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envy-of-the-apple · 4 months ago

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Moon Starves Sun (FULL VERSION)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

(Warnings: forced relationship, implied nsfw content, implied noncon/dubcon, dark content, implied baby trapping)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat.

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you.

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable.

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that.

"Still with me?"

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together."

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute.

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you.

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away.

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water.

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—"

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in.

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted."

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it.

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color.

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable.

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read.

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask.

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before.

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him.

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him.

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude.

"C'mere, pretty girl."

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body.

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers.

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting.

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?"

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter.

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here.

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes.

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit.

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white.

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort.

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon.

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming.

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly.

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables.

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment.

Not a bad one.

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day.

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made.

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him.

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows.

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere.

"Smells good," he says.

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow.

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles.

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time.

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet."

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip.

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week."

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame."

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable.

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers.

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours."

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips.

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly.

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?"

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting.

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on.

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl."

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly.

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war.

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave.

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl."

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy.

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack.

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight.

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles.

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later.

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes.

It's like you left with his heart.

No, you ran away with his soul.

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't.

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same.

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are.

You left him.

You left him to rot.

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's.

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone.

He misses you.

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything.

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office.

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night.

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru.

“Gojo, sir?”

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages.

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now?

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.”

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.”

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression.

It was a little annoying to look at.

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along.

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too.

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring.

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no.

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring.

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest.

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't.

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it."

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy.

"You get that, right?"

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes.

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding.

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing.

"Suguru!" He waves over.

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years.

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be.

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs.

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs.

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him.

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again."

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?"

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time."

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene.

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that.

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along.

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off.

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins.

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man."

Suguru's smile is catlike.

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again.

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge.

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed."

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act."

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's.

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name.

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot.

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves.

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second.

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off.

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved."

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens.

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline.

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none.

"I'll be sure to save the date."

Then he shuts Satoru down completely.

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says.

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things."

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me."

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red.

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him.

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall.

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment.

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—"

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath."

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not.

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress."

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips.

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—"

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself."

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact.

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much.

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now.

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot.

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear.

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you.

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder.

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces.

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you.

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you.

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit.

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for.

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?"

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh.

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares.

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?"

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat.

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have."

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar."

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it.

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces."

You nod, eager to take the out.

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces."

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school.

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned.

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it.

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—"

"Get out."

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit.

"Um, what?"

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out."

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back.

"Wait." Satoru stops her.

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her.

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want.

He needs you. He can't wait anymore.

He needs you, whether you want him or not.

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing.

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy.

These noises are a little more concerning.

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open.

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer.

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering.

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles.

A positive pregnancy test.

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it."

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung.

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary.

He's finally cracked you.

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—"

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts.

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while.

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you."

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm.

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here."

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you.

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request.

"I can't," he honestly says.

"You won't." You correct him.

He smiles in your hair.

"No baby," he says, "I can't."

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before.

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him.

God, he loves you.

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says.

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you."

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be.

If Satoru is the Sun, then you must certainly be his universe, the plane in which he rests, because there would be no existence for him if not for you.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x reader #dark content #implied smut #dark gojo satoru x reader #dark jjk x reader #reader-insert

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sugurizz · 1 year ago

Text

(Smut/ NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ── lover boy! Yuuta

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's playing handball with his friends. His soft dark locks and slender body caught your eye; running around shirtless as his tall frame prances around left and right. with his shiny lips curled up in a smile and his bubbly laughs resonating through the breeze.

Beach Boy! Yuuta who gets so shy when he sees that his ball landed next to you; the cute girl he's been eyeing up throughout the whole game. your sparkly asscheeks barely covered in your bikini strings and your breasts flushed against the warm sand really sent his brain spiralling.

He shyly grabs the ball as he approaches you, asks you if you'd care to join in. Then he furiously blushes when you redirect the question at him "Why don't you come chill under my parasol instead?"

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's hoping your parasol is large enough to cover up on both of you. you're straddeling his lap, messing up his hair and telling him that "he's the cutest boy you saw in the whole beach" as you plant kisses everywhere on his cheeks, chest, neck and lips. You giggle at every flustered whine he lets, until he grabs your hand, asking you to follow him...

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's eating your ass in his little cabin, smothering his face in your tender skin and drowning himself in the milky scent of your pussy. his blushy cheeks, cute eyebags and adorable noises make your pussy wetter for him.

Beach Boy! Yuuta who (un)surprisingly under his cute aura and puppy eyes hides the thickest cock that dangles alongside his left thigh..

"Oh, sorry...is it too b-big?" he mumbles when you tug down on his boxers, his veiny length springs free, almost slaps your cheek as it stands proud against his stomach.

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's now humping you like a bunny in heat. heavy breathes and frustrated sighs escape his pretty lips. face is still soaked in your sweet juices but he could care less..

"You sure you can take me?...don't wanna see you in pain".

"I'd die for your big cock, handsome angel." you whisper, grabbing his mushroon tip and smearing it across your pussy lips.

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's now into demon mode, the sweetness and shyness are long gone with his schlong bullying your pussy senseless. He groans over and over in your ear "you'll be my cute girlfriend...we'll feel good together..every day..."

Beach Boy! Yuuta who watches you with blown dark pupils as you squirt all over his stomach, fevereshly crying out a "Yess daddy.. I'm all yours! Make me yours!.."

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's so embarassed to see his thick cum spurt uncontrollably out his tip because of how hard you squirted on him.

"Sorry, I cum a lot...I'll bring a-"

He stares at you as you collect the ropes of seed he freshly spurted on your breasts, slowly lift your fingers then smear them on your tongue as you lock eyes with him.

"Come kiss me, Yuuta..."

Beach Boy! Yuuta who's shamelessly snowballing with you, making the loudest sloppiest sounds with his own cum bubbling on both your lips and dribbling down your chins. "One more round, angel boy?" You smirk as he struggles to hide his cute boner again...

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loves0phelia · 15 days ago

Note

hi! I wanted to request a cute jj fic where they’re just being cute together and he’s overprotective (can you base it off an episode in the series?)

thanksss!

Risking

Summery: Moments JJ risked his life to protect you.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: near death experiences, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm like 100% sure this is not what you meant but this is what i came up with, thank you for requesting xxx (for anyone that requested i will do them all eventually, might just take time)

JJ was always protective of his friends no matter what, whether it was in a fight, an argument or just a small altercation, he was ready to protect. But with you, it was quite different. He wasn't just protective, he was ready to kill to assure your safety. He followed behind you wherever you went like a personal guard. He would do anything to shield you from any harm.

The first time you noticed just how much he was committed to your protection, was during the Kegger at the beach. You and him had begun dating a couple of months prior and it was the first beach party of the summer, where kooks, pogues and torons met to have a good time.

“Hey, y/n! How are you doing?” Your head turns when you hear the call of your name. You notice Topper, Rafe, and Kelce approaching. Their presence quickly becomes hard to ignore. They are always looking for trouble, even when there is none.

“Oh, uhm I'm good Rafe, thank you for asking” You began looking around for the familiar head of blond hair you loved combing your fingers through but only failing.

“Looking for someone?” It was now topper's time to speak up.

“Actually yes, I'm looking for JJ-”

“Yeah I don't actually care, you want a drink?” Topper smirked, a glint of arrogance in his eye; it was in no way comforting. It was malicious.

“No thanks, I'm not drinking tonight…” You slowly start backing up feeling cornered by the trio.

“Relax, we’re just being friendly. Have a drink with us. Unless, of course, you’re too good for that. But you won't deny a free drink, right, pogue?” Topper pushed and almost shoved the red plastic Solo cup filled with beer that tasted like pee in your face.

“What the fuck is going on here” Sighing in relief, A weight was lifted off your shoulder when you heard his voice coming up behind you. You turned to see JJ striding over, eyes hard and jaw clenched. His gaze flicked from you to the three boys, warning in his stare.

“There you are, we were just offering your little bitch of a girlfriend a drink, isn't that right y/n?” Topper laughed, feigning innocence.

JJ didn’t back down, his voice low but clear. “The fuck did you just call her?.”

Topper took a step closer, his grin mocking. “I called her a bitch. What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?” He laughed and earned a slap on the back from Rafe.

Before anyone could process what was happening, JJ's fist was swinging toward Topper landing a solid punch across his jaw.

The air was thick with tension, and you instinctively took a step back—until Rafe's hand caught your arm, gripping tight.

“Let go of me!” you snapped, trying to pull free.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Seeing you struggle, JJ’s face darkened

JJ lunged toward Rafe as Topper troubles to stand from the sand still winded from the hit he received. Then, In a second everyone at the party began circling the fight.

Both blond boys punched and kicked around earning cheers from the crowd surrounding.

“Stop!” John B and Pope push through and quickly pull JJ off the bloodied Rafe.

“Lay a hand on her again, and you’re dead. Got it!?” He screamed at his face before getting completely pulled off.

JJ’s demeanour softened as soon as He turned to you, “Hey, you alright?” he asked, gently brushing his fingers over the red handprint on your arm.

You let out a relieved breath, meeting his concerned gaze. “I’m fine, thank you,” you whispered, slowly raising your tippy toes to press a delicate kiss on his cheek.

His hand raised to your cheeks and pulled you into a proper kiss before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and bringing you away from everyone. He couldn't wait to lay in bed close to you.

the second time you noticed was when he was ready to take a bullet for you. You and your friend hadn't expected your summer to turn into a treasure-hunting adventure but here you were with a nugget of badly melted gold in your pocket on your way to a “warehouse”.

“Is there really a warehouse out here?” Your friend, Kiara asked, confused. The route you were on only had forest and maybe a couple of cabins nearby, no place where someone could be keeping 70k in cash.

“That's what she said, hehe that's what she said” JJ smirked and you from your spot on his lap slapped his thigh and gave him a warning but playful look.

‘Shut up” Pope said unimpressed which only made JJ's smile fall into a frown.

“Sorry baby,” You said and kissed the tip of his nose and his smile was back immediately. He had already forgotten his bad joke.

“Cops? out here?” Your little make-out session was interrupted by the flashing of the red and blue lights and siren.

“Hide the gold!” All the pogues panicked and tried acting as innocent as possible, but JJ only tightened his arms across your lower stomach holding you against him.

Barry appeared, his face hidden with a skull scarf, and in his hand was a shotgun. He raised it, pointing it directly at John B. in the driver's seat. You all froze, hearts pounding.

“Why don't you get out and raise those arms in the air” Barry sneered. “Right now!”

John B stepped out of the van, hands raised high in fear.

“Come everyone get out! Let's go” Shaking you slowly got up from your place in JJ's lap and got out of the car.

“There you go pretty girl, hurry up!” He pointed the gun in your face, the barrel touching your forehead.

“Relax bro!” JJ jumped out after you and instinctively pushed you behind him. His face was dark with anger as he screamed. Your heart jumped in your throat when the gun shifted from you to him.

“Stay back bitch!” he shouted at JJ.

“Face down in the ditch, get down on your knees” He threatened with his gun and pushed down Pope's head as you all got down in the dirt.

After a short while, Barry went into the van and went looking for the gold but as he was searching John b got up and went into his car to ambush him.

Thankfully his plan worked and as soon as John B got the gun out of his hand you all rushed to help. JJ ran and punched him in the ribs, Kie punched his face, Sarah pulled the car door on his face twice and you kicked him as hard as you could where the sun dont't shine.

Barry spat, his anger mingled with a hint of fear now. “You’re dead for this. You hear me? All of you!” You all just took what he had stolen from you and left.

Later that night in bed pressed against JJ's stomach at the chateau you thought about the situation.

“You can't jump in front of me when there's a gun involved” You whispered and JJ's rubbing movement on your back stopped.

“the hell I can't” he scoffed.

“You're gonna get hurt badly if you keep protecting me.”

“It's my job to protect you, if something happens to you I will literally die, I can't live without you” His sentence made your head shoot up.

“You mean that?”

“You're the love of my life y/n, nothing matters more to me than you.” You carefully laid your head back down on his chest where you could hear his heartbeat and hugged him tight, almost wanting to crawl into his skin.

The third time you were out in open water, nowhere to turn, and adrenaline was coursing through your veins. Sarah had gotten kidnapped by her family and you and the rest of the pogues were on a mission to save her.

The boat pitched and swayed on the ocean. JJ and you stood side by side, backs pressed to the railing, as you faced off against Renfield, an employer of Ward Cameron.

The man grinned wildly, holding a machete with a terrifying confidence, the blade shining menacingly in his hands.

“JJ look out!” He lunged forward, machete raised, his eyes locked on JJ. Your heart leaped in fear, but JJ ducked, narrowly dodging the swing. The machete sliced through the air, missing by an inch.

Before he could make another move, you stepped in, launching a punch right into his nose throwing him off his balance. But he quickly got back up continuing the fight.

Before JJ could fully react, Renfield rushed forward, landing a brutal punch across his jaw. The force of the blow sent JJ stumbling backward, right up against the railing. Disoriented, he struggled to regain his balance.

His vision was blurry but he didn’t miss how The blunt end of the machete in the man's hand was making a beeline for your head.

“Y/N!” He lunged from the floor and pushed you out of the way.

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your feet as you watched JJ topple backward receiving the hit that was initially meant for you, arms flailing as he plunged into the dark, icy water below.

“JJ!” you screamed, rushing to the side, your eyes frantically scanning the water for any sign of him. The boat rocked beneath you as you leaned over, the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Without a second thought, you kicked the man and jumped in after your boyfriend.

“JJ!” You swam closer and closer until you reached his floating body, you held him and hugged him close to your body, elevating his face above the water.

“Please! John B.” You felt yourself sink further as you frantically moved your legs beneath you.

“Please, JJ I can't, I can't” You choked on the water filling your mouth.

As you sank several pairs of hands grabbed onto you and JJ pulled you onto a smaller boat when you realized your friends had saved you you rushed to JJ's side, begging, and shaking his shoulder attempting to bring him back.

“Please get up!” suddenly he began coughing up water and slowly opening his eyes.

“Oh my God” You sobbed and held his face gently with your hands.

“Sup” Everyone around you erupted in laughter and you laid your forehead on his chest giggling. “Don’t… ever do that again,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

JJ chuckled weakly. “Can't promise anything”

You rolled your eyes, a smile breaking through despite the panic that still lingered.

“I'm coming with you,” you argued.

“No you're not,” JJ said as he was putting his diving gear on.

“Yes, I am” You take the second wetsuit and start unzipping it.

“Hey, no” he takes it from your hands and puts it aside.

“Yes, JJ. I am going down with you whether you like it or not” Your tone hardens which took him aback, JJ rarely saw this bossy side of you, you were always soft-spoken and gentle or at least with him you were.

After pulling on the suit and oxygen gear both you and JJ were ready to go down.

“Okay guys remember the safety stops, or else you get the bends” Pope warned and you both nodded.

The water was calm and clear. Underwater, everything was peaceful and quiet, the only sounds coming from the rhythmic hiss of your breathing through the scuba gear and the faint echo of distant waves above. It felt like a different isolated world.

He gestured to you, pointing toward a dark shape partially buried under a rocky overhang. You nodded, eyes bright under the goggles as you swam toward it, fins propelling you through the water.

But before either of you could examine the wreckage further, a shadow passed over you, casting a sudden darkness across the sandy floor.

Just as you looked up, the unknown diver was on you. The stranger grabbed you by the shoulder, yanking you backward, forcing you to drop the small underwater flashlight you had been holding.

“y/n!” JJ’s eyes widened as he took the spear he had brought down with him and stabbed the attacker without mercy. But that angered him. Quickly he turned and punched JJ, with his skills he swam quickly and locked JJ up in a room inside the wreck while he was disoriented, leaving you alone with the man.

“NO!” he yelled but it was muffled by the oxygen tube.

The stranger’s hands reached for you again, trying to get hold of your air tank, and when he did he cut off your oxygen supply. Your lungs burned instantly from the lack of oxygen and panic. As soon as JJ managed his way out of the trap he was in, he shoved his regulator into your mouth, completely uncaring about his need for oxygen. He took your hand while you were taking desperate breaths and he kicked himself forward, rushing to the surface and escaping from the attacker.

As you broke through the water, you both gasped for breath and clung to each other, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Are you okay!” His hands reached for your face, and you only weakly nodded.

“Talk to me please, baby”

“I'm okay” You swam closer to him and he held you without daring to let go until John B was near.

When you finally reached the safety of the boat you and your boyfriend sat close. You were still panting, your chest heaving but as you took another breath, you felt a sudden, sharp pain twist through your chest.

"Guys, are you okay?" Kiara asked, noticing the pained expression on your face.

You tried to respond, but winced, feeling an intense, stabbing ache radiate from your joints to his abdomen. Your head spun, and you suddenly felt nauseous as though your blood had turned to acid. Panic flashed in Pope's eyes as he watched you and his best friend struggle, the realization hitting him hard.

"They have the bends, we need to get them to the hospital" Pope and Cleo slid their arms around JJ's back lifting him up and John B. and Sarah did the same to you.

JJ panicked at the sudden disconnection between you too, You were so close now so far apart because of your friends separating you.

“y/n” JJ moaned as pain shot through his side.

“We're getting you both to the hospital!” pope shouted. The ride felt like thousands of hours, the pain was unbearable.

"Almost there, guys, just hold on," Sarah encouraged, as she tried making you both take deep breaths.

The van rattled down the dirt road, jostling you and JJ in the back as you leaned against each other, pale and clammy, both fighting the building pressure in your heads and chests.

“go, go, go” one of your friends screamed and tore the van door open pulling you out of the car. You struggled through the hospital door and in a second you were shoved into a small, cramped hyperbaric chamber that was barely big enough to fit one person, let alone two.

After a couple of minutes of groaning, heavy breathing and twitching you both cooled down shoulders pressed against one another, his breath shallow and quick, matching your own in the tightness of the space. His fingers slid into yours sneakily.

JJ glanced over, a spark of guilt in his eyes as he shifted uncomfortably now tracing his fingers on your face. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from all this” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You met his gaze, his face so close you could see every freckle on his sun-kissed skin. You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his hand brushed your cheek as he reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I'm glad you didn't,” you said. JJ’s hand lingered, his fingers warm against your skin, and you felt yourself leaning in, just slightly, as though pulled by a force.

“I'm glad you didn't because if you did I wouldn't be here with you ” you whispered, unable to look away. Before you could stop yourself, you closed the gap, kissing him with a fierceness you didn’t know you had.

JJ’s lips met yours, soft and warm, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling closer. The hum of the machine, the aching in your muscles, even the fear — all of it fell away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in this moment.

“It’s the first and last time I ever let something happen to you, got it?” You grinned and rolled your eyes. You shifted, grabbed a pillow and quickly pushed it directly in front of the circular window before climbing on his lap pressing a deep kiss to his plumped pink lips.

Only the two of you know what happened in that chamber in the minutes that followed.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank angst #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x pogue!reader #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks #jj outerbanks

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

Note

Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

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withleeknow · 5 months ago

Text

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead.

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.”

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here. “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

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ventismacchiato · 4 months ago

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1O stuck with you — sand in my ass !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

As with most things involving Scaramouche, your day starts off on a disastrous note. The cramped quarters of the dorm building force all ten of you into a chaotic dance as you rush to get ready, dodging elbows and sidestepping misplaced shoes. Unfortunately, you seem to be magnetically drawn to Scaramouche, bumping into him no less than five times before breakfast. The microphones crackle with your manager’s impatient voices, urging everyone to hurry.

“You took that long just to come out looking like that?” Scaramouche’s voice greets you as you finally make it into the kitchen with the rest of the group. He doesn’t exactly wrinkle his nose in disgust, but it’s a very near thing.

You ignore him, your eyes instead raking over the counter filled with neatly stacked plates of pancakes. The scent of fresh fruit wafts up, and you instinctively reach over to grab a fistful of berries.

“Wow, who managed to make all this?” Lumine asks, marveling at the spread before piling an impressive stack onto her plate.

Kazuha, flipping a pancake with a practiced ease, jerks his thumb toward Scaramouche, who’s manning the stove like he's scared Kazuha is about to set it ablaze.

Your hand freezes mid-reach. Without a word, you drop the plate you picked up back onto the counter, your appetite vanishing.

“You are so petty, just eat it, Y/N,” Fischl murmurs, standing behind Scaramouche with an amused look. “Can you add chocolate to mine?”

“What are you, five?” Scaramouche grumbles, but he obliges, grabbing a handful of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over her pancake while simultaneously swatting Venti’s wandering hand away from the stove.

“You’re acting like he’s trying to poison you,” Yoimiya sighs, exasperated, as she takes her own plate and starts to serve herself.

“He probably is,” you mutter, poking at your untouched pancakes with a fork, still skeptical.

Scaramouche, not missing a beat, shoots you a glare. “I will cook bleach into your next meal.”

A loud, resounding "NO" echoes from the intercoms, reminding everyone that Jean, ever vigilant, is monitoring your every move.

Scaramouche, annoyed, looks into the ceiling where he thinks the camera is. “I WILL!” he shouts, voice dripping with defiance.

“Scara, baby, turn around. The camera’s behind you,” Childe says with a laugh.

Scaramouche swivels around, eyes locking onto the correct camera this time. “I WILL!”

“Wow, you sure showed them,” Aether chuckles, drizzling syrup over his and Lumine’s pancakes, clearly enjoying the idiocy.

You, on the other hand, can only sigh, clasping your hands together in mock prayer. “Please, get me out of here,” you whisper, hoping that someone, anyone, is listening.

“No,” Lisa laughs into your ear piece.

Anyone but Lisa.

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows on the sandy track laid out for the first challenge of this god forsaken fake dating show. The tension between you and Scaramouche was palpable as cameras buzzed around, capturing every strained glance you both sent one another.

“Could you both at least pretend to smile?” Lumine sighs, coming to stand in between you both.

“No,” you both say in unison.

"Alright, contestants!" Yae's voice rang out cheerfully over the loudspeaker as she sat a couple feet away from you all, "Our first challenge is a two-legged race! The winning pair gets to have a private date with a gourmet meal!”

“Now, obviously we want Scaramouche and Yn to win,” Yae admitted with a sigh, “But for this challenge we will actually play it to keep it a little realistic.” Yae claps her hands as she signals to the ropes on the ground.

“All of you can pair up, except for our lovebirds. Tie your ankles together and stand before that line. The course isn’t too long.”

You glanced at Scaramouche, who was examining the ropes with a bored expression. "Just try not to trip us," you muttered, as Scara fastened the rope around your leg and his.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to win this anyway."

As the race began, it was immediately clear that Scaramouche was dragging his feet, literally and figuratively. He barely lifted his leg, forcing you to stumble and struggle to keep pace. The other pairs surged ahead while you and Scaramouche lurched forward in awkward, jerky movements.

"Can you at least pretend to try?" you hissed, frustration mounting with every step.

Scaramouche smirked. "Why should I? Do you really want to go on a date with me?"

“No, but I don’t want us to look like unathletic idiots on tv,” you huff.

“Don’t worry, you already look unathletic,” Scara adds unhelpfully.

Yae sighs from where she’s sitting as she watches you two barely make it past the starting line.

"Scara, I know you're good at this!" Yae called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the other contestants' laughter. Lumine and Yoimiya had already crossed the finish line, untying themselves with triumphant grins.

"Scaramouche, I swear if you don't—" you began, but he cut you off with a weary sigh.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, more to himself than to you. Scaramouche, still grumbling under his breath, wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. With a sudden burst of athleticism, he finally matched your pace, and together, you both stumbled forward with more rhythm than before. You were no match for the other pairs who had long since finished, but at least you weren’t tripping over each other anymore. It was almost too natural, too comfortable, and for a split second, you forgot about the cameras and the show. But then reality crashed back in when he pinched your waist when you started slowing down.

"Finally, almost done," you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on your waist and focusing on not tripping over the sand.

"Yeah, yeah, just don't mess this up," Scaramouche replied, but there was no real bite in his words that time.

Finally, you both crossed the finish line, far behind everyone else. Yae clapped her hands together, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And our final pair has arrived! Congratulations, you two. You were... spectacularly last."

Scaramouche immediately let go of you, stepping back as if the contact had burned him as he slipped out of the rope binding you two. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatics, but before you could respond, Yae continued.

“Of course, for the sake of the show, we’ll just pretend you two got first place. After all, what kind of dating show would this be if the main couple lost that badly? Miya and Lumine, you both can have a gourmet meal too but just off camera.”

“So rigged,” Aether sighs.

“In the other games we’ll play fairly, it’s just for the first episode,” Yae giggles.

The other members were already lounging on the sand, enjoying their downtime as you’d both taken forever to get going. Venti and Fischl had even started a sandcastle, which was somehow more elaborate than anything you’d ever seen.

Venti waved at you with a playful grin. “You two sure took your time! Must’ve been having too much fun, huh?”

You and Scaramouche simultaneously scoffed at that, and you could hear the others chuckling at your synchronized reaction.

“You guys are stupid,” you huff, kicking sand towards your nearest victim. Poor Childe.

“I agree,” Scara says, but his voice was quieter, almost contemplative. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Then just fuck on camera so we can all go home!”

“Venti, move over. I’m going to kick down your castle.”

“NO WAIT!”

You dig your toes into the sand, letting the cool grains slip between them as you wait outside the kitchens for Scaramouche. The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the beach, and Yae's words about a "romantic walk" still make you want to gag. She had told you the meals would be set up away from everyone else so you both could enjoy a romantic walk towards your date. The last thing you want is to spend more time with Scara pretending to be enamored with each other, especially after the disaster that was the race.

“Aww, look how cute Y/N is, waiting for their date,” Yoimiya teases, a grin spreading across her face as she takes another bite of the crab she and Lumine had won.

“If he doesn’t show up in ten seconds, I’m leaving without him,” you grumble, crossing your arms in frustration.

“No, you won’t!” Lisa’s voice blares from the intercoms, making you jump a little. “Remember, you’re supposed to be in love. Try to act like it!”

You sigh, rolling your eyes, just as Scaramouche finally appears, looking equally as unimpressed. “You ready?” he asks, not bothering to hide the lack of enthusiasm in his voice as he walks ahead without you.

“Not really, but let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing off the wall and starting down the path that Yae had indicated earlier as you catch up with him.

The walk is awkward, to say the least. Neither of you says a word, and the only sounds are the gentle waves crashing on the shore and the distant laughter of the other contestants. The romantic atmosphere Yae had tried to create is completely lost on you both.

Finally, you reach the small table set up near the water’s edge, lit by a couple of lanterns. The meal is already laid out—lobster, of all things, with sides that look way too fancy for a beach dinner. You sit down across from each other, the silence continuing to stretch as you both start to pick at the food, trying to figure out how to eat without looking ridiculous.

Then, out of nowhere, your ear pieces crackle to life. Lisa’s voice bursts through, louder than before. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO SOMETHING INTERESTING!”

Scaramouche groans, his fork clattering onto his plate as he rubs his temples. “Do they ever shut up?” he mumbles.

You stifle a laugh at his pain, but it quickly turns into a grumble. “Apparently not.” You take a deep breath, trying to think of something to say that won’t make this whole situation more painful. “So, uh… what are your hobbies?”

Scaramouche stares at you, disbelief written all over his face. “Seriously?”

“What? I’ve never been on a date as an idol before,” you reply, trying not to sound too defensive but miserably failing.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s apparent.”

You scowl at him, refusing to let him get under your skin. “You can’t talk. Your last relationship was a total disaster.”

His smirk fades, replaced by his usual look of annoyance. “Ew, let’s not discuss my ex.”

Before you can respond, Lisa’s voice crackles through again, this time more exasperated. “THIS IS KILLING THE MOOD. THE STUDIO IS DRY. BE HOT.”

“What does that even mean?” you mumble, helping yourself to the calamari rings Scara wasn’t touching.

Scaramouche sighs, clearly just as fed up as you are. He reaches across the table, and you blink in surprise, half expecting a slap as he leans forward.

“Hold still,” he mutters, his fingers brushing against your chin. You feel a light pressure as he wipes something from the corner of your mouth. Before you can react, he brings his thumb to his own lips, licking it off casually.

“Gross, I hate squid,” he complains, pouring himself a drink as if nothing happened.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can practically hear Lisa’s triumphant yell through the earpiece. “YES! LIKE THAT! Finally, some chemistry!”

You stare at Scaramouche, who just shrugs as he forgets about the cup entirely and starts drinking straight from the bottle. He meets your eyes over the rim, as if daring you to say something. You value your life so you keep your mouth shut.

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. But before you can retort, you’re faced with the lobster on your plate. The shell is hard, the claws menacing, and you realize with growing embarrassment that you have no idea how to eat it without making a complete fool of yourself. You were used to instant ramen since none of your members cared to cook back at the dorms. The cameras are still rolling, and since you hadn’t eaten all day out of sheer pettiness, this damn lobster was your last option.

Scaramouche seems to notice your hesitation if the growing smirk on his face is any indication. “You’ve never eaten lobster before, have you?” he asks, his tone surprisingly neutral. That neutrality puts you on edge.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, hating that he now has more ammunition to tease you with. You’re about to push your plate away and accept your fate, considering just chugging the dipping sauces out of spite, when Scaramouche sighs, setting down the bottle.

“You’re hopeless,” he mutters, reaching across the table to pull your plate in front of him. With practiced ease, he cracks open the lobster’s shell, separating the meat and placing it back on your plate.

“There,” he says, sliding the plate back over to you. “Now just eat it. And try not to make a mess, dumbass.”

You’re stunned into silence, watching as he casually goes back to his own meal as if he didn’t just do something unexpectedly considerate. The cameras must be catching every second of this, and you can already imagine the headlines. He was taking this dating show more seriously than you’d thought he would. If the cameras were off he would’ve usually just let you starve.

Lisa’s voice crackles through your earpiece, full of praise. “Wow, that wasn’t emotionally constipated at all!”

You finally manage to pick up your fork, poking at the perfectly prepared lobster on your plate. You’re not sure if you’re more irritated that Scaramouche had to help you or that you’re actually grateful he did. Either way, you grudgingly take a bite, and it’s annoyingly delicious.

“What is it now?” Scara asks, looking from how you keep glancing at him, “Did you forget how to chew, too?”

“Nothing,” you mumble, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under your skin. “Just… thanks.”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering whether to make a snarky remark, but then just nods as if he decides you aren’t worth the extra words. “Whatever. Just don’t make a habit of needing my help.”

You roll your eyes at his words, but your chest feels uneasy.

You shake it off as being sick from skipping breakfast.

[00:00:00] INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Can you state your name for the camera?

SCARAMOUCHE: Why? Everybody knows who I am.

JEAN, EXASPERATED: Just do it, please.

SCARAMOUCHE: [SIGH] Fine. It's Scaramouche, or Kunikuzushi.

JEAN: Thank you. How was your first day on the island?

SCARAMOUCHE: It was ass.

JEAN, LOUDLY: Cut!

[00:13:00] INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE TWO

JEAN: I'm going to ask you again. How was your first day on the island?

SCARAMOUCHE: God, it was fine. Is that what you want?

JEAN: Thank y-

SCARAMOUCHE, INTERRUPTING: Actually can we retake that? I sounded too nice. I want all the fans to know I hate Yn—

JEAN: [SIGH] Cut!

[00:00:00] INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Can you state your name for the camera?

YN: YN! Everyone's favorite coke whore!

JEAN: Jesus Christ, cut!

YN, BEFORE THE CAMERA CUTS: What? God forbid I channel my inner Ayesha Erotica!

[00:25:00] INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

JEAN: Please state your name for the camera.

YN: It's YN! Everyone's favorite from Windblume! [WINKS]

JEAN: How was your first day on the island?

YN: It was okay. It's really hot and I got sand in my shorts. Not on purpose, Scaramouche threw sand at me because I looked at him funny. Stupid bitch. Then—

JEAN, TIREDLY: Can someone give me a normal answer for once?

YN: —after that disaster, Venti lost my vape—wait, can I say that on TV? Probably not. Anyways, it was a Lost Mary too, which are expensive!

JEAN: Cut!

YN, STILL TALKING: And after that the rest of the day was okay. I'm trying to treat this like a vacation from being an idol, so.

JEAN: Why did I get a normal answer when the camera turned off? [GROANS]

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

i edited those plushies of scarayn myself do we like ☺️ yn is a grey panda to be gn

comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

end of act one 🎬

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — i’ve been feeling down and sick so i wasn’t in the mood to write but here you all go, wasn’t it worth the wait! 😊 pls don’t harass me to post fast touch some grass guys 😢

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

#scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x male reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x oc #stuck with you smau

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sango-haveaniceday · 2 years ago

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#fuck it #i hate my life rn #my fiancé and I are only 1 months away from our wedding and we arranged NOTHING #he's constantly changing plans or straight up erasing them #first he wanted to go somewhere for our honeymoon - now where staying home because the idea overwhelmed him #i suggested we to keep it cheap so we would invite just friends and parents cause we have no money - then he says he wants a banquet #'ok' i though 'since we ain't gonna travel on our honeymoon we have some money for a cheap banquet'#so i agreed #but now he won't fucking help me with ANYTHING #i tell him to come with me look for a place for his stupid banquet. oh no. he's overwhelmed with this idea too #if i hadn't forced him to come with me to fetch the rings we would be missing them too #i feel Im the only one who genuinely wants the wedding to happen -which is ironic considering i was never interested in getting married #now he's been avoiding talking to me for several days straight under the excuse he has a headache #im the only one making efforts for this to work...#i feel alone in all this... we were supposed to arrange everything together but now I'm just on my own and it's starting to overwhelm me...#it's all just sand... but it's piling up and i don't think i can handle the weight of the mountain that sand is forming on top of me...#i feel like crumbling #i feel like giving up

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forineffablereasons · 1 year ago

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Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever.

I think the entirely of Crowley and Aziraphale's interactions in the Final Fifteen™️can be summed up by the idea that they are talking past one another, failing to fully understand each other, but I want to talk about this line in particular. This isn't a full analysis of the scene - just this isolated bit.

Crowley: ...If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say? Aziraphale: Come with me. To Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second-in-command. We can make a difference. Crowley: You can't leave this bookshop. Aziraphale: Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever. Crowley: No. No, don't suppose it does.

As methods of occult/ethereal communications go, the metaphor is quite versatile.

Crowley is saying: stay here with me. We have this enclave. We can be together properly now - stay here with me. Never mind that they have not actually made any progress on this in the last four-ish years since the end of the world. Never mind that Crowley is so stagnant that four years after the end of the world he's still living in his car.

Keep in mind that Aziraphale didn't have the benefit of Nina and Maggie's intervention - Aziraphale doesn't see this as a confession under Crowley's own initiative, he sees it as a response to what Aziraphale is saying. Aziraphale says, let's go make a difference, and Crowley is sort of forced into taking this position as an alternative offer - to Aziraphale, it looks almost like a temptation. Nothing changed in the last four years, but now that Heaven needs you (and we must give Aziraphale the benefit of his belief that Heaven truly does need him, even though this is clearly a manipulation), I'm ready to move forward, don't you want to stay, don't you want to deny Heaven and exist with our heads in the sand?

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says. "Nothing lasts forever."

To Crowley, who is offering himself and this enclave, this bit of existence that can just be theirs - nothing lasts forever is an obvious smackdown: not even us.

That's not what Aziraphale is saying, though. What Aziraphale is saying is, we can't live like this forever. If we want to protect it, we have to change. Nothing lasts forever isn't a betrayal or a resignation - it's a sacrifice. Aziraphale cares so much about Earth, about fixing Heaven, and about Crowley himself that he's willing to give up the bookshop and their enclave on Earth in order to save it.

They cannot just maintain the status quo. It's been four years since Armageddon and nothing has changed, and keeping on ignoring Heaven and Hell didn't work! It didn't work! They were on their own and here's Heaven and Hell again, in their business, dragging Crowley back to Hell, dragging Aziraphale back into Heaven's politics. Four years was all they got. Four years, and they were under threat, risking each other, risking their very existences. They can't sit in their enclave and pretend it won't happen again because it absolutely will.

Aziraphale spends a lot of this series burying his head in the sand. If he can just hide Gabriel, everything will be fine! (It won't - he'll still have Gabriel.) If he can just make Maggie and Nina fall in love, everything will be fine! (It won't - he'll still have Heaven and Hell waiting in the wings for the next suspicious event.) If he can just get everyone at the Jane Austen Ball, if he can just keep the demons out, if he can just ignore it, it will go away! If he can make the participants know the steps to the dance and if he can control the lingo, he can create a new fantasy world for them all to live in and everything will be fine!

It won't. Aziraphale isn't in control. Aziraphale can't stop this. Aziraphale can't protect himself, and he can't protect Crowley to the point where he has to let Crowley leave him and work a plan on his own. He's a principality, and he can't protect the things and the people he loves.

Then the Metatron walks in, makes a point of validating all the things Aziraphale loves - coffee (food/drink), Crowley (your demon can recognize me even when these angels can't), the shop (do you need to take anything with you? I've made sure the shop will be safe), separates Crowley from Aziraphale - Crowley, Aziraphale's guiding light in all those minisodes, Crowley, the one being Aziraphale trusts - and then.

And the Metatron offers Aziraphale the control he's been missing all season.

Nothing lasts forever. We can't survive in this enclave forever. If we stay here, it will all end. If we stay here, I can't protect you, or humanity, or any of it. I have to try, we have to try, because no one else will, and I'm willing to give up my freedom and my bookshop if it means I can save everything. I want to save it with you, I want you to be with me, I need you, I need us, but--

If I can save you, even if it costs me us, at least you'll have survived.

If that's the price, well. Nothing lasts forever.

#good omens s2 spoilers #go s2 spoilers #go s2 #good omens #ineffable husbands

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servicpop · 20 days ago

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nude beach adrien ( deliquent oc ) x ftm reader

ⓘ⠀reader has top surgery , use of cunt & pussy , fingering , public ( on beach )

Tans, seashells, crisp soda and icecream, perfect for a hot sunny day.

It was an idea pitched by one of your friends to hold a class beach day, and as the student president, you agreed and began to plan. The message you sent into the class group chat was bombarded with positive replies the moment you mentioned the word 'beach.' It seemed like alot of your classmates either wanted to escape studying or needed a break to cool off.

A familiar icon popped up underneath your message, Adrien's, but he didn't reply so you just guessed he would skip this event out too.

Stuffed in a car with all your friends, you allocated each friend to bring different things like drinks, food, beach balls and towels. You were in charge of packing the beach umbrellas and foldable chairs.

It was about a 3 hour trip to a beach nearby; one that wouldn't be bombarded with little children and an abundance of people.

When you got there with your friends — a little earlier than the set time — you took the initiative to start helping out with things and putting down your chairs and umbrellas. As you're hauling out the items from the trunk, you could faintly hear the raspy sound of someone calling out.

“Adrien, give me a hand here!” Your head instinctively turns to meet eyes with that stupid deliquent who seems to always show up wherever you are.

He was unusually early, perhaps earlier than you.

Adrien shoots you a toothy smirk before turning back to his buddy, helping the guy lift a cooler filled with sodas and probably beer as well. You shrug him off with a small scoff, rolling your eyes before going back to set up your things

You've successfully put up an umbrella and a deck chair away from the water, letting your body relax on the chair.

You weren't even planning on swimming today but you brought a shirt and some swim shorts just in case you wanted to just dip your feet into the icy water and feel the waves crash against your knees.

Staring out to the shore you watch as your friends run into the water, splashing and kicking sand up st eachother. You would join but, swimming wasn't something you particularly liked, especially the feeling of your wet swimsuit sticking to your skin.

“What are you doing all alone, prez?” His voice comes out smooth and almost tantalizing as a hand slides over your shoulder. You flinch harshly, whipping your head around to see Adrien in his full glory, shirt off, slightly damp hair and crystal clear water droplets gliding down the curves of his muscles.

Before you could say anything, Adrien pulls up another chair and slides it right beside you. The wooden bits of the deck chair clink together and he lowers himself on it with a small sigh of relief.

“The boys are playing like gladiators out there, felt like I was gonna die,” He laughs and you see his chest stutter as he does. He lets his head rest on his hand, elbow jutted out as he turns to face you.

“But really, why aren't you swimming? I'd love to see you shirtless and wet.” You roll your eyes and scoff, shaking your head as you stretch out your legs.

“I just don't feel like it,” You hum nonchalantly which earns a breathless laugh from Adrien. He places a hand on your stomach, inching closer to you. His fingers lightly drum on your stomach, earning that slight hollow sound.

He flicks your shirt up and burrows his hand underneath it, making a slow ascend to your chest, tracing over the raised lines underneath it.

“They're healed enough,” he points out, “Just let me see them.”

Your eyes quickly dart around, making sure that no one is watching. The beach stretches out quite far so the majority of the people were situated towards the middle with you and Adrien being in a more empty area.

You don't fight it, you just look away as he pulls up the shirt to your chin. The cool ocean breeze hits your bare chest, pulling out a view shivers from you. Adrien has seen your scars, multiple times but its always a surprise to see how his eyes soften and how he caresses them so delicately.

“Y'know people won't care if you just swim shirtless, you're a dude it doesn't matter,” He's leaning his head over to kiss your scars in which you push his face away. He laughs and moves his hands back down to rest on your lower stomach.

“You should get out of here before anyone sees you talking with me,” You manage to breathe out, moving your hand to his, attempting to pry them off your exposed skin. Being in such an open area with all your classmates undoubtedly gets you anxious, especially considering how long you've kept your relationship with Adrien a secret.

“Why? People can't handle me spending time with my boyfriend?” It just rolls off his tongue the way he claims you're his — even when you're not.

You're about to retaliate, about to shout whatever insult that comes to mind but you feel his hand move down to cup your crotch. Your body jerks at the touch and you shoot him a glare but he returns it with a sly smile.

“You're not my boyfriend,” you manage to force the words out your throat.

“Yeah but can any guy make you feel like this?” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts, pushing pressure onto your cunt. You can't help the curses that flow from your lips and the fact that you're arching your back into his hands.

“They don't know how to treat you right, only I can,” You can hear the jealousy drip off his tone like honey on a stick: thick and sickly sweet.

His fingers are brought back up and now he's pulling at your waistband, dipping his fingers underneath your shorts. His hand just glides over the smooth expanse of your pelvis, dipping down to your sweet, slick sex. Adrien starts by parting your folds with his index and his ring finger, skimming his middle over your fluttering hole.

You're so wet he can hear every movement his finger makes on you.

His thumb finds your clit, pushing the tip of it against that bundle of nerves. He's massaging circles on it, punching out a loud whine from your throat.

“Shit cutie, you're sensitive there?” He laughs, moving his hand lower so he could press his palm against it. Your little mewls and the way you grip onto the side of the chair so tightly makes Adrien want to rip your clothes off and fuck the daylights out of you, but he can't, he'll get caught almost instantly.

His fingers finally meet your hole, pushing in one finger slowly. You gasp, hips rolling up to grind your clit against his palm as he stuffs his finger into you. Adrien laughs again like he's having fun drawing all these reactions out of you.

Your warm, gummy walls hug his finger so snugly he has to slip in another one just to loosen you up a bit. He groans, driving his middle and ring finger into you. Everytime he pulls them back and slams them in your legs tremble and that obscene wet noise rings through his head like the aftermath of a drug.

“You like that prez? Such a good boy f'me aren't you?” Adrien bites his own, chapped lips, repeatedly ramming his fingers into you, watching as you laid your head back and let the moans spill out from your parted lips. The moment he starts curling his fingers up your body tenses and you absent-mindedly grab onto his forearm.

You're seeing stars with the way he's hitting your G-spot every single time he drives his fingers deeper into you.

“Fuck— ah– Adrien,” You cry out, moving your hand down to push down on his, encouraging him to put more pressure on your pussy. He gladly obliges, moving his fingers faster and pushing his palm against your clit with more force than before.

The familiar feeling of a knot wells up in the pit of your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

“C'mon, that's it.” Adrien can tell you're close from the quivering of your knees and the way sweat trickles down your forehead. He kisses the salt away before groaning as he feels his fingers get soaked from your orgasm.

He pumps his fingers slowly, letting you ride out your high before stopping completely.

“Shit, let me eat you out next tim—”

“Stop talking.”

doctors note ; hope i did alright for my first time writing for ftm reader T T

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #oc x male reader #x bottom male reader #mlm nsft #mlm ns/fw #ftm reader #x ftm reader #trans reader #transmasc reader #afab reader

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