the time and date.

2:35am, December 20, 2021

”Oh.. my god…” I whispered slowly.

2021? That wasn’t a real year. It had been 50 years that I was—

How was I going to get out of here? I needed out. First I needed this girl’s device. I grabbed it, and when it scanned my face, it said it was the incorrect Face ID.

I pointed it at the girl cautiously, and after a few recalculating aims, it unlocked. I brought it back to me and saw so many colors I didn’t know which to tap first. The entire screen responded to my touch.

I flicked through the squares on the screen and with each one, I read more and more paragraphs about people. It looked like the news or something. I couldn’t believe how amazing this device was at taking photos.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. The squares where it seemed like I could communicate with other people intimidated me; I didn't understand who I was talking to so I tried to get out of it and go back to the original place where all the squares were. I accidentally swiped and it moved the screen and I tapped out of it. That was how you got out of it, got it.

I found another app that was red. I clicked it. This time photos with short captions were the only things I scrolled through. After a second, I clicked one to make it larger, but instead, it brought me to another screen and a video began playing.

The audio was so loud and clear, I gasped and tried to figure out how to silence it. The girl disturbed next to me. The button I clicked turned the volume down.

A video played of the same photo I clicked on—

Those weren’t photos, they must have been paused videos or something. I watched and listened and it was actually entertaining. After the video ended, I clicked another.

And then another.

And before I knew it, the sun peeked over the horizon. The time read 7:30am. I had been watching these videos for five hours.

I put the phone down and walked out of the room.

I would have loved 2021.

I did it again the next night.

I sat there on the floor against the nightstand and watched more videos.

Video after video, I started to remember the names of the people who posted them. I didn’t remember the rabbit trail I went down; recommended video after recommended video led me to one that made me stop my jumping around.

It was a video of two idiotic boys messing around in a haunted house.

Now, I never was into haunted or spooky things when I was alive, and being dead now, I would say that I had a pretty large say in and experience in what these boneheads talked about.

I didn’t expect them to be so respectful. And considerate, too.

I watched as they talked to spirits in the house, and it was startling to watch humans interact with us spirits from their perspective. I forgot that that was all they saw.

I forgot how limited I was when I was trapped in my human skin.

How silly they were; it didn’t matter that they would have been seven years older than I was. Most of the people were children on YouTube, and they were the worst of them.

Sam and Colby certainly made me laugh, and their means of communicating with ghosts even more so.

There were some videos that scared me.

I liked the two a lot, and I didn’t want them to get hurt or manipulated by demonic forces. I had seen demonic forces firsthand, and humans were stupid enough to summon them. If I was afraid of them, humans definitely should have been.

The way they assumed everything was as sinister as they did made me laugh the most because the majority of spirits communicated with them were teasing them and cracking jokes. The boys took everything too seriously, but that was why they were so good.

They cared.

But one of them, Colby, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of. It was like I knew him. Warmth spread through me, and for the first time since I died, I was overcome with the need to leave. The pull teased me, beckoned me.

I was over forty years older than him; I would have never met him, so how did I know him?

Why did I need him?

I needed someone who cared about me like they did for spirits. I needed a human who cared to come in and help me. Certainly there were other humans out there who could help me like Sam and Colby, but they definitely weren’t as loud or had as much faith as they did in their capabilities.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t cry when that family left the house two days later. It wasn’t because I would be lonely again but because I couldn’t drown myself in Sam and Colby’s videos.

Or in Colby’s appearance and voice.

Hopefully someone else would stay for a week and I could use their phones to watch YouTube again.

Two weeks later, the house was booked again.

I finally learned that the house I was trapped in was turned into something called an AirBnb and I supposed that it was a house rented like a hotel.

The same routine spun into effect.

A new visitor spent the week here, I drained their batteries in everything they brought, I drowned myself in YouTube (to be honest, I drowned myself in the force that was Colby’s voice), and spent endless time spinning around the house in boredom wondering when the human chosen to save me would come.

They would come and help one day, I knew it.

The front door opened.

I was out of the bed in a flash and appeared in the foyer to see the new visitors. Two men walked in the house, and I wondered what on earth they were up to for arriving near two in the morning.

It was three years after I first learned what YouTube and social media was. I was ingrained in the politics, culture, society, and hyper-communicative world that was 2024.

I toed the fence. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to stay here and live as a free spirit in 2024 forever or be taken into the next spiritual realm. I knew I couldn’t stay forever, and with every year that passed, I felt the fabrics of my spirit being taken away into nothing.

I needed help.

When I came spirit to face with the two new visiting men, my entire world flipped upside down.

I knew them.

They were the ones with the YouTube channel.

They were—

”I know we said we would do some stuff before we go to sleep, but I literally—“

”No, I know,” the other sighed. “I’m so tired too. We got here a lot later than we planned.”

”We should just sleep then wake up a bit earlier than we planned to have more time to do what we couldn’t now.” The other nodded lazily.

”Yeah, we can do that.”

”Night, Colby,” said the blond one as he walked up the stairs.

”Night, Sam,” said the one I stood next to in between the foyer and the living room.

If I had a heart, it would have pumped loudly in my ears, and if I had a tongue, it would have dried up. Ever so slowly, I turned and looked at Colby as he pulled things from the backpack he had placed on the couch. His back faced me.

And I couldn’t control myself, the intrusive thoughts won. I wondered what he would do if I—

At the sound of his water bottle crashing into the hardwood floor, Colby whirled around with wide eyes and watched as it rolled to a stop.

“What the fuck?” He whispered. I gasped when he walked through me. I turned and watched as he picked it up and placed it back on the table. He watched it.

With a smile, I didn’t take my gaze off his face as I knocked it back onto the floor. He took two steps back.

That was when the realization dawned on me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. When I felt him, when I was near him, it made sense. The pieces shoved together painfully.

“Uh… Sam?” Colby called.

“What?” He called cautiously as he came from his room. “What’s wrong?”

”I—I swear to god, this water bottle fell off the table deliberately. Like someone knocked it over, twice.”

”Really?” He asked hesitantly when his feet hit his floor. At this point, they both stood in front of me and I crossed my arms in boredom. I was nearly as tall as the two; they were a lot smaller in person.

I was tall for a girl; almost five foot nine.

He placed the water bottle back down.

I stared at it. Humans were so dumb. I watched their anticipation knowing full well I wouldn’t satisfy them.

“What is happening, I swore it happened and it’s not now which means it’s not like the table is slanted or something.”

”That’s weird,” Sam said.

“You can go back to bed, sorry—“

”No, you’re fine, stupid,” Sam laughed as he went back.

Of course when he was halfway up the stairs with his back turned I yanked it off the table. Colby already left to the couch though, and so when Sam turned around quickly, he froze when he realized Colby was completely out of reach.

”See? I told you!” Colby cried.

”Oh shit… Yeah I have no idea how to explain that.”

”Wanna get a rem pod and the camera or something?” Colby asked.

“Maybe if something else happens.”

”Okay, okay,” Colby said, and I watched in surprise when Sam walked back to his room. They must have been tired then.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t mess with Colby until he went to sleep.

”You guys are idiots,” I said as if I expected a response. “Are you actually staying up or are you—oh,” I gasped when he turned around and walked through me before I could react. He picked up his bag and walked up the stairs. I sighed.

“That answers that.”

I peeked around the door. Colby stood in his room. I watched as he situated the things from his backpack. Those were some fancy cameras, small ones for that matter, and it looked like he charged the batteries. My eyes couldn’t pull from his skin though. He only wore his black jeans.

He turned towards me and I watched as he walked to the desk in his room. I intently focused on his face and his tattoos. He was so pretty. But he looked so different. I walked into the room and stood at the desk with him.

”What are these?” I asked and I touched the devices on the desk. Then, I gasped as his hand went through mine. My hand paused and I tried to feel the warmth. What would have been my hand burned with warmth, and I didn’t pull it away.

Colby froze in his place and stared at his hand. It burned cold.

But then he turned from the table and went back to the bed.

Now, never once in my life have I snooped. I’ve never pried, intruded, or watched anyone when they didn’t think they could be perceived. But I couldn’t leave his room. I froze in my place as I watched when he pulled his pants off. I couldn’t focus on anything else except his body. The way he moved, settled in the room, got in the bed, and plugged his phone in; every decision and every thought process was so painfully human.

I liked him a lot. Too much.

I wanted him to know I was here too.

The last time I tried to communicate with humans was with my best friends after the accident happened. After, their realtor was a bitch. There was a medium who was more so a dumbass who came to communicate with me. I scared her, and perhaps that went wrong. That might have been why it took so long for this place to be renovated.

I needed to talk to Colby. I wanted him.

I never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted him.

I stood in front of the desk where the devices were strewn about, and as he read his phone, I touched one of the devices.

I recognized one. It was a radio of sorts. One of the mediums who tried to communicate with me used it. Perhaps they were here to try to talk to me anyway.

I turned the spirit box on.

Immediately, Colby sat straight up in his bed. His phone was forgotten on the sheets. I laughed and watched as his confused eyes scanned the room.

”Hello,” I laughed. Then I used energy and found the word on a channel—

Hello

Colby looked around the room.

”Um, hi?” He said.

If I had a body, I was pretty sure the feeling I had was akin to my heart falling out of my ass.

“I know who you are, you publish on YouTube, right?”

I know you

Colby’s face turned with distrust.

“What—Are there actually spirits in this house?” He asked. I rolled my eyes.

”Obviously. You’re so dumb. I thought you know how to talk to us—

Duh…

He scoffed and his shock turned into an amused expression.

”What’s your na—“

Don’t be stupid

He stopped talking and his eyes widened.

”How do you know me? I’ve never been here.”

”You literally have 11 million people watching you on YouTube, don’t be silly,” I sighed.

You make videos

”You’re seen my—“ He gasped and thought for a moment. “How old are you? How long have you been here?”

For a long time

”I’m supposed to be nineteen,” I sighed.

Nineteen

”Nineteen—Holy shit wait, someone—the owners said a nineteen year old died here in the 70s—“

”That was totally me.”

Colby looked at the spirit box on the table and I smiled.

“Yeah,” he gasped nervously. “Are you the only spirit in the house?”

”Only one that lives here, anyway,” I scoffed.

Only one

”I’m sorry you’re alone.” I froze.

“What did you say?” I asked quietly, timidly. Silence. It defeated me.

It had been over 50 years since the accident and in all that time, no one apologized.

No one said sorry about my death or that I was alone. Not a single person had the empathy. Colby stared back at the spirit box. His eyes fell from it. He looked around the room in thought.

Suddenly, the urge ever too heavy came over me.

I glided straight over to him and I sat on the bed.

He shot up with his eyes wide.

If I had eyes, he would have looked right into them.

”Are-Are you on the bed with me?”

”Yes,” I confidently said and tried to use all my energy to tell the spirit box—

Yes… On this bed…

”Holy shit,” Colby whispered.

I felt the way his heart skipped.

The way his skin lit on fire.

I moved forward, and when I did, his skin fell cold.

”Did-Did you just touch me?”

“I’m on top of you.”

And it was true. I straddled him. I held his face in my lack of hands, and the warmth coursed through me like an electrical current. I needed him. He tethered me back into reality; the human world. That urge and that desperation to move onto the spirit realm died the moment I touched him.

Top

”You’re on me?” He rested his weight on his hands behind him. When he pushed his hips forward, a gasp left me because I felt the pressure.

Familiarity.

“I remember you, Colby. I know you, we knew each other—‘

Colby

”Why did you say my—“

I know you

“You know—oh shit,” he gasped. My vision hazed. My perception of my surroundings grew blurry as if I was about to sleep.

Heat coursed my body, and I held onto him to keep from falling asleep.

”You feel really good,” I gasped. I didn’t think about this.

We knew each other

“What?” He gasped as his body went rigid. Sexual things were so far from me. I figured that when I moved onto the spirit realm, more doors to explore sexuality would open. I never came across another human I viewed as desirable like him.

I never came across a human or spirit that felt as familiar as he was.

I knew he already had two female ghosts who liked him and messed around with him.

Good

”What’s good?” He gasped again. This time, it sounded like he was more breathless than anything.

”You.”

You

”Is that you making me feel like this? Are you touching me?” I moaned when I thrusted against him over and over. “Holy fuck—I just got so… What am I even doing?” Colby sighed more so to himself and then he laid himself back down against the bed. I gasped when he moved through me.

I looked down at him as his forearm rested across his forehead. His face was flushed and eyes were closed in thought.

I couldn’t deny the pressure under me. I knew he was painfully hard under me, but I had no intention of leaving or letting him do it himself. I looked down and couldn’t look away from his body. It was on fire, and the pressure in his underwear grew and grew.

I wish I could feel him for real with my hands and my skin.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned this time, and I moaned as well. He sounded so good like this. “I feel so crazy. Please tell me this is you doing this to me and not me—“

”I’m doing it. I’m touching you, Colby. Let me touch you.” Colby moaned again and again as I thrusted against him.

It’s me

His eyes shot open again.

Let me touch you

“Fuck, okay—holy shit—okay you’re-you’re actually real.”

”Yes,” I laughed. “I want to see you feel good.”

“If you’re actually real, get off of me and make me stop feeling like this—“

I was on the other side of the room in an instant. Colby sat up with a flushed face.

“What the fuck,” he whispered. I felt as the arousal in his body diminished. “And…” He mumbled hesitantly. “And if you’re real, get on top of me. Turn me on again.”

I blinked and I straddled Colby’s lap.

“Holy fucking—ugh.” And his head tossed into the pillow and eyes rolled back.

”Fuck,” I gasped as I watched him throw his arm across his mouth to conceal his moans.

Immediately, his arousal built again, and I thrusted against him over and over.

”You’re making me—Oh my god, don’t stop please,” Colby gasped.

You feel good

”Fuck,” he gasped.

He looked up at me and I swore he saw me. He didn't look through me, and I wished I could touch him.

Kiss him.

”You’re going to make me come.”

“Oh my god yeah, I want to see you come,” I mumbled. I would resurrect myself from the dead just to kill myself again if he knew I said that so I tried to hold in the energy. I didn’t want the music box to pick up on anything.

I tried to pull his underwear down. It was too difficult, too heavy. I was too tired. My gaze flashed around the room.

His phone.

I focused my energy on his phone and took the energy from it. The strength boiled and boiled in my being until I opened my eyes and watched as the waistband of it ever so slightly pulled back.

”Oh my fucking god—“ Colby gasped, and I cried out in surprise when he sat up straight and kicked himself away from me. “You-You fucking pulled—Are you trying to take my underwear off? Oh my god—You’re fucking real. You really are—“

“Colby it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you I want to make you feel good—“

Don’t be scared

”What?” He gasped and whirled his gaze to the spirit box.

Make you feel good

“I’m—“ he paused. He looked around the room. “I’m not scared. I can’t believe you’re communicating so well with me.”

”I’m taking power from your phone,” I said towards the spirit box.

This cell phone

Colby looked back to the spirit box.

”My phone?”

Using energy

”Oh, you’re taking the energy from my phone? Let me plug it in so you can take as much as you want—“

Yes

”Okay—“ He groaned as he leaned over and plugged it in. He left it on the table next to the bed. I didn’t give him another second to say a sentence. I pushed down against him and he drew in an uneven breath. “I can’t believe I can feel you.”

”Can you feel this?” I grinded down on him, and his arm caught another moan behind his mouth.

“Holy shit—I think I felt-I felt that. I’m so—oh my god!” I pulled at his underwear again, and this time, I pulled it halfway down. “I’m so…” He sighed into a moan, and I felt the way heat traveled down his body. His temperature rose, and I couldn’t look away. Not a second passed that I didn’t utterly consume the image of his real life human body under me.

I pushed again and again, and before his hand could reach into his underwear, he gasped a rather louder moan and spilled in the fabric.

I quickly tried to pull it back again, and this time, his underwear pulled halfway off.

“Oh my god—“ I gasped as I watched the rest of his fluids cover his stomach.

”You just fucking—You actually took them off,” he gasped breathlessly as he gathered himself together after his orgasm.

Pleasure washed through me as well, but it wasn’t as tangible as it used to be when I was alive. I was on fire, and I wanted more, anything more, but it was impossible here.

Then the tug.

I wanted to move on.

It was as if this window of pleasure piqued my interest, and I knew that if I moved onto the spiritual realm, I could live again. I wouldn’t be trapped in this purgatory.

Colby was so cute though. He was familiar; he looked like he was mine. We were each other’s. I wanted him to myself, but there was no way I could take him with me. He needed to finish living as a human first.

Then maybe I would hunt him down and rescue him from his purgatory so he wouldn’t have to live like this for 50 years like me.

“Did you leave?” Colby whispered.

”No. I’m right here.”

Here

“Okay,” he sighed and relaxed into the pillow. “I can’t believe I just had sex with a ghost—wait,” he gasped and looked around the room. “Did I fuck you? That’s so—What the fuck…”

“No, I just touched you. I wanted you to feel good. I can’t feel good until I move on.”

No… For you… I don’t feel good

”What?” Colby gasped. “You don’t feel good?”

”I can’t.”

Can’t

”Oh, because… Is sex only for human bodies then?”

”No,” I said, and reminded myself to be concise for the spirit box

”When I escape I can feel something again.”

When I escape

”You’re trapped here?” Colby gasped. The gears turned in his head and excitement welled in me.

”Help me out, please.”

Help me

”Help you do what? Do you need to move on?”

”Yes! Help me to the spiritual world.”

Yes

”Where do you need me to—”

Spirit world

”Holy shit,” Colby whispered. “You want me to help move you out of purgatory? Is that what this house is for you?’

”Yes!” I exclaimed.

He understood!

Yes

”Well then I’m getting up and telling Sam.”

If I had a body, I would scream and cry for joy.

Also, if I had a body, it would burn alive at the sight of Colby cleaning himself up, so I left the room and waited in the hallway with welling excitement.

“You’ll actually use the spirit box and not make me look like a freak in front of him, right?”

”Yeah, I’ll talk to him,” I laughed.

Yes

”Good,” he scoffed as he pulled on clothes.

“I promise.”

”Dude, that’s crazy if it’s true.” I watched as Colby told Sam what had happened and conveniently left out the part where I touched him. If he didn’t want Sam to know, then I wouldn’t expose him in that way. “Let’s see if she actually communicates as accurately as that,” Sam said as he turned on the spirit box. “Would we need to try the Estes?”

”Maybe we can,” Colby sighed. “There was a vortex downstairs, did you see it?”

”No I didn’t actually,” he gasped. “Do you want to do Estes there?”

“I’m getting bored,” I grumbled.

Let’s hurry it up

”Whoa!” Sam cried when the box spat those words out at him.

”Yeah,” Colby laughed. “She isn’t very patient.”

“Are you trapped here like Colby sai—“

”Yes!”

Yes

”Oh my god.”

”I told you!” I watched the boys as they grabbed their things. “Let's do it now.”

And as they walked through me towards the staircase, I froze with realization upon feeling Colby's body. It ached with excitement, nervousness, and…

Longing?

I followed them and listened to his heart and the rushing of his blood. Something tuned to desperation flowed with it.

It would have been much easier for me to navigate life as a human if I could feel someone’s physical attraction to me like I could feel Colby’s. I didn’t think that was possible, especially since he couldn’t see me. For all I knew, they could still be on the fence about believing that I existed.

But I couldn’t deny the way he felt. The way Sam felt. Sam didn’t hear me or feel me the way Colby did, but I could tell by the warmth of his palms and the racing of his heart that he didn’t linger in denial anymore.

“I’m not even sure how to start this,” Sam said as he sat in the chair. He volunteered himself to be under the Estes method so that Colby could lead the interaction. I stood next to Sam in the middle of the vortex; the darkened mirrors holding endless hypnotizing space hung on either side of us.

“I know, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out when we get there. I’m pretty sure I just encourage her to move on and she uses energy or something. We’ll see.”

Sam pulled the blindfold down. Headphones placed over his ears.

I felt the energy from the spirit box shrill to life.

“Did you follow us down here?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “I’m here.”

“Here,” Sam’s monotone voice spoke for me.

“Okay good.” Colby’s voice softened. I wanted to leave, I wanted it more than anything, but I also wished I had more time to listen to Colby, to be close to him. Every time I was near him, I zapped with electricity; a desperation I never knew. What would it be like if I was human? If we knew each other back then? What would it be like if we were born at the same time in the same state?

“Why are you afraid to move on?”

“I—All this time I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t want to leave the human world, but now I can’t leave you. I want to stay with you, Colby.”

“Oh wow…” Sam muttered.

“What?” Colby said quickly.

“That was a long—Those were a lot of words,” he laughed sheepishly. “Um…” I repeated what I said but paraphrased it to make it easier for the box to pick me up. “I wasn’t afraid of it.”

“You aren’t?” Colby gasped. “Why haven’t you—”

“Missed people.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Let me stay with you.”

“What?” Colby paused this time. “So you didn’t move on because you missed people and now you want to stay with us? Is it because you haven’t talked to anyone except for us—”

“No,” I grumbled. “I want you, Colby. No one else.”

“You, Colby.”

“Me?” He whispered. “Why do you want to stay with me? You can’t do that. You need to move on–”

“I wish we had time together then you would understand.” I wished that I could cry like humans did at that moment. I cried, but no pressure relieved me.

“We could have had more time.” Colby’s body froze as he stared in shock at Sam. Or maybe he stared through him. He wanted something to look at; he couldn’t see me. I wished I could reveal myself to him, but I didn’t know how.

“Why do you want us to have more time?”

“Because we would have been together. I could have actually probably loved you.”

“I would have…. I didn’t catch— Love you.”

“I would have loved you…” Colby whispered. “It’s too late,” he told me, but the quietness of his voice sounded like he figured it out for himself.

“I can see you again, Colby.”

“See you again… Colby, dude it keeps saying your name.”

“I know,” Colby spoke absentmindedly. He looked like he was in a trance more than Sam was even though he rocked back and forth in the Estes method. “Are—Do you know me?”

“Maybe in a past life. We can find each other in the next.”

“Past life.”

“Holy shit.” His voice was quiet and I wanted nothing more than to hug him. I stood face to face with him in the blink of an eye.

“I will see you soon, Colby.”

And I kissed him.

He blinked quickly and warm surprise flooded me when he licked his lips once.

“See you soon.” He didn't know what to say. I felt the tension in his throat.

“Don’t cry. Now tell me to leave and then you can find me when you’re done living here.”

“Help me leave.” Colby shook his head.

“No–”

“Please help me, Colby. I need to go on. You can’t stay here forever. I’ll be able to see you still and you’ll be able to feel me until one day you’ll see me for the first time. Well, for the first time in this timeline. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Please help me… You will still… I didn’t hear—Oh, You’ll still feel me.”

“I—I don’t like—”

“It’s okay, don’t be scared.” I stood in the vortex again. “Help me leave. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t be scared. Help me leave.”

“Okay,” Colby said as he shook himself out of it. “It’s alright, you can move on. Spirits leave this house, move on to the next life.”

That tug returned, but now it was unavoidable. The mirrors lulled me into a beckoning trance.

“Move on and be free from this house.”

The mirror pulled me in, the house was unreachable now.

“Love you.”

As Sam pulled off the blindfold, Colby’s eyes darted towards mine from where I traveled through the mirror, and from the look on his face—the pure focus on me, drift of his tear filled eyes across my face—he saw me.

Then all I saw was light.

A/N: I took a much needed break. Not to info or trauma dump, but my mom moved about four hours away from me a week ago, and I only found out three weeks before that. After helping her move, it's been pretty hard for me since we've only ever lived at most 10 minutes from each other. Thanks for being patient, and I'm going to hop back on that writing grind because I miss it!

Also, Comment if you would rather read multi-chapter fics on Tumblr or Ao3. This will help me navigate where to post if I do not cross post.

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

@graceciesiels22

@honestlybabymiracle

@xxsecretscenekidxx

@thedeadlynights

@glittervame

@rockwyu

@worldlxvlys

@benbarnesprettygurl

#sam and colby #colby brock #18+ only #minors dni #rosie writings #rosie hub #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer

282 notes · View notes

lovedazai · 11 months

Text

SAFETY NET

about after you watch dazai nearly die, you can’t be close enough to him.

ft. dazai + f!reader, emotional hurt/comfort, injuries & blood, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), references to dazai’s scars, reader is v teary eyed...mdni !!

p.s! ⊹˚. happy dazai day ⸝⸝˃ᴗ˂⸝⸝‬ !! in honor of the birthday boy i decided to make my nsfw debut

this is it, you think. dazai is really going to die this time.

you can't look away, even when you're certain he's going to be killed, right there in front of you. it's only your survival instincts and the mental image of the horrified look you know will be on his face that stop you from running out to him.

but of course, he survives; he always does. you don't remember when you got to his side; all you know is the enemy is down, and now you're clinging to him so hard, you can feel the imprint of your nails through his jacket.

"i must've died and gone to heaven after all," he jokes, voice sugary sweet. you shakily exhale through your mouth, forcing yourself to keep breathing. you’re so dizzy in your relief, you barely hear the soft call of your name.

you can feel his gaze on the top of your head before he hugs you back, hand resting between your shoulder blades while the other cradles the back of your head. he murmurs reassurances of it's okay, my love and i'm still here as your breathing regulates, timing the rise and fall of your chest to his own.

when you peek up at him, his smile is bittersweet and blurred through your dewy lashes. he catches a tear with his thumb, fingers settling on your jaw to keep your gaze on him. your eyes fall to the bright red mark on his cheek, certain to form into a nasty bruise. it's the same cheek you brushed rice from as you ate breakfast that morning. the lips you kissed when you woke up are split open, and the bangs you threaded your fingers through are congealed with his own blood.

"i thought you were going to die." saying it out loud finally makes you break, and you hide your face in his chest before your throat can close, arms sneaking beneath his jacket to wrap around him completely as your tears soak into his shirt.

"i didn't, though," he whispers into your hair, lips lingering on the crown of your head. with the way he's holding you up, you'd think you were the injured one. "i wouldn't let just anyone take me away from you so easily."

you orbit around him for the rest of the day.

your fingers are intertwined with his as his feet lazily kick against the exam bed while he gets his after mission checkup. your legs are splayed across his lap as he flips through his paperwork halfheartedly, much more interested in drawing hearts with his finger on the skin of your thighs. your arm is intertwined with his as you walk back to the dorms, stuck to his side, even when the sidewalks are empty, and the midafternoon sun makes your skin stick to his bandages. you only let go when the both of you are safely in his room, and he closes the door behind you.

you go through your after mission routine as if you were on auto-pilot. you grab your fluffiest towel, turning on the shower and making sure the water isn't too hot as he strips off his clothes. he leaves you with a kiss to your forehead before he disappears behind the bathroom door, and you're left alone with your thoughts.

you strip out of your work clothes, eye catching the dried stain of his blood on your shirt. you toss it aside as quickly as you saw it, grabbing a button down from his side of the closet. the sleeves hang off your hands, and you hold them up to your face, pressing your nose into the soft fabric.

you try to distract yourself by listening to the sound of water and watching the dust dance around through the beam of sunlight pooling in through his window as you fidget with the last button on his shirt. when he comes out, he's freshly bandaged, wearing the shirt he bought on your away mission to okinawa and the pajama pants you got him when you insisted he needed more comfy clothes. your dazai.

he sighs as he falls back against his futon lazily. he turns his face towards you, light catching in his pretty brown eyes. you thread your fingers through his hair; it's still a little damp, and the floral scent tells you he used your shampoo. his arms widen in an invitation for you to cuddle to his chest, lips pulling into a pout, as if he needed to try to convince you.

you're careful not to touch any of his injuries as you curl into his side. you nuzzle your face in his neck as his hand settles on your hip, your own resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. being held by dazai is usually your reprieve, but now, your chest tightens in anxiety; your shirt feels irritatingly thick, and even close enough to feel him breathe, you can't help but think it isn't enough.

your hand drifts from his chest to sneak under his shirt, resting against the edge of his ribcage. your thumb rubs across the raised skin of a stray scar as he shivers, fingers tightening on your waist. your hands cradle his sides where they can; there are rare spots on dazai’s skin that aren’t covered in bandages, and you linger on the warmth they offer, but it still isn’t close enough to quell the uneasiness curling around your ribs.

he whines when you sit up, but it slowly fades into a look of intrigue as you pull your shirt off. his hands fall to your lower back, grazing the elastic of your panties as you settle against his chest again, arching back into his hold. you rub your thumb across the cut on his lip, already scabbed over. gentle enough not to reopen the wound, you press your mouth to his, fingers skimming across the soft edge of his gauze as you cup his cheek. your other hand falls to the waistband of his pants, trying to undo the messily tied drawstring without detaching too far from him when he pulls away.

"do you really want to do this now?" you've never seen him so hesitant to take his pants off around you.

"yes," you pull against the fabric stubbornly. "i need to be closer. 'ts not enough."

you can feel his exhale through his nose as he presses his lips to your forehead, rubbing his hand up the curve of your spine.

"i put you through a lot today, didn't i?" you nod, eyes closing as his lips brush against your forehead again. he pulls your hand from his waistband, kissing along your knuckles as he sits up onto his forearms. "let me make it up to you, my darling."

even when you get off of him, he doesn't let you get too far. you slip off your pants and underwear as he undresses, left only in his second skin made of cotton before he lays you back down. his smile lacks his usual mischief, but there's still the glimmer in his eye that only shines when he's hovering above you like this.

his fingertips brush against your ear as he holds your face, working your lips open enough for this tongue to press inside. his nose nudges yours, and he pulls away just far enough for him to tilt your jaw. he kisses past the racing pulse point on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spot above your collarbones, until he finally reaches your heaving chest.

his hands graciously squeeze your breasts, thumbs circling around your nipples before he gently pinches them between his fingers and tugs. his hold lingers as his lips trail further down, until he reaches your stomach. you meet his eyes as his nose brushes your bellybutton, looking up at you as he blows a raspberry against your skin, beaming at the sound of your giggle.

"there's that pretty smile," he kisses the same spot before he scoots down, kneeled between you.

you widen your legs for him, reaching your hand down to run your nails against his scalp. he cups your thighs to open you further, lightly nipping at the soft, sensitive part of your skin. you shiver when his warm breath reaches your bare cunt, his tongue poking out to kitten lick against your clit. you can feel his smile against your skin when you whine, pulling him closer by his hair as he draws slow circles with his tongue. you start to squirm the faster he gets, and he presses a hand to your stomach to keep you still, the other teasing your entrance. he slips a finger inside you as his lips curl around your folds, easing another one in and curling it just right for your muscles go taut. your hand fists his hair, and he lets out a pretty whine when you tug a little too hard, a whimper of your own leaving your throat when it vibrates against you.

“wait,” it comes out as more of a sigh than a spoken word. he presses a kiss to your clit before he pulls back, your wetness smeared across his lips. goosebumps rise across your stomach as the warmth of his hand leaves you to stroke his swollen cock, and you watch little beads of pre leak out of his tip. “osamu,” your eyes water; you feel so cold without him touching you. “need you inside. now, please.”

he smiles, leaning down to brush your bangs out of your eyes before you grab his hand away, pressing a kiss to his palm. “i can never deny my pretty girl, especially when she's asking so nicely.”

you huff when his lips just barely brush against yours, leaning up to follow and meet in the middle as he caresses the outer skin of your thighs, pressing you down into his futon. his breath stalls as he pushes inside you, stretching you out in your favorite way; it's exactly what you needed, and you feel yourself sag backwards in relief. your lips are parted in a satisfied sigh, eyes heavy and lidded when you look up at him.

“beautiful,” he grabs your hand to kiss the side of your wrist, threading his fingers with your own and pressing them against the fabric of his quilt. he leans down until he’s so close, your chests graze one another, and you whine as his bandages rub against your sensitive nipples. “my beautiful girl, i can't believe you're all mine.”

you barely get out a yes, body melting when he starts to thrust. you squeeze his hand, the other gripping his bandaged arm as you try to match his pace.

even in his softness, he makes sure your body falls pliant beneath his own. he lifts your waist to go the slightest bit deeper, and it’s enough to graze that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and heart stop. he grins when you tense, crying out as your eyelids flutter. he hits it with the kind of precision only he can manage, groaning as you tighten around him.

“keep going,” you slot your lips against his sloppily, matching his thrusts as best you can with his body pressed down on you. “fuck, please, please keep going.”

you feel like you’re completely surrounded by him, and you try not to cry now of all times. you cross your ankles over his torso, tugging on his hair until he's as close as possible. you bury your sniffles in his neck, watery moans falling from your lips; he only thrusts harder when your nails dig into his bandages from where your arms wrap around his shoulders. you’re so close, and you cling to him, body tightening around him in every way possible. if you cling hard enough, maybe he’ll never leave again, always safe in your arms.

“i have you,” his breathes against your skin. “you can let go, it’s okay.”

you jolt when he touches your clit with his fingertips, circling it once, twice, and then you’re done for.

"i know, bella," he shushes you, kissing away your tears as you cum. you can barely process his gentle words, legs spasming against him as you release. the sound of skin and the squelch of your cunt is muffled as you start to come down, hips stalling from where they were thrusting upward into his own as your body goes limp from pleasure.

dazai's movements are growing messy, moans pitchy and strained, and you know he’s close too. you tighten your sore legs around his waist as his movements start to stutter. he pulls himself up on his knees to get as deep inside as possible, your heels digging into his back only encouraging him. he nuzzles his face into your neck as he cums, his sweet noises tickling the skin of your throat. you’re warm from the inside out, body sweaty and full as you hold him close as you can.

after a few moments of silence, your ankles slide off his body, nails gently playing with the baby hairs along his nape. your muscles finally release their tension as he pulls out, looking down at the little dribble of cum that leaks from you. he lifts his gaze to your face; your eyes are half lidded and unfocused, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“hey,” your eyes lazily shift to his. his hair is even messier than usual, his cheeks rosy and lips swollen. he looks so pretty, even with the gauze on his face, and your lips quiver thinking that you could’ve never seen him like this again. he taps his thumb against your jaw to get you to focus. “i’m right here.”

he exhales through his nose softly, laying his head down on your chest, offering you his hand to fidget with, the other finding it's place back on your hip.

“you know i always fear you’ll be taken from me,” his grip tightens on you protectively. “but knowing you feel the same hurts nearly just as much. you shouldn’t have to live with that burden, my love,” you focus on his fingers, bending and unbending them between your own; you’re certain if you do anything else, you really won't be able to stop crying. “to have someone like you care for someone like me so deeply…i don’t deserve it.”

you put your finger under his chin, tilting it up so he meets your eyes.

“i could never live without you, osamu.” you press a kiss to his lips when they open to speak. “you don’t have to believe me. i’m not going anywhere as long as you’re not either,” you brush his bangs back enough to press a kiss to his forehead, wishing that it could be so easy to soothe his mind. “it’s time for you to trust me now, okay?”

“...okay,” he whispers. he presses a kiss to your neck, right against your calming pulse. “i didn’t mean to scare you today.”

you feel the pressure behind your eyes building again, and he lifts his head when he hears your breath catch in your throat.

“no more of that, okay?” you nod, using the rough skin of his scabbed lips to ground you as he kisses every inch of your face before settling on your mouth. he nibbles the edge of your lip, soothing the spot with his tongue.

“is it too early to go to sleep?”

“it’s never too early for that,” he grins, poking the tip of your nose with his finger. “today was exhausting, wasn’t it?”

"mhm," your eyes are already heavy when he lays his head back down on your chest. the weight comforts you, as your heartbeat slows, adjusting to beat in time with his own.

you’re only barely awake when you feel him press a lingering kiss to the center of your chest.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. “you know i couldn't live without you either."

BSD MASTERLIST

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai smut #bsd smut #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazai imagines #bsd imagines #ʚ shhh ɞ #💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖

1K notes · View notes

turtletaubwrites · 5 days

Text

TurtleTaub Fic Recs ~ Part 3

I think it's so fucking cool that we can hop onto this silly site, and swim around in all these amazing One Piece stories together. There's so much talent, creativity, and all around awesomeness in this community, and I'm so grateful that I get to enjoy it with you. Please check out these wonderful fics, and show the writers some love!! 🖤🖤🖤 | NSFW ~ 🔥| ANGST ~ 😭| FLUFF ~ 🥰| DARK CONTENT 🌑| | SERIES ~ 📚| HEADCANONS/DRABBLES/IMAGINES ~ ✍🏼| | Other Fic Rec Lists ~ | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 |

Ace

fading flames (😭✍🏼) ~ by @lowkeycasanova ~ Ace x Reader ~ I love this premise so much, and it's short but sweet (by sweet I mean ANGSTY painful ouchy!) It has a high likelihood of making you cry, and I love it 😭🖤

No time for playing games (🔥) ~ by @oxymorayuri ~ Ace x Reader ~ This so captures what a charming lil ass he can be. Reader (like me) can't help but swoon over this guy, and the end result is so satisfying 🥰🥵

Buggy

A Line from Me to You (🥰📚 + eventual 🔥) ~ by @hey-august ~ Buggy x afab!Reader ~ I adore this story! It's so cute, a secret book club with Buggy who wears reading glasses, and has FEELINGS. It's so sweet, and I can't wait for more!

Untitled (but bittersweet) (🔥😭✍🏼) ~ by @hey-august ~ Buggy x GN!Reader ~ Beautiful, hot, and painful, ooh it hurts! Ugh, this one really got to me, such good, smutty angst 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Crushing On The Captain (✍🏼) ~ by @soft-mafia ~ Halp, we've gotta make sure this sweet, pathetic clown knows that he's loveable!! 😭🤡 So stinkin' cute!

Crocodile

Cleaning Up (🔥) ~ by @discordantwritings ~ Crocodile x Fem!afab!Reader ~ This had me squealing 😭🥵 I loooove Crocodile in this. So fucking hot, and I need to live there now, please and thank you 🙏🏼

Law

Sweet Dreams (🔥) ~ by @strawheart-pirate ~ Law x afab!Reader ~ The best part of waking up is not Folger's in your cup. It's Law watching you have a sex dream, and making it come true 🥰🥵 This one'll be stuck in my brain for awhile

Imagine refusing to wear a boiler suit while travelling with Law… (✍🏼) ~ by @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction ~ Law x Reader ~ Flustered Law is so fucking adorable, I wanna squeeze him 😠 This one is super cute and silly, and I love it

So Pretty (🔥🥰) ~ @maddddstuff ~ Law x afab!reader ~ soft law soft law SOFT LAW!!! This is so fucking sweet & hot. Warning: It might make you catch MORE feelings about this guy, ugh!! Had me twirling my hair, and spinning in my desk chair 😭

Multi and/or Character x Character

Take What You're Given (🔥🔥🔥) ~ by @indydonuts ~ Sanji x Straw Hats ~ Holy fucking smut 😳🥵🥵🥵 Insanely hot SMUTSMUTSMUT with Sanji, and the Straw Hats taking turns with him. Go have fun 😊

Somewhere Inbetween (🔥) ~ by @discordantwritings ~ Nami x gn!afab!reader x Robin ~ My absolute dream come true, holy shit. Seriously, it's like this was pulled from my lil desperate bisexual brain, and I will forever be grateful for this glorious smut with our perfect Straw Hat ladies 🥰🙏🏼

The Long Con (📚🥰😭 + eventual smut 🔥) ~ by @emptystove ~ Nami x Law ~ This series is so much fun! I binged the first 5 chapters in one sitting, and I'm loving the plot, and the way Law and Nami are written. I can't wait to get to more of the drama/action, and of course the smutty smut 🥰

Sanji

Cup of Coffee, and a Tall Glass of You (🥰 )~ by @decorativetrashbag ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ Fluffy, adorable workplace crush 😍😍 I would be a mess if I had to work with this guy everyday, lol.

Entirely at your service (🔥🥰📚) ~ by @vespidphoenix ~ Sanji x Fem!Chubby!OC ~ This is so DECADENT! I adore Sanji and the OC's (Amy) banter, chemistry, and the lovely consent and extra sexy, sexy times. So good, I'm excited to see more of these two!

Through Shadow (🥰😭📚) ~ by @gingernut1314 ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ I adore the reader's backstory and struggles, and Sanji is so fucking precious! Falling for the cook again 🥰

Smoker

Pet Name - Love (🔥✍🏼) ~ by @honeyshiddendesire ~ Smoker x Fem!Reader ~ Oof, this old man can get it. (Lol, just looked up his age, and the white hair deceived me. He's 34, only one year older than me pre timeskip 😅) But seriously, this is soo fucking hot 🥵🥵🥵 I've been avoiding Smoker fics because I knew I'd get obsessed, and this fic did it. I need him so bad 😭

Zoro

Forgive Me if I break You (📚😭🌑 + light 🔥) ~ by @shewrites02 ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader ~ This story is soooo goood!! I'm falling in love with Zoro all over again 😭💚 The reader's angst and struggles are written so beautifully, and I can't wait for the next chapter!!

Oi, you wanna die? (✍🏼) ~ by @zorosbeau33 ~Zoro x gn!Reader ~ I love the vibes! Gala setting, the Straw Hat's on a secret mission, and Zoro being absolutely obsessed with the reader 🥰💚

321 notes · View notes

waltj · 1 month

Text

I was trying to figure out why this scene, which is so short and has no dialogue, stuck with me, so I thought I'd make an attempt.

To me, it's evocative of the kind of raw fragility you feel after a traumatic experience. Everything feels quieter, somehow. Your goal becomes simply to get from one moment to the next. Fresh off the death of Jane, Jesse's priority is just... survival. It's in his bare, shaven skin. His raw eyes. His unreadable expression. His gentle, cautious hands.

Of course, the act of planting a flower is symbolic of starting from the ground up, re-learning to take care of a living thing, of yourself. There's a bittersweetness in that. He's been forced back to the basics of taking care of himself. This is simple; something you might do as a kid in class. This is a task he's being given that he - someone like him - can do. The script notes that "he'd make a pretty good gardener if he put his mind to it."

Jesse's second priority is learning to navigate what he actually values in this new state of survival, now that he's not actively killing himself. He makes the decision to accept this kind of trivial task into his life, to quietly make a good job of it. In that, I see Jesse's resolve to accept who he is: the "bad guy" who can't change, and is resigned to just keep trucking along. Plant the flower. Do things for the sake of doing them, even though you don't see the point. Jesse in S1 might find this demeaning, or blow it off, fight it as a way to reject other people's expectations of him and assert the image of himself that he wants to project. S3 Jesse has no option left but to accept this into his life. To make of it what he can.

#t.#jesse pinkman #breaking bad

208 notes · View notes

sordidmusings · 3 months

Text

Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is. Bless up to @fanaticsnail for cheering me while writing this, would've very much struggled without you love bug 🤍🤍🤍

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin.

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues.

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into.

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him.

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection.

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead.

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

#mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #one piece #request #my writing #fem reader #x reader #one piece x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #one piece fanfiction #mihawk fanfiction #opla

333 notes · View notes

chronicdisasterwrites · 8 months

Text

for you, i would

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru (gojo’s past arc)

genre + warnings: - JJK S2 SPOILERSSS !! deaths (obvi), panic attack, funeral mentioned, smoking, just major pain. everybody's just hella depressed, swears are said, shifts between past and present (italics is past, normal is present moment), the slow burn is KILLING ME

ANGST but then it's FLUFFY :') bittersweet fluff tho (i'm sorry)

word count: 3,953

authors note: okay you asked, i hope i delivered omg :') this is the part 2 of my fic "death is pretty but his eyes are prettier". this might just be a series, because I have some ideas.

enjoyyy <3

Suguru’s gone. He’s now exiled from Jujutsu High and a certified criminal. Shoko’s putting on a nonchalant show and Satoru is lost. And you are not quite sure how to process so much information all at once.

---

It's been a few days since your encounter with the special grade curse. A few days since you and Satoru had that moment in the hall. Days have passed since then, but your mind still seems to be stuck there, wondering why it felt so different. Since then, every time you've been near Satoru felt different. His looks looked different, his voice sounded different, his aura felt different. You felt different, and you're not sure what changed. Now you were being sent off to another assignment and Satoru was being sent off on a different assignment, and this distance could either make things a good different or a bad different. Now, what you think would be a good different is a thought you don't even want to ponder.

“Hey, you.”

Satoru moves his eyes from the window to acknowledge you. You're leaning against the classroom door with a backpack slung over your shoulder and a smile on your face. A smile that Satoru returns tenfold.

“Hey there. You start missin’ me already?”

You snort with a laugh and walk toward him. Leaning on the desk next to where he was sitting, you lightly shove his head, “Absolutely not.”

He laughs heartily and leans forward on his chair, resting his head on the palm of his hand. He's looking at you through his ever-present dark sunglasses with a dopey smile, and this is exactly what makes your stupid heart flutter, and you just don't understand why. You smile back but it doesn't stay on your face for long enough. Satoru notices of course and similarly his smile is also wiped from his face and replaced with a quizzical quirk of his brows.

“You’re worried. Question is, why?”

You shrug and bring your hand up to bite the skin around your nails, a bad habit you've had since you were a child. Something you've always done to avoid answering unwanted questions or just to avoid the storm in your mind. Satoru sighs and lightly holds your wrist to move it away from your face. He holds your hand and assesses every finger, slowly tracing the lines on your palm with his slender fingers, then your bitten nails, then the veins on your inner wrist. You blush.

“I don't know, this mission just feels different, I guess. I mean…” You look out the window and observe the blue sky with its fluffy white clouds. There's a black rogue cloud creeping up on the clear ones, and you sense a storm coming. You know Satoru and Suguru are strong and they're perfect for this job. But of course you’ll worry, and your voice does nothing to hide that, not that you could even if you tried. Not with Satoru, anyways.

“It’s just a lot for anyone, y’know?”

Satoru looks up from your hand and with soft eyes and an even softer smile he says, “Sure, but nothing we can't handle. And anyways,” His smile gets cheekier and cheeks get warmer, “I gotta come back soon, right? Can't have you bein’ all sad and mopey without me.”

You laugh and shove your hands in your pockets, turning to leave the room when Satoru calls your name.

“Be careful on your mission. I'll see you soon, yeah?”

You look back and smile, “Yeah, you too.”

—-

“So I heard you losers are tasked with babysitting the star plasma vessel? Amanai, was it?” You find Suguru smoking on the balcony near the courtyard on campus. He cranes his neck to look back at you and gives you a small smile.

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Suguru offers you his half-smoked cigarette. You accept it and bring it to your lips as you take your place next to him.

“Yeah. Riko Amanai. I thought you had a mission outside Tokyo?” Suguru asks head tilted as he leans against the wooden railing.

“Yeah in a bit. Wanted to catch you before I leave. I already met Satoru,” you reply as you blow out smoke through your nose and return the remaining cigarette to him. He hums and holds the cig between his index finger and thumb as he puffs it twice before stubbing it out in the ashtray half filled with cigarette butts.

You both stare ahead at the courtyard, basking in the shared silence. You think about the responsibility on their shoulders and how heavy it must be; considering the star plasma vessel is just a few years younger than the four of you. Being raised with only one obligation; to be preserved and grow in isolation for the rest of her years. It isn’t something anyone would want. But that’s Riko Amanai’s life.

“Stop worrying,” Suguru looks at you with an easygoing smile.

You are always amazed at how well he could read you. So you just laugh and pat his back twice before turning to leave.

“Just be careful, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

You’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling; paralyzed. Things went to shit so fast. Riko had been killed by a man called Toji Zenin or Fushiguro; at this point, you’re not sure. You’ve heard him be called both Zenin and Fushiguro. But nothing had been the same. Suguru was different. Satoru was now the strongest and being sent on more and more solo missions overseas, and back then, you felt in your bones that something was wrong. Everything was wrong anyways. Riko Amanai didn’t deserve the life she got. She didn’t deserve to die like that. And you know Satoru and Suguru. They were headstrong and stubborn; doing things their own way regardless of what anyone said. They were the strongest, after all. So you knew things were worse than they seemed because you know for a fact that if Riko chose to live, they would do whatever it took to make her wish come true. And you were right.

---

Your mission was more or less a success. A dead curse and a few bruises here and there is the best outcome any Jujutsu sorcerer can hope for. But the air in Jujutsu High felt different. Thicker, darker, and not at all the way it was when you left it. Figuring Satoru and Suguru’s mission regarding the star plasma vessel should be complete, you head out to look for them. Heading towards the guy's dorms, it doesn’t take long before you find the hunched-over figure with jet-black hair sitting on the benches near the vending machines.

You approach him with a soft call of his name. Suguru lifts his head to look at you as he mutters your name with a greeting. He looks awful. He looks skinnier and his hair is mostly wet as if he didn’t even bother to dry it off completely after taking a shower. Dark eyebags and half-lidded eyes make him look so much older than he is. Ironically, he looks smaller too. As if the life had been sucked right out of him.

You move forward slowly taking a seat next to him. You lean back and stretch out your legs and wait for him to say something, anything. Preferably about the mission and why he looks so fucked up. But he just asks about your mission.

You reply with a shrug, “It was fine.”

He nods his head as you wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.

“Suguru…what happened?”

He looks detached, lost. He purses his lips and fiddles with his thumbs. “Riko was killed.”

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything at all.

“You know, she wanted to live. Satoru and I decided that we’d support any decision she’d make. She wanted to live longer with her friends, and her family. But then-“ he chokes up. Trying to mask it with a cough he just shrugs and exhales. He lets his head hang low.

“They were clapping,” he clenches his fists and you feel his cursed energy spike.

You don’t know what he means by that. You’re in shock and you have no idea what to say. What can you possibly say to make any of this better? Apologizing seems ridiculous. Saying “she deserved better” is even stupider. Of course, he knows she deserved better. You reach out your hand to touch him before he speaks again.

“I was wrong. These people. These monkeys… they don’t deserve to be protected.”

He looks at your outreached hand and gives a half smile. He unclenches his fists to hold your hand in his larger ones. He caresses your knuckles as you say the only thing that you feel.

“You’re right. They don’t deserve to be protected.”

Suguru looks at you with eyes filled with curiosity and surprise as if he expected you to say the opposite.

You look at his hands holding yours, squeezing his hand once as you continue.

“But then, there are also people like Riko, who do deserve to be protected, right?”

His eyes widen and his hand slacks as he stares at you. Right when he opens his mouth to say something, Haibara’s boisterous voice fills the room. He greets the both of you and you smile back as you retract your hand from Suguru’s and stand to leave.

Suguru calls your name and you look at him. You feel so bad for him, you can’t express it. It’s tearing your heart out seeing him look so depressed, so utterly destroyed. You reach out and brush your knuckles against his cheek. He closes his eyes and releases a sigh. Leaving featherlight touches against the darkness under his eyes, you say softly, “It wasn’t your fault, Suguru. I hope you know that.”

His eyes shut and you can almost hear the torrential thoughts flooding his brain. Your voice is hushed. You want to be as gentle as possible with the way you speak to him now. He’s like a glass bottle filled with a corrosive, bubbling liquid. It must be handled with the utmost care because the only thing containing the liquid is the bottle. If the bottle breaks, the liquid will spill everywhere. Even if it’s collected from the ground and stored in a tougher container, the microscopic glass shards will be near impossible to separate from the liquid itself. Geto Suguru, is a strong man. But even the strongest material is bound to break; if a stronger force acts upon it, continuously, without giving it time to heal and repair. And once broken, Geto Suguru will always have those shards lodged inside his soul.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

He looks at you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. You drop your hand as you turn to leave him with Haibara. “I’ll see you, Suguru. Best of luck on your mission, Haibara.”

Haibara gives you a bright smile with eyes turned into little moons. “Thank you senpai! I’ll bring back souvenirs for you all!”

You return his smile and send him a thanks and a wave as you look at Suguru, gaze not being reciprocated. You only see his dark ebony hair covering his face as he stares at the ground, unmoving; distant.

The moment your back turns to them, the smile drops from your face and your eyes fill with tears.

---

You found out about Suguru from Yaga-sensei. Apparently, he had killed his parents and 112 non-sorcerers. Geto Suguru was now a criminal and exiled from the Jujutsu community. The Suguru you last met near the vending machines before he embarked on his new path; before Haibara’s death.

Now you’re lying in bed, marinading in your sadness, thinking about how everything went to shit so fast. Haibara died and Suguru was as good as dead. Nanami was broken. You don't know where Satoru is but wherever he is, he's definitely not okay.

You’d heard Satoru had met Suguru from Shoko, considering she met him before Satoru did. And Shoko. Shoko shut herself off, acting as if everything was fine. She keeps conversations short and drowns herself in her studies and her work. Things will never be the same again.

You feel conflicted. Did my words tick him off? Could I have said something better? Am I a terrible friend? Maybe if I find him now I can talk to him and be by his side, but he’s not the same Suguru I once knew. He didn’t seek me out. Why didn’t he come to meet me? Does he hate me? Does Satoru know I spoke to him before he did what he did? Does Satoru hate me? Will Shoko ever be the same again? No, of course, she won’t. None of us will ever be the same again. It’s all broken. Everything went to shit.

There’s knocking on your door. You glance at the alarm clock on your side table. 2:30 am it blinks, in an angry red light that hurts your eyes. You sit up on your bed as you contemplate whether to open the door or ignore it. You can feel the cursed energy of the person pulsing behind the door. They knock again. You get up and open the door to see one Gojo Satoru leaning against the doorframe with his sunglasses on and shoulders drooped. His stance is unguarded, tired, and face sullen.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” he looks apologetic as he opens his sunglasses and puts them in his pocket. His once crystal blue eyes are now a muted blue with dark purple circles underneath them.

You silently shake your head, opening the door further and walking deeper into the room hoping he’d follow. He does, as he shuts the door behind him. You sit on the foot of your bed as he drags his feet next to you and falls on his back with his long legs dangling off the edge.

He closes his eyes and opens them, then closes them again. You look at him wondering what to say. As nothing comes to your mind you simply decide to lie down next to him and stare up at the ceiling. You both stay like that for what seems like a long time, soaking in each other’s presence as if it might be stolen from you both within moments.

“You know…I met him. We spoke and he told me I should kill him if I wanted to. I was about to but then I couldn’t do it,” his voice is so small, almost trembling. He’s breathing heavily, the silence in the room when he’s not speaking is so loud you can almost hear his heart beating.

You turn your head to see him staring up at the ceiling. He breathes your name.

“I just… couldn’t do it,” he releases a shaky breath, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Maybe I should have. Maybe because I didn’t kill him, a lot more people will-” he chokes.

Your heart hurts seeing him like this. The pain you were trying to control floods your senses and nothing feels real anymore. You wish it was a nightmare, that once you wake up everything would be fine. Suguru would still be here, his parents still alive, Satoru being his usual childlike self, Shoko with her hilarious little remarks, Haibara filling the room with his larger-than-life presence and laugh, Nanami emo as ever but still with you all. Riko still alive. But the more you try to force yourself to wake up you realize you’re fully awake already. This isn’t a nightmare; it’s real. This is your life.

“Of course you couldn’t, Satoru. I mean it’s Su-“ you cut yourself off with a shaky exhale. “All of this is just so-“ your voice breaks as you try to contain the tears. You take a deep breath trying to hold in your hurt. You have to be strong because right now Satoru isn’t. He needs you now more than ever.

“It’s just so unfair,” you say under your breath.

“I’m supposed to be the strongest. I’m supposed to be the “honored one”. I mean- it was a moment of weakness. I can’t-“ he puts both his hands on his face as he breathes heavily and mutters incoherently.

“I can’t be weak,” he spits the word as if it’s venom. Poison, tainting his pristine lips.

“I just- I can’t.”

He mutters your name as he starts heaving and trembling. You immediately sit up and lean over him; your face over his own.

His eyes blink rapidly as he gulps and tries to take a full breath, ultimately failing.

You hold his face and look into his eyes. “Satoru, you’re having a panic attack. Look at me, okay? Focus on me.”

He shakes his head, and sniffles, clutching his chest as he continues spiraling. “I can’t- I can’t breathe.”

You grab his clenched hand and hold it against your chest. “Feel me breathe, okay? Look look. Inhale, and exhale. Okay? It’s just us here, alright? Forget everything else.”

Your chest rises and falls in a steady motion as Satoru’s eyes lock onto yours. Trying to match his breathing with yours, his eyes slowly regain focus as his chest stops heaving. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes deeper breaths. Soon enough, your hearts beat in the same rhythm.

“There you go. Deep breaths,” you give him a small smile as one hand still holds his against your chest and the other holding the side of his face; thumb caressing his cheek.

Mouth open and eyes blurry, he gulps as he brings up his free hand to touch your face. His fingers brush over the scar on your right cheek. No one else has ever touched your scar like this. Even you've never traced it with so much love and tenderness. Only Satoru has, and you realize you like that very much. You like the feeling of his fingers on your skin, especially on the part of your body that makes you feel like a complete failure. It scares you, but you can't even think about it now because his fingers are everywhere. They graze your jaw, run through your hair, and trace your nose, before finding their rightful place back over your cheek. His voice is strained and so, so small. “You’re real, right?”

A stubborn stray tear escapes your eye as you give him a watery smile. “Yeah, I’m real, Satoru. I’m real.”

He leans up to rest his forehead against yours as he closes his eyes. Your breaths mix as you feel his silver eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. His wispy bangs tickle your face and you notice his hair has gotten longer. You also notice how he has two indents on each side of the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses spend all their time. He also has the clearest skin you have ever seen anyone have. Your eyes map his face like it's the first time you're seeing him but not the first time you realize that he is so, so beautiful. And your heart almost stops at the realization that you might just be in love with Gojo Satoru.

This is the most intimate you’ve ever been with anyone. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him be and the most vulnerable you’ll ever let yourself be. Your tears don’t seem to stop now, flowing freely, falling onto his rosy cheeks and shirt. He gently wipes them away with his thumb as your foreheads stay pressed together. Hands still intertwined against your heart and thoughts flowing together.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here. I just- I had to see you,” his voice was low, almost a whisper.

Your voice is quiet too and you feel your face getting warm. “Always.”

You both stay like that for a couple minutes, breathing each other in, feeling each other’s heart beat. You feel so guilty for wanting to tell him you love him. You can't do that now. He's upset and lost and you won't put something like this on him right now. So you bury it and just bask in the sound of his breathing.

Once he’s calmed down, you both lie down next to each other, shoulders touching, back to staring at the ceiling. You sniffle and wipe your eyes, feeling the weight on your chest significantly lighten. After a few minutes, his raspy voice breaks the silence.

“He has a son,” He looks at you, “Toji Fushiguro. He has a son. Said his name was Megumi Fushiguro.”

His eyes shift between yours and then travels all over your face. He nibbles on his lips and continues, “Apparently, the kid’s been sold to the Zenin’s, ‘cause of the Ten Shadows Technique he inherited.”

You turn your head to look at him and you know what he's thinking.

“You’re gonna stop the sale?”

Satoru grins, “I'm gonna stop the sale,” He looks up at the ceiling and stretches his arms up. “And, anyways. He’ll be much better off here. Not to mention, his technique is the best thing to come out of his shit family, so win-win.”

“How old is he?”

Satoru shrugs, “6? 7, I guess?”

You look up at the ceiling and wonder. When Satoru speaks again, somehow reading your thoughts, you look at him.

“Will you help me?” He looks at you so longingly, and you don't even need to think about the answer. Your worries are forgotten. All you know is that you both will figure it out.

“Of course, Satoru.”

He releases a small exhale and smiles at you. You return it. You open your mouth to say something but Satoru beats you to it.

“You know, sometimes I wish I was just any regular person. Not the strongest, not a sorcerer. Just some random normie.”

You wish you could give him that. Sometimes you also have thoughts like this. What if you were just a regular person? No powers, no clue about curses, no idea about weapons or cursed techniques. A regular life, a regular family.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Satoru hums as he brushes his knuckles against yours. You let your wishful thinking get the better of you.

“Hey. What if we run away?”

Satoru looks at you with wide eyes and a slacked jaw. You look back at him with a half smile, because you know you would. You would run away with him if he wanted to. Of course, you’d ask Shoko to join the both of you as well. But you imagine going somewhere tropical maybe. Somewhere small, a place with a beach preferably so you could watch Satoru prance around in the water and build sandcastles, only for you or Shoko to go and stomp all over it. And then you’d watch him throw a hissy fit and pout about it for the rest of his life. You’d watch the sun set over the ocean every single day without a worry in the world. Maybe you could be there till you’re old and wrinkled. Living to 80, dying in your bed wrapped in blankets and the people you love - a dream. A place where you’re nobodies. A place where Satoru could finally be free. You’d leave everything behind to have that with him. Not like you have much to leave behind anyways. But you would.

Satoru laughs softly, almost under his breath.

“You know what?”

Your eyes are observing his every expression; you stare at his porcelain skin and sharp jaw, eyes staring up at the ceiling and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He looks at you with his glittering sapphire eyes and bitten-bloodied pink lips stretched into a real smile. You look at the small dimple on the side of his right cheek and you think, just for tonight, maybe the weight on his chest feels lighter too.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

------------------------------------------------------------

part 3

a/n: HAH YOU THOUGHT THEY'D KISS? nope, still hopelessly pining lolol. but we’ll get there, bear with me :’)

tagged: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite

737 notes · View notes

sunkissed-zegras · 3 months

Note

so so proud of u!! can we get 💘 with our bf adam !

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | af¹¹

♡ ─ word count | 706 words

♡ ─ warnings | absolutely NOTHING just pure fluff and a sweet kiss, ONE SINGULAR suggestive comment at the end LOL

♡ ─ ev's notes | i LOVE you so much fia, you literally mean the world to me bc u were my first mutual HELPPPPP<3 ur the best, enjoyyyy!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶

You and Adam have been dating for almost three years, and for the two Valentine's days you'd spent together, you were together. However, this year would be different because Adam was almost 200 miles away in Ohio, Columbus while you stuck in Ann Arbor.

You sat in your friend's dorm as you watched her get ready for her Valentine's date with her new boyfriend. You were happy for her, obviously, but it felt bittersweet because if Adam was here, you would also be getting ready for a Valentine's date as well. Instead, you were just watching her get ready. As you watched your friend apply the finishing touches to her makeup, you couldn't shake off the pang of loneliness that crept in. The distance between you and Adam felt more palpable than ever on this special day.

Your mind began to wander back to the memories you and Adam had shared over the past three years. You remembered your first Valentine's Day together, how he had surprised you with the necklace you'd been wanting (and yes, it was gold/silver) and a bouquet of your favorite flowers that was wrapped in your favorite color. The second year, you both spent the day at home, spending time together by making dinner then watching your favorite movies.

This year, however, distance had come between you. Adam was in Columbus, doing what he loves best: playing hockey while you were finishing up school. The thought of spending Valentine's Day apart made your heart ache, but you knew that you both were committed to making it work despite the distance. Adam had sent you a Valentine's day text this morning, which had made your day but made you sad knowing that you weren't waking up next to him.

Your friend gave you a sad smile, "I'll bring you back some pasta, okay?"

You returned her smile, appreciating her effort to make you smile. "Thank you. But I'll be fine."

"I know, you will. You're seeing him in a couple weeks, right?" Your friend tried to cheer you up and all you could nod. "Well, I'm ready. Wanna walk me to my car?"

You nodded again and got up from her bed, slipping on some shoes and walking out with her. As you walked your friend to her car, the cold winter air nipped at your face, you should've gotten your jacket. As you reached her car, you began to say your goodbyes before you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned around to meet the bright blue eyes of Adam. He was holding a big bouquet of flowers and a huge basket of all your favorite snacks, candy and some jewelry. All you could was gasp with surprise. "Adam!"

"Y/N!" He replied with a big grin, putting down the stuff to embrace you tightly. Your heart swelled as you returned the hug, feeling the warmth of his embrace chase away the chill of the winter air.

"I couldn't stand the thought of being apart on Valentine's Day. So, I decided to make the drive and surprise you." Adam said, his voice filled with sincerity as he held you close.

You couldn't contain your happiness as you looked at the bouquet of flowers, the basket filled with all your favorite things. It was a gesture that melted away the distance and made you feel incredibly loved.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"I missed you too," you replied, smiling up at your sweet boyfriend. "I can't believe you're here," you whispered, your voice filled with happiness.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Adam replied, returning the smile on your face. With those words, he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, sending a wave of warmth coursing through your body. Adam pulled away slowly and your lips felt cold, "Where do you wanna go? Are you hungry? Or do you wanna go get ice cream or-"

"Anywhere, Adam." You answered, your heart jumping out of your chest happily. You couldn't believe he was here, in your arms. He laughed and shook his head.

"Fine, then let's go get some coffee. We are not sleeping tonight."

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

209 notes · View notes

general-cyno · 3 months

Text

I've been on law backstory brainrot and one thing stuck on my mind is the topic of lies, wrt rocinante in specific. I find him fascinating as a character and it's like - the flashback focuses on law, of course, since it's part of his story, but it's still somewhat objective. we're shown some of rocinante's inner thoughts at times. he's kinda hard to pinpoint though, in terms of overall personality. there's the little brother and son of former celestial dragons, rocinante the marine, corazón the executive, and law's cora-san.

a line that stayed with me despite the kinda goofy context was law's the most ridiculous thing about you is the only part that's true, back when rocinante first revealed his motives after learning of law's full name. rocinante is sincere but not necessarily always-honest. it's all over his character too, what with being an undercover agent. rocinante lied to doflamingo and his crew, he lied to his adoptive father/father figure, he even lied to law, denying his identity as a navy officer and insisting doffy wouldn't kill him. even so, the one person he apologizes to? is also law.

we don't really know if covert operations within the marines were always his thing or just something he did because it involved his brother. regardless, rocinante was forced to lie for different reasons: for a greater good (his mission to stop doflamingo), for law's sake (stealing the op op fruit). when faced with the brat he'd grown attached to and wished to save, he lies again, but only because he didn't want law to hate him. there's just something painfully bittersweet about it. it's a little selfish too. he didn't regret lying to his older brother. he didn't express regret over lying to sengoku, the man who'd raised him like a son, either. it's in the moment of his imminent death and the exposure he subjected himself to so that law could escape, when he voices it out - I'm sorry for lying, I just didn't want you to hate me.

rocinante was willing to make an enemy out of everyone, even the organization he belonged to and the man who'd raised him, yet it was law he didn't wish to be hated by. his last direct words to law were I love you and an apology, neither of which he received a response to. rocinante died not knowing for sure if law felt the same or if he resented rocinante for his association to the marines but he didn't need to, anyway, because reciprocity wasn't the point. he saved law because he loved him and saving him was the right thing to do, not for the D or whatever destiny awaited law in the future, just because he was a kid who'd suffered so much and deserved to live and be free. this is pretty much what law's conversation with sengoku is about, too. don't ever attach a reason to the love you've received.

on the one hand you've got rocinante who died, uncertain of whether law hated him or not, for the lies and all, hoping to be remembered for his smile. not knowing law would build so much of his self and life around his cherished memories of cora. on the other, there's law who spent thirteen years being unable to realize how truly unconditional cora's love for him was in the end, up until the aftermath of dressrosa. such a tragic duo for real.

#tp #one piece #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #trafalgar law #anyway time to go cry again #that part of the heart pirates facing blackbeard is getting animated soon and it's making me emotional all over again #little law who hated the marines so much yet begged one (unknowingly that one being fucking vergo of all ppl) to help cora #URGHHHHHJ

205 notes · View notes

reminiscingtonight · 8 months

Text

Reunions

Alessia Russo & Reader (Leah Williamson x Bronze!Reader)

Word Count: 713

A/N: Started this after the transfer news. Finished after Alessia's semi-final goal. Seems fitting to add it the Setbacks Universe

[Setbacks Masterlist] // [WOSO Masterlist]

The last couple months have been a rollercoaster.

After working through your injury, you’ve bounced back with a vengeance, all the weeks you’ve spent cooped up translating to endless bounds of energy on the field.

There’s no other way to describe the second half of the season than constant ups and downs.

Arsenal beat out Chelsea for the Conti-Cup title.

Your girlfriend tore her ACL.

You sold out the Emirates for the Champions League semi-final.

You lost the Champions League semi-final.

And then you got called up for the freaking World Cup.

It’s definitely a bittersweet feeling, being called up to live your dreams while your girlfriend is stuck watching on the sidelines. But Leah’s quick to reassure you of how much you deserve it. Of how proud she is of you.

You thought making the world cup squad would be the highlight of your year. The peak of this year of ups and downs.

You never accounted for one Alessia Russo.

July 4th might be America day to those living across the pond, but July 4th will always be “Alessia Russo joins Arsenal” day to you.

“So.”

Blue eyes look up at you, narrowing with good reason. There’s a devious look in your eyes as you plop down next to one of your best friends.

“Missed us that much, huh?”

Alessia’s dressed in Arsenal gear, having just finished her photoshoot and making her rounds around the training ground. You lit up the second the blonde opened the door to the physio room, you having had accompanied Leah to her appointment, and you haven’t left Alessia’s side since.

Alessia rolls her eyes. “Lotte maybe. You? Not so much.”

“Ouch, you wound me,” you gasp, hands clutching at your heart.

Of course you’ve been aware of all of the rumors floating around. Alessia Russo to Arsenal everyone said, the media, the fans. Everyone but the one person who actually mattered.

Despite all of your probing, Alessia refused to tell you where she was actually headed to after her contract with Manchester United ended.

You were just starting to entertain the idea of her following her ex-Manchester teammate to Barcelona when Alessia finally spilled the beans. Not even Leah’s injured form could stop you from lifting and twirling your girlfriend around when you got the news. Leah had simply laughed at you, telling you to put her down.

And now you’re here. Sitting in the oh-so familiar locker room, with someone who’s also oh-so familiar, just not familiar with this side of the field.

“I can’t believe it. The Tar Heel gals, back together again.”

Alessia snorts at the phrase, remembering when she shouted that upon your late addition to the Lionesses senior squad.

“Only this time we get to do it at Arsenal.”

“The better reds,” you nod in return, laughing when Alessia shoves you back in retaliation. Alessia might be a gunner now, but you know she’ll always have a soft spot for her childhood team.

“Babe, leave her alone.”

The sight of Leah making her way into the locker room has your face breaking out into a smile, but something akin to a whine is quick to break out of your mouth at her warning. “But Leah! Lessi is--”

The sight of a perfectly crafted eyebrow raising at you has you shutting your mouth with a click.

“Lessi is what?” Alessia eggs you on, laughing at the face you pull at her.

Leah ignores the disgruntled look you shoot her way, sighing at your dramatics. “The two of you are children.”

“Well this child gets to go home with you,” you point to yourself. “That child is banned from… ” you trail off, trying to think hard of something to stay.

It’s Alessia’s muffled laughter that has you blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Alessia’s banned from ever meeting Winnie!”

The silence that follows is very telling.

Leah avoids eye contact while Alessia looks all too gleeful.

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at Alessia. “You’ve already met Win?! They wouldn’t let me meet her until I my second month here!”

The three of you run into Win on your way out.

Leah has to try not to laugh when Win nearly knocks you over to get to Alessia.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

412 notes · View notes

starogeorgina · 11 months

Text

Twin flames

Warning: Swearing, age gap

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.01

Notes: Viserys and Alicent’s children have been aged up to be aged 20+

Tears trickle down your face as you try to stifle a sob with the sleeve of your dress. The satin material covering your wrists appears darker than the rest due to your dampening it by wiping your eyes. If you weren’t in the library, you would have ripped the sapphire dress to shreds. Like most of your clothing, your husband had it specially made to match the gem in his eye, rubbing salt on the wound that was your sham marriage.

It was moments like these that you wished time could stop, at least for a few moments, to fully decompress the events that had taken place within the last twenty-four hours.

The previous night, you’d laid awake waiting for Aemond to return from riding on Vhagar, and when he eventually did, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. It was a telltale sign he’d been with his whore; not that you cared much about who he stuck his cock into; it was simply because you had an agreement that on his part he’d failed to keep.

“You’re never going to put a babe in me, are you?”

His silence was the answer he was too much of a coward to say out loud. Not having a child after four years of marriage made you a failure in the eyes of your family, not that your mother would ever believe it was due to your brother not wanting to consummate the marriage; of course the problem must have lay with you. There were many nights you thought about going to your other brother's chamber, you knew Aegon wouldn’t refuse to fuck you. The following morning, things got worse. Your uncle Daemon arrived from Dragonstone to visit his brother, your father, King Visery, and his mere presence had put Aemond in a more foul mood than normal. A lord from some house you’d never heard of before was stupid enough to question Rhaenyra’s son's heritage in front of the rogue prince, resulting in his being fed to Caraxes.

It was bittersweet seeing your uncle being so overprotective of your eldest sister and her sons when your own husband was most likely making you the butt of his own jokes.

Deciding you needed a distraction from thinking about the Lord being burned alive, your mother's shaming, and your husband's rejection, you survey the dusty books until you find one of your favorite historical books. 𝒜𝑒𝑔𝑜𝓃 𝐼'𝓈 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. Sighing, you go to the chair in the darkest part of the library and begin to read.

—

“Isn’t it a bit late for reading Adele?”

Getting a fright, you almost leap from the chair. One hand rests on your racing heart while the other grips the book tightly. Frowning, you look over your shoulder to see your uncle staring down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Still startled, you only manage to speak one word, “what?”

“Is it not Adele?”

Of course, he didn’t even know your name. You look back down at your book and say, “No, it is not.”

“I’m just jesting with you,” Daemon says, coming to the other side of the chair. He crouches down so he is level with you. “I’m very aware of who you are, Princess Adela. I’ve heard many things about you over the years; the tales of your beauty have not been exaggerated.”

You keep your head lowered so he’s unable to see the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you.”

A few moments of silence pass before the prince speaks again. “You’ve been crying,” he says, “do you wish to share your troubles with me?”

“Troubles aren’t something I share so freely, uncle.”

Suddenly he cups your face gently, and his thumb brushes your bottom lip from the left to the right, only stopping when it reaches the corner of your lip, gently touching the scar that runs down to the bottom of your chin. “It is wise to keep your own counsel, but tell me, what fate awaited the fool who dared lay a hand on you?”

You shudder at the memory. A phantom pain forms in the scar on your face and the hidden one on your forearm. You had heard many stories about your uncle's adventures in life, your favorite being the battle of the stepstones, so naturally you felt embarrassed to admit it was your own brother who hurt you by accident during a stupid argument.

You clear your throat. “You were right, uncle; it is rather late for reading. I bid you goodnight.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

“No, but thank you for the offer. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You leave the library feeling slightly flushed and head towards your bedchamber, hoping the knights and servants who surveyed the halls didn’t see how red your cheeks were. Daemon was more handsome than you remembered, and although he had only touched your face to get a better look at your scar, goosebumps still prickled across your body.

You need to find yourself another distraction before you let your mind wander too far.

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥; 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘥. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵.

𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴.

“𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦!” 𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥. “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.”

“𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴,” 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘴. 𝘗𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺. 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴? 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴��𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰�� 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦; 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴; 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭. 𝘐𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥.

“𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦.”

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, “𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘖𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”

#house of the dragon #Daemon Targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fandom #house of the dragon fanfic #Twin flames #Daemon Targaryen #daemon targaryen/you #daemon targaryen fanfic #Daemon Targaryen x fem oc #Daemon Targaryen/oc #Daemon Targaryen x oc

804 notes · View notes