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kolyasangel · 2 days ago

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A FLAME WITHIN ME

synopsis: nikolai can't seem to understand why he can't be apart from you when you stir familiar feelings, as well as not-so-familiar ones in him.

content: ch. 6 of icarus falls - main navi / wc: 9.4k

Consciousness is truly nature's greatest nightmare.

Nothing will ever compare to the sheer horror of being aware of yourself being your own prison.

The coldness of the counter beneath his hands is uncomfortable, the surface biting into his palms. His eyes are tightly closed in frustration while drops of water drip down his face, clinging to damp bangs that stick tackily to his skin.

Nikolai thought he'd changed years ago, that he had shed his former weak self. He hadn't changed at all this whole time. He remained stagnant—a lost and helpless boy driven by one wish, who dared to defy divine beings and went above and beyond extremes all to chase after his dream. Yet, when he looks in the mirror, he doesn't recognize the reflection that stares back. He couldn't stand the sight that was warped by self-loathing, an urge to heave swirling in the pit of his gut every time he caught a glimpse of himself.

He doesn't know who he is anymore. But this is what he wanted, didn't he? To lose himself entirely and irrevocably.

Freedom was the one word that constantly clung to Nikolai's mind like a stubborn shadow. His goal wasn't just a goal, it was his whole existence—the very thing that shaped his foundations as a person, the very thing that defined his essence.

It’s been a week since that night, yet the memories haunt him like restless spirits.

You always find a way to creep into his mind late at night when the world fell silent and the darkness deepened, your presence a ghostly echo in the stillness of his room. There were times when he would stir in bed, wondering if you were in his room, only to pull the covers back and sit up to realize he was alone.

Alone.

Confinement was a torture of its own kind. He couldn't remain cooped up within four walls, suffocating in the stifling air of his own despair. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him, and he feared he might lose his grip on sanity completely if he didn't step outside at least once in a while, even just once to breathe. However, he isn't sure if it helps anymore because he knows who is going to be there outside most of the time, waiting to accompany him.

His cherished daily routine of watching the sunset alone was interrupted, now shared with you, each smear of orange and pink that paints the sky every day now intertwined with the remembrance of you.

And he hates it. He hates the confusion, hates the memories, hates what he's become.

He hates everything.

But he doesn't.

But he does.

He feels like this is almost another punishment for him as if the anguish of having taken the life of his first friend hadn't been enough. This—whatever is happening between you both—is a mockery of his resolve, a cruel trial designed to see if he would truly be able to withstand the pull of desire once more.

The burning sensation in the back of his throat is unbearable as his fingers slip into the depths of his pockets to grasp the deadly item—an object that whispered insidious promises of relief to him when incredible, mind-eating guilt almost pushed him to the edge multiple times. The cold metal grazing against his fingertips is enough to make shivers run down his spine—though it is nothing compared to the thought of you lying in a pool of your own blood.

Would he be content if you were gone? Would he finally have his freedom?

The solution seemed deceptively simple enough, and the answer should be even more so. A near escape wrapped in the finality of a single bullet was all it would take to dissipate his problems, to dissolve the solidifying agony you're putting him through.

Things would go back to the way they were.

But there was one issue.

He doesn't think he'll be able to withstand the heat again. Because then again, there is something about you that simultaneously puts his soul at a strange sense of peace. It infuriates him how your very existence seems to flicker like a soothing flame amidst his tempestuous thoughts, as if you were disguising as light and purposefully luring him into the very fire he feared.

Not to mention, he'd become so unbelievably weak that it made him nauseous to even think about ever in any way hurting you, or anyone for that matter.

He has the blood of hundreds, including innocents, on his hands from his actions. No matter how many times he washed them, he still felt unclean, unable to remove the permanent sense of visceral remorse left on his tainted body and soul, a residue of his blood-stained past from his objections against morality. Those same transgressions against the very morals he sought to oppose were undoubtedly ineffective, still inhabiting and plaguing his mind to this day. He would do anything to escape feeling it—this unbearable guilt that had no place in his mind, yet infiltrating every corner of his mind, claiming far too much space for comfort. Every fiber of his being screamed for release, a clamor of need that churned within him—a lion thrashing against the confines of its cage, desperate for liberation.

But he isn't quite sure why he wanted to change in the first place or why he had pursued the actions that had led him to this state. To prove his free will, of course. Then why does he still feel trapped when he should be free? Ironically, each attempt to assert his proof of free will seemed to tighten the chains around him.

How could he feel this way? Why was he allowing himself to be entangled by these emotions when it brought nothing but delirium?

He wasn't confident that the tolerance was conscience. There was no way it could've been when he was unknowingly digging deeper into his own grave.

Freedom hangs above him, daunting and overwhelming. Each step toward that ethereal light is fraught with risk, that he already knows. Yet, he longed to touch that radiant horizon, to wrap his fingers around its glow. It shimmers just beyond his grasp, but he already feels the burning heat. Perhaps it's the indelible scars of shame that marred his skin and lined his wings, a reminder of the flames of past endeavors that had never truly been extinguished after all this time.

He can't help but be worried this time, hovering in uncertainty when the menacing specter of downfall threatens too large. It feels natural to be after last time, an unsettling reality he still cannot shake off—having soared so close before, only to get sent plummeting down from such dizzying heights so incredibly far up. Somehow, against all odds, he'd managed to pick himself back up after his initial fall, but the ghost of fear still haunts him. What if he fell again—this time, perhaps, into a sea of despair from which there was no return?

Was the light an utter illusion? It seemed frustratingly unattainable.

How come you don't see it like he does?

If he didn't know any better, he'd assume you were also searching for freedom, judging by the way you seemed to agree with his views in some regard. He would've thought there was an understanding between you both, that you both wanted the same thing. But you believe in fate, you believe in purpose, you believe in all these things that he can't begin to grasp the concept of. You are so incredibly brainwashed that it's laughable, bearing more differences than alike to him. Still, a small part of him couldn't help but anticipate the opposite for some reason.

"I find that whenever you have a purpose, life is more bearable."

Purpose. What is his purpose? No, he doesn't need a purpose. The thought of it made him recoil in disgust. That would go against and undermine everything he stands and fights for—a stark contradiction to the threads of independence he had tightly woven together around his existence.

There is no meaning to life, after all.

There is no meaning to this life he has no choice but to live. He deems your need for purpose in existence as nonsensical and would go as far as to say you're delusional for believing in it. He wants to laugh at your utter foolishness and your naivety—so caught up in your own silly beliefs, so thoroughly yet unknowingly trapped in the cage of your own mind. Yet, amid that laughter lay an envious ache for insensibility, a craving for the simplicity of it all. And, amidst this envy, he felt a pang of anger.

How dare you find solace when he felt so frantic to find his?

You must laugh at him in secret when he's not around you—laugh at him for how socially inept he is, at how ridiculous you think he sounds whenever he speaks to you. You must think he's weird and feel pity for him. You make fun of him, don't you? The thought of it fuels him with rage and makes him clench his fists in infuriation.

No, he's the one who's laughing at you! You're the one who's trapped after all. You're the fool!

He wants to laugh, but his throat feels tight, stifling any noise from coming out. He can't even smile at the thought that should be humorous.

Because he knows his suspicions aren't true—your kindness was transparently evident, too potent and telling to hold any ill intent. He can try to convince himself against it all he wants, but pure is the first thing that comes to his mind.

His cheeks feel warm despite the icy water he splashes on his face and his eyes close as a deep sigh escapes his lips.

Why did the mere thought of you make him feel feverish?

You must be lying when you compliment his biggest insecurities—you have to be. It feels impossible that you could mean what you say. But he isn't sure why you would lie to him, nor could he understand why it would matter in the first place.

A fresh wave of frustration washes over him, emotions layering upon emotions. Hatred for himself mixed with these feelings for you, creating a toxic blend that was poisoning his mind. How could he be so weak as to feel like this? Why did the tenderness you elicited make him feel oddly comforted yet utterly enraged?

He feels so much. You make him feel so much. Too much—so intense and so overwhelming to that of a fire that burns too vividly, far beyond what he can contain.

It's your fault. It's all your fault.

These feelings of resentment never leave him, instead, they entwine with these strange new emotions toward you, altogether only seeming to grow more and more and wrap around his heart like wild, invasive vines.

But were you truly the only one to blame?

He himself should be resilient and unshakeable—a bastion of strength that refused to be swayed by the trivialities of emotional entanglements, not permitting such frivolous things to distract him from his goal. Yet, here he was, flinching and breaking beneath the weight of feelings he despised regardless. His refusals to surrender to distractions had become vain, for they never lasted, always returning to bite him in the end. Rage blinded and held him in a fiery grip, and old fear devoured him over and over again.

What was his life before you?

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't seem to remember at all. All he knows is that, with you, he felt a little lighter, which frustrated him to no end. It's a momentary lightness, an escape from the heaviness he carried, the need for closeness clashing with the want to break free from all attachments.

No, wait. He's felt this way before. And it didn't end well for him.

Sinking to the floor, he grasps his hair tighter while his eyes feel heavy with unshed tears, feeling that stifling blend of desire and dread.

Freedom isn't real. Free will isn't real. None of it is real.— is what a voice whispered in the back of his mind whenever despair settled in, twisting his thoughts until they spiraled into chaos.

What even is freedom? Will he ever experience it?

His head pounded from overthinking, each thought hammering all at once against his skull, amplifying his fear of failure.

Loud.

It was all so loud.

— ✦

The sound of loud knocking makes your head jerk up as you're walking up the stairs. You had just made your weekly trip to the dim laundry room downstairs and were returning with a small basket full of fresh laundry in your arms, but your heart rate picks up slightly at the disturbance that echoes in the hall. The noise is sharp and insistent, though it doesn't sound like it's coming from your door.

Your feet quicken, hurried and anxious, and by the time you reach the second floor, you spot your landlord poised outside Nikolai's door.

"Is something wrong?" you ask as you approach your door slowly, concerned to know what's happening while keeping your eyes on him.

He turns to look at you when he hears your voice. "Fool hasn't paid rent yet," he replies with a peeved expression, his voice low and grim before knocking on the door again.

Oh, right—today is the first of the month. You had already taken care of your own rent and paid it beforehand right before it was due at the end of last month, but it seems Nikolai wasn't as punctual.

Nikolai's occupation is still a mystery to you. You remember prodding him about it before, but he remained tight-lipped, making his reluctance to answer your question apparent. The thought of bothering him about it didn't seem too hopeful either and felt sort of daunting in a way, so you didn't after the initial refusal, knowing that it'll most likely provoke an uncomfortable silence more than anything.

"Maybe he forgot?" you suggest, hoping to lend a bit of optimism to the situation.

Your landlord only scoffs, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "He does this almost every month. I'm this close to evicting him," he responds, his hand gesturing in a cutting motion as if to emphasize his point.

You frown, both empathy and confusion washing over you.

"I'm sure he'll pay it soon enough, he's nice.." you offer tentatively, trying to subtly defend him even though you're hit with the weight of your landlord's skepticism almost immediately.

"Nice?" He laughs again, this time tinged with a hint of scorn at your words. "This guy is anything but nice. He's a fuckin' cocky jackass is what he is, plain and simple," he retorts, his eyes glinting with contempt while he speaks about him.

A heat rises in your chest at his upsetting words, an unexpected surge of protectiveness for Nikolai swelling within you. Is he talking about the same person? You aren't sure. And you aren't sure what sparked an intense reaction, but it twisted uncomfortably in your stomach. You felt the need to say something knowing that Nikolai was likely inside, able to hear everything that was being said about him, every demeaning word being tossed around at the expense of his character.

The idea of someone having such a harsh view of Nikolai seems unheard of, especially when he ever does is keep to himself and mind his own business. Sure, you can understand the frustration that comes from tenants who don't pay their rent on time, but beyond that, Nikolai seems far from deserving of such vitriol. Now that you recall, Nikolai didn't have such high regard for him either. You remember all too well the way he grabbed your wrist and made you lead the stairs, the flash of hurt and frustration that crossed his face when you asked him what his deal was between him and his landlord, who, setting aside money matters, only seemed to belittle him at any given opportunity just because he could.

You didn't know any better at the time, but you still feel regret for evoking a reaction like that from him—for asking about something you knew nothing about. It was the most emotion you've ever seen come out of Nikolai, and you weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

You had to wonder why Nikolai didn't file a report or take any action against him either. It was like he'd accepted being treated this way.

The thought of it makes you deeply upset.

And he questions Nikolai's kindness? Maybe he would be if people were kinder to him.

"Don't talk about him like that, please," you interject, your voice rising just above a whisper.

He snorts, still doubtful of your previous statement. "I'm surprised he even talks to you," he tells you, raising an eyebrow.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"I've never seen him talk to anyone else ever since he's moved here."

Your eyes widen. You know that Nikolai isn't exactly the best at socializing or just talking—it's painfully clear from your interactions with him on a regular basis. Despite this, it never bothered you at all and actually drew you closer, so to hear it articulated so bluntly leaves you momentarily speechless, grappling with a swirl of emotions you didn't know how to process. It leaves an awkward silence to settle in for a bit, with neither of you saying anything else.

After several moments with no response from the closed door, you hear your landlord click his tongue in irritation before he storms down the stairs, the thud of his footsteps resonating heavily against the walls.

Your body turns with the intent to return to your apartment, you try to, but your eyes can't leave Nikolai's door for some reason.

Just then, the silence is broken. You watch carefully when you hear the sound of a creaking door, and there he is—mismatched, guarded eyes peering cautiously through the narrow crack.

A soft smile spreads across your face. "Nikolai.."

He only responds with a nod, his lips pressed tightly together in a half-hearted smile that barely touches his eyes. His gaze drifts momentarily, landing on the laundry basket you're holding in your arms before they slowly move up to your eyes which are already fixated on him.

What the hell are you looking at?

You're probably silently judging him, thinking about how stupid and disheveled he looks right now, but his thoughts dim down, softening when his eyes trail further down and notice something different about you. Your lips are adorned with a delicate pink tint today, a soft sheen that catches the light with every subtle movement, complementing the sweetness in your eyes—an alluring combination that he thinks is too dangerous and hard for anyone to resist, even for him.

"Nikolai?" you say his name gently again, sensing his mind and attention wandering away elsewhere.

He blinks to snap out of it, abruptly reorienting himself as if shaking free from a web of distracting thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Did you get any sleep last night?" you ask him kindly, studying the obvious tiredness in his eyes and demeanor.

There it is—the question that has slipped from your lips every morning since last week. It annoyed him greatly, yet he never said anything to express his detest for it.

He sweeps his fingers across his messy braid, brushing back the rebellious strands from his forehead. "Yeah.." his reply came quietly, accompanied by a lazy stretch while he raised an arm to rub the back of his neck "What about you?" he asked before opening the door a little wider.

"I did, and I'm glad because otherwise I would've slept right through work," you giggle trying to lighten the mood before you change the topic, your voice lowering into a whisper. "But you didn't pay rent yet? You'll get in tr—"

He immediately moves to shut the door in your face before you can finish, which startles you and makes you take a step back. Your smile falls and you cradle the basket in your arms tighter.

But, just as suddenly, you hear the faint creak of the door opening again, this time with notable heedfulness.

"Listen, you don't need to worry about me, okay? I can take care of myself," he tells you. "He'll get his money soon enough." Irritation threads through his voice as he sneers, eyebrows knitted in frustration, mixed with an unexpected sense of embarrassment presumably due to the fact that you heard everything about his financial troubles and now knew about his inability to pay his rent on time.

"How haven't you gotten evicted yet though?" you ask him with surprise at his ability to dodge your landlord's scrutiny.

"Magic," he replies flatly, stressed by a dramatic roll of his eyes, which makes you laugh.

"You can do magic?" you ask with a sweet smile, taking his seemingly playful response seriously, eager to see how he'll respond to you. "Can you show me?"

The look on his face morphed into one of confusion at your response, like he didn't expect it. Well, by now, he isn't entirely sure what he expects from you anymore anyway.

"No. Go to work," he says and dismisses you with a wave of his hand as if to swat away your curiosity, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly like he's suppressing a small smile before he finally shuts the door, leaving you standing alone to face the wooden barrier between you again.

— ✦

You can't focus at all.

Rich red hues dominate your vision as you deal with the task of arranging the flowers in front of you, absentmindedly doing so more than anything, you have to admit. The delicate petals are soft beneath your fingertips, exuding a fragrant sweetness that mingles in the air—a blend of floral notes that lulls you into a sense of calm.

But calmness never lasts.

Suddenly, you wince from feeling something sharp poke your hand, a sudden sharp sting jolting you from your preoccupied state. You instinctively pull away and drop the flowers somewhere aside in disarray, instead inspecting for what could've hurt you, your eyes landing on one of the roses that bore a thorn someone must've missed removing.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" calls your coworker who was helping you replenish the flowers, an older lady with a warm smile and a gentle demeanor. She moves closer, her concern evident as she observes your discomfort.

"Yeah, it's just a cut. I'll be fine," you reassure with a small forced smile, appreciative of her nurturing nature, though you can feel the sting pulsing slightly.

You turn to head to the employee's room in the back, hoping to find a band-aid. The door creaks open as you push it open, stepping inside and flicking the light switch on before your eyes start scanning the shelves, cluttered with miscellaneous supplies. Reaching up for the first-aid kit and bringing it down to a table, you rummage through it, feeling various items against your fingers until you find a box of band-aids, opening it and pulling one out. The sight of crimson that starts trickling down your finger indicates that this isn't just a cut. Still, you're sure a thorn didn't get stuck beneath your skin, so you figure a bandaid will suffice for now—a temporary solution until you can apply ointment and allow time for healing.

How could you be so careless? You've always been so careful about handling flowers, but you guess your mind isn't in the right place today.

With shaky fingers, you peel the band-aid's adhesive from its glossy wrapper and gently wrap it around your pointer finger, wincing in the process from the slight sting that accompanies the pressure. Confliction washes over you when the thought of leaving early pops into your head alongside the persistent throb in your hand. The idea is undeniably appealing, but you're hesitant, thinking it would be disrespectful to leave early and abandon your coworker to finish the evening alone. So, despite circumstances, it only seems right to push through your discomfort and wait it out until the end of your shift.

Returning to the front, you glance over at the clock and notice its hands inching closer to the closing hour anyway. The shop feels quiet, the gentle hum of the day fading into the evening, though it feels like the day has slipped away quicker than usual, like a blur. You untie your apron, the fabric rustling softly as you take it off when you realize that no more customers are likely to come in, especially with close to only twenty minutes left before closing. Resolute, you decide to count and close the cash drawer, keen to finish the task up beforehand before heading home.

You look out the window and notice the sky start to darken a bit as the sun sinks lower, always serving as a reminder you'll get to go home soon and possibly see Nikolai. Your lips curl into a smile thinking about it—the typical routine that had formed between you and him. In the morning, you'd see him already on the balcony, his figure outlined against the soft glow of dawn, and the two of you would exchange the familiar words of 'good morning' to each other before your day began. By evening, you'd come back after work to see Nikolai perched in the same spot watching the sunset, and you would join him and chat with him, watching as the colors shifted in the sky, sometimes until they melded into deep indigo.

Granted, you did most of the talking, whether it was chattering about your day or sharing mundane random details of your life with him, and at times childhood stories and whatnot while he listened to you. His face always expressed a solemn look, with the exception of a few smiles and laughs here and there caused by you.

You never bothered to ask what he was thinking about. You think that would be a bad idea. Not everything is your business—that you know, but you couldn't help but want to know if he's doing alright. But he always seems reluctant to tell you anything. And that's okay too, you thought. He's not obligated to talk about life if he doesn't want to, though a part of you still wants to pry into those thoughts behind his melancholic eyes.

Nikolai wants to be free from his emotions—you know that now. With how he articulated himself, you found it difficult to not agree with him to some extent when you, yourself did wish that your emotions didn't have so much control over you. But now you find yourself asking what that really means, and what could've pushed him so far to want to rid all of them.

That night, when he opened up to you like he'd never done it before, left you both shocked and touched. Something must've been in the air, something shared, yet something that remained unspoken. You still didn't know what was responsible for making his irises glisten the way they did, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. The way he looked at you, a gaze filled with sincerity that mirrored your own and made you feel like you were floating on the fluffiest of clouds.

Even though he didn't share much of himself with you, you came to terms with it and had even grown comfortable since you could tell he listened to your rambling intently, and putting everything else aside, were just grateful that someone was even there to listen. That's how your days and nights have been for the past week. And ever since you and Nikolai went to the park last week, you've been wanting to ask to spend time like that with him again, but something stopped you every time. You can't fathom why you're so hesitant to ask him when you haven't been so nervous to approach him before.

It felt like all you could think about was Nikolai or relating to him in some way. The images of him laughing and his face reddening had been etched inside your eyelids, uneraseable, that whenever you closed your eyes, it was all you could see. There was no denying how his gaze would soften, how his voice would lose its callousness when caught up in conversations with you.

You didn't realize you were zoning out until your coworker gently interrupted your little reverie, taking the flowers you'd left on the counter, causing you to look up at her in surprise.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them," she offers, clearly encouraging you to take an early leave so you can tend to your finger. "Go ahead, I'll close up."

"Are you sure? I can wait.." you ask, feeling unsure and guilty about your careless mistake.

"It's alright, go ahead and leave if you want. I'm almost done anyway," she smiles brightly at you, easing your concerns and assuring you that it's okay with her.

So kind. It wasn't often that someone showed you such thoughtfulness, a small gesture that soothed your frazzled nerves.

You exchange a kind smile and reach for your bag before walking away from the counter to the shop's entrance. "Have a good night," you say, glancing over your shoulder just as your hand reaches the door handle.

"You too, honey. I hope your finger feels better soon," she chuckles, her laughter ringing in the air like the door's bell chimes.

On the spur of the moment, as you're leaving the shop, an idea comes to your mind. You thought you would get something for Nikolai to surprise him and maybe brighten his day a little, even if the sun was about to set. The thought makes your heart pound with anticipation, already thinking about the smile that might light up his face when he receives your little gift.

— ✦

A sting of pain courses through your hand as you close your car door.

You notice that Nikolai isn't on the balcony watching the sunset today, and something in you compels you to check on him. Hasty movements make up your walk to the apartment complex, ascending the stairs to reach your door. As you reach the second level, you take a moment to admire the breathtaking hues painting the sky, wishing that someone was here with you to watch the fiery oranges and mild pinks melting into one another. But soon, your eyes avert, and your attention shifts to Nikolai's door.

You take a few steps closer. A hand reaches out to knock but then retracts in nervousness.

What if he's busy? What if you're bothering him? Your anxiety whips these thoughts into your head, nearly immobilizing you. Nonetheless, your hand reaches once again along with a deep breath, and this time, it knocks lightly against the wood.

Silence.

You purse your lips and pull your hand away before looking down at your feet. "Nikolai?" you call out to make yourself known, to let him know that it's you if he's inside.

A few seconds and heartbeats pass before the door creaks open with a slow deliberation, revealing Nikolai. Your face immediately floods with heat as you take in his appearance. He's wearing glasses. You've never seen him wear glasses before, but wow, did he look good in them. It has you wondering if he only reserved this kind of look for indoors, especially when you also notice his pearly hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail instead of the usual braid he wore.

"Hey," he greets you, his voice low. He doesn't say anything else but looks at the steaming cup in your hand, then back to you, his expression curious.

"This is for you!" you exclaim while handing him the cup of tea, your excitement bubbling.

For a fleeting second, you swear you catch a glimmer in his eyes before they turn back to their original state just as quickly.

"Why did you get this for me?" he asks, reaching his hand out. You feel your heart skip a beat when his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the cup, able to feel a heat that isn't coming from the cup of tea. He's warm.

Nikolai feels a strange texture brush against his and that's when he notices your finger is wrapped with a band-aid. His eyebrows knit together at the foreign sight.

"Because I wanted to! It's your favorite, right? Honey lemon tea with ginger?"

Your voice rings with sincerity, a melody that echoes in his mind as the lovely scent of honey-laced lemon permeates the air between you.

"It's your favorite, right?"

Why do you remember that? Why do you take the time and go out of your way to do this for him?

He can try to brush aside the words you just said to him all he wants, but the truth of the matter resonates in the hollow chambers of his heart, reverberating with every pulse of his heartbeat at the fact that you remembered such a small, insignificant detail about him.

"Y-Yeah, it is.." he replies, his voice slightly strained as he tries to tamp down his nervousness with a gentle cough, though he's sure he's failing miserably. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well I already did, so no need to say that," you reply playfully, noting the calmness that settles over his expression. "What are you doing?" you ask with brimming curiousness.

He wants to ignore it. He wants to ignore the way you're standing outside of his door, looking up at him with your doe-like eyes that are so incredibly hard to ignore, drawing him in despite his hesitance when they're practically begging him to ask you to come inside. He wishes he could so badly ignore the warm feeling in his stomach. But he just can't.

"Uh- I was just.." he trails off. Instead, he looks down for a moment before moving aside, creating space for you to enter. "Do you wanna come in?"

He's inviting you inside? You thought that'd never happen.

"Sure!" you happily accept his invitation and step inside his apartment. It doesn't look much different than yours, as the layout of each apartment is identical to one another. You glance around and your eyes first land on the table in his living room, where you notice that there's a whole array of thread and a miscellany of sewing supplies.

The place is clean and orderly, but the air feels thick as if silence itself is holding its breath.

"Did you eat dinner yet?" you ask, your voice sweetly breaking the quiet ambiance as you step further inside. You set your belongings down next to his door before turning to face him.

He nods, his eyes softening as he meets yours. "Yeah, I did," he responds in a voice so faint, you couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

You pout. "Aw, I could've made you another egg if you hadn't."

"Never again." He laughs when he sees your expression.

With a quiet click, Nikolai closes the door behind you before walking toward the table. He sets his tea down and sits down in the chair where you think he was seated previously, assumably to resume his work. Naturally, you follow suit and pull up a chair next to him.

Nikolai doesn't seem to mind you closely watching him and his hands as he deftly attaches buttons to a soft, cotton shirt. Although if he does, you're not sure you would be able to tell due to how difficult it is not to be captivated by each precise stitch he does and how effortless he makes it look as if he were born for this craft. The cuffs of the sleeves have soft pencil sketches on them that were most likely going to be filled in later with colorful thread, but you couldn’t tell what the abstract drawings were of due to the lines being so faint.

"You like to sew?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips at the idea of someone as intimidating as him having such an innocent hobby.

"Yeah.." he replies, casually tearing off some excess thread with his teeth.

Your heart.

It feels almost wrong to be staring at him like this, but you can't resist doing so, especially when he's so immersed in his task as he is now, the focused look on his face paired with the slight furrow of his brow drawing you in deeper. It feels almost indulgent to be able to look at him. His soft tufts of hair sticking out remind you of dandelion fuzz swaying in a summer breeze. His long eyelashes meticulously framing his eyes looked like they were picked individually and carefully placed on his lids one by one like perfectly arranged petals, noticeable even behind the thin frames of his glasses and enhancing his delicate features.

"Nikolai," you speak his name, each syllable falling from your lips almost unconsciously, the intent behind your words slipping your mind.

He glances at you, curiosity in his gaze. "Hm?"

You're not even doing anything right now, but you feel so incredibly distracted. There are so many words sitting atop your tongue, an amalgamation of things you want to say, yet they don't dare to come out. You shake your head and cast your eyes downward to your hands in your lap, silently conveying to him it was nothing of importance. "When did you learn how to sew?" you ask him instead, tilting your head back up before scooting a little bit closer to him, so subtle that you think he either doesn't notice it or he simply doesn't mind.

"I don't know exactly," he shares with you, a faint smile warming his features like the gentle glow of sunset. "My mom taught me when I was younger."

You smile at his sweet answer. "I've always wanted to learn hand embroidery," you muse to him as you lean your elbow on the table to rest your chin in your hand, eyes sparkling with interest.

He looks at you surprised, taking a moment to pause his actions, needle still clasped between his fingers in one hand, grasping the fabric in the other. "Embroidery?" he repeats, intrigue in his tone discernible as he registers your words.

"Yeah! It looks so cool but seems so hard.." you say, attention riveted toward him. "But maybe I could try it one day."

"Well, you're in luck because I might know how to do a bit of that," he replies with a teasing edge, a sly smile creeping onto his lips.

"Really?" Your excitement ignites anew as your eyes widen. "Do you think you could teach me sometime?" you ask him impulsively, not expecting anything from it.

His laugh echoes in the room, clearly amused as he nods while he's grabbing another button to sew on.

Your admiration brims over as you observe him, unable to contain your amazement. "I didn't know you could do so many things!" you chirped in awe of his talents. "You're so talented."

Nikolai's eyes light up at your sudden compliment, his cheeks taking on a faint pink hue despite his futile attempt to hide it, clearly stunned by the unfiltered praise and astonished by the fact that you're genuinely interested in his hobbies. It feels like ever since he was little, he'd always get picked on for doing things he enjoyed. But now, you're showing him a different kind of attention that he isn't used to.

"Oh.. N-No, I'm not," he stammers with a nervous laugh. He takes a break to sip his tea, not knowing how to respond to your praise without showing too much excitement or sounding like a dork. The tea tastes different today—the sour flavor of the drink overpowers the sweet and leaves a slightly sharper-than-usual bitter taste in his mouth. "You're flattering me too much," he mumbles before setting the cup down.

You smile at how comfortable he looks right now. You think it suits him, so much so that you would do anything to see him like this more often. It feels like you’re being allowed to see a side of him that no one else sees, one that he doesn’t allow anyone else to see. "I'm serious! You said you can do magic tricks too, right?"

He laughs at your enthusiasm. "Who told you that?"

"I don't know, who did?" you respond, your eyebrows raising in response to his playfulness. "Can you juggle?"

"I think you'd be surprised," he smirks, confidence seemingly budding when he hears your interest. "I can do a lot more than that."

"Oh? You have to show me one day," you express earnestly, placing your hand on his arm and squeezing it gently, able to feel his firm muscles that cause your heart to jump a little.

He feels the rough texture of the bandage against his skin again, stirring him from a thoughtful silence. "What happened to your finger?" he asks.

"I accidentally cut it at work.." you explain to him in a murmur, your voice twined with a hint of embarrassment from your confession.

He turns to face you almost immediately when he hears that, almost instinctive. "You hurt yourself?" a tinge of concern laces his voice, and you hardly notice how he inches a bit closer.

Before you can open your mouth to respond, you're caught off guard, slightly startled by a subtle wince and how Nikolai's expression shifts at the sight of his own bleeding finger.

"Shit," Nikolai curses under his breath and clicks his tongue, carefully setting the needle aside using his other hand.

"Now you're the one who hurt yourself," you utter softly, reaching out to gently grab hold of his wrist without a second thought, making Nikolai look at you with widened eyes as if he'd just seen a ghost. For a second, you both are locked in a gaze when your thumb lightly brushes across his wrist. His hand trembles beneath yours before he quickly pulls away, retreating from your touch.

In a rush of motion, he removes the glasses perched on his nose, folding them swiftly before placing them carefully on the table. He leaves his seat after, his movements hurried, but still somehow agile while he strides toward a cabinet in his kitchen. You watch intently as he reaches for something, retrieving a band-aid, the small packaging crinkling quietly in his grasp. He returns to the table and deliberately applies the band-aid to his finger, forming a fist before relaxing his hand again to ease the tension.

"We're matching," you say, giggling at your own comment. Leaning in forward from your chair to get closer to him, you playfully hold your bandaged finger next to his to compare them. "Look, it's even the same finger."

Nikolai's heart is racing. You're so impossibly close to him—he can catch the scent of your shampoo, your perfume, you.

His other hand was right there, hovering nearby indecisively in hesitant temptation. If he possessed the bravery, he could easily place it on the back of your head right now, the impulse that flutters through his mind stirring want and fear in equal measure. However, he tries to deter from that thought and glances back at your hand, still beside his. In comparison, your hand is significantly smaller and more delicate, fingers slim and dainty, looking so soft that he feels almost embarrassed about the texture of his own skin.

So fragile. So cute.

"And to answer your question, it was an accident. I didn't notice that one of the roses I was handling had a thorn, and you can probably guess what came after that," you sigh, a faint frown pulling at your lips as you look down at your bandaged finger, recalling the moment. "It does hurt a little still, but it should go away soon," your voice trails off. "I guess this is what I get for not paying enough attention, though.. I felt so out of it today."

Nikolai doesn't know what compels him to make the next move—but it's a little too late to ponder on that thought now or do anything about it, his hand already on yours. His fingers gently wrap around yours in a tender grip, his thumb providing your bandaged finger extra attention while he lightly rubs it, a complex mix of excitement and fear coursing through his veins as he does so. How he allowed himself to get this close to you is something he isn't sure he wanted to know the answer to, the thrum in his chest drowning out any semblance of restraint or rational reasoning.

Pull away—that should be the obvious move, a natural response, he thinks. But he feels paralyzed, unable to possess control when the shiver of thrill is all he can feel.

You think you could die happy right now.

It feels like you've been waiting your whole life for something like this, and now that you're experiencing it, you can hardly believe it—like a long-suppressed hunger finally being satiated.

You've never been more grateful for a chair in your life, the chair that holds you in place when Nikolai's touch is enough to make your knees buckle. The way your heart is thumping feels almost surreal as if it might burst out of your chest at any moment amidst the dizzying sensation of his skin against yours. You can't bring yourself to look up at him—a timidity numbing you, along with the uncertainty of what he might be looking back at. His grip is strong yet gentle, applying light pressure with each soft stroke of his thumb against your finger that sends electric-like jolts of exhilaration to surge through you, making you want to reach for him, to pull him closer. Your fingers seem to move on their own, inching forward with a haste fueled by ripening desire. You can't help but want to touch him more—and that you do when your finger instinctively curls around his thumb while listening to the soft hitch in his breath, a sound that accelerates your heart rate even more.

You hadn't realized that you'd closed your eyes at some point to savor this heat being shared between the both of you and it's only when you open them again to meet his gaze that the reality of the moment becomes apparent and far too overwhelming—the distance that once separated you has all but evaporated. Your breaths are uneven, trembling on the cusp of anticipation as your lips quiver.

You see it in his eyes—a yearning so delicately veiled that it was hardly noticeable if you weren't looking close enough.

But with all good things, they come to an end. It's a reminder that moments like these are precarious, charged, and so fragile.

"Nikolai?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your thoughts as you notice how he freezes like he's suddenly caught in a moment of clarity.

Your velvety voice pulls his attention and pulls him back into reality, causing him to realize the situation you both are in. "I'm sorry— I shouldn't have done that." He backs away and withdraws his hand in an instant as if burnt, the sudden absence of contact creating a chill where warmth once lingered.

Don't.

A pout forms on your lips from the release, your hand hopeless for touch as you try to reach for his hand again. "Don't be.. I- I liked it," your voice quavering, betraying your intent to avoid revealing your hidden desperation. But when he pulls his away, it feels like your heart plunges deep into your stomach. You always notice the subtle shifts in his behavior whenever you two have moments when you get close to or look at each other for a second too long as if he doesn't want the moment to prolong, fears it, lest it invite something bad to happen.

Don't leave.

"Nikolai.." you murmur and gently tug on the sleeve of his shirt, causing him to look at you again. The distress on his face is clear as day like he's teetering on the edge of something. You aren't sure what it is, but it startles you. Something bothers him, something doesn't allow him to enjoy these moments, and you fear that if you lose your hold on him now, he will disappear into nothing and only leave you with fading memories.

Don't leave me alone.

His eyes avert quickly. He gets up from his seat and starts cleaning up the table, putting everything away as if restoring order could dispel whatever tension lies between you.

"Nikolai, wait—"

"I'm going to bed soon," he curtly replies before you can finish, warning laced in his voice.

The air turns cold. Yet, you're still determined.

"If you're hurting, I want to make you feel better," you plead, heart aching to reach him someway, somehow, even though he's right beside you. But a dry knot instantly forms in your throat, a tight, anguished grip that makes each breath feel laborious when cold, mean eyes make a return—those same ones you encountered with your first meeting, ones that you haven’t seen since and had hoped were gone forever.

"You make me feel worse."

What?

You aren't sure if you heard him correctly, but with every ragged breath, it becomes clear to you that those words indeed came out of his mouth.

Each second that passed felt like an hour, agonizing and unforgiving.

You can't suppress the small gasp that escapes your lungs, struggling to stabilize your breath when his harsh words wound so deeply, pricking right where you didn't want them to—the tranquility of the moment quickly replaced by a painful reality. You feel unnaturally small and powerless with how you sink into the chair, the weight of his accusation settling over you like a suffocating blanket. It was like the air had been sucked from the room, and you wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole right now in its depths, sparing you from this unbearable heaviness.

The man in front of you feels like a stranger once again.

You knew that Nikolai wasn't exactly the warmest person or anything, but this felt direfully different, like nothing you would ever expect from him—his forwardness felt almost malicious. In an instant, his demeanor shifted, reverting into one as cold as ice. It feels like his warmth diminished in the snap of a finger, any softness replaced with sharp edges as if a mask slipped away to reveal a darker, deeper bitterness that's been hidden from you for who knows how long. The resentment in his voice sounded long-repressed and thick like he’d been waiting to say those words to you for a while.

Does he really think of you that way?

The thought was too tormenting for you to think about. You didn’t think he was capable of such sheer ruthlessness—you don't want to believe it.

Your chest tightens, and you're unable to speak or look at him anymore when a shameful yet painful sting prospers in your eyes. You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears, fear gripping you tighter than any physical embrace ever could at the thought of him holding you in such low regard until you're left with nothing but the sickening feeling of worthlessness. It feels like everything good, every joy gets torn away from you, leaving you only with this mortifying realization you've become disturbingly conditioned with, one that overwhelms you with nausea.

Your presence is not wanted.

Never before have you ever felt like more of a burden in your life.

But...

Nothing could hurt more.

I thought...

You don't say anything else, you don't find the words to respond with, because you can't.

What do you even respond to that with?

I thought we were friends.

Your lips part slightly, but nothing spills from your tongue, and your hand drops back down to your side, heavy and defeated, fingers trembling as they brush against the fabric of your jeans. Some strands of your hair fall over the side of your face, thankfully blocking your peripheral vision of the man you're not sure you knew as well as you thought you did. It feels shameful beyond belief—for someone to witness you like this. You don't want him to look at you, as much as you don't want to look at him.

How do you keep finding yourself here? Why is everything your fault?

Silence stretches between you, taut and unyielding, filled with everything you can't even begin to articulate—hurt, humiliation, confusion, a debilitating sense of loneliness that creeps in too quickly for comfort.

Oh, who are you kidding? How irrational to think that, for once, things might turn out differently. The fragile hope you'd built up always collapses inward. You should've expected no different from this. You don't know how many more times it'll take for you to finally realize.

Everyone eventually leaves anyway.

You're never good enough for anyone to stay, and you never will be.

Maybe you were wrong about Nikolai all along. Maybe you should've listened when you were warned not to speak to him the first time. Maybe you were naive to believe that he would even want to be your friend in the first place.

Maybe you should stop trusting everyone so blindly like the idiot you are.

It takes everything, with every ounce of strength fading away, to steady and gather yourself to rise from the chair and make your way toward the door. The distraught thoughts in your mind are too deafening, drowning out any background noise.

Nikolai thinks fear is an understatement.

He wishes he hadn't taken a fleeting glance when he watched you go, so he didn't have to see how you were purposefully hanging your head down to avoid his gaze, so he didn't have to see the hurt in your eyes that weirdly pierces him as well, more than he would ever admit. One look at your face was all he needed to realize he made a huge mistake. The words that had slipped from his lips unbidden were all but partially true, muttered under his breath without warning in a moment of raw frustration—a defensive reaction and a desperate attempt to rebel against these strange, blooming feelings in his chest, to reach light.

Everything falls silent for a moment.

Weak. He's so weak.

As soon as you leave his apartment, he hurriedly closes and locks the door so he won't catch a second glance at you—shutting out the sight of you that makes his heart flutter and hurt all at once. He already feels a familiar heat crawling up his spine with every breath he takes, sweat forming at the nape of his neck, the burn spreading through his skin as if his body was on fire. He wants to crawl out of the flesh that would soon, surely be melted under this unbearable hotness. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, but nothing escapes him. His hands grip his hair and his eyes squeeze shut in frustration, the quivering of his lip becoming hard to ignore as he bites down hard on it, desperately trying to stifle a sob that was clawing its way up his throat to escape.

He can't begin to comprehend how you managed to pry your way into his life and touch his soul in ways he couldn't understand in such a short duration of time. It deeply terrifies him. Yet, it's not you that he fears. He's scared of how vulnerable and weak he's become, no, how he's always been. He's scared of how vulnerability naturally blossoms around you and the way he crumbles so easily from his own defenselessness. He's scared that your affection will ruin him, and worst of all, he's scared that, deep down, it doesn't bother him if it ends up doing so.

He's scared to fall again.

The scars from his past fall still ache, a painful reminder of everything he's been through. But everything about you is radiant—he can't help but find himself inching closer and closer to the mesmerizing flame that is your presence. He's tasted fire and hesitantly finds himself craving it more and more with each passing minute, no matter how badly the searing heat burns his tongue or until he gets burnt alive.

He's in real trouble.

#fari's catalog 𝜗𝜚 #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol x you #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd x female reader #nikolai imagines #bsd imagines

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leejenowrld · 3 days ago

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i have some questions about love me back that i’m curious about. is mark uncomfortable with the fact that y/n and jeno used to be in a long term relationship? does he get uncomfortable thinking about them fucking?

he isn’t necessarily uncomfortable with the idea but mark thinks their relationship was shallow, almost transactional, built on physical attraction rather than anything meaningful. he finds it frustrating how little they truly knew or cared to know about each other, like it was all surface-level and performative. the moments he hears about—like how jeno never noticed when y/n was upset or how she didn’t even know basic things about his life—solidify for mark how toxic and empty it was.

but beneath his frustration is this quiet anger at jeno, not just for how he treated y/n, but for making her believe that was all she deserved. mark hates the thought of y/n settling for someone who never really saw her, who couldn’t appreciate her depth or vulnerability. there’s a bitterness to it, like he wishes he could’ve been the one there all along, showing her what real love and connection could feel like.

more than anything, though, it fuels his resolve. he doesn’t just want to be different from jeno; he wants to be the one who sees every part of her—the good, the bad, the hidden—and loves her for all of it. the idea of y/n being with someone who reduced her to anything less than what she deserves only strengthens mark’s determination to make sure she never feels that way again.

but what does make him uncomfortable is when mark thinks about y/n and jeno fucking, it twists something deep inside him. he doesn’t want to, but his mind drifts to the sounds she must’ve made, the way her body might’ve moved beneath jeno, and it makes his stomach churn. it’s not jealousy in the traditional sense—it’s anger, frustration, and something darker that he can’t quite place.

he imagines how careless it must’ve been, how jeno’s hands were likely all over her, rough and impatient, taking what he wanted without thinking about what she needed. it drives him crazy, the thought of jeno fucking her without understanding her, without seeing her the way mark does. did jeno even care about the way she’d tremble, the way her breath hitched when she was on the edge? did he ever slow down, look into her eyes, or was it just physical—hard and fast and empty?

mark hates that he can’t stop picturing it, hates that it haunts him at the worst times. he thinks about how jeno’s touch must’ve left her feeling more hollow than fulfilled, and it only makes him want to erase every memory of it. when he imagines her like that now, it’s with him—not with jeno. in his mind, he’s the one taking his time with her, learning her body, drawing out every moan and shiver with purpose. he’s the one who would’ve made her feel cherished instead of used, the one who would’ve left her breathless in the best way.

and it’s that thought, the idea of undoing what jeno didn’t care to do, that lingers the most.

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macabr3s · 5 hours ago

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[ # DANI ] unfortunately , dani doesn’t have many fond memories when it comes to the holidays . losing her family during her formative years did quite a number on her and the holiday season has always been … a little touchy for her . however , one of the holiday memories she often reminisces about is how her family spared no expense for christmas . hell , it didn’t even need to hit december before the christmas decorations are up in the tolentino household . it would be october and she and her family would be pulling all the christmas decorations out from storage : ornaments , stockings , the fake christmas tree because a real one definitely would not last more than a month . christmas carols fill the air as everyone tackles different parts of the house . forget celebrating halloween and thanksgiving , it was all about christmas .

[ # HAYDEN ] hayden has many fond memories of the holidays . it’s one of the few times out of the year where she was able to take a break from training and make time for family . and while thanksgiving was always a feast in the sullivan household , christmas is really where it’s at . her favorite memory has always been the lead up to preparing for the christmas dinner itself . the house was always a bit chaotic as her family spends the tail end of december preparing for the christmas dinner with some of her favorite foods that only come during the holidays like ponche de crème and pastelles . it’s one of the few moments in her busy schedule that she’s able to sit down and be present with her family . it’s only gotten more difficult as she gets older since she and her siblings all live their own lives .

[ # HERA ] hera’s always loved lunar new year . she’s been around for centuries now and has seen the holiday evolve with new traditions being added on to become what it is today . the lunar new year celebrations have been one of the few things that still tether her to her humanity . it’s often loud and lively with well wishes of health and prosperity . and with lunar new year being a fifteen day celebration in china and hong kong , she’s always made an active effort to travel back in time for the festivities . it’s difficult to choose on memory that’s precious to her . but the memory she most cherishes is one from her human life . it’s the first lunar new year she spent with her mother , step-father and half-sibling . it consisted of an intimate family meal , receiving of red envelopes , well wishes , and just spending time together as a family . it was by no means a huge celebration in their household but it was one that let hera believe that it’s possible to have a normal life after fleeing the confines of the imperial city .

[ # THEO ] theo isn’t big on celebrating the holidays . they felt like there wasn’t much to celebrate after their mother’s death and more so after running away from home . however , their favorite holiday memory happened just a year after they ran away . they’d just been taken in by a coven of nomadic witches ( who just so happened to also be a biker gang ) and theo didn’t think they’d be staying with them . they were convinced that the coven only felt bad for her . fortunately , they were wrong . despite hardened appearances , the coven had all pitched in to help theo out in some way and felt an immediate sense to protect the young witch . not only did they take them in , but it was the first time in a while that a group of people made them feel welcome . there were no gift exchanges but there was a tradition for the gang to go their annual holiday motorcycle ride and an invite was extended to them . this was the first time in a while that theo spent the holidays with a group of people that genuinely seemed to care about them . even if it was a group of strangers that they’d met . despite moving to portum , this was a tradition that they kept .

INTEREST CHECK ! welcome, supernaturals, to our first interest check. to keep your ties with portum and avoid unfollow, please REBLOG THIS POST ( from us, the source ) telling us — what your muse’s most precious holiday memory is ? your answer can be as short or as long as you want, and it can be written from any point of view. remember you have to complete this interest check regardless of activity and you’ll have 48 hours ( until monday 23rd at 6:00 p.m. est ) to do it, otherwise, your unfollow will be posted. happy writing, most beloveds !

#「 🐺 」 headcanons. ﹕ 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗈.#「 🐍 」 headcanons. ﹕ 𝗵𝗮𝘆𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗇.#「 🍷 」 headcanons. ﹕ 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗅𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀.#「 🌸 」 headcanons. ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂.

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kindlingkeen · 8 months ago

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Yo as the resident Jason Todd fan, maybe you can answer this for me because I haven’t been able to find the answer anywhere else.

At some point in RHATO, Jason gives up his most cherished memory. The one where he’s sick & Bruce stayed home with him.

He was offered it back, and told them to keep it. He refused the offer. I’ve heard that the memory gets mentioned again later but I don’t know if he ever actually really takes it back.

Do you know if he ever gets it back? It’s both sad and not if he doesn’t, because on one hand he’s losing a good memory, but on the other I think it helps cut him off from Batman. Which really might be good for him (looks at all the other comic issues w how Bruce has treated Jason)

Hey, anon. Thanks for the ask! 💙

I’m by no means an expert on the comics, but I did have a bit of a comic-buying hissy fit a bunch of months ago trying to answer this exact question for myself. Here’s what I concluded (complete with pretty pictures because I’m a firm believer in citing your sources):

So in the new 52 rhato #3 (written by Scott Lobdell), Jay, Roy and Kori each give up their most cherished memory to gain entrance to the Chamber of All. The memories are held by Sa’ru (an all powerful being is also apparently a bratty child?).

Sa’ru gives Roy and Kori their memories back when they exit the chamber, but Jay refuses his.

Skip forward a bunch of issues to rhato #19 and Jason actually has Sa’ru take all his memories after a thing with the Joker (that’s a whole different blog post) and he ends up with complete amnesia. The series is being written by James Tynion at this point, not Scott Lobdell.

But Jason eventually gets all of his memories back in rhato #26.

I think you can make a reasonable argument that Tynion intended this to include his most cherished memory, as Jason talks about remembering his finest moments, his lowest moments, etc. Note, the series is still being written by Tynion.

But now skip way way ahead to rhato rebirth #34, and we get this exchange.

So, no, I guess he didn’t get it back? Note, that the series is back to being written by Lobdell at this point.

Honestly, I think this is just another stellar example of dc saying, continuity, consistency? What are these strange and foreign concepts? And thus authors doing whatever they want, to hell with any prior storylines. Tynion was clearing going for an arc where Jason reclaimed his memories. Lobdell had a different idea in mind.

I don’t know that it really matters either way. I mean it’s one memory, right? So even if it’s gone, Jason’s second most cherished memory just moves up into spot numero uno. Based on how much Bruce clearly meant to Jason, and that Bruce was actually a good Dad in most of the comics featuring Robin!Jason, I’m guessing that that memory is of the two of them together, too.

I’d say go with whatever makes you happy and fits your own head canons for Jason. I hate the whole storyline and pretend it doesn’t exist while I stick my tongue out at dc and tell them liberally to fuck right off.

Hopefully that was helpful/informative, or at least worth a merit badge toward my resident Jason Todd fan status (I’m expecting my vest in the mail any day now).

#keen converses #amnesiac jason todd #that think about the most cherished memory #red hood and the outlaws #rhato #rhato rebirth #comics references #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman

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uhbasicallyjustmilex · 5 months ago

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it’s been over five months and every time i put my necklaces on i still think about that time miles kane specifically came over to me and told me how much he liked them 🙈

#i also think about the fact my coherent response was: 'what???'#accompanied by a dazed look of confusion #not my finest hour but also #can you blame me #it genuinely took me several hours to process that it had happened #anyway despite my own flustered incoherence it's still one of my most cherished memories 🫶#especially because my necklaces are all very personal little trinkets i've gathered over time that each have special meanings to me #and also because i used to get bullied for my appearance/how i dressed #so to not only have someone be like 'hey you look cool'#but to have MILES FUCKING KANE say that???#i swear it gave me a confidence boost for life 🥹#lulu posts

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septembersghost · 1 year ago

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it cannot be underestimated, nor understated, what a tremendous loss tony bennett is, even at the age of 96, because he truly stood as the last of the great crooners, the sensational singers of the great american songbook. those standards, written by such illustrious composers as the gershwins, cole porter, irving berlin, rodgers and hart, jerome kern, johnny mercer, et al, and the voices who sang them - frank sinatra, dean martin, nat king cole, ella fitzgerald, judy garland, peggy lee, andy williams, johnny mathis (who is still with us), the list goes on - were an indelible part of the culture, and shaped popular music, and indeed music history, in a way that we simply will never see again. their like no longer exists, and as irreplaceable as the jazz standards are, the songs that everyone once knew, sophisticated and yet always accessible, complex and yet a joy to sing, are being lost to time, less preserved as scintillating and alive and more relegated as museum pieces, which breaks my heart. lady gaga working with tony so beautifully brought some of that music back to the zeitgeist, but there's a real sense of lack of preservation as to what that music means culturally. it is an essential musical heritage, part of the fabric that all pop was built upon. "legend" is tossed around a lot, but that is what they all were, legendary. tony was one of its best interpreters, and we were so blessed to have him for as long as we did, for his embrace of younger artists that did keep that music vibrant and fresh, for the legacy he leaves. i really do pray that as time goes by (you must remember this...), that music is passed down somehow, that those golden refrains are still heard.

#tony bennett #knew this was coming but i am so so sad #thinking about gaga too because of how much he meant to her 😔❤#the songbook is truly so cherished and close to my heart and the most “home” in music to me no matter what #and i just want it to be loved and remembered #bubble wrap around my heart #music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent #may his memory be a blessing

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235uranium · 1 year ago

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back from the barbie movie and I certainly have Thoughts on what the movie was doing but overall I do think it's worth seeing! it's fun

#☢️.txt #spoilers in tags!#i think what they did with ken is actually really fascinating and while i do get why the movie doesnt focus on his motivations #or the fantasy politics of barbieland #i AM personally interested in them #like his frustration is coming from a legitimate place and the movie does acknowledge that both barbie (margot) and the barbies overall were #Not In The Right and its not the actual solution to the issue of feminism #in the same way that the movie acknowledged that barbie didnt solve feminism and in many cases ended up playing into #the very ideas that prevent women from pursuing the jobs barbie is often shown in #im sure ppl will critique the movie for not going far enough but like. i dont think their point was to make a massive statement?#so much as it was to make a campy blockbuster that gently acknowledges the ways people can so often feel left out #its not the feminist piece of a generation so much as it is a love letter to barbie that acknowledges how shes #an inherently flawed consumerist brand. but one thats deeply cherished by generations and has left a massive pink stamp on our culture #(its probably worth noting that i have generally positive memories of barbie)#(despite being a weird fat kid i never personally felt alienated by barbie and my memories are extremely fond)#(i didnt like baby dolls bc. i never have liked kids but barbie was a fantasy in sparkly dresses)#(she was married to my dinosaur toys. ive always known what im about yes)#my favorite barbies were swan lake a halloween witch barbie and a halloween ghost barbie #(also idk is this an autistic thing for me to only learn most young girls compared their bodies to barbie at like 14?)#(like it just never dawned on me to compare my looks to a toy tbqh. i was more upset by the actual lack of clothing in my size)

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infictionalwonderland · 8 months ago

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I NEED PART TWO OF THE MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N L/N!

. . . MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N Y/L/N FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT! (part2)

You cackled to yourself after sending the message into your groupchat, quickly returning to the video and beginning to play it again, occasional bursts of giggles slipping through your lips.

Resuming your place in the video—the first clip that began playing was actually from not that long ago at all. It was You, Kat Dennings, Elizabeth Olsen and Zendaya at Taylor Swifts Eras Tour (an experience you would genuinely never forget). Taylor was playing Lover and, in the clip, Kat had your face in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist, bringing you close to her body.

“Lover, can I go where you go—“ Kat sang with Taylor, singing all the lyrics to you and grinning at you, faces inches away from each other. “—Can we always be this close.” She punctuated this lyric with giving you an eskimo kiss.

You smiled sincerely at the memory.

The next clip began up, it was you and Chris Evans doing Playground Insults with BBC Radio 1: the two of you were sat opposite each other, knees touching, Chris was grinning goofily at you, giddy laughs escaping him as you tried to remain straight faced.

“—we’re here with Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N.” The presenters introduced.

“And we’re about to play Playground Insults . . Now Chris and Y/N are sat opposite each other,” the camera cut to you and Chris, him smiling largely and you looking away to contain your own, “the atmosphere is very tense.”

“We’ve done this quite a few times now but im thinking.. this is the biggest movie of the year, let’s make this the biggest playground insults we’ve ever done.”

“Yep.” Chris nodded, trying not to laugh.

“Chris, hun. . you’re ugly. Like, plain ugly.” You nodded seriously, immediately setting off as you feigned a pained wince to the words. “Everyone’s been talking about it. . just, you’re so atrocious to look at. Honestly, I almost feel arse over tits in horror when I saw you.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something but then faltered and pouted, “no matter how good of an actor I am, I could never even get those words out my mouth about you and make them sound genuine. Seriously.”

The third clip started—it was Chris Hemsworth on a carpet, a bold colourful question at the bottom said ‘WHO HAS THE MOST FANS?’. Chris immediately said, “Y/n.” In that deep Australian accent of his. “Not that I blame the people from choosing her to be the people’s queen, she is truly one of a kind. You’ll only ever meet one Y/n in your lifetime, cherish it. The fans have the right idea.”

It changed to Scarlett with the same colourful question at screen and at the same carpet event: “Oh, Yeah. Y/n, one hundred percent.” She chuckled huskily. “That woman has fans upon fans and seriously, I’m one of them. She is something else.” She grinned, winking at the camera.

After Scarlett, Paul Rudd came onto your screen in the very same clip. “Oh! The legend herself, Y/N Y/L/N.” Paul answered brightly, smiling. “The amount of fans she has is unbelievable—well, it’s definitely believable for someone like her, so, not really unbelievable..”

The forth clip began—it was you all playing Family Feud with Jimmy Kimmel, on his live show. Sebastian and RDJ were currently facing off; Jimmy posed the question “what, other than the sun, are some of the hottest things to exist?”

Sebastian got to the buzzer faster than Robert managed to and didn’t even falter or hesitate as he answered straight away, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

The audience immediately screamed laughed and shrieked in delight, RDJ just nodded his head in understanding and appreciation, clapping his hands. Chris Evans, Mark and Anthony on the other side all looked amused but ultimately accepting (Chris was nodding along almost subconsciously). You were on the other team, looking heavenward with a faint exasperated grin and Scarlet wrapped her arm around your waist, Chris Hemsworth smirking at you both.

The fifth clip started up: it was a behind the scenes shot from Endgame, the big final battle. You were currently in the middle of doing your own stunt, green screen behind you and harnesses strapped to you as you dangled at a halfway point in the air. Your arms and hands were positioned in such a way to show your character manipulating her powers—the position also very much enhanced your chest, with the added help of your superhero attire. You looked hot, even you could admit.

The camera mirthfully panned to some of the rest of the cast who all stood aside while you filmed your scene��said cast being Chris Evans, Tom Holland, Gwyneth Paltrow, RDJ, Elizabeth Olsen and Tessa Thompson. All of their eyes were fixated on you, Robert was the only one grinning in amusement (and awe) while all the others stared at you as though you hung the sun yourself.

“Boobies.” Lizzie giggled faintly, her eyes stuck. The rest of the cast watching dumbly nodded while the crew cracked up behind the cameras.

And if you screenshotted their dumbfounded faces looking ip at on screen you. . well that was your business.

The clip changed. It was now Karen Gillan being interviewed on some carpet event, looking genuinely breathtaking. The interviewer was asking, “—obviously, your friend and co-star Y/N Y/L/N has been in lots of iconic movies. . what is your favourite scene of hers in The Wolf of Wall Street?”

Karen paused with a cheeky little smile, giving the interviewer a a jokingly incredulous look. “Come on.” She simply said. “It’s a bloody no brainer, I’m certain it was Leonardo’s favourite scene too. . I hope it is anyway otherwise he’s a silly, silly man.”

At the same carpet event with the same interviewer, Chris Hemsworth was being interviewed—his wife, Elsa, on his arm and looking half ready to battle off any rude interviewers (queen).

“—what is your favourite scene of hers in Ocean’s 8?”

“All of them!” Elsa answered eagerly, grinning. “Her outfits really accentuated her personality and I enjoyed them very much so. Particularly her outfit for the gala. . the amount of accentuated personality, by gosh, it had me speechless.”

Chris turned her head, obviously trying not to laugh at his wife.

“Nunca he estado más celoso y agradecido por la ropa en mi vida.” Elsa hummed.

You blinked.

The clip changed to you, Sebastian, Lizzie, Paul, Jeremy and Jimmy all on his Tonight Show playing Musical Beers. The slightly unnerving music/beat played in the background while you all stalked around the circle, Paul and Jeremy already out—leaving you, Seb, Lizzie and Jimmy.

As you were all racing around the circular table, Lizzie very obviously swatted your ass and you were impressed with your own body as you watched that impact: the audience erupted into laughs and shrieks, Jimmy playfully covering his eyes as Seb smirked. You thought that would be the end of the clip, but no.

The very disco-esk tune briefly cut out and past time you thought that meant it stopped completely and you’d already reached for the red cup in front of you and chugged it’s contents, only to pause as the music began back up.

“Spit it back! Spit it back!”

You did just that—but when the music actually stopped and Seb was left standing in front of the cup with your (let’s not go there) in it, your mouth popped open in shock. Jeremy gladly backed away from the table in hysterics, Lizzie and Jimmy equally as amused.

“Oh my god, I am—“

Sebastian quickly downed the cup with. . those contents, not even looking all that perturbed.

“So sorry.” You finished, mouth agape.

You vaguely remembered a conversation you’d had with him after the show, sincerely and repeatedly apologising and he was just very, very amused with you. He didn’t seem to mind at all—what an odd man.

“It’s all good.” Sebastian chuckled lowly, wrapping the mortified looking past you in a one armed shoulder hug and squeezing you to him. Lizzie seemed to be trying to trade a very obvious eye message with you—the audience shrieked and screamed in the background.

Another clip began: its was you and Scarlett Johansson doing a trust fall thing, you thought (correctly).

“Scarlett I swear. .” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at the woman behind you—she grinned back at you amusedly, her eyes twinkling.

“Calm down.” She laughed herself. “I’ll catch you don’t worry, gorgeous.”

Still slightly overcome with nervous giggles, you turned and let out a breath as you shut your eyes before holding at your arms and falling back.

And catch you she definitely did—although her hands didn’t exactly land in a PG-13 area, you cackled as you watched her hands grope at your chest to pull you up. In the video, you were also wheezing as were the crew and Scarlett had a cheeky little smirk as she laughed.

When you were finally standing, she gave one last squeeze before finally letting go—on screen you was breathless with giggles.

“Always wanted to do that.” She shrugged simply with a large amused smile.

The next clip began—it was Zendaya and Tom Holland on LADBible, playing that how much do you agree or not game. The statement said was ‘Y/N Y/L/N is everyone‘s celebrity crush’.

Instantly, Tom and Zendaya moved their cups to strongly agree, both of them nodding in solid agreement with the statement: presently, you awed at your friends, ego very much boosted. Well. To be fair, all of this video was massively boosting your ego.

“I mean, come on.” Zendaya made a ‘duh’ face and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s Y/N.” Tom smiled crookedly, adding onto her comment.

“I am so happy I get to now say that she’s one of my closest friends.” Zendaya beamed genuinely. “She’s—one of those people whose beauty isn’t just an external thing, she’s so lovely man.” She pouted, in awe of you.

Watching the video, you beamed back at her.

The clip changed: Mark Ruffalo was on the Graham Norton show, next to Nicki Minaj and an actor you couldn’t place.

“Who would you say your favourite co-star has ever been, Mark?” Graham inquired.

“I—i would probably have to go with Y/N—“ The crowd instantly erupted into cheers and yells and Nicki smiled next to him, stating that she loved you under the sound of cheering. Mark grinned back at her, mumbling ‘me too’.

“Yeah, she’s a hell of an actress, that one. So easy to work with. Funny as f—hell, she’s just—an extremely genuine and kind person, and she really brings the energy on set.” Mark grinned. “..she’s also the only free pass my wife has ever given me. Which I won’t be using! Because I don’t believe in cheating, it’s scummy! Even though she’s gorgeous—anyone would be lucky!” He had to rise to a shout at the end as the audience erupted.

Nicki giggled next to him, “me personally, I would use that pass.”

You gasped in laughter as you watched the screen, screen-recording it all so you could go back and watch it. Saving it to your folder titled PISSING MY PANTS HRLP

The clip changed yet again, showing a scene from the Winter Solider BTS. You and Sebastian were filming a scene where he had to shoot your character—you watched the ‘Winter Solider’ shoot your character multiple times making you go down with an agonised yell, crawling away from him.

As soon as CUT was yelled, Sebastian’s face dropped from his stone cold (wintery) expression and he raced to you, crouching next to you. He practically tugged you into his lap on the floor, holding you.

“Oh my fuck that—that just felt so real, Y/n. You know I would never hurt you right?” He asked, blinking repeatedly before a small smirk fell on his lips. “You’re way too pretty to injure doll. Can’t ruin your perfect face.”

On screen you huffed in mock anger, hiding an amused grin as you shoved at him—he still held you close to him though, so both of you fell backwards and burst into giggles.

You literally thought ‘I ship them’ as you watched the clip of Sebastian and yourself, forgetting that was you for a moment.

Another clip started up—another behind the scenes. It was you and Tom Hiddleston in Thor : Ragnarok. In the scene Loki was tied down to the chair and your character was meant to intimidate him—you watched yourself take out your character’s daggers and lean forward into his space. One leg leaned up on top of the arm of the chair, sliding one dagger just a hair above the skin of his neck while using the over the move his chin up to be angled to you as you mockingly smiled down at him.

You said your line as your character but Tom remained silent, mouth parted and eyes widened as he gazed up at you—speech failing him. (You knew that they actually decided to include this awestruck look in the movie—the amount of fucking edits you’d seen was unreal).

Eyebrows crinkling you nudged your knee into his chest and he snapped out of it, grabbing your knee in a gentle grip. “Sorry darling, words sometimes seem to fail me in your presence.” He muttered rather hoarsely, still staring up at you.

“I don’t fucking blame him.” Tessa Thompson murmured from behind you both, and the camera moved to show her staring at you in a similar awe.

Present time, you could barely hide your smirk. Literally the biggest ego boost. Of all time.

Again, the clip changed and it was now Natalie Portman looking gorgeous on a carpet event, being interviewed—“if you could have Jane explore another romance than Thor, who would it be and why?”

“Y/N!” Natalia enthused immediately. “Well—her character, but like. Both. Either. One for me, one for Jane. That—would be great. And why? Come on! She’s an absolutely beautiful woman, inside and out. She has this outward glow that you literally cannot and don’t want to look away from and that reflects so much in her personality—once you’ve interacted with her one time, you never want to stop. Ever. I’m not kidding.” She giggled.

Another clip started up quickly—a blooper of you and Chris Evans. In this scene, your characters were meant to kiss after an angsty, angry argument. You stormed into the frame, into the bedroom, completely in character—an angry expression on and ready to go at Steve.

Before you could even let out a single syllable to begin your lines, Chris immediately surged forward and took your face in his hands, kissing the living daylights out of you.

You both pulled back after a bit and you just started at him, questioningly (that kiss was probably one of your best ever, let it be known, Chris Evans was a fantastic kisser).

“I—I thought It’d be good for the scene. .” Chris trailed off bashfully, scratching the base of his neck, literally pulling the excuse out of his arse. In actuality, he hadn’t wanted to spare a moment of the scene where he could be kissing you, well, not doing so.

“Bull!” Scarlett exclaimed as she materialised in the doorway. “He just wanted to kiss you.” She told you, pointedly looking at the man.

“Yeah—i—“ He huffed a defeated sigh, pink-cheeked. “I’ve got nothing. She’s right.”

In hindsight, you thought to yourself, you should probably stop being so shocked when the fanbase starts shipping you with your costars.

The clip changed: now it was you, Elizabeth and Aaron on a carpet event together—all being interviewed at the same time.

“So, Y/n, how does it feel to be in a Maximoff twin sandwich right now?” The interviewer giggled happily, smiling.

Before you could open you’re mouth—“we’re really enjoying it.” Lizzie and Aaron replied at the same time.

The interview gaped and you simply rolled your eyes as the two smirked at either side of you, they’d been talking in sync ever since you’d first met them at the table reading.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t why?” Aaron grinned crookedly. “A beautiful, lovely woman in between us. Honestly, love, there’s not a thought in my head besides you.” He joked, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“I completely support that.” Lizzie chirped in, “ever since I’ve met this gorgeous lady who i now acknowledge as my partner in everything—she’s taken up all of the room in my brain, and I couldn’t be happier.” She giggled, putting her arm around your waist.

In the middle of them both, with an arm over your shoulder and one around your waist—you simply sighed, sparing the giddy interviewer an exaggerated suffering expression.

Again, the clip switched—it was now another blooper of you in the Iron Man movie, the scene where you handed Tony’s arse to him in the boxing ring. Instead of acting as scripted, Gwen Paltrow got up from her seat and strode over to the boxing ring, stepping inside gracefully and planting one right on your lips.

Presently, you giggled as you thought back to this moment. Gwen was your impulsive queen. Your idol.

From the floor, RDJ squawked in shock, exclaiming about being cheated and betrayed and Gwen flung her stiletto off her foot at him without moving from your lips.

When she finally did, she simply smiled at you kindly, “you just looked so good that I couldn’t not kiss you, sweets.” She shrugged and you, on screen, laughed at her as you leaned back in to kiss her cheek.

(Unfortunately the scene was not included in the movie—but Gwen never wasted an opportunity to talk about it, and you, if the chance arose).

The clip moved onto another one—back to the Thor : Ragnarok movie, you and Heimdall were fighting together, however you missed a step in your stunt and ended up stumbling. Idris immediately caught you with a steady arm around your waist, full you to him so you could stabilise yourself.

You smiled up at him thankfully, squeezing his arm in gratitude (totally not because you’d just wanted to feel his bicep).

You watched as your on screen self get distracted again and Idris murmured to Tom who’d now appeared next to him, “I feel like it’s dishonourable how much I want her to fall so I can catch her again now.”

“Mate, trust me,” Tom laughed, “I completely understand. But she doesn’t need the rescuing.”

“That she does not.” Both men smiled fondly as they watched you.

Presently, you were actively refusing to blush.

A different clip started up—Florence Pugh was being interviewed, looking breathtaking in her green dress. “—did you take anything from set?” The interviewer was asking, smiling at Florence.

“Um—not much, just Y/n’s heart.” Florence immediately cracked up at her own joke, smiling widely. “And her underwear too.” She added.

The interviewer opened her mouth to say something more, giggling at Florence as she continued speaking: “and before you ask, no. I wouldn’t be selling, for any price. Finders keepers and all that shite—plus, she’s my girl, so. That rule applies even more so. No one else can take her heart. Or her pants.”

Watching your friend, you giggled at her cheesy smile at her words before getting distracted by your group chat, where multiple of your friends and co-starts had seen your message and were now responding. Your laughter increased tenfold as you opened the thread.

#marvel cast x reader #marvel cast #avengers #the avengers imagine #avengers x reader #famous reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan imagine #chris evans imagine #sebastian stan x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #chris evans #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #actress reader

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augustinewrites · 1 year ago

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“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

#thank u cherrykoo12 for this prompt omg #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #keeping up with the fushigojos

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shanieveh · 1 year ago

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— “ who did this to you? ”

; genshin men as your enemy (with benefits)

pretends not to care (he massacred them all) — kaeya, albedo, childe, zhongli, ALHAITHAM, scaramouche

He immediately tries to keep an aloof facade the moment he let out those words. It wasn't that he actually cared? Like come on, you're the most annoying person in the world. But when you finally tell him those annoying bastards names in quick succession they were hunted and destoryed.

There was something so annoying about your face getting hurt he just couldn't pin point why. Maybe it made you more annoying? Yeah, probably that. He doesn't care at all. But he will never have the guts to tell you what actually happened to the ones that hurt you.

cares more about your well being — diluc, KAVEH, kazuha, XIAO, tighnari, freminet, ayato, heizou, lyney

His usual sour expression became that more of concerned but angry all the same. He checked for wounds, brought you to the medic. The guy was acting pretty strange.. too strange. Maybe it was a prank? That's what he thought too, why... why was he helping you this way?

When you told him the people who did this, he was never one to forgive them. But none of that mattered when you looked in pain. Wait? Wasn't this his enemy. He shouldn't think like this. But... fine just this once. Both of you are sure this will be the one time he cares for you. How foolish.

ready to put people on their graves— wriothesly, dainsleif neuvillette, PIERRO, childe, scaramouche, xiao, CYNO

It was to the point he was even screaming for you to give out their names. And as soon as you do, he marches out of the hospital and kidnaps them one by one. No one will escape. No. One. At this point, he didn't even think that both of you were enemies or that this isn't how he was supposed to feel. He didn't care.

And as he cleaned his blade at the end of the fight, this time he showed no mercy. Maybe in your point of view he hated you, and at some point he also thought he did. But now, staring at what he'd done, hate isn't that far from love. And love isn't that far from revenge.

just glad you were okay — freminet, bennett, ITTO, gorou, thoma, tighnari, KAZUHA, chongyun, diluc, baizhu

Who in the world can possibly harm you like this? How dare they? Why would they? But it doesn't matter what the name is. With an first-aid kit in hand he cleans up your wounds and wipes your tears. This was the same man you keep arguing with. The same you hated above all else.

You've never seem him gentle, but now you did. Cherishing this, you know you'll use this whenever both of you fight. But... no that would be too cruel. He looked so pretty doing it, like an angel rather than demon that was him everyday. So you just kept it in your heart, a memory forever lasting.

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heegyukeluv · 22 days ago

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it's okay... (sjy)

pairing: jake x afab!reader

synopsis: Jake's sensitiveness was, ironically enough, a sensitive topic to him. What would you think seeing him getting so desperate over a few gentle touches on his back?

my's note: inspired by ari's talking w me about jake being sensitive lol

warnings: established relationship, jake is very sensitive to readers touches and is shy about it, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, jake cums untouched, desperate, needy and sensitive jake, dry humping? kinda?, literally reader caressing jake's back and him coming with that lol, he nearly cries. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 4.3k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse

Jake was sensitive. So sensitive. And everywhere.

You and he started dating not so long ago; three months into a beautiful and comfortable relationship, he showed you plenty of possibilities of how to like and eventually love someone. He was steadily and easily climbing to the rank of being the man of your life.

Every nuance of your relationship with Jake was delightful, cozy, gentle. He cared for you with genuine affection and always tried his hardest to give you the best of the best – if felt contrastingly effortless and intentional, offering you a reliable safe haven.

The physical side of your relationship was equally fulfilling. From the start, your boyfriend had been nothing but respectful towards your boundaries, leaving the pace entirely in your hands. Jake let you decide when the touches were just innocent, light ones, and when they started to dive deep into something more profound, more intense, something you eventually named as lust, laced with passion and need.

Jake was fucking hot. He didn’t disappoint – never did. With his skilled tongue and mouth, he made sure to send you to heaven, to hell and back to earth in minutes of work on your pussy, leaving you panting, breathless, aching for more, chanting his name like a messy mantra. And down onto his body he didn’t lack as well, allowing you to see stars with deep and precise thrusts, touching your g-spot as if he knew ever since the beginning.

Jake knew how to please a girl – his girl.

But there was a constant lingering, unspoken tension whenever you touched him.

Jake was the most sensitive person you ever met. Just the idea of your fingertips grazing his biceps was enough to make him rock hard – an information he for sure didn’t give you and prayed you didn’t notice either.

What would you think if you knew? If you realized how easily and powerful your touch flustered him? How the mere fantasy of your hands roaming his body could make him feel like the world’s most hopelessly horny man?

The thought haunted him and he kept it locked away, terrified of what you might say if you uncovered just how badly he wanted – needed – you.

Jake came to realize that you put his entire being under a specific and delicious spell as soon as he fell for you. Better: as soon as he saw you.

The first encounter was unplanned and with no expectations attached to it, after all, who thinks a party fling could turn into something real? Jake still had a vivid memory of how the curves of your hot body fitted your outfit that night, hugging your figure with care and just the right amount of temptation that got his body weak, pulling close like a magnet.

He paid for your drinks willingly, thinking a pretty woman like you deserved to be treated just how she wanted to; he didn’t ask for anything in return, though – a kiss nor your number. He just cherished your presence, your sweet talk and your way of gesticulating when speaking.

Jake sat by your side for the rest of that night sharing his interests, genuinely happy with your warm and approachable reception.

He also cheered silently when you pressed your soft lips onto his before heading your way out without faltering or looking back, leaving behind a desperate man missing the touch of your gorgeous fingers on his locks and your tongue against his.

The following encounters happened at a pace you wanted. Yes, you wanted.

When you got home, you couldn’t help but notice how affected you felt by the gentle, caring touch of that respectful guy you had kissed. It wasn’t typical for you to attend parties, let alone kiss strangers – or even recent acquaintances. Your values nudged you towards something more reserved, something more personal.

But Jake awakened a sense of ease in you, offering a space of trust that utterly charmed you. Maybe it was the sweet way he spoke, or the way the corners of his lips curled up into that soft, boyish smile. He was gorgeous – and he seemed so affectionate, not to mention undeniably hot.

You looked Jake up on Instagram and found him effortlessly, and your meetings happened casually, until they culminated in an intimate moment: when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Not long after, you guided him into the beginning of your shared sexual journey as a couple. And it was so, so good to find someone whose tastes and desires aligned so well with yours.

You felt powerful and confident knowing the effect you had on Jake. It was almost funny to notice how even something as simple as you wearing one of his shirts could leave him hard and needy.

Alongside that, Jake also shamelessly acted as if you owned him, from casually asking your permission to go out with his friends, to making sure he was never out of your sight for too long. You never asked him to behave that way, but when you questioned his actions, he simply shrugged it off, claiming it was for his own pleasure. He liked the idea of you having control over him.

And you definitely did.

Yeah, Jake was sensitive with any type of touches, even when his friends hugged him he would squirm if their hands caressed his back in certain places, but you… You got him wrapped around your finger easily.

He never found the right words to describe the amount of pleasure he felt when your fingers grazed his arms, or caressed the back of his neck, or touched his hair, or just got in contact with any other place of his body.

Just you and your beautiful hands traveling through each inch of his skin were more than enough to elicit soft moans, a pathetic roll of eyes and a shiver down his dick.

You were now sitting on your bed, back lazily resting on the headboard with your legs stretched forward, while Jake napped by your side, lying on his stomach and hugging one of your many pillows; his soft snores getting lost in between the sounds of war coming from the TV, proving he was getting deep into his sleep little by little.

The agreement between you both involved Jake watching the movie with you, but he was so, so exhausted from work that you didn’t even consider starting an argument – though, honestly, you probably wouldn’t have anyway. Jake was such a sweetheart, and in your opinion, he had already done so much by coming to your place instead of his, even though yours was half an hour farther.

After you demanded him to go to sleep and he demanded you to go watch the movie without him, you found yourself in that exact position; your boyfriend sleeping and your hands wanting to caress his silky strands, as a way to casually fidget with something.

You didn’t hold yourself and softly placed your fingertips to thread through Jake’s hair, just like you always did when he laid on your lap.

Jake thought he was dreaming, his mind confused, caught somewhere between reality and sleep, making it difficult for him to figure out why his body was tingling.

But it wasn’t a bad tingling, no. In fact, it was the same sensation he felt whenever you touched him – the pleasant shiver of your fingers tracing warm wonders wherever they wandered, the rush of pleasure melting away the self-control Jake had worked so hard to maintain, just so you wouldn’t see how completely he had fallen apart before your mere touches.

...

Jake’s eyes snapped open, and his body tensed immediately when the realization hit: you were gently stroking his hair with the same affection you always did, that natural, tender gesture of love shared between those who cared deeply for each other. But your daring hands didn’t seem to want to stop there. They trailed down the back of his neck, sending an instant shiver through his body.

You didn’t notice right away, but your boyfriend shifted slightly, fighting the moan that threatened to escape his throat as you obliviously continued your loving touch. It quickly became a difficult task for him to remain silent when you began to play with the small hairs at the back of his neck, absentmindedly pausing and resuming your movements while your attention was entirely on the plot of the movie, as if your touch had become as instinctive as Jake's exaggerated reactions.

He didn’t want to alarm you or draw your attention to the growing – hard – problem beneath his pants, however, with each delicate stroke of your skin against his still covered one, waves of pleasure washed over him, making it nearly impossible for his breath to maintain its stability.

The sensation was intoxicating and desperate, because it fueled the fear of getting caught together with the craving to keep going, to keep driving through that induced high Jake was slowly allowing himself to go.

As your fingers continued their gentle, nonchalant exploration, Jake’s body began to contort a bit more, especially when your fingertips started to softly draw random shapes along the sensitive surface of his back.

His fucking back.

Jake had a certain spot that, when touched just the right way, could completely unravel him. A single, subtle touch there and his body would jolt, almost instinctively trying to pull away, but if the one doing the touching was you, the reaction was entirely different.

The sensation, instead of causing discomfort, flooded his body with warmth, sending a slow, delightful buzz straight to his lower parts, where stood his growing desire mixed with the pleasure that seemed to bloom with every caress.

Completely unaware of how affected Jake was getting, you continued to calmly trace your fingers along the contours of his spine, leaving trails of warmth on it. Eventually, you felt the hardness of his back underneath your touch tensing, but you didn’t mind, knowing Jake was sensitive and was probably only automatically shifting away, the way he always seemed to do.

The movie drew your concentration intensely enough for you to barely hear when Jake whined, blending almost perfectly with the fight scene unfolding before your eyes on the TV. You took another quick notice of his body writhing with more constancy, nearly matching your movements, yet again, you didn’t give it any proper attention.

Jake was on the verge of crying in despair, whines and moans getting lost amidst the soft pillow and his mouth pressing onto it, aware that he would snap into a complete mess if he lost control over his body – and he felt it slowly slipping through without giving him the chance to fight for it, swelling the urge, the yearn for more.

Instinctively, his eyes shut close and hips started to rut against the mattress, hoping that the sheet covering his body would occult his nasty attempts of getting some relief, knowing that he could cum just by the way you touched his body.

Jake also silently prayed for the loud scene on the TV to continue on for just a few more minutes, long enough for him to savor the tantalizing sensation coursing through his veins and stifle his sounds. It was as though he were on the edge to melt – a relaxation that wasn’t calming at all but instead left him craving more, his mind hazed in a state of unbearable anticipation, building up something intense and way too addictive.

Suddenly, his entire body trembled, almost like a spasm, a wave of numbing electricity surging through every inch of him. It pulled a rather loud moan from his previously pursed lips, escaping together with his failed attempt to squirm away.

You had, entirely by accident, let your fingertips graze featherlight over that spot on his back – right in the center, where even the faintest touch, especially one as delicate as yours, had the power to drive him completely insane, unraveling every shred of control he thought he had.

A puzzled expression immediately crossed your face as your gaze fell on your boyfriend, still lying on his stomach but now visibly tense, his breathing uneven. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place: the way his body wouldn’t stop shifting, the sounds – now unmistakably coming from him, not the movie.

Jake fell nervously silent right after, his dick twitching, already wetting his underwear with the leaking precum; the heat travelled towards his neck and face, leaving his skin flaming hot with embarrassment, because for his misfortune, the scene in the movie was now calm, with no soundtracks or voices to cover his noises.

You lowered the volume from the TV, so you could be heard by Jake as your quiet voice filled the room.

“Baby, are you alright?”

Perhaps Jake was feeling sick with the amount of movements he was doing and the small painful sounds he was letting out when you finally paid attention to. Consequently, you halted your action of brushing your fingers randomly on his back, now resting your palm completely flat on it, oblivious of how hot Jake was feeling under your touch.

“No– D–Don’t stop–”

His voice was muffled due to his position and the fact that he wanted to actively hide himself from you, ashamed of his pathetic reaction with such innocent touches. Nonetheless, in a twist, he threw all restraint to the wind, fully surrendering to the blissful sensation you were providing him, embracing his embarrassing helpless, meek persona.

You, however, furrowed your brows, confused. “What?”

“Your hand–” He exasperated the exact moment you hinted to remove your hand away, arching his torso towards where he thought you could be, as if searching for them. “Please, don’t stop…”

Reading through his words and demeanor, you struggled to comprehend entirely what they were about, so you simply stayed there, waiting for further instruction, because the only reasonable conclusion you could draw was that Jake was silently asking you to keep touching his back, in a whimpering voice.

“Jake, love… I don’t think I understand…”

“Just keep going,” he mumbled, now grabbing your wrist without facing you, to place your fingers back on where they should be, forcing the motion you were doing before. “Your fingers on my back. Please, just… Keep going.”

Even without Jake looking at you, you blinked twice and cocked your head to the side, utterly bewildered.

“You mean…” You trailed off, resuming to trace gentle patterns with your fingertips, still uncertain. “This?”

The answer was immediate. Even without Jake’s verbal response, you knew you got it right because he jolted slightly and moaned under his breath, trembling.

“Fuck– Y–Yes…”

You positioned yourself better to keep drawing random things on his clothed back, just like he solicited.

Part of you was still a bit confused, but you couldn’t ignore the soft, breathy moans that Jake was starting to let out again. Slowly but surely, you began to piece the puzzle together – the way his hips shifted, grinding ever so slightly into the mattress, his movements gaining a rhythm, a near-thrusting motion, his sudden breathy moans, his needy voice.

Your touch, innocent and unintentional, was being turned into something far from pure under Jake’s judgment; each subtle graze of your fingertips across his skin seemed to push him further into a state of intoxicating desperation. It was ridiculous, lascivious, and utterly delicious to your ears and your growing curiosity.

"Aw, baby," you cooed, your voice dripping with a mix of amusement and teasing affection. "Are you really this sensitive?"

A muffled hum was all he could manage to mumble, his face now buried in the pillow in a feeble attempt to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. But shame couldn’t hold his need; his pleasure was overwhelming, spilling out in brazen sounds and increasingly shameless movements.

"Or," you taunted again with a smirk, letting your hand glide a little lower, earning another gasp from him, "is it me? Am I the cause of this?"

"You," he murmured, his voice broken but certain. "Always you."

His unwavering answer sent a thrilling shiver down your spine, and though his face was hidden, you could feel how much control he was losing, surrendering entirely to your touch. His hips moved with more purpose now, and his muffled, constant moans were a symphony of surrender and desire, a beautiful melody that let your panties ruined with your growing arousal.

“So dirty, aren’t you?”

Jake didn’t assign to have you playing with his most sensitive spot while talking in such a velvety voice when he chose you as his girlfriend, but he was definitely happy knowing you were enjoying it as much as him; your low chuckle to his instant, urgent reaction reiterating it.

“N–No…” He shook his head. “‘M not, it’s just–”

“It’s okay…” A soothing whisper escaped your lips, eyes once full of amusement now dropping to a darker shade, hooded, as the air grew thicker; the necessity of pleasuring your man bubbled within your core with each passing second, an ache you didn’t know existed until now. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Jake groaned a soft hum, his body betraying him with a wave of desire flushing through it. He squirmed beneath your touch, his shoulders jerking upward involuntarily when your fingers traced a deliberate, lingering line from the base of his spine up to the nape of his neck. The movement was slow, tantalizing, and precisely intoxicating.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten as he whimpered softly, his voice muffled by the pillow. His reaction only spurred you on, your touch becoming a little bolder, savoring the way his body responded so beautifully to every slight motion of your fingers.

“Can you really cum just by this, my love?” Your voice curled through the air, low and calm, yet amused with how responsive Jake’s was being, his shameless impulses of getting himself off untouched eliciting a clench on your pussy.

“I dunno…”

In between Jake’s answer, you propped yourself with a knee on each side of his waist, not completely leaving your full weight to sit on him, but mainly to give a proper access for your fingernails to wander carefree in direct contact with his skin, as they sneaked beneath the soft white fabric of his shirt, meeting the goosebumped flesh that yearned for more of your sweet, slow touches.

Jake could feel his underwear growing wetter with the steady, uncontrollable leak of precum seeping from the swollen tip of his dick. His damp forehead pressed into the pillow, leaving only a narrow space for him to breathe, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the heat consumed him.

Was your room always that hot?

“Should we try?”

You let only a hand inside his shirt so you would be able to support yourself with the other, as you lowered your torso forward, enough to have your lips finding a place on his sensitive neck, your warm muscle dancing deliberately against the flesh that reacted instantly to your stimulus.

Jake was far from thinking straight, aligning his body to settle you more comfortably, though his true intention was to drive through the delicious high that was building up in his lower stomach, his abdomen tightening within each subtle draw you were tracing, teetering towards the dangerous edge of coming undone and untouched before your caress.

“Shit–”

The curse spilled past his parted lips amidst a sequence of messy moans due to the overwhelmness of your presence over his whole body, leaving him writhing, wincing, trembling with need. His hips moved slightly frantic with the crescent blazing necessity of releasing his orgasm, grinding against the mattress as he desperately chased relief.

“Feels good, Jakey?” You murmured, lips brushing against the top of his ear, tickling the sensitive area, causing more shivers to run his body.

“Yes, fuck– Yes– Mhm–” His stuttered words were music to your ears, loving how he was melting, falling, dissolving under your control.

However, deep down Jake felt a sudden wave of despair and remorse mingling with the lustful desire that had been fueled by your constancy. His thoughts spiraled, and for a moment, he felt utterly pathetic, questioning how he could be so stupid, acting like a desperate fool just from a few gentle and innocent caresses.

It was like his mind got so lost in pleasure, that it dived too deep into his past and consequently revisited those reminiscences that once was his biggest fear. Panic seized him, his thoughts racing in horror at what you might be thinking, terrified of how vulnerable and broken he must look in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry...” Jake whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost breaking into a sob, his back arching within a wave because, even apologetical, he kept on drifting through the amazing feel of getting closer to his climax.

Aware of the possible overthinking nature of your boyfriend threatening to bloom, you shook your head softly, the tip of your nose grazing sweetly against his neck.

“Shh, it’s okay, Jakey,” you reassured in a quiet whisper. “This is completely normal, my love. You look so beautiful falling apart for me.”

You dared to lower your fingernails to his sides, tickling the area ever so slightly before dragging them out of his shirt to play with the inner part of his exposed biceps, as he laid with his arms tucked under the pillow and gave you easy access.

Your eyes tried to search for him, but Jake was actively avoiding his pathetically broken expression to be read by your curious gaze, especially as he felt his release getting extremely near to snapping into a complete wet mess.

“‘M so close…”

It was clear by the way he sounded – shaky – and how his crotch area sought for even more friction within his frantic grinds that he wasn’t lying.

Jake’s moans shattered into whimpers that you had never had the special privilege of hearing until now, grateful that your boyfriend had, albeit initially unknowingly, allowed you to witness such a delectable piece of his existence, drenched in rising desire and pleasure.

You found yourself hoping he would feel comfortable enough to show you more, now that you knew just how deeply it affected you to experience this moment with him.

It was a melodic symphony that melted your self-control, pushing you to the edge, to the point where you almost, almost fell into the idea of rubbing yourself against any available part of his body, desperate to join him in his search for release that night.

Jake looked so beautiful, so irresistibly sexy, as he got lost in the vastness of his own sensitivity, surrendering completely to his instincts, to the overwhelming need to come, no longer caring how foolish he might appear to you, driven by pure, raw desire.

“Come for me, baby,” you whispered, your voice inviting, tempting, your hand back to lightly graze the curve of his spine as you guided him towards where he needed the most. “Lemme see your mess, mhm?”

“Fuck–” Jake let out a louder moan, at the same time his fingers grasped the sheet beneath his palms, and his whole body trembled with an unbearable sensation of flood, as though his failed attempts of preventing to burst out embarrassingly prematurely, untouched, poured through his every pore within an intense force when he let go. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– Cumming–”

You couldn’t deny that Jake’s whole reaction was driving you, yourself, insane. The desperate way he sounded, so vulnerable, helplessly chanting a mix of your name and parted whimpers and groans, as if he got lost into a maze of a lustful bliss he didn’t want to go away from so easily, and let the responsibility on you, you to lead the way.

“I’ve got you, my love,” your hot breath fanned his nape, a small smirk gracing the curve of your lips as you murmured against the shell of his ear, fingers still dancing lightly on his heated, smooth flesh. “My messy, sensitive boy… Yeah?”

Jake rolled his closed eyes in pleasure, because he was still a bit tipsy from your scent, your mild touches, your comfortableness that allowed his particular part to shine without shying away completely.

“Mhm…” He quietly nodded. “Yours.”

Though Jake was the one achieving his climax, you also felt completely satisfied after your not-so-hard work; you enjoyed, no, you loved to explore this new possibility, this new slope of your relationship. It gave you a sense of confidence that flattered your ego in the best way possible, since you managed to make your boyfriend to cum with just soft touches. And he was beautiful while doing it.

“I’m shy.”

Jake’s mumbled voice cut through the heavy air that slowly calmed down, and you chuckled lightly with his choice of words, removing yourself from his back to sit on your knees and playfully nudge his sides.

“Lemme see you. I miss your pretty face.”

Jake shook his head and giggled, the warmth of your naturally cozy and reliable relationship taking place deliberately in between Jake’s rigged breath; he could feel how soaked his underwear and shorts were, and the bedsheet would very much be dampened with his arousal as well.

He was slightly bashful about showing you the obvious – after all, you were fully aware that he had just come in his pants. And while he was drowning in embarrassment, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from screaming about how ridiculously turned on you were by it.

But, as always, knowing your boyfriend's nature, you said the one thing guaranteed to make him hard all over again, something that would not only crush his lingering shame but also ignite his confidence to finally meet your gaze.

“You have no idea how desperate I am to ride you right now.”

#jake x reader #jake smut #sim jake x reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #jake hard thoughts #heegyukeluv works

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mingtinys · 3 months ago

Text

in a thousand lifetimes

pairing : choi seungcheol x gn!reader

hurt / comfort , angst , mafia leader!scoups au

warnings : language , descriptions of blood , mafia themes

word count : 3.5 k

requested ? no

a/n : there's just something about the domestic side of mafia au's that i just love so dearly . secretly soft and fragile mafia leader crying in the arms of their loved one >>>>>>> ruthless and cold mafia leaders .

The day you stood by Seungcheol at the altar, you promised a myriad of unconditional vows, as did he. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health— until death do you part. To love him without doubt and cherish the heart he had so willingly placed in your care. You swore to cradle it with gentle hands; to keep it safe from shattering until the very last beat.

You were prepared for that. Excited, even.

But as Seungcheol limps through the entrance of the home you've built together, you feel your confidence in that pact falter for the first time. Perhaps you'd missed something in your vows. The part that told you what to do when the love of your life comes home stained in red. From his white button-up to his polished shoes— even his sweet, sweet face— tarnished.

You don't want him to hear the way your voice trembles. But God, that stench. That pungent scent of iron coats your throat and you can't help the way it constricts to keep the subsequent wave of nausea at bay.

"Cheol?"

His head snaps up at you like he's just now realized where he is. Glazed-over eyes connect with the wood floors you'd spent an hour mopping, then to his shaking hands painted in crimson, before that stale gaze finally lifts and meets your own.

"Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head.

"Seungcheol..." You take cautious steps his way, like how one would approach a wild deer. "Who's blood is this?"

Tears are in his eyes, but his face remains rigid. Like his brain is stuck in survival mode, but his emotions are leaking out.

"Chan's."

The boy's name hits your ears like venom. Sweet, gentle, kind, Lee Chan. The youngest intern under Seungcheol's leadership, you'd met him once at a company dinner. You don't think you've ever met someone with such a heart of gold. And it's a little hard to imagine you could be staring at all that's left of him. "Oh my God, is he okay? What happened?"

Seungcheol's face twists at your questions, some memory pulling at his brows and forcing his eyes shut. They open with fresh tears and the first ounce of clarity cracks through his otherwise dazed state.

"He's in the hospital—" You see the words catch in his throat. His fist repeatedly pounds against his thigh and his mouth hangs open until the words finally come. "It's my fault. He's just a kid, this is all my fault— he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have been able to get to him. It was too dangerous, he wasn't ready."

Nothing of his fragmented words makes any sort of sense. You've never seen him like this, so frazzled, so pitiful, so... broken. The sight of it twists your heart, contorting in your chest to such an unnatural degree there's a physical ache.

So, despite the nausea burning your esophagus and the screams of protest deep within your bones, your arms open and gravity pulls Seungcheol into them with labored steps. His knees buckle instantly at the contact and it takes every ounce of strength in your arms to catch him. Letting yourself sink with him to soften the fall; even if that means your knees land with a painful thud, already able to feel purple bruises blossoming from the impact.

Because you love him.

Because you vowed not only for better but for worse as well. And vows are only as good as the turmoils they prove to withstand.

Calloused hands grip the sides of your shirt. You try to ignore the stains they leave, pushing your focus onto the man before you on the brink of hysterics. His forehead falls to your chest, and that's when the most wretched sobs you've ever had the displeasure of hearing begin. Loud and sharp, like the blade of a sword, as they slice through the eerily still night.

A chill creeps in from where your knees connect with the hardwood and crawls up the length of your spine. It nests in your mind and metastasizes, igniting alarms in that little part of your brain that warns: you should be scared. Though it doesn't grant you the knowledge of what.

"Baby, what happened?" You ask and recite a silent prayer the answer to that is not him.

He sobs out an unpromising, "I can't."

"Seungcheol, there is too much blood for that shit. You need to tell me what the hell is going on." Your eyes are starting to burn with the flood breaching your lashes, unsure how much longer you can force an ease into your tone.

You need him to just spit it out. Before your heart explodes.

You steady his head between your palms and swipe at the blood spatter decorating his jawline. It just smears, mixing with his tears and tinting more of his cheek in a dull brownish-red. Seungcheol looks at you with eyes that scream please don't hate me and you don't know but... you know. Enough that when the confession finally pours from his lips, the shock doesn't totally shatter your ribs on impact. Instead, the words slowly seep into your skin and enter your bloodstream like a bitter poison.

Suddenly, minuscule details make much more sense, revealing the full picture like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. The nights he doesn't return until the sun breaches the horizon. The general air of mystery around his job and the "family business" he took over years ago. How insistent he had been with you learning some type of self-defense. All the way down to the dried blood that lingered under his fingernails.

You should be levels more upset than you are at his confession. Any normal person would be. He lied to you, for years. Hid a secret so large it could easily blow a crater in the earth should the measly stilts it balanced on collapse. Yet, the anger you feel doesn't boil over into a blind rage. It stirs with concern and simmers until it has been diluted into nothing but the type of anger that can only be fueled by love. It comes with the terrifying revelation that the person you love most in this world, could've been stolen from you at any moment and you would've been none the wiser as to how. It makes you want to hold him a little extra in the mornings, a little harder, closer.

Then, somewhere, in that tangled web of emotions fighting to reach the surface, there's an unexpected relief. Because one thing has been glaringly obvious since the day you met Choi Seungcheol. The reason he appears as such a pillar of strength relies solely on the fact that he shoulders the weight of the world alone. Rarely does he let his struggles reach his cheery expression. You can't help but think, now that you know, there's one less burden he has to carry by himself.

"Please don't leave me," Seungcheol rasps out. You'd nearly forgotten where you were for a moment. Forgot his face was still between your hands, that blood still smeared his cheek, and tears were still slipping from his lashes. But at this moment, as those weary earth-brown eyes search your face for an answer, you realize just how malleable your morals are when it comes to him.

"I love you." You confess, like it's the first time the phrase has ever left your lips. "Cheol, I love you more than anything in this world." So much it frightens you what you're willing to forgive.

But then again it doesn't. Because he's never been Choi Seungcheol, the city's most feared mob boss. To you, he's always just been Cheol. The man that nearly burned your kitchen down two anniversaries ago trying to make you breakfast in bed. Who pouts and whines when you haven't given him enough attention after work. Who's touch has only ever been as gentle as a Summer's breeze. And maybe you're naive, but you'd like to believe the Seungcheol that peppers your face with kisses every morning and begs for five extra minutes in bed is a truer reflection of his heart than his job.

With one final deep breath to steel your nerves and silence the brigade of questions swirling in your head, you press a long kiss to his temple— one of the only areas not tainted with red. The tension in his muscles visibly melts away at the contact and beyond anything he just looks... tired. You want nothing more than to let him rest in the safety of your arms, but he's still covered in Chan's blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" You coax him from the floor, never once letting your voice slip above a gentle whisper. He tries to protest, insisting he needs to be at the hospital with the others to check on Chan, but puts up absolutely no fight when you tell him that can wait until tomorrow as you guide him towards the bathroom.

You gather towels and fresh clothes and lay them out on the vanity. "Take your time, okay? I won't go far, promise." With one last reassurance, you leave Seungcheol in privacy to shower and clean the blood from his skin.

Alone now, the adrenaline in your veins dissolves, and the full gravity of everything finally crashes around you. The metallic scent lingering in the air, the drying blood on the hardwood, the feeling of impending doom that comes with a truth so heavy. It's too much, at least to bear in such a tiny apartment. You all but sprint out the front door, accidentally letting it shut with a hefty slam.

The warm Summer night air hits your skin and wraps around you like a security blanket. You inhale deeply, once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth breath, it feels like the oxygen finally reaches the base of your lungs.

You sit, for a length of time you remain ignorant to, at the bottom of the stairwell. Lost deep in thought until the buzzing of your phone reverberates from your back pocket. You look at it but— no caller I.D.

Answering it anyway, a sense of comfort fills you at the familiar voice.

"Jeonghan." You greet.

"I'm sorry to call so late," He says, voice languid. "I just wanted to know if Seungcheol got home safe yet."

"He did."

There's a long pause of silence. Just the steady beeps of a heart monitor on the other side of the line. Then, "Is Chan okay?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping right now. Doctors gave him some of the good shit to knock him out for the night." There's a hesitance to the way he speaks and you think perhaps he's weighing in his mind what excuse Seungcheol might have told you as to why Chan is even in the hospital to begin with.

"Jeonghan, can I ask you something?"

"I can't promise I'll have an answer, but sure." He's always been so calculated in the way he speaks, which makes sense to you now.

You chew at the inside of your cheek. "Seungcheol, he... He keeps himself safe, right?"

"You know." He sighs, matter of fact.

"I do."

"He's careful, smart, keeps his hands clean-ish. We all look after each other, he's about as safe as he can be." The man on the other end of the line yawns, and you wonder how long he's been up wondering if Seungcheol made it home before he finally called. That in and of itself should comfort you and prove Seungcheol has people who care about him when you're not around, but it doesn't. You don't think anything ever could at this point. Perhaps it was better not knowing the truth.

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

Jeonghan snorts. "I didn't think it would."

Another stretch of silence spans over the line for an uncomfortably long time. So long, you begin to think maybe the call disconnected. But that steady beeping is still there, quiet, but there.

Then Jeonghan speaks, his sudden words sending ice pricking through your veins. "You're an accomplice now, you know?" His voice carries no emotion. It's as if he's reading the words straight from an instruction manual. "Unless, of course, you turn him in."

Oh.

You hadn't thought of that.

"Would you?"

His question lingers in the air like smoke, suffocating your airways so much it feels like you might choke before you can even answer.

Never has the idea of betraying Seungcheol's trust ever been a thought in your head, much less an option. But he's right. Your newfound knowledge makes you just as much a criminal in the eyes of the law as if you had committed the act yourself. It's either fess up while you still can or guard his secret with, quite literally, your life.

Perhaps you were a bit hasty. It was easy to hold Seungcheol in your arms and whisper comforting words between his sobs. However, when it comes to your own fate, you're forced to reckon with the dread that washes over you like a bucket of ice, alone.

Still, you're embarrassed that not even a shred of doubt weighs your decision. Just an immeasurable amount of guilt.

"No."

"You don't sound so sure."

"It's a lot to process." You defend, trying not to let your voice waver too much under Jeonghan's scrutiny.

"I know it is," He relents, and suddenly, his voice shifts back to the soothing, angelic tone you've always been used to. "I'm sorry, I haven't even asked how you're feeling."

The conversation lulls in what you assume is Jeonghan leaving space for you to share if so you wish. You don't— knowing that if you were to loosen even a single thread tethering your mind in the realm of sanity, it would all unravel. You've only just begun to construct the brittle wall that separates your Seungcheol from the one covered in blood. If it were to take a blow so early and come crumbling down, you fear you may not have the strength needed to start over.

Your current position is precarious and emotions are already tricky— pouring them out to Seungcheol's best friend even more so.

"I'm fine. I should probably get back to Cheol." You say instead.

Jeonghan hums. "He's had a rough night." Steady beeps still pulse like a metronome in the background, mixing with a subtle chatter. "Let him know everyone is okay and if you two need anything, just call."

"I'll tell him."

"That means you too."

A voice calls Jeonghan's name and the line goes dead before you can say anything more. Not that you had much else left to say— or anything that would be news to Jeonghan at least. It felt like he knew more about your spinning mind in one phone call than you'd pieced together since Seungcheol stumbled through the door.

Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, who's been alone in your tiny apartment for who knows how long at this point. With nothing but his thoughts and a water heater that runs out far too quickly to comfort him. Your heart aches at the idea of him crumpled up in the basin of the porcelain tub alone.

Seungcheol, whom you find sitting at the kitchen island with his head in his hands— hunched over a steaming mug of tea— upon your return. His hair hangs down in damp strings, dripping onto his pair of comfort sweatpants, the ones he tends to gravitate towards when he's had a long day.

The door clicks shut behind you and his head snaps up with lightning quick reflexes. A wild look flashes in his eyes, but it melts away almost as quick as it came. His shoulders slump with relief and for what seems like an eternity, he just let's his gaze linger.

"I didn't think you were coming back." He rasps. His fingers curl around the mug, siphoning off some of its warmth to combat the slight chill in the air.

His hands are clean now— free of any trace of dark red— then again, they never really were. Probably never will be.

"To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I was." You're still some distance away from where he sits, a fact you're made painfully aware of by the way his eyes flit between you and the door. As if he expects you to flee at any moment.

"I would understand, you know?" His voice is as soft and genuine as it was the day he said I do. "I wouldn't be mad. My job, this life, it was never supposed to be your burden. You can walk out and I wouldn't—" His voice catches and he takes a swig of his tea, cringing at the temperature as it goes down. "—I wouldn't stop you."

You know he wouldn't. Because Choi Seungcheol is a good man. There would not be a ring on your finger if he wasn't. It's why you're so comfortable closing the distance that separates you two.

It's why you're so comfortable excusing all of his wrongs.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You should." He croaks. Tears gather at his waterline and on instinct, you wipe the first to fall away. But more continue to silently slip down his cheeks. Unable to catch them fast enough, you step between his legs and guide his forehead to your shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath as your fingers trail down the nape of his neck to just between his shoulders, then back up again. You hold him. Just as you've held his heart for years. Delicate. Like handling glass.

"I love you," He whispers. "I'm sorry I lied, I— all I ever wanted was to keep you safe."

"I know."

He tilts his head back, staring up at you with damp cheeks and bloodshot eyes. "I don't deserve you."

You tuck a piece of hair that's fallen into his eye behind his ear. "I could find you in a thousand lifetimes and there wouldn't be a single one where that'd be true."

"I'd still spend every one of those thousand lifetimes making it up to you." His hands grip your hips, holding you steady, as if he's still scared you'll run away.

"You." You hold the underside of his chin so he can't divert his gaze for your next words. Your tone is a firm, bordering on authoritative. "Make it up to me by coming home."

Seungcheol nods, but it's not a good enough answer for you.

"Don't ever make me plan your funeral, Choi Seungcheol. Do you understand? You cannot do that to me."

"I won't."

"Promise me. Because I swear if I ever have to hear from Jeonghan that you're not coming home I swear I'll—"

Seungcheol takes your hand from his chin and pulls it flat against his chest. The quick but rhythmic beats of his heart calms your barrage of threats instantaneously.

"I promise."

The words leave his lips slowly. Each syllable is enunciated loud and clear, so the sincerity with which he says them can reach your ears without doubt. His words linger in the air and all you can focus on is his pulse. How terrified you are that one day it'll stop before your own. That there could come a night where your head rests against empty sheets instead of his chest. No longer lulled to sleep by its steady beating.

That thought rattles you more than any crime Seungcheol could commit.

It takes Seungcheol's thumb grazing over your cheekbone to realize you're crying. But then it becomes unstoppable. More worries spilling out in the form of tears. It's the not knowing that may be the end of you.

"I want you in this lifetime, Cheol. I don't want to wait until the next to live a full life with you. So I need you to keep that promise."

Seungcheol rises from his seat and brings you into his chest. Allowing you to hide away from the horrors of it all in his strong embrace. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to make it home to you." He reassures. And the sheer determination in his voice makes you believe him.

"And no more secrets, okay?" You mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt. "I want you to tell me everything."

"It's better if I don't." He whispers with a deep exhale. And you want to be more upset with his answer than you are. But he keeps rocking you side to side and pressing long kisses to your temple.

"All you need to know is that none of it comes before you." The sincerity in his voice is as prominent as it was reciting his vows. "Everything I've built. All the money and power in the world— I'd burn it all to the ground for you."

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