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lostfracturess · 2 months ago

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THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you.

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions.

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away.

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence.

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush.

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased.

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted.

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years.

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x gn!reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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malt-rants-and-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

going full breakdown mode because wowowow im ill and dizzy but shiramiya waits for no man

just starting from the top here: TASHIROOOOO!!!

also this:

On some level, Shirahama’s always been aware that he’s weak-willed. But this—this feels like something else.

just. such a great line from the very start. im so immersed already. carrying on

more tashirooooo and asking the important questions here. quick sidetrack but ive been obsessing over the new bits of characterization we've gotten from shirahama in these last few chapters, with him being such a hard worker seemingly even to his own detriment (and man he and hanzawa sure would have that in common. interesting. best not to think about that now.) i like how it seems so in contrast to his outside appearance. like harusono loves her contradictions, with her not-really-bad-boys and her hanzawa masato's, so it isnt too much of a surprise. but i still really enjoyed that he had that sort of passion in comparison to how lethargic he looks and acts. really good stuff there.

It’s a good question, but it’s not one that has an answer. It’s just—it probably isn’t anything serious, but Miyano hadn’t looked great, and what if it is serious? Even if his boyfriend’s taking care of him, it’ll be good for Miyano’s classmates to know how he’s doing. And that way he—they—won't worry.

oh boy... patting him on the shoulder this poor dude

“I don't know,” he says, and because he’s vindictive: “Why didn't you compete in the crossdressing contest this year? You seemed so pumped about it last time.”

SHIRAHAMA??? UNPROVOKED??!?!!?

Tashiro's hands stray to his hair, and he twirls a loose strand around his fingers. It vaguely strikes Shirahama that it’s not dissimilar to one of the sprites of the sporty basketball girl he’d romanced last week. “I didn't want to shave my leg hair,” he says, even though last year Miyano hadn’t shown a single inch of his leg.

guh. shots through my chest.

Tashiro’s just non-committal like that, Shirahama supposes—even now, he likes to act as if his ping pong captaincy just “happened” like an accident. He's spent three long-suffering years on the basketball team—he knows the apathy Tashiro unintentionally or purposefully projects is deceptive.

love that so much honestly, they know each other so well they call each others shit but also cant take that sort of conversation. spinning them around in my mind.

I wasn't thinking, he replies in his head, aware that it's a horribly strange conversation to be having, and the kind of shameless, setup-to-punchline answer he'd never give in real life.

he's so me

That courage immediately leaves him when the door opens with a sharp creak and he startles, hold almost slipping from the doorknob, but it's the pathetic thought that counts. Or something.

ough... but also uh oh that can only mean...

As he's about to slip in and shut the door behind him, a rustle sounds from one of the beds. The breath leaves Shirahama's chest, and he watches as Miyano's boyfriend—Sasaki, that was his name—emerges from the curtains, hair wild in a way that reads more like “bedhead” than “artfully tousled”—not that he'd say it was ever artful, but he's got no place to be critiquing Miyano's boyfriend's hairstyle…

haha oh shit sasaki and shirahama. dont know how to feel about that one. maybe scared. probably scared. uhhhh

—and speaking of. Sasaki’s staring at him. He sure is tall—for a moment Shirahama wonders why he'd never played basketball, but it’s the kind of wonder that’s paired with utter relief at the nonexistent situation. Then he feels very strange about that thought until Sasaki, with the sedate aura of someone who’s just woken up, blinks at him as if to communicate something.

mmm relief at the nonexistent situation meanwhile i feel anything but relief. why have you put that into my mind now. i am unwell...

Shirahama stares back, caught like a deer in headlights.

welp. youre trapped now.

“Close it quietly,” Sasaki says. Shirahama finally re-registers that his hand is hanging slack on the doorknob. “He's sleeping.” His voice is low, smooth, and deliberately softened to the point that Shirahama has to strain to hear it.

He wavers in the still-open entrance; his legs don't let him run away. The door closes with a soft click, but it may as well be a marching drum.

here lies shirahma, who died fearful in combat against his own bullshit. he lived as he died, wanting.

“I just… came to check in on him,” Shirahama says, too many beats late, careful to pitch his voice just above a whisper. He's not sure he manages. It's the “too many people” thing again, only concentrated—somehow, he’s the one out-of-place in a school he's attended for two and a half years.

Sasaki nods. “Thanks for looking out.”

ack conversation. shirahama you poor poor disaster zone. also loving this drum thing thats going on. very much making me feel all the same stresses he must be giving out in handfulls.

“Oh… no problem.” He represses the urge to throw up his hands in a sign of “I come in peace,” but he doesn’t know what else to do with them, so they hang limply and indecisively in front of him. Miyano's boyfriend is—it would be rude to say that he's scary, because he's seen the way he acts around Miyano, who doesn't seem to think he’s anything close to intimidating, but he's also Miyano's boyfriend, a term that feels—he shouldn't say it's strange. It shouldn't be any stranger than Kuresawa's girlfriend—bad example, because Kuresawa’s so weird, and Shirahama’s suddenly, overwhelmingly relieved that Miyano doesn’t make hour-long professions of his love—but the thought rests uncomfortably in his head. It's like there's an itch he doesn't know how to scratch.

flailing dying etc etc. how strange shirahama, care to examine why that may be? perhaps in front of an audience of many psychological researchers? for my curiosity's sake.

Sasaki takes the time to inspect him now, squinting at him with a look that’s not akin to judgement but does feel like some kind of thing, and Shirahama would be embarrassed about his inarticulacy if he wasn't already beyond embarrassed with himself. Though he's always hated the feeling of assessment, he does his best to not squirm under Sasaki’s gaze. What Sasaki's likely remembering is the strange hanger-on to Tashiro's high-five run and jump, but even if that's banal in comparison to, say, the date-spying—which is mortifying in retrospect and has given him an eternal respect towards Hanzawa, though he’ll never vocalize this to anyone for fear of the result—something about recognition is just sour.

first of all: hanzawa mention yoooo

second of all: i think we should start a countdown on how long it takes before shirahama starts to disintegrate into dust. mans is not lasting through this conversation lmao

“Ah,” Sasaki finally says, snapping a cord of tension in Shirahama's shoulders. “You're on the basketball team.”

A strange flush scatters across his neck. “You remembered that?” His voice cracks at the last word, and he tacks on a whispered “Sorry!” that Sasaki accepts without fanfare.

hm. well then.

“…Kagiura, right?” His voice settles. “You were looking for him.”

At that, Sasaki falls silent.

cough. now what's that all about sasaki.

Shirahama almost offers to call up Kagiura, but they're not particularly close, and Sasaki's expression doesn't really read as “excited” or “pleased.” In fact it's kind of reading as “ticked off,” which doesn't bode well, because he's pretty sure that if he got into a fight with Miyano's boyfriend, he'd lose. Embarrassingly.

i dont think he can handle getting any more embarrassed rn he wont survive kiri spare my boy

also very interesting reaction sasaki. studying him like a bug.

Then, delivered in an unsettlingly flat voice: “I don't know him.”

lmao

“What?”

“Kagiura,” Sasaki clarifies, who indeed does say his teammate's name like he's never said those syllables in that order before. Come to think of it, he had called Kagiura by some kind of nickname, hadn't he? “I just… knew of him. Was just curious,” he mumbles.

lmaoooooo

“He does always get a bunch of confessions on Valentine's day,” Shirahama grumbles on instinct. Then he realizes there's a lot of terrible implications to that routine complaint and backtracks. “Not that—”

shirahama your phrasing!!! these guys are gonna kill me lmaooo

“He's popular?”

He feels, suddenly—not actually suddenly but an ebbing and flowing always—wrong-footed. “…Yeah?” Huh, Miyano's boyfriend is kind of a weird guy. Whether this thought puts Sasaki squarely in the space of “not scary” is debatable. But it is some kind of comfort.

HELP. so true shirahama you get it.

There’s a rustling sound by the bed. The room falls silent in an instant, and Shirahama finds that he’s locked eyes with Sasaki. Something like meaning almost passes through there, but before Miyano's boyfriend can say something about needing him to be silent, or his unnecessary check-in, or his unwelcome presence, Shirahama tumbles out excuses in rush of whispers. “I’ve still got to help out with the festival—just thought I’d check—I’m sure you have it handled—I’m going to—I'll go.”

channeling my inner hirano here, sasaki dont try to project your thoughts into the people around you because of your boyfriend. that scares and confuses people.

but anyways shirahama kyouji takes his tactical retreat from whatever that was to probably spontaneously combust, more at ten.

He stumbles out of the office, thankful he hadn’t even taken two steps past the entrance, and closes the door as quietly as he can. His mouth is so dry he’s not sure any of those words he'd said were audible. It’s entirely likely he stood there, gaping and sputtering like a dying fish, before running away.

run shirahama run!! but you'll still be stuck in the same place in the end.

No one's there to look at his expression and tell him. Shirahama's glad for it and the fact that there's no mirrors in the hallway—the last person he wants to look at is himself.

and with that last sentence its time to begin burying myself in the ground. maybe put some purple irises around me to give it some color. anywho.

this is SO AWESOME KIRI!!! like i say this everytime i read something you write (because it's true) but you really did something so amazing here. i love the constant tension and conflict inside of shirahama that he doesnt, or maybe just refuses to, understand. i love sleeping miyano haunting the narrative in a way. i love the awkwarness between sasaki and shirahama who dont really know each other at all. i just loved all of this!!!

something there.

hello shiramiya fans. got inspired by ch 51 to write something. it is under the cut but you can also read it on ao3

—

On some level, Shirahama’s always been aware that he’s weak-willed. But this—this feels like something else. “Tashiro,” he says. “I'm going to slack off.”

“For the last time, I'm not—what?” Tashiro cuts his complaint short, turning to face Shirahama with a searching look.

Whatever this is, it sucks, that’s for sure. He grits his teeth. “I'm just—I have to dip out for a second.”

“Huh,” Tashiro says, the word suffused with both carelessness and judgement. His eyes flicker around their surroundings, and he adds, “Okay. It's not too busy, anyways… did you ask—”

“I already asked Karasubara.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

“I don't know,” he says, and because he’s vindictive: “Why didn't you compete in the crossdressing contest this year? You seemed so pumped about it last time.”

“What are you waiting for?” Tashiro asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Go.”

It’s enough of a push, and crucially: it feels like enough of an excuse.

—

There are too many people inside this school. Shirahama can hear Tashiro's voice in his head still, the strange wry twist that he'd clearly picked up from someone else, paired with his evergreen bluntness—what did you think was going to happen at a cultural festival?

I wasn't thinking, he replies in his head, aware that it's a horribly strange conversation to be having, and the kind of shameless, setup-to-punchline answer he'd never give in real life. But when he'd thought about the decorations, he'd mostly thought about having something that would look nice, feel nice, and have their class at ease. He hadn't been thinking about all the other people that would be milling about.

If they're staring at him, he certainly isn't going to chance making eye contact. So he ducks his head and soldiers on towards the relatively isolated nurse’s office, and in a sudden fit of bravery pauses for only a moment before opening the door. That courage immediately leaves him when the door opens with a sharp creak and he startles, hold almost slipping from the doorknob, but it's the pathetic thought that counts. Or something.

Shirahama stares back, caught like a deer in headlights.

He wavers in the still-open entrance; his legs don't let him run away. The door closes with a soft click, but it may as well be a marching drum.

Sasaki nods. “Thanks for looking out.”

“Ah,” Sasaki finally says, snapping a cord of tension in Shirahama's shoulders. “You're on the basketball team.”

A strange flush scatters across his neck. “You remembered that?” His voice cracks at the last word, and he tacks on a whispered “Sorry!” that Sasaki accepts without fanfare.

A light shrug. “Just happened to.”

Shirahama throws his memory back to the interaction. He remembers the stray basketball, for sure, but on review something clicks into place. “…Kagiura, right?” His voice settles. “You were looking for him.”

At that, Sasaki falls silent.

Then, delivered in an unsettlingly flat voice: “I don't know him.”

“What?”

“He's popular?”

No one's there to look at his expression and tell him. Shirahama's glad for it and the fact that there's no mirrors in the hallway—the last person he wants to look at is himself.

#KIRIIIIIIIIIIIIII #I AM ON THE FLOOR #SPENT THE WHOLE DAY FEELING SICK BUT THIS HAS RID ME OF ALL ILLNESS FOREVER AND CAUSED ME TO ONLY BE SICK WITH SHIRAMIYA DISEASE #ITS TERMINAL THERE IS NO CURE #JUST. AH!!!#i have been thinking about them sm since reading 51 you dont understand this sort of thing has been haunting my dreams #thank you for writing now leave me here to perish because HOLY SHIT #shirahama kyouji #shiramiya #sasaki to miyano #sasaki shuumei #harusono #malt favs

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gotta-winwin · 13 days ago

Text

(🪽) ... to the stars

⭐ starring: jeonghan

🪽preview: “I love you, angel.” He whispered, pressing a light kiss against your lips when you finally found the courage to let him go. He hesitated, face inches from yours, as if he was debating whether or not to go in for a second kiss. He retracted in the end, standing up straight and grabbing his various bags. He knew that if he kissed you a second time, he’d lose all self control and you’d end up in bed with your clothes off, and him, very late.

“I’ll be back soon!” He called as he entered the car, a smiling Seungcheol waving to you as he helped Jeonghan bring his bags in. “Don’t die because you miss me too much!”

The last thing you see before they drive off is Jeonghan’s dazzling smile, his shining eyes and his clean cut hair.

tw/cw: talk of the "e" word, oral f!receiving, manhandling, surprise sex, jeonghan gets buff after training, mention of female + male parts, jeonghan goes kinda feral, overstim!

🪽rating: 18+ | word count: 2.1k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i really can't believe it's only been two months since jeonghan enlisted it feels like FOREVER and WAY TOO LONG. also - first try at full on smut so...was giggling while writing this i had way too much fun. let me know how ya'll feel! smut starts in ch 4

MINORS DNI

if you don't like it, don't interact!

(🪽)

The dreaded “e-word” has haunted both you and Jeonghan since the start of your relationship. The stupid prospect of enlistment gnawed at both your insides, like an impending doomsday clock - ticking, ticking away at your time together.

Maybe you were being dramatic - but if tour was painful for the two of you, enlistment would surely kill.

“At least one good thing came out of me injuring my shoulder.” Jeonghan quipped, stretching lazily over your legs as you laid in bed. “I’ll be on duty, but I get to go home every night.” He stared up at you with playful eyes. “It’ll basically be a nine to five, after my basic training is complete.”

Returning the playful look, you scrunched your nose, relishing the last few days with him next to you. “I guess.” You hummed, reaching a hand to run your fingers through his long hair. You’d be seeing his precious locks go tomorrow, and the loss felt like losing a baby. You had basically raised his perfect, luscious hair yourself - a handful of his hair products being yours. You’d miss picking out his monthly hair colors as well. (Red hair Jeonghan was by far still your greatest achievement).

“Don’t be sad, angel.” He closed his eyes as you massaged his hair, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

“You’re not very upset about it.” You pouted, feeling slighted by the way he seemed so unbothered. “You must think you’re not going to miss me very much, Hannie.” Your tone was teasing and light, although the insecurity was very much real.

“I am going to miss you.” He admitted, squinting open an eye to look at you. “Don’t twist my words.”

Jeonghan fell silent when you didn’t reply, hands still absentmindedly threading themselves through his hair. He watched you with careful eyes, knowing your nerves were frayed from enlistment stress. More like the absence of Jeonghan stress, he thought bitterly. He hated leaving you as much as you hated him leaving.

“You should just move in.”

Your next words caught him off guard as he looked up at you, blinking. It was rare to catch Jeonghan speechless. Usually equipped with witty comebacks, Jeonghan’s silence worried you as you sat up straight, moving him off your lap. “It’s just an idea.” Your voice shrank, knowing it was a big move. You hadn’t been dating for very long - two years - but still, not long enough to guarantee a move in.

Having been nudged off your legs, Jeonghan sat up. “You think I should?” He asked, grabbing your hand and enveloping it in his.

You nodded.

“I guess it makes sense.” He had a coy smile on his face as he inwardly cooed at your shyness. “Then I’ll get to see your pretty face everyday instead of Seungkwan.”

“A much better upgrade.” You quipped at the younger boy’s expense, nodding along, big question jitters disappearing. “And half of your stuff is already here anyways.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurted out, although it sounded so beautifully normal and welcomed. His ears turned red, having not expected himself to say what he was thinking out loud.

“I love you too, Hannie.”

(🪽🪽)

“If you mess up my hair I’m leaving you.”

Frowning extra hard at his words, you steadied yourself, clippers at the ready as you analyzed his black locks. “If you don’t trust me you should’ve gone to your stylist.” You chided, pushing back a mop of his hair - rather roughly in retaliation.

Whining, he glared at you through the mirror. “Brute.” He mumbled under his breath, a little apprehensive about agitating you further. You were the one with the clippers, after all.

“Stop glaring at me or I’ll render you bald.” You threatened, eyeing him in challenge, the clippers in your hand coming to life as you began. “Hold still.”

There was something strangely emotional about the whole process, as you watched tufts of Jeonghan’s hair fall to the ground around you. At least he didn’t have to get it super short - you really might have cried then - although the ceremonious feeling of it all still brought unwanted tears to your eyes.

“It’ll grow back.” His quiet voice reminded you, pouting when he saw your glistening eyes and the way you were staring at his hair. “It’s not permanent.”

“I know.” You mumbled, running your hands through his now short hair, more tears threatening to spill over when it just didn’t feel the same as before. “Let me mourn.”

He laughed, although you saw him staring at himself in the mirror, his own eyes melancholic and equally wet. “Sometimes I think you’re only dating me for my hair.”

Pursuing your lips, you bit back a smile. “It’s definitely a plus.”

(🪽🪽🪽)

You had always hated long goodbyes.

They seemed too fruitless, so unnecessary and awkward to execute. You had always been a strong believer of a quick wave, a brief hug, or perhaps a quick exchange of pleasantries.

However, once it was time to say goodbye to Jeonghan as he stood, packed and ready for his mandatory training camp, you wished goodbyes could last forever.

“You’re going to have to let me go someday.” Jeonghan’s voice was muffled as he spoke through your hair.

Your hold around him only tightened at his words, arms looping firmly around his neck. You inhaled, breathing him in - the light scent of pomegranates and the ocean tide. “Please don’t go.” It sounded pathetic, the way your voice broke near the end, but a part of you felt like maybe he wasn’t going to come back. Stupid. You chided yourself. Of course he’ll come back.

“You’re going to make me cry.” Jeonghan mumbled, pulling you into him tighter - although it was nearly impossible, with the way you were already pressed up against him. He bit the insides of his cheek, holding back the tears because he knew someone had to keep it together during this goodbye - and it wasn’t going to be you. Burrowing his face deeper into your nape, he wished selfishly there was a way for him not to leave. Holding you tighter, he knew that if there was a way to crawl inside you and live there - he would. “I’ll write to you.” He promised.

It was a silly idea with the existence of technology, but Jeonghan was adamant to hand write his letters while serving - something about it being more personable. It’ll give you something to look forward to, he explained, although you told him that him coming home was enough. The letters were just as sweet though.

“I love you, angel.” He whispered, pressing a light kiss against your lips when you finally found the courage to let him go. He hesitated, face inches from yours, as if he was debating whether or not to go in for a second kiss. He retracted in the end, standing up straight and grabbing his various bags. He knew that if he kissed you a second time, he’d lose all self control and you’d end up in bed with your clothes off, and him, very late.

“I’ll be back soon!” He called as he entered the car, a smiling Seungcheol waving to you as he helped Jeonghan bring his bags in. “Don’t die because you miss me too much!”

The last thing you see before they drive off is Jeonghan’s dazzling smile, his shining eyes and his clean cut hair.

(🪽🪽🪽🪽)

You would have compared him to a feral animal - the way he pounced on you upon his arrival home.

“I missed you so fucking much, angel.” He groaned, arms pulling you against him without warning, giving you no time to register his appearance.

“Hannie.” His name came out as more of a moan as his fingers dipped, drifting towards the band of your sweats and delving under. “When- when did you get home?”

“Got to leave earlier than expected.” He mumbled against your neck, thoroughly distracted by the way you were softening under his grasp. He had forgotten how beautiful you looked, falling apart at his fingertips. “Been waiting.” He gasped out, pulling your hair so his lips could meet yours. “No idea how much I missed you.”

“Hannie.” His name was all you could say, all you could even think about. His every being enveloped your senses as you felt your back press up against the hallway wall. “Hannie.”

“Yes, angel?” He dipped to his knees, gazing up at you with the coy smile you had missed so much. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Hannie.” You whined, and you knew it was embarrassing how fast you were complying. “Want - need you.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, holding you by your thighs and pulling your sweats and underwear off in one fluid motion. You didn’t miss the tiny whimper that fell quietly from his lips - finally face to face with the sweet pussy he had dreamed of each night after training. It had tortured him, not being able to feel you, to hold you, to see you. Military training had taught him a lot of things - although the greatest lesson he took away was how much of a privilege you were. Losing access to both you and the pussy that always took him so well had been maddening.

He paused, smirking when you bucked into his hand, impatient.

“Hurry up, Hannie.” You scolded, half annoyed but mostly pleading. “Hannie.”

As if the repeat of his name had woken him up from the daze he had found himself under - some spell, Jeonghan glanced up at you with hooded eyes before diving in, tongue working against your folds. It was obscene, the wet sounds coming from you, mixed with his pants and muffled groans. He all but buried himself into your heat - fulfilling his wish of crawling inside of you - in the most perverted yet terribly arousing way.

The sounds of both satisfaction and pleasure coming from you only spurred him on, eating you out with one goal in mind: to make you finish, to finally drown himself in your scent after two long weeks without you next to him.

“Fuck- Hannie.” The only coherent words falling from your lips was a long string of curses, followed by a loud whine of his name. “I’m gonna - fuck.”

You felt the mess before you saw it, as you gripped his hair for leverage, legs shaking as you steadied yourself against the wall. A gush of release spurted from you, coating his face as he lapped, unbothered by the slick.

“Hannie -” Legs shaking, threatening to collapse, you pushed at his head. “Too much-”

It was like he was trying to devour you whole.

“Hannie-” You cried out, cumming again - a visceral reaction from the amount of attention his tongue was giving to your cunt and the constant stimulations from his nose bumping against your clit.

He finally looked up as he drank the last drops of juice from your pussy, eyes shining in satisfaction as he smirked up at you. “Did you miss me?”

You were glad his cockiness had not escaped him during his military training. Tugging harshly at his hair, you all but collapsed into his arms, pressing a feathery light kiss against the side of his neck. “You beast.” You mumbled, earning a loud laugh from him as he moved you both to the living room, wiping his face with a cloth before coming to clean you.

It was then that you finally got to get a good look at him. You laid on the couch, eyes following his every movement as he wiped in between your legs with his usual gentle and care.

He was built. Stronger, somehow broader and more defined then you remembered him being. His shoulders and arms flexed as he worked, and you caught a sight of his carved thighs and the damp tent in his pants as he stood up, leaving to throw the now sullied cloth away.

“Hannie?” You called after him, feeling your desire return just by the glimpses of his new physique.

“Yes, angel?” His head poked out from the doorway, returning next to you as he lay down, once again situating himself in between your legs. His nose bumped against yours as he looked at you with gentle, loving eyes - a straight contrast to the callouses, rough hands that were now roaming your chest.

“What did mandatory training do to you?” You asked, running a hand down his arm and squeezing his bicep. “Did they like- make you pull cars or something?”

His hands went self-consciously to grab his own biceps, a large hand covering yours as he blushed. “No, it was just a lot of working out.” He smiled, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “What? You like what you see?”

“Very, very much.” You admitted, liking how he basked under the praise. “Not that I didn’t like your body before- but this is…” You paused, trying to find the right word to describe the delectable human being sitting in front of you that you knew could ruin you on a whole nother level. “Different.”

Jeonghan smirked. “If you think this is different, you should see what’s under my clothes, angel.”

masterlist

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theanimeoftheblackbunnymask · 3 months ago

Text

Transitions (Yandere Dazai x Reader)

Author's Note: This is based on the idea I had on how it would feel to be going from PM!Dazai's behavior towards his darling to ADA!Dazai's behavior. I also think people forget that Dazai was a teenager while he was in the Port Mafia, so reader is also around his age.

Warnings: Implied Non-Con, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Torture, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Delusions, Child Abuse, Assault, Implied Murder, PTSD, Panic Attacks Mentioned, Mental Breakdowns, Suicide Dicussed, Teasing, Mocking, and Sadism.

Links: {Masterlist} {Idea Concept}

Is it possible for a man like Dazai to change?

That was the only thing on your mind. You had been stuck with the man for years, you can remember the day of your abduction perfectly.

It was quick.

You were walking home from work. After your mother lost her job it became quite hard for her to pay the bills, so you picked up a job at the local grocery store. Balancing both High School and Work was no easy task. Your normal schedule was going to school until 3, tutoring until 4, and from 4 to 11 it was straight work. You'd often have to pull all nighters just to do assignments.

The day of your abduction was the day all those all nighters caught up with you. You walked with a drag, your vision blurred as you tried to stay awake, and every few seconds you'd let out a yawn. Normally you'd take the bus home or one of your co-workers would give you a ride, but recently you guys had grown short on staff, making you the only worker that night, and since it was a holiday the bus was running on a different schedule. Knowing what you knew about Dazai, he planned this all perfectly.

As you were walking you bumped into him, and maybe it was your exhaustion, but the moment you bumped into his chest you fell into his arms, your body going limp as he held you tightly.

That was the day you lost all freedom.

-----------------------------

"Wake up Princess/Princie~"

Opening your eyes, staring down at you was a suspiciously happy Dazai. You only stared at him as he sat next to you on the bed. When he initially kidnapped you, you were kept in a cell in the Port Mafia base.

You still remember how cold it was in there. The blood. The noise. Everything that took place in that cell still haunts you to this day. The very reminder of it sends a chill down your spine.

Now, the room you were kept in was actually a room. A queen sized bed in the middle, a vanity in the corner, a closet next to it, and on the other side of the room was a door that led to the bathroom. The room was decorated to your liking, but the only downside was the massive window that was barred up, forever reminding you of a freedom so close yet so far from your grasp.

"What's the matter? You still mad at me?" Dazai asked in his infamous baby voice, putting his hands on your cheeks in order for you to meet his gaze.

You only turned you head away, keeping your mouth shut.

Letting out a sigh, Dazai spoke. "Hey, don't be like that, Y/N."

You still didn't budge.

"You know that bastard deserved it."

"Did he, Dazai? Did he?" You snapped, now sitting up.

"Traitors don't live, Y/N," Dazai said nonchalantly as he got off the bed. "You should know that better then anyone."

You do.

"Why are you up so early?" You asked.

"The boss has a mission for Chuuya and I. I should be back around midnight, so you can do whatever you want in here until then!"

"Dazai."

"Hm?"

"Can I...," You paused, clenching your fist. "Ask you something?"

"Of course my dear! Ask away."

"When...when will you let me out?"

You felt energy in the room switch as Dazai's face dropped.

"Oh...My sweet, little Y/N," Dazaj cooed as he made his way towards you, gently grabbing your face. "You're a smart girl/boy. I know you know the awnser to that. Or will I have to remind you?"

His question immediately struck you with fear as you look up to him in a panic. Your hands shook as you tried to get him hands off your face, but his nails only dug further.

"Will I?"

The bloodlust in his tone. The emptiness in his eyes. It's all too familiar.

"No...no! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. I'm sorry for asking, just please..." You pleaded as you gripped your hair, you eyes fixated on your lap as memories flooded your mind. "Not again.'

You could sense the smirk on his face as he kissed your forehead. "Smart choice. "

As you watched him leave through the exit of your prison, you could feel a tear roll down your face as the door slammed shut.

------------------------------

Chuuya was the only person in the entire Port Mafia who you felt cared at least a little bit about your situation. Besides you and Mori, he knew just how cruel Dazai could be, and whenever he spotted whatever bandages were on your body, for the quickest second you could see sympathy in his eyes. You remember one time he found you crying in your cell after one of Dazai's punishments. Your body was in so much pain that you could barely move, and your mind was scattered that you couldn't even think straight. You were naked and cold, but your skin burned in pain.

Tilting his head down, using his hat to hide his gaze, Chuuya quietly opened the cell, laid his coat over you, and walked out just as quickly and quietly as he had entered.

However, you kept your fondness of Chuuya a secret from Dazai. You knew Dazai would never kill Chuuya even if he found out about his acts of kindness. Jealous? Most likely. Angry? Definitely not. Dazai saw and knew everything you did, every thought you had, you knew that he most likely knew. He was always watching you, or at least he made you believe so.

And that was why you haven't escaped yet.

The thing is, escaping Dazai is easy, stupidly easy, but staying free was damn near impossible. He could find you in a matter of seconds, or you would run back before he realized you were gone. You see, there was 1 time you escaped Dazai, and it was a moment that you would never forget. He made sure of that.

It was a week after your abduction. You were able to notice that everytime Dazai left for a mission, he'd never lock your door. So, when he told you that he'd be gone for a couple of days in order to complete a mission, you took that as your chance.

You were able to make it to the city were you wandered around for a bit. Eventually your exhaustion caught up to you, so you seemed refuge in a random motel after pretty guilt tripping the owner into letting you spend the night.

You feel bad that owner.

In the middle of the night, the motel caught, and by the time you woke up, Dazai was staring down at you, his empty eyes staring into yours.

Up until this point Dazai hadn't done anything to you. The most he would do was come into your cell and cuddle you for hours on end while telling you about his day. He seemed so soft despite the vibe he gave off. Sometimes he'd drag you to meeting with him where he'd nuzzle into your neck. But, this mistake flipped a switch a switch in him.

You lost your innocence that night.

Bruises, cuts, and bites littered your body, and all you did afterwards was hug your knees and stare blankly into space. Nothing could break you out of of that state, anything to make you forget what happened, anything to forget the pain.

He didn't stop there though. Night after night he'd escalate things further and further. At one point he broke both of your legs, dislocated your shoulders, and broke your fingers. He made sure one of your fingers healed incorrectly just for it to be a permanent reminder. And didn't stop at physical stuff either.

For nights on end he'd force you stay awake, and he'd play mind games with you too. He'd force you to complete nearly impossible task in your exhausted state, and then mock you to tears when you couldn't do them.

He did this for days just to teach you a lesson. When the lesson was over you were broken in, just like that. In the span of two weeks you became his lap dog, and he was disappointed at how easily you broke. I mean, why wouldn’t it be easy? You were only 16.

Any escape attempt after this would result in a panic attack. You would run back to your room where Dazai would be waiting, and while you had tears rolling down your cheeks, you'd run into his arms in order to seek even a little bit of comfort.

After a week of isolation, it was like another switch happened in Dazai. One day he came down to your cell and just broke down. You had never seen the man cry before. He then hugged you while spitting out a bunch of apologies.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just..." Dazai started before his voice lowered into a whisper, his gaze fixated on the floor. "I never wanted to hurt you...never. I was just so... I'm sorry. I'll take care of everything, ok?"

Sometimes you forget he's just like you, a kid. A sadistic, scarily intelligent kid, but a kid none the less. You soon learned why he kidnapped you, what his motive was.

He wanted to feel something. Anything. The boy was hallow, a cunning killing machine. His entire personality was an act. If you were to cut him open, you'd find nothing. And somehow, he gravitated towards you.

--------------------------

"Do you enjoy living?"

Dazai laid his head in your lap, his arms wrapped your waist as you ran your fingers through his hair. In the past couple months things have cooled down. You've lost any hope of escaping or for him to become any less cruel, so now you just follow his commands. Life has been easier this way, not enjoyable, but easier.

"Hm?" You responded, meeting his gaze.

"Your life. Everyday was the same thing. School, tutoring, work. Did you enjoy any of it?"

"Well, no, but it was worth it. Whenever I'd come home my mom would always be waiting for me at the dining table. Even as she got worse, she still was always there no matter how late I got home. And when I showed her my first paycheck," You face soften in remembrance. "The smile on her face made it all worth it."

Dazai was silent for a few moments for snuggling against your stomach.

"Humans confuse me."

You knew better than to ask him to elaborate. It's not because he'd be mad or anything, but you knew his awnser would leave you sleepless.

A life with Dazai was a life with uncertainty, unpredictability. Some days he'd be this soft little thing, clinging onto you like a baby and craving all your attention, whining when he didn't get it. But on other days, he'd force you to witness the execution of Mafia members, drag you on life threatening missions, use you as a pawn on missions, and force you witness his cruelty first hand.

Sometimes it's hard to believe he loves you. Sometimes you think you're just a pawn in his game.

--------------------------

Akutagawa hated your guts.

You got Dazai's praise, attention, and approval, and you did nothing to earn it. Anytime you looked at him, you see the hatred in his eyes.

A year after your abduction, Dazai started bringing you to his little trainings with Akutagawa, and you had one rule: Don't get close.

Seeing his treatment of the boy made you believe that you hadn't experienced the worse of his torment.

One day you couldn't watch it anymore. Dazai had kicked the boy so hard that he was coughing up blood.

"Get up," Dazai commanded coldly, slowly making his way towards the boy.

He was so weak that he could barely support his weight. They had been going at this for hours now.

"A weak dog is dead dog," Dazai said, pulling his gun out from his coat. "And dogs like you, don't deserve to be in the Port Mafia."

You watched as Akutagawa slammed his eyes shut as he gritted his teeth, preparing himself for death.

"STOP!"

You had hugged Dazai from behind, hugging him tightly as you looked up at him with teary eyes. His eyes remained cold as he looked down at you.

"Please...stop. Give the boy a break."

Dazai still looked down at you silently.

"For me, please."

You felt relief wash over you body as you heard Dazai let out a sigh.

"Fine," Dazai said with an annoyed yet defeated look on his face, turning around as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, throwing the gun in the process. "Don't think I'll be easy on you next time, Akutagawa."

---------------------------

The day Dazai left the Port Mafia is a day that you can never forget.

When he came to your room, he looked tired. Both physically and mentally. He didn't say a word as he sat down next to you on the bed.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

"Odasaku is died."

You felt your soul leave your body as those words left his mouth. You had met Oda a few times whenever Dazai would drag you to the bar with him, and he always treated you with kindness. He'd often scold Dazai for his treatment of you, but Dazai always ignored him.

You liked Oda, him and Chuuya made your life a little bit more enjoyable with their kindness.

You stayed silent at Dazai's words. Dazai didn't look like he was here, completely spaced out from the world. You had never seen Dazai like this, and it honestly scared you.

Scooting over next to him, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Dazai?"

You didn't know if it was grief or what, but you never saw Dazai like this. You didn't know what to do. If you didn't do anything he could punish you once he became stable, or if you did the wrong thing he'd also punish you later. You were lost, you were confused, and you were scared.

"I'm leaving the Port Mafia."

"...What?"

"I'm leaving the Port Mafia," Dazai said before turning to look at you. The emptiness in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. "And you're coming with me."

What happened after that was a blur. All you remember was walking out of the Port Mafia building with a small backpack on, with Dazai holding you hand.

------------------------

The two of you had found an apartment and had been living there for awhile.

After Dazai left the Port Mafia he completely rebranded himself. He seemed so much livelier, so much happier, so much more energetic. You honestly like this new Dazai. You didn't know if if was an act or not, but at least he was treating you better.

One day he came home with a genuine smile on his face.

"Dazai?" You called out as you sat down in front of the TV, watching a show you started but never got finish due to your kidnapping.

"I got a job!" Dazai responded excitingly, sitting down next to on the couch.

"Really? Where?"

"At this detective agency for the gifted."

You were honestly caught off guard. Dazai, a detective? Never in all your days would you think Dazai of all people would help stop crime.

You did your best to hide your confusion though, mostly because you've never seen Dazai so happy. This happiness didn't seem fake, it looked genuine.

"That's nice," You replied, doing your best to put on a smile before going back to your show.

"Guess what I'm thinking, Y/N."

This wasn't going to be good. You just knew it.

"Um, what are you thinking, Dazai?"

"You're getting a job," Dazai said, a smirk on his face as he spoke.

You dropped the bowl of cereal you were eating in complete shock.

"What...?"

"Yeah, I think you should go out more, see new things, make friends, you know, normalcy and things like that."

He was messing with you. This had to be a test. He was testing your loyalty. He wanted to if you'd awnser correctly. The Dazai you know would never tell you this and mean it. Sure he was being a lot nicer now, but this is just like how he first kidnapped you. The calm before the storm.

"Um, no, I'm good," You responded, turning away from Dazai. "I don't wanna, I'm ok."

"...Don't lie to me, Y/N," Dazai said coldly, sending a chill down your spine.

What? You awnsered correctly though.

"W-What?" You asked, turning around to face Dazai.

"I know you want to go out. I know you want to see people again, make friends," Dazai responded as he got closer to you. You didn't dare to back away, but what he said next dazed you. "See your mother again."

You hadn't seen your mother in almost two years.

"You're lying."

"Nope, got her address and everything right here," Dazai said before pulling out a piece of paper.

You immediately leap towards the paper, but Dazai raised it above his head, just out of your reach.

"Nah uh uh, you get this paper if you promise me that you'll go out."

"I promise, I promise, just give me it!"

"Aye, don't be rude," Dazai said, flicking your forehead before handing you the paper.

This had to be a dream. This was way too good to be a dream.

------------------------------

You still can't go out.

The paper with all your mother's information on it haunts you as you sit on the couch, staring at the door as you hug your knees.

You don't know what it is. Dazai's at work most of the time during the day, leaving you alone most of the time. The doors are unlocked, hell, he even gave you a key, but you just can't leave. Everytime you get close to the door you feel your lungs collapse. Your throat closes, you mind gets scattered, you can't think straight.

One time you stuck your foot out and immediately flung into a panic attack. Your breath was short, mind racing. You remember slamming the door shut and crying on the floor until Dazai came home. Anytime you got close to the door, images of your past escapes would flash in your head. Each and every one of them ended with you facing Dazai's torment.

Yeah he left the Port Mafia, but Dazai is still Dazai. This is all one big test to see how much you've learned, the paper was just something to allure you into escaping. You weren't failing this time.

"Still on the couch?" Dazai asked, almost sounding disappointed and worried all at the same time as he sat next to you. "Remember our deal?"

"Take it," You said, your voice and eyes empty as you gave his the crumbled up piece of paper.

Dazai just stared at you as he took the paper. You couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"I passed your test," You continued before lying down on the couch.

Dazai didn't say anything after that. He just stood up and walked away, not even sparing you a glance.

Sitting in your shared bedroom, Dazai stared up at the ceiling as he spoke to himself.

"They’re not leaving willingly anytime soon. I conditioned them too well."

Dazai didn't even notice, but tears were starting to form in his eyes as he spoke.

"They're leaving. They're getting a life."

The next morning you didn't wake up on the couch like you thought, but instead you were sitting on a bench in the center of the city, the paper you gave Dazai in your hand.

"Huh? What? Where... How?" You couldn't even form a coherent sentence as you looked up at the city around you. It was all so overwhelming.

As you walked down the street you kept your head low, trying to balance your nerves as you stared at the address written on the paper. You've waited two whole years for this very moment, a moment you thought you would only be a dream has finally came true.

The apartment your mother had now lived in was far more rundown and ghetto than the last one the two of you shared. The neighborhood was dangerous and the complex was filthy.

As you stood infront of your mother's door, you didn't know what you were going to say to her. Where you going to tell her what happened or just leave her in the dark? You honest weren't sure. Before you could decide what you were going to say, your knuckles were already meeting against wood of the door.

"Hello, can I..."

Standing infront of you was your mother. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept in days. But, the moment your mother locked eyes with you, the two of you were left speechless.

The two of you didn't say a single word as you fell into your mother's arms. You didn't even realize tears were rolling down your face as you hid your head in your shoulder.

"Mama..."

That was all you could say. Your voice was cracking as you hugged your mother tighter, as if she was going to disappear if you didn't.

"Shhh, it's alright," Your mother said gently as she rubbed your back. Even when flooded with overwhelming emotions, your mother was always able to remain composed and calm you down. "What happened baby?"

"I'm sorry mama, I'm sorry I didn’t... I didn't want to leave."

"I know baby, I know."

"I didn't want to leave you mama. I never did. I didn't wanna go, but I couldn't come back."

"Shhhh, calm down, I know, it's ok. Come inside and I'll fix you something, ok?"

Rubbing your eyes, you weakly gave her your response. "Ok."

--------------------------

You never told your mother about Dazai or what truly happened. Anytime you'd get close to telling her, an image of Dazai's face would flash into your head and all those memories would come right back to you.

Your mother had made you your favorite, and at the moment it felt like the world didn't matter. It felt like you were back before everything happened, the time before all the pain, all the trauma, it felt, peaceful. And you couldn't remember the last time you felt true peace.

"What are going to do now?" Your mother asked, sitting down in front of you as you ate.

"I don't know. I need to get a job, but I don't know where to start."

"One of my friends daughters works in one of the stores at the mall, maybe I can get you in contact with them. That'd be nice, right?"

"Maybe."

"Where you living now?"

That question made your blood run cold. She couldn't find out about Dazai. Rebrand or not, Dazai was still Dazai, and you wouldn't let yourself be fooled into thinking otherwise. This wasn't the first time he's pulled something like this, but this time it was going on for a bit too long.

"An apartment downtown. The landlord is letting me live there rent free until I can get back on my feet."

"That's nice."

"Yes," You said before drinking you tea. "It's...nice."

-------------------

"Ah! You're back," Dazai said as he stood up from the couch, making his way to you.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, I don't what happened but I woke up outside and-"

"Shhhh, I know everything. Was it nice?"

"...No."

"Be honest, Y/N."

"...It was... It was the nicest thing I've gotten in the past two years."

"That's what I thought," Dazai responded before caressing your cheek. "I want you getting out the house more. I won't punish you, I won't hurt you ever again, you have my word Y/N."

You stayed silent. Don't trust him.

"Y/N."

Don't trust him.

"I'm sorry."

Looking up at Dazai, your eyes widened as you saw tears build up in his eyes. Before you knew it, he was holding you tight, hiding his in your shoulder as he spoke.

"You didn't deserve it, you didn't deserve any of it. I love you with all of my heart, I don't know what I'd do without you. I won’t hurt you again, I won't let myself go that far. You are the sweetest person in the world and I corrupted you with my pain. I love you; I'm sorry that I hurt you, and I'll forever be sorry for that, even after I take my final breath."

--------------

It's been a few years since then, and a lot of things have changed. You've gotten a job at the mall and you've became best friends with your co-worker Jojo. The two of you always hang out after work and she's gotten you to go out more. You've made a few new friends but you still get anxious talking to people.

You've met Dazai's co-workers and they all adore you, this kid Atsushi especially. He seems to be Dazai's apprentice and he's always the first one to talk to you whenever you come by the agency.

Ranpo is kinda bratty but he's a really smart guy. You were pretty suprised you found out his age, but you like talking to him about mysteries and his latest jobs. He never fails to suprise you, but he always makes you feel stupid with his arrogance. He's the only one in the ADA that knows about your true history with Dazai, and it was simply by observing your guys' interactions. To the outside the two of you see normal, but Ranpo is able to notice the smallest details that made him figure out the dark history of you and Dazai.

You're pretty sure Kunikida has a crush on you. Any time the two of you talk he's always beet red and gets annoyed whenever Dazai comes along.

You enjoy talking with Kyoka, you're pretty sure she sees you as a big sister. She's always trying to impress you and likes to follow you around. One time you bought a kimono with one of your paychecks and she hugged you so tight that she didn't let go for an hour. For a stone faced child she's truly a sweetheart.

Akiko and you hang out all the time. The two of you often go shopping together and she was the one who explained how abilities worked to you. The two of you were at a bar when she explained it and you quite shocked to say the least. Dazai never explained it to you, it was more like something that was constantly brought up and you had to figure out how it worked on your own.

Now you and Dazai. To say in simple terms, your relationship is complicated. He doesn't hurt you physically, but he still plays mind games with you, but it's just not as obvious. The relationship feels more normal, but his obsessive tendencies still shine through despite his lack of violence. Anytime you go out he always implies that he'll know everything you do. At work, hang out, clubs, everything, he's always watching. So, despite your new found freedom, you're very anxious, and still don't interact with men that Dazai doesn't know. He even met your mother and she adores him. You still do your best to prevent her from finding out the truth about Dazai.

But, if you ignore all of his flaws, Dazai might as well be the perfect boyfriend. He always buys you gifts, takes you on dates, and actually does couple stuff with you. If you ignore the past and that feeling of anxiousness whenever you're with or without Dazai, you would say that you wouldn't ask for anything better.

Right?

#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bsd #dazai x reader #yandere bungou stray dogs #dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #yandere dazai #yandere dazai x reader #yandere osamu dazai #dazai x you #osamu dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x you #yandere bsd x reader

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galactic-magick · 28 days ago

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I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

#viktor arcane x reader #machine herald x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #machine herald

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teenidlegirl · 2 months ago

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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess ♡ 𝓒hapter 𝓢ix

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. your cheating ex-boyfriend joel comes back running to you after two years of pain he left you. he doesn’t get the hint that you want him gone until miguel steps in to help you.

‧ ִ ۫⠀♱ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. angst, tension, arguments, swearing, mentions of cheating, ooc!joel (he’s a major selfish asshole in this), fandom crossover (image as pre-outbreak!joel), backstories

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

pure fury in your tone. piercing eyes as daggers, staring down into those brown eyes of betrayal. those same eyes you used to love but now despise.

the man you despise with every fiber of your being. the man who broke your heart. the man who betrayed you and cheated on you.

joel knew how this was gonna go yet he still flinched. the bastard actually flinched.

“i-i know this is unexpected but i—”

“no.” you step forward with a stern expression on your face, as if you’re ready to murder him on the spot. “you get fuck the out of here.”

joel hesitantly steps closer. “please i—”

“stay the fuck away from me.” you snarl, stepping back. “get the fuck out of here, now.”

a flash of guilt and hurt over his features. a big sigh escapes him. “i know i promised to stay away and i did- i just wanted to see—”

“no.” your voice drops an octave. “you do not get to come here and ask for forgiveness. i came here to get away from you.” you point at him with an aggressive finger. “away from the pain you caused.”

the guilt continues consuming him whole. the way his shoulders sag, guilt and regret settling on them like a throne. that horrendous night is haunts him to this day. the look of betrayal and hurt on your face that is forever ingrained in his mind.

“baby, please—”

“don’t call me that!” you shout, voice filled with anger. causing joel to wince and take a careful step back. “you lost the right to call me that when you fucked another woman.”

his heart aches but you’re right. everything about you he lost the right to. the endearments, touches, kisses, hugs, everything. joel forever regrets it. regrets touching another woman. regrets bringing another woman to the bed you used to sleep on. regrets approaching another woman. regrets listening to his stupid friend convincing to go talk to another woman. regrets drinking that night. his drunkness isn’t an excuse and joel knows that. he was a stupid asshole who wanted to fool around.

“two years, joel… two fucking years of freedom from you and the pain you left me. and now you trying to waltz back in and beg for forgiveness? to run back into my arms? you’re a fucking idiot.”

the audacity this fucker has to come running back to after two years and breaking your heart.

there’s no way in hell you’d ever forgive him.

“i’ve been healing over these past two years. i’ve been doing great, actually. and now you’re here. always good at fucking things up, huh?” you taunt.

he winced once more. that stabbed his heart, a million knives at once because it’s the truth.

“i know… i fuck up everything good in my life. the one good thing in my life.” his voice laced with pain and regret. “i just… i just wanted to see you…”

“well, you have now so get the fuck out of here.”

he has this pleading look on his idiotic face and you ain’t falling for it. “you left without telling anyone… i didn’t know you left state. i… i was looking for you but nobody told me where you were.”

“because i never told anyone.” you answer curtly. “i didn’t want anyone to know and anyone to tell you. why the fuck would i tell you after what you did?”

“you told sarah.”

you go quiet for a second. the fury still bubbling inside. “she’s the only one. i know she would never tell you because she hates you too.”

joel knows you’re right. when sarah found out about her dad’s disgusting behavior, she hated him since. still now to this day and joel doesn’t blame her.

you know sarah didn’t tell him. he must’ve heard it from someone else. now thinking about her, you miss her. she was like a daughter to you. recalling your time together, girl bonding days, pranking joel whenever he got home from work, helping her with her homework, talking about boys.

beautiful memories destroyed by joel’s hands.

it was hard to leave her behind. as if you were abandoning your own daughter. hell, if you could you would’ve taken her with you. you keep in contact with her once in a while. last time was six months ago. she’s been okay, busy with school.

after the whole cheating affair and your departure, sarah refused to stay home with her bastard cheating father. it was a long battle between them. she told you everything on the phone. turns out she has been staying with her uncle tommy, joel’s brother, and his wife maria for a year now. rarely visits joel as a way she still acknowledges him since she’s still his daughter, unfortunately.

“she doesn’t talk to me.” joel reveals solemnly, even though you already know. “she lives with tommy.”

you remain silent, desperately wanting this conversation to end and him to leave.

“she misses you, everyone misses you… i miss—”

“don’t.” you snarl. “don’t you fucking dare say that.”

joel whispers your name so softly, it makes your blood boil. you continue cutting him off, never letting him get the chance to say any bullshit.

“i can’t believe you have the fucking audacity to come here and say sorry after breaking my fucking heart. breaking your fucking promise to leave me alone but that’s what you’re good at, breaking promises.“ your tone raises, all of your fury spilling out. “i’m not gonna tell you again, fuck off.”

luna starts growling, specifically at joel. she growls whenever you’re angry, scared or danger is nearby.

joel stands there like the pathetic fuck he is, bullshit spilling out of his mouth. “i know- please—”

“back off, huevón.”

a third, familiar voice steps in. turning around, you see miguel standing there with a scowl on his face. staring down at joel with skeptical, cautious eyes. clenched fists hanging at his sides.

you are surprised yet… relieved he’s here.

joel, on the other hand, is completely caught off guard by a man with an intense bulky structure as if he is a bodybuilder. just so intimidating.

“who the hell are you?” joel asks, his expression matching miguel’s.

“a concern individual.” miguel answers curtly. “she isn’t going to tell you again, leave.”

the frown on joel’s deepens a little. “look, pal - i understand your concern and i promise i’m not bothering her in any way but this is a private conversation.” his tone remains civil yet a bit stern.

“yet you are bothering her by not leaving like she told you.” miguel rebuttals, slowly approaching and stands by your side. arms crossed over his chest.

oh shit - you recognize that pissed off look on joel’s face. he’s a man not to mess with, you’ve seen what he is capable of. but compared to miguel, joel probably wouldn’t stand a chance. not to mention miguel is in the military and has more combat experience. but the last thing you want is a fight.

“who are you? her bodyguard?” joel injects.

“enough, joel. just leave.” you step in, staring at him.

joel’s eyes flicker between you and miguel as if he’s connecting dots. “are you with him?” he sounds in disbelief, or rather surprised.

the audacity this motherfucker has.

“no i’m not, joel. even if i was, you have no right to talk shit. now you need to leave.”

the man stands there in silence. eyes filled with guilt and irritation. guilty of the pain he causes you and irritated because of bigfoot beside you. the heavy glare from miguel making joel feel annoyed yet uneasy. there’s only one choice for him to do.

with a heavy sigh, joel raises his hands in a cautious manner. “alright… i’ll go. i’m sorry...” as he turns and begins walking away, feeling yours and miguel’s glare, he stops when he hears your voice.

“don’t ever come back here again.” pure fury in your tone. you had to let him know loud and clear.

he sends you a pitiful look, only giving you a nod before turning back and walking away.

you and miguel keep a careful eye on him until joel is completely out of your sight. a large wave of relief courses through you. a big weight lifted off your chest, allowing you to breathe. finally letting out that breath you have been waiting to let out.

“you okay?” miguel asks, concerned.

“yeah.” you sigh, looking back at him. “thanks for having my back with that shit.”

“always.” he said sincerely. “i was coming back from the boxing gym and i heard yelling so i walked over to see you arguing. i was worried he wouldn’t leave you alone so i had to intervene. i’m sorry if it was too much and suddenly barging in.”

you lightly shake your head. “no no it’s okay, i get it. i’m actually glad you did, thank you.”

miguel nods, relieved that you were okay with his sudden arrival. he was afraid that he was invading your personal affairs but the fury on your face and your body language, stepping away from joel, caused miguel to act, to be a protector and defender.

“should we head back inside?”

“yeah, i need a drink after that shit.”

both of you chuckle as you head back inside, leaving behind the mess joel left here.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ ┈ ₊ ୧ ┈

you and miguel return to your apartment. the argument leaves you an emotional, pissed off mess so you lazily search for that bottle of wine your sister gave you as a birthday present.

“i can take care of it.” miguel offers in a gentle tone.

“no it’s okay, i got it.” you softly reject, lazily reaching up for two glasses from the cabinet.

“hermosa…i know you do but you shouldn’t have to worry about one more thing.”

he’s right, you know he is.

this whole shitshow, that asshole joel running back into your life just to see you and try to win you back after the shit he did is unbelievable.

not only it left you pissed off but also mentally exhausted from those painful, unwelcome memories.

a sigh escapes your lips. “you’re right… thank you.”

miguel flashes a small smile as he gently takes the glass cups from you, taking care of it while you sit down on the couch snuggling with luna.

he walks over and hands over your glass. you thank him with a kind smile before he sits down beside you, leaving a few inches of space between you.

it was silent for a moment until you speak.

“sorry you had to witness that.”

“no it’s okay. i was more worried than bothered.”

miguel hesitates to ask the next question. who that man was? he already knows the answer but still can’t make assumptions, you never know.

“what do you think of my ex?” you joke sarcastically, taking a sip of your wine.

yep, he was right.

“honestly, an asshole. no offense.”

that makes your chuckle, making miguel smile.

“a selfish, cheating asshole to be exact.”

miguel’s eyes wide in shock, in disbelief.

how could anyone cheat on you? a kind, generous person. that idiot has lost his damn mind.

“that’s insane, him cheating on you.”

you shrug. “three years of dating and decided to fuck a random woman on our shared bed. classic, right?”

oh now miguel is pissed off. blood boiling in anger, disbelief, frustration, and sorrow.

how could that asshole do that to you? three years of dating? that’s a long time and he decided to throw it all away for a random woman?

joel has no idea how lucky he was.

“i’m so sorry, that’s horrible.”

“what’s worse is when his daughter found out.”

miguel’s brows furrowed in surprise. “daughter?”

“yeah, he has a daughter named sarah. the mother is unknown. when she found out, it was chaos.”

miguel stares at you in disbelief, more than he already is. this cheating idiot has a daughter? that’s just unbelievable, crazy even. what kind of an example is he setting up for his daughter?

“we were the perfect family, just the three of us. well, luna too so four.” hint of sorrow in your tone, making miguel’s heart ache. “sarah was like a daughter to me. she even called me ‘mom’ sometimes.” a sad smile on your face, flashbacks of those times. “until her dad decided to fuck another woman.”

flashbacks of the horrible night haunts you.

“it was all perfect until he broke it with his stupidity.” miguel can sense the resentment you have for joel, rightfully so. “not only he hurt me but sarah too.”

the look you give him stings miguel’s heart. aching terribly for you and sarah.

a sad sigh escapes you. “it was so chaotic… everything was… ruined.” you take another sip, a bit more this time to drink down those tears slowly prickling your eyes. “i had to leave… i had to get out of there… i couldn’t stay in the same house, the same bed where he had someone else there.”

immense remorse is all miguel could feel. how sorry he is for you, thinking you deserve way much better. how his heart aches seeing you sad, hurt and frustrated. it pained him, an awful feeling setting on his chest. to see you not smiling or laughing like your typical self makes his heart crack.

all because of that idiot who didn’t deserve you.

he also doesn’t ignore the thin layer of tears that are slowly forming in those pretty eyes.

all he wants to do is pull you into a hug but miguel isn’t sure if you’re comfortable with that. so instead, he simply listens as the good person he tries to be.

“sarah doesn’t live with him anymore, she lives with her uncle, joel’s brother.” just mentioning his name alone makes you gag. “she hates him as much as i do.” you let out a weak chuckle.

rightfully so, miguel thought.

“i sometimes talk to her, once in a while. she’s fine, busy with school. last time we talked, she mentioned some boy she’s been talking to. i hope they’re doing okay, doing better than her dad and i.”

that joke makes miguel frown, remorsefully.

“i really thought it was perfect… but i remind myself that not everything lasts forever.”

those words hit miguel deeply, right into his chest. he definitely knows what you mean.

“so i left, without telling anyone because i didn’t want them to know or tell joel.”

miguel nods, understanding. he wouldn’t either if he was in your position. that idiot has no right to know.

“it was very hard the first year… took me a while to heal, get over it but i eventually did. until that asshole showed up, opening up pandora’s box.” you let out another sigh. “but i’m not gonna fall back into that shithole.” a bit of confidence in your tone. “i worked my ass off to get where i am now, i’m not getting let that asshole hold me back, undo everything.”

seeing you regaining your confidence makes miguel smiles, proudly and happily.

“not today satan.” you make a toast.

miguel chuckles, lightly tapping his glass with yours and drink together to that toast.

“i’m really sorry you went through that.” miguel starts off. “you deserve better than that, and sarah.”

“thanks.” you flash him a little, appreciated smile. “sorry for trauma dumping on you.”

“don’t be.” he shakes his head. “i appreciate that you were comfortable with telling me this.”

“well, i appreciate you being a great listener.”

you smile at one another, a little longer than usual. gazing into each other’s eyes. those mahogany ones boring into yours, lost in trance. neither of you notice how close you are to each other. it’s unclear who moves closer during your conversation. now you happen to be barely inches apart.

you were being honest about miguel being a great listener. it’s hard to find someone who is. sure, you have friends but you don’t see them often like you do with miguel. being around him makes you feel at ease, and safe. a strange yet comforting feeling. miguel feels the same way. a feeling he isn’t so familiar with, not for a long time.

the staring contest continues until the ding! sound from your phone makes you both snap out of it. grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you receive a text from mj asking for a girls day out with her and lyla. glancing at the time, you realize it’s late. miguel should head back home.

“it’s late, i don’t wanna keep you up.”

“you’re not but…” miguel glances at the time on his watch. “i guess it is.”

after helping you put away the glasses, you and miguel say your goodbyes for the night. you take a nice, long shower to wash the feelings away. sipping inside the soft sheets of your bed, you close your eyes forgetting today’s dilemma.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi

#⠀꒰⠀𝜗𝜚 ֺ 𓂂⠀꒱⠀﹕⠀ℬ𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝒪𝑓 𝒯ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℳ𝑒𝑠𝑠⠀.ᐟ⠀#miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #military!miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

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shiny-jr · 1 year ago

Text

from DIASOMNIA

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader.

- Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: This is just the first part, only with Diasomnia. I’ll post the rest later once its written. For now, I hope you enjoy this part! Oh, and this was inspired by the mention of letters @qierxing‘s fic inspired by the whole imposter au idea. So yeah. Hopefully I caught all the mistakes in this post because I am not rereading all that again.

Diasomnia | Ignihyde

Among the first letters you pick is carefully sealed in a black envelope. You found it peculiar that Grim, who had offered to use his claws to open the envelopes, hadn’t been able to cause the slightest tear as if it were being protected by some magic. But it opened with ease during your first attempt to rip it open.

You didn’t care much for the wax family crest that had sealed it, or the black envelope itself. Maybe it would feel liberating to just set them all ablaze as soon as you finished skimming over the carefully written words.

To my dearest human,

I understand the pain I have caused you.

Ever since that moment I betrayed you, all I have seen in my vision and in my mind is your expression of terror. It tortures me. Your terror spurred by my actions and my very own hands. I am your most beloved and loyalest of companions in this world, and yet, had my retainers behind those doors not intervened, you would have been gone forever. And it would have been all my doing, all my fault.

I write this letter to apologize, but as I write this, I realize that there is no forgiving what has been done. Ever. No matter how I plead or what comes from my lips. But I will say this: there are no amount of words that can truly convey how sorry I am. This will haunt me for the remainder of my centuries of life.

Agonizing thoughts plague my mind and torment me at all hours of the day and night, at every and each moment. Even now, I reflect on everything I had done to harm you. While, the time I believed in those falsehoods was minuscule compared to the days others knew and acted upon it, the fact still stands that I was too easily deceived by mere rumors alone. I was blinded by my rage when I heard that someone dared to impersonate you and had been the probable cause of your vessel’s malfunction, that I did not even take a brief respite to consider the validity of the information that reached my ears.

Believe me, although I realize you have no reason to hold even a shred of faith in a single word I say and for that I would not blame you, but I will atone for the crimes I have committed. In any way possible. Even if it takes my entire lifetime, I will continue forward until I have achieved this goal and you may smile upon me once again. There is a human saying, which if I recall correctly I believe goes something like, forgive but never forget. Well, I would beg for forgiveness, while knowing full well that my misdeeds will never truly be forgotten. The harm I inflicted will leave scars that will never fully fade.

For every scratch my nails left on your delicate flesh, you may drive vines of the sharpest thorns against my own skin until blood pools all around me. For every bruise from my hand that tainted you, I would hand you an iron sword to use as you wish against me until you believe I’ve had enough. If it pleased you, I would even utilize my magic to transform into a figure with wings, which I would then proceed to sever the wings by my own hand and offer them to you on a silver platter.

Any punishment you can think of, I would readily accept.

Although living with the guilt of my mistakes and knowledge of the weight of my actions against you, is by far the most painful torture I’ve ever known.

If I do not receive word from you soon, I fear I may go insane with my own guilt. Yet I know I bring this upon myself. And if I were to go insane, if I was not insane this entire time already, you are all that would be in my thoughts. You are all that would remain in the part of my mind that is intact. You are currently and have been all that I think of, so perhaps my sanity is already long gone.

I would venture into the deepest crevices of hell and back, just to prove my worth to you. Even if I must be punished for the rest of my life, so be it. But I implore you to allow me to redeem myself, let yourself bear witness to the incredible feats I may accomplish in your name. Redemption... The thought of perhaps one day receiving the blessing of your smile and your grace once more in the near or distant future, is the light at the end of the tunnel in this dark period of my existence. I am yours. Whether you still desire me or not, I will forever be yours, and I will brave through trials of fire to demonstrate my eternal devotion to you.

Just know that I will do everything in my power to please you. Whether it be to fulfill the judgement you cast upon me, to demonstrate my worth and determination to achieve redemption, or simply because you command it so, it shall be done.

For now, I will wait on your response and deliberate over my next course of action. Should you desire anything, anything at all, wether it be something as simple as traveling to the store for a purchase, you have a moment of recluse and desire company, or if you command me to move the island or clear the very heavens, all you must do is speak my name. Then, consider it done. Once my name is upon your lips, I will be there as the last syllable leaves your tongue.

I will await the moment I am summoned.

Forever yours,

Malleus Draconia

That was... unnerving. Your hand unconsciously drifted up to the slight puncture wounds on your neck. They had long since dried, but you vividly remember feeling the thin trail of crimson being drawn and dripping down like a steady stream.

You could remember the way Malleus withdrew as soon as he realized the truth, like he had been burned with his hands on you in that fashion. The blood, your blood, staining his sharpened nails. The red was deeper than any nail polish or ink.

You were nearly sent spiraling, until you felt a tap and the texture of paper against your arm. When you glance down, you see Grim pressing his paws with another crumpled letter onto you. The ink on this letter is red, but the feline’s wide curious eyes are a glowing blue.

“You okay? What’s so interesting about that wall you’re lookin’ at? You’re kinda just staring off into nothing there.”

Offering a grateful nod to Grim who frowned worriedly, you accept the already opened envelope while tossing aside the letter from Malleus. “I’m good. Just... thinking.”

Lifting a hand, you place your palm against his head and scratch the spot behind his ears. Grim lets out a content purr and holds a bag of junk food, which he probably found among the mountain of gifts, and curls up beside you. You continue the slow and soothing scratches as you use your freehand to unravel the letter Grim brought you from the towering stacks.

This envelope was already cut open. It was a light brown and more square-shaped as thin rope kept it tied together. It had a mash of colorful strings that formed a messy bow to top it off. At least, you assumed it was meant to be a bow, but it looked more like a messy knot that would be impossible to untangle. Good thing it was already partially cut by Grim’s claws earlier.

As mentioned, the ink was red, an interesting choice. While the handwriting was not as elegant as Malleus’ letter. Some words were written neatly, before falling off the line and blending with other words. Making it a bit difficult to read, but you managed.

If you’re reading this,

This means that I am not irredeemable in your eyes.

Had I been beyond redemption, you would have not even opened this letter. If this was a lost cause, a merry dance, this paper would’ve been tossed into the trash without a second thought. But, my words have reached you. You’re reading this right now, aren’t you? It’s why I decided to write this. I could predict the actions you’d take. You are different from your vessel, but it’s only natural that you would act similarly to the silly little doll you controlled, the same doll that sparked this whole fiasco.

I truly am so sorry if I frightened you. While I will admit, it was my intention to strike fear into your heart and use you to serve for another dubious purpose, that was when I hadn’t recognized you. Although, I know this doesn’t mean much to you, I figured I should be entirely honest to you. It’s the least I can do. I’m such a fool for being quick to believe the rumors like some sort of senseless child.

All I can do now, is remain true and offer up my loyalty. It’s nothing compared to the mistakes I made, and I’ve made plenty, but I know an apology will never suffice. So, even if you’re still uncertain about redemption, I’ll remain loyal. Among all the beings and creatures I’ve met in my lifetime, you remain an enigma. You’re human, but at the same time, you’re different. There continues to be so much I do not know of you. I wonder, could you hear me whenever I spoke to your plaything? Do you recall the stories I told, of my time as a reckless youth? Foolhardy, wild, that I was. But I was also fiercely loyal. For the Draconias, I razed down all foes like wheat in a field.

Now that I consider it, perhaps it's best if you hadn’t heard me recount those tales. While I had been eager to share with you my experiences and act out my thrilling adventures, perhaps my story telling was much too graphic. I wouldn’t want the vivid details of bloodshed to be cause for alarm as our most recent encounter was far from pleasant. You have to forgive me, sometimes I get carried away when narrating my accomplishments and exploits. I’ll share more light-hearted memories with you the next time we meet.

Our first meeting with your true self really went abysmally, didn’t it? I know that things never really go as planned, so I don’t bother planning such things in advance. But, I had pictured it to be a lovely moment. Silver and Sebek would look at you with shining eyes and proclaim their loyalty as they had practiced vows over and over again for such an occasion, I would get to embrace your true form and unlock your secrets, and of course Malleus would be truly content for once as he finally received the company he deserved.

But, as expected, things didn’t go accordingly.

Those three youths are miserable, thinking of the proper words to pen, a way to apologize for the suffering they’ve caused. But now, we are the ones suffering because we hurt you.

They write and write, but tear their letters over and over again as they believe no words they’ve written so far are adequate. Soon they’ll realize that no words will ever be sufficient for an apology. Even if they were to create new words that are unheard of by any dictionary, it would not come close to being enough. That’s why I’ve decided to stick with this single attempt, because I already know that nothing I ever write will measure up to being acceptable.

There is something about you that always leaves me bemused. Your grace left me feeling dizzy and giddy, like I was experiencing a little crush again, although this was much more intense than any crush. The truth about your vessel controlled by you, had me perplexed as I had never heard of such a thing. And well, the disastrous chase that followed your arrival... you know that part well and could assume how I feel about that from what I’ve told you. At present, all I can do is remain loyal, for what my loyalty is worth to you. Beyond that, despite having an abundance of experiences, there is no such situation that could have prepared me for this moment.

Genuinely, I am stumped once again. I cannot even envision what can be done with my own two hands, that can be worthy of your attention once again and earn me redemption. But, you can be certain of one thing, and that is: my loyalty is undying. I still have a few years left in these old bones of mine, and I will use the rest of my life to serve you.

Whether you want me or not. If you still want me, I will be of use to you. Whatever you are in need of, a soldier, a plaything, a companion, or even someone to take out your anger on. I shall be it. If you don’t want me, I will still be there. I will always be there to smile and lift your spirits like you once did for me through your doll.

I eagerly wait for word from you.

Until we meet again soon,

Lilia Vanrouge

None of these letters were comforting in the slightest. In fact, they only placed you further on edge. For a moment, you considered stopping it here after only two and getting rid of the rest.

Grim by now had settled in your lap, and looked up at you with those watchful blue eyes. Had he been staring at you the entire time?

“Let me guess, they’re not taking it well?”

“No, not at all.” You answer with a grimace. If this was how they were like now, you didn’t even want to know how they acted when they found out your vessel stopped working over a week ago.

“Huh, sucks for them.” The feline stretched out, his claws poking out for a moment before quickly retracting as he plopped back down on his back with his stomach up. Maybe it was his own attempts to fill the silence, or to let you know you weren’t alone, but he eventually groaned. “Hey, read me one. I wanna know what they say.”

Unable to say no to your companion, you nodded slowly and smiled weakly, “Alright, alright, let’s see what we have here...”

You plucked out a random letter with neat packaging. However, just because the exterior was pretty, didn’t mean the interior message would be. You learned that already from the last two letters you had read.

This envelope looked somewhat similar to the last one, square-shaped and tied closed with string. However, instead of the knot of ribbons on it, it held a simpler gift. The brown rope around it was tied in a neat bow, and between the string were lavender stems with a small branch of wild berries.

Grim immediately indulged in the berries and the flowers, staining his little fangs and whiskers with the sweet sticky juice and purple petals. All the while exclaiming, “Oh, oh! I remember this letter. Some bird came to drop it and it flew away just before I could catch it...”

A short laugh escaped your lips as you hear him. “So that’s why you were grumbling this morning.”

Not wanting to be reminded again, he swat his paw at your nose as the feline hissed, “Shh! Just read already!”

Dear player,

I truly am deeply remorseful and I offer my sincerest apologies.

I was to be a knight, that has been something I have strived for ever since I was a child. A knight not just to serve Malleus but to protect others, and eventually I discovered my purpose was to serve you as well. But... all I did was stand idly by and watch the torment. Shortly after meeting your vessel, I had promised to shield you from all danger. I broke that promise.

I cannot imagine how frightened you must have been. Had just one person stop and thought things through, they may have realized the horrible mistake that was being made. Had I acted as soon as I felt the tug on my heart when I saw you weakened and on the dirt, I may have saved you from anymore pain.

Those eyes, your eyes, I see them in my sleep. You were scared, and through your gaze you were pleading for help, were you not? I see it every time I close my eyes. You witnessed it yourself, the very moment when I had failed you. You were right there, so close I could have extended a helping hand. But my grief rendered me sightless, all I could think of in that moment is how my heart ached and how I longed to see you again. Even if it was through your vessel. The rumors didn’t quite make any sense to me, as I wondered how could anyone possibly be so cruel as to tear you away from us?

Father had said that it would all be over soon. That capturing the imposter and bringing them to their knees, would make everything better. But when I saw you on the ground before we learned of your identity, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was alright. Would the player have wanted this? Would they have scorned upon witnessing the scene? Would this undoubtedly end the throbbing pain I felt in my heart? The pain was becoming unbearable, and I was not the only one to feel it. The news made little sense to me. Sebek insisted that it was true, and Father seemed to believe so as well. However, that is no excuse for how I went along as if it were okay.

You were innocent and helpless, you, the player, not only witnessed the scene but were the victim. I’m so sorry, I should have done something... If it were the only way to gain your forgiveness, I would spend every moment of my waking hours writing letters of apology. To do so I would keep myself awake for as long as humanely possible. If asked, I would use every moment to pen these letters, each different from the last. Although after several attempts in redoing this single letter, I realize that it would be a pointless endeavor.

After reflecting, the only way to make up for what I have do is be patient.

Be patient and await for word from you. I cannot force you, I cannot pressure you, I can only pause and prepare myself to do whatever I must in order to earn back your grace.

Please, do not keep me waiting too long. I know I have no right to ask you this. I’m willing to wait years if needed, but part of me has this fear that I will never regain a spot near your heart until I’m frail and feeble with age. Rest assured, even in old age, I would be willing to be your knight. Even if my bones ached, I would raise my sword and shield. If I couldn’t use my weakened legs, I would call upon a horse to be my steed. And if I were to become magicless, I would use the remainder of my physical strength to serve you.

If I may be honest with you? I have no idea what to do. Yes, I said I would wait, but what else can I do? What can I do to eventually secure a place beside you, if it were possible? In times of trouble I normally turn to Lilia and Malleus for advice, however, I am a bit unsettled by their approach to this delicate matter. Truthfully, I am anxious, but while they share the sentiment, they are oddly confident that things will turn out alright in the end. I am unsure how they can muster the self-assurance to quell their fears. Maybe they know something that I do not, and have decided not to share this secret for now...

Nevertheless, for now I’ll eagerly anticipate the day we can reunite just as I have dreamed. I greatly look forward to the second where not only I can see you smile once again and your eyes might finally look at me with content, but also the moment where all those I know might get the opportunity to be in your peaceful grace.

I’ve dragged this letter on for too long. If you were to take something away from this letter, let it be this: I will carry out your wishes. No matter what you may think of me, whether it be a positive or negative image in your mind, I will continue forward in your name. Even if you think me unfit for the title of knight, then consider me a humble servant instead. Nothing will shake my commitment, and I will do whatever it is you ask.

This is a pledge that will not be broken.

Cordially,

Silver

This letter felt a bit lighter than the others. Still, it was slightly intense in its own way, but it was nowhere near as extreme as the previous two were. And, maybe you had a better opinion on Silver, not because he was gentle with his words but because he was one of the very few who hadn’t threatened you, directly harmed you, or treated you cruelly.

But! He didn’t get a free pass just because of that. Yes, he may not have directly caused any harm, but he didn’t exactly help you either.

Grim had taken the letter from you, and inspected the paper in his paws. He held it above his head, scrunching up his nose a bit as he looked it over. “I dunno... he’s okay.”

At that, you roll your eyes a bit as a smirk crept up from the corner of your mouth. “You’re not just saying that because his letter came with a snack?”

“No! You think me easy to bribe? I think not! It would take a whole bucket full of berries just to get me to even discuss it. Then, I’d turn them down and take the berries anyways!” The feline proclaimed his brilliant plan should that situation ever arise. Maybe the gifts you allowed him to take were starting to get to his head. “But... he could be worse. Silver, as dumb as he was like everyone else, he did hear me out after they separated us.”

Silver did that? If that were true, it’s possible that he wasn’t as bad as the others who had wronged you.

“That’s... good to know.” You murmur as you pluck up another random envelope from the pile.

The last envelope you pick up before you planned to take a break was surprisingly plain. It was just that. A plain white envelope, sealed by green wax with what looked like a family crest that depicted a creature with fangs and scales. One of the corners was crinkled, as if it was gripped too tightly there.

As soon as you slid out the folded letter, you were bombarded by the ink. Whoever had wrote this, seemed like they applied too much force. This caused certain parts of some letters to be too round and heavy with ink that made those bits feel damp and stain your fingers the slightest bit. Like whoever wrote this, placed just as much pressure with their hands on the pen gliding across the page, as much pressure as they felt weighing on their mind.

Great Player,

As I pen this, I am on my hands and knees.

I have prepared a multitude of letters which I will send daily, so that now and in the future you will continue to hear my apology and know I truly mean it. One admission of regret is not enough. An apology is only an acknowledgment of an offense, it does not absolve one of their wrongdoings. I know this! So, I, Sebek Zigvolt, will atone by any means necessary!

To you, the player who I wronged and deserves nothing but happiness and perfection, I give my deepest sincerest profuse apology. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY. Right now when I look at my hands that I use to write, I’m reminded of the vicious way I grabbed you like some... heathen! These hands sullied your flawless self, and for that alone I will never forgive myself!

Had it not been for the wise words of Master Lilia and the bothersome yet logical reasoning from Silver, I would have been at your door everyday, every hour, begging for a second chance. In the midst of brainstorming, I presented my idea of crawling on hands and knees, from Diasomnia to the Ramshackle Dorm, to deliver the letter myself. Then, I would display whatever cuts or bruises formed on my palms and knees which I would receive from the rocky roads or thorns, that way you may see my devotion was true and no lengths are too great when it comes to you! No matter the pain or burden! The idea seems to appeal to Lord Malleus, but I was told that it comes off as too extreme...

But! I beg to differ!! I only consider it so that you may understand what I feel, so that you might comprehend the things I would do for you, and receive me back in your good graces! Additionally, delivering the letter in this manner would cause me as much or more physical pain than I caused you! It is a shame that things have come to this. I had wished so much for our first proper meeting to be one of joy where you might accept me as your knight! In spite of that, I will not falter in shame! If I were to deliver the following letters in that method I had detailed earlier, I would wear the scars proudly! It would be physical proof of my faithfulness towards you!

I am sorry, and I will continue to say it. Perhaps, this may be presumptuous of me, but if you consider it, Diasomnia did not torment you nearly as long as any other insolent dorm had! And! We retainers accompanied Lord Malleus every day to check on the wellbeing of your vessel, and watch over it while investigating various possible approaches on how to revive Yuu. We diligently did this until the moment we encountered your true self!

I swear to you, no one shall harm you from this moment forth!

From now on, I’ll march forward and see to it that you are never hurt ever again! This is something I know that my fellow dormmates will tirelessly work toward as well.

Have you realized that we have been guarding you and the serenity of your dorm in the past days? Have you not thought it strange that none have come to needlessly pester you? Yes, that is all thanks to the efforts of those in Diasomnia! Even when you do not realize it, we are insuring your welfare and the tranquility you require to recover! Of course, as much as I desperately want to inform you of the details, I will not. It is best you don’t know.

Now, I must be honest with you. Originally, I had planned this letter to be much longer and have contents that would have been much different than what you are currently reading. I aimed to be honest in my feelings! But before I could sign off on the original draft, I realized that the others may be in the right. It is possible that our devotion, my devotion, may come off as disquieting if I were completely sincere. I’ve had to restrain myself on many occasions, reminding myself to at least appear collected and controlled. That is not as easy as it sounds!

How could it be, when the one I must suppress my emotions and actions for, is you? That’s as if asking to repress part of my very soul and heart! I absolutely detest hiding it!! But when I remember this is for you and your own comfort, it becomes bearable. I can only hope that soon, very soon, I might be able to unveil my true sentiments towards you! As intense and extreme as they may be!

It seems that I’m nearing the word limit that they imposed. Once again, I apologize. I’ll have to contemplate new ways to write ‘sorry.’ I wish I could write a million more words for you! But even a million words wouldn’t be anywhere near a satisfactory amount for me to detail how much I revere you! And it would take more than another million words for me to write a full apology, but even then I wouldn’t be satisfied! No single letter is adequate enough, so be prepared to receive the rest I have written!

I will make sure they are delivered posthaste!

Faithfully,

Sebek Zigvolt

Great... you’re back to being unnerved again.

There was something about them all being so weirdly obsessed, but in vary different ways. Malleus and Lilia puzzled you, they had you feeling the most uneasy by far. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were both not human, they were arcane beings with enigmatic personalities and objectives that were incomprehensible to you.

Out of the four, Silver was the only one that was fully human like yourself, but even he was a bit of a mystery as he was raised by the fae. It was hard to be wary of him, which was probably because your distrust and fear of him wasn’t as intense as it was towards the others due to his good nature and lack of actions he took during the whole disaster.

As for Sebek, well, he was unnerving in his own right but it was nowhere near on the level that Malleus and Lilia were on. At the very least he wasn’t a complete mystery to you. It was easy to figure out his intentions, because he either said them or wore them on his sleeve.

Your mind was spinning as you looked over the four letters, filled with lines upon lines and more lines of pages. In that moment your breath quickened as you noticed the cloudy sky outside. For a brief second, you feared you would see that familiar flash of green lightning, taking you back to that dark day when you nearly died. It’s like you could feel Sebek’s hands tightly gripping the back of your skull that forced you against the earth, you saw Silver’s sorrowful gaze that spoke a thousand words you didn’t yet understand, you heard Lilia’s words hinting to a doomed fate of becoming some lifeless doll, and god, you couldn’t forget him even if you wanted to. Malleus. He was the worst of all. You felt his nails and fingers constricting around your neck and squeezing out all the air, you saw his haunting green eyes with those slit pupils as he glowered at you with such anger and hate, and you heard what you had thought would be the last words you ever heard come from his lips––

“Hey!”

You were torn out of those dark thoughts by the feline in your lap. A concerned frown tugged at Grim’s lips, but once he saw he had your attention, he mustered a slight grin as he held up what looked like an armful of snacks. At least, as much as he could carry in his small paws. From his grin, you could see his little fangs still covered in the remnants of the berries and flower petals.

“Look, I found your favorite! This is getting boring, so let’s just take a break!”

3K notes · View notes

d0llcuries · 3 months ago

Text

LYING HAS TO STOP

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: neteyam is haunted by memories he shared with you before he left for awa'atlu

author's note: i think this could technically count as angst but it's more melancholic to me, there's just lots of longing. consider this a warning i suppose. i really can't put it here but listen to “lying has to stop” by clairo while reading for the best experience!! unrelated but i have midterms tomorrow and i haven't studied #yolo !!! 😜 (help me)

neteyam stood on the shore of awa’atlu, watching the sky, it's orange and pink light reflecting off the vast, endless sea. the sky here always seemed too wide, too open, nothing like the comforting embrace of the forest canopy he had grown up beneath. here, there were no towering trees to shelter him, the cool breeze that came off the ocean didn’t carry the scent of the forest, of wet earth and soft moss.

two years had passed since they fled. two years since the sully family left their home, their people, and everything they had known. awal'atu, for all its beauty, for all the new skills and wonders he had discovered, this place would never be home.

home was where she was.

he glanced down at the bracelet that circled his wrist, a simple thing—woven vines and tiny purple and blue beads. he hadn’t taken it off since the day she gave it to him. the memory of that moment was burned into his mind, one of the last things he could hold onto when everything else had been stripped away.

the way her wide, tear-filled eyes had stared up at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was leaving. he explained everything to her, his voice breaking as he explained why they couldn’t stay. she had understood, of course. she always understood. but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

the day his family decided to leave the omaticaya had been one of the worst of his life. the guilt of it still weighed heavily on his shoulders. they had no choice—quaritch wasn’t just hunting his father, he was hunting all of them. staying would have put their entire clan in danger, would have brought death and destruction to their people. but leaving... leaving meant abandoning the life they had built. it meant leaving her.

he could still feel the soft warmth of her hands, the trembling in her fingers as they brushed against his skin. and he could still hear the way her voice had cracked when she told him she loved him, right before she kissed him as if for the first time. her lips soft and trembling, her breath warm and uneven, the way she had pressed herself so close to him, as if she were trying to imprint herself into his very soul. he had kissed her back just as fiercely, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

his heart ached at the memory. every night he replayed it over and over, the feel of her, the taste of her, the way her breath had hitched in her throat when he deepened the kiss. he could still taste the salt of her tears, mingling with the sweetness of her lips. it had been bittersweet—knowing it was a goodbye, even if she had promised it wasn’t forever.

forever, neteyam. i’ll wait forever.

he wanted to believe her. he had to believe her. but the distance between them seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

bitterness haunted his heart at the thought of what should have been. they were supposed to be mated by now. it was all so clear back then, so simple. it wasn’t even a question of if, but when. he could still remember the way she had smiled when he first mentioned the possibility of them being mated, how her cheeks had flushed a soft shade of violet, her eyes bright with excitement. he remembered how shy she had been at first, her hands fidgeting nervously as she offered him a carved trinket she had made. a symbol of their courtship. his heart had swelled with pride and affection, and he had taken it from her as if it were the most precious thing in the world. and to him, it was. everything she touched became sacred, imbued with her warmth and care. the future had seemed so sure, so inevitable, like the turning of the seasons or the rise of the sun.

but then quaritch came back, rearing his ugly head into their lives once more, like a demon from some nightmare. everything shifted in that instant. the careful plans they had laid, the promises they had made—all of it was torn apart in the blink of an eye. nothing was certain anymore. nothing was safe.

the metkayina were kind, welcoming. they had taught him to swim, to ride the ilu, to adapt to their ways. but no matter how much he learned, no matter how skilled he became in their ways, neteyam still felt like a stranger. and at night, when the village was quiet and the only sound was the soft lapping of the waves against the shore, he let himself feel it. the loneliness, the heartache, the longing for a life that seemed further away than ever before.

he thought of her constantly. every day, every night. he wondered what she was doing, if she was safe, if she still thought of him the way he thought of her. he would lie awake, imagining what it would be like to see her again. to hold her. to hear her laugh. his mind would drift back to the quiet moments they had shared—the way she would lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder, the way her fingers would trace the lines of his palm as they sat together in the stillness of the forest.

she was always there, in the back of his mind, a constant, aching presence. he would catch glimpses of her in the most unexpected moments—a flash of her smile in the curve of a wave, the sound of her laughter in the distant call of a tulkun. at night, when the village was quiet and the stars reflected off the still water, he let himself remember her fully, let himself drown in the memories of her.

he remembered how she used to laugh, how her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she was truly happy. how she would tug at his braids playfully, teasing him in that soft, affectionate way of hers. he could still hear her voice, soft and melodic, as she whispered his name in the quiet moments they shared alone.

but as the days stretched into months, and the months into years, that trust had started to feel fragile. had she moved on? the thought plagued him, gnawed at him like a festering wound. she had promised to wait, but how long could he really expect her to? he didn’t know when—or if—he would ever return. and if she had found someone else, if she had chosen to be with another, he couldn’t blame her. he knew she had every right to. after all, he had left her. not by choice, but he had still left. he couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold, to wait indefinitely for something that might never happen.

the idea of her being with someone else, though—it tore at him. the thought of another man holding her, kissing her, making her smile the way he used to—it was unbearable.

“neteyam?” his father’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. jake stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the fading light. neteyam had grown used to the look—his father’s concern, his quiet observations. “you alright, boy?”

neteyam nodded, though the tightness in his chest told a different story. “yeah.”

jake studied him for a moment, then sighed, stepping closer. “i know this move hasn’t been easy for you,” he said, his voice gentle. “for any of us. but you... you’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders.”

neteyam glanced down at the sand beneath his feet, not trusting himself to speak. his father didn’t know the half of it.

“ke’loreä’s been asking about you,” jake continued, his tone careful. “she’s a nice girl. strong, kind. maybe you should give her a chance.”

she was kind, sweet even, with a laugh that rang like a bell and sea-green eyes that sparkled when she looked at him. she had taken an interest in him from the beginning, always finding excuses to be near him, to talk to him, to laugh at his jokes, even the ones that weren’t particularly funny.

at first, he hadn’t noticed. or maybe he had, but he hadn’t let himself think about it. but as time passed, it became harder to ignore. she would linger by his side during training, brush her hand against his arm when she spoke, offer to help him with tasks that didn’t require any assistance. she was... nice. there was nothing wrong with her. in fact, she was everything a mate should be.

but she wasn’t his.

“i cannot,” neteyam said, his voice tight. he shook his head, his jaw clenched. “i cannot do that to her.”

“to ke’loreä?” jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

“to yn,” neteyam corrected, his chest tightening at the mere mention of her name. “i can’t... i can’t betray her like that.”

jake let out a slow breath, his expression softening. “son, it’s been two years. i know you miss her. i know this isn’t what you wanted. none of us wanted this. but you can’t hold onto the past forever. we all left people behind. but maybe it’s time to start thinking about—”

“i am not holding onto the past,” neteyam said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i am holding onto her. she is not the past. she...” he trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain the depth of what he felt. “i promised her,” he said finally. “and she promised me. i am not going to break that. she is waiting for me.”

“and what if she’s not?” jake asked quietly. the words hung in the air like a heavy weight, pressing down on neteyam’s chest.

he hadn’t let himself think about that. he couldn’t. if he let himself believe, even for a moment, that she had moved on, that she had found someone else, it would destroy him.

“she is,” neteyam said, his voice firm, though his heart trembled with uncertainty. “i know she is.”

jake didn’t say anything for a long moment. finally, he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “i just don’t want you to spend your life waiting for something that might not happen.”

neteyam swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding stiffly. his father meant well, but he didn’t understand. how could he? he didn’t know what it was like to love someone so deeply that their absence felt like a physical wound, to miss someone so much that every day without them was like another weight added to his chest.

jake didn’t push the issue any further. he placed a hand on neteyam’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning and walking back toward the village, leaving neteyam alone with his thoughts once again.

he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves wash over him. he could almost hear her voice, soft and sweet, carried on the breeze. he could almost feel her hand in his, the warmth of her skin against his. he could almost see her smile, the one that always made his heart race.

but when he opened his eyes, she was gone. just like she had been.

sobbing. should i do a part two?

#neteyam x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam oneshot #neteyam drabble #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully imagine #neteyam imagine #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully #avatar way of water #atwow #neteyam #d0llcuries stuff ꫂ ၴႅၴ

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himasgod · 2 months ago

Text

Kinich x r4ped!reader

Scaramouche x family issues!reader

(I finally finished this request! I've tried to make it as non-specific as possible, I know this is a sensitive subject. If any of you, dear readers, have gone through a similar experience, I want you to know that this is a serious subject, and that you are not alone. You have many things, many people, many laws and entities protecting you. Feel free to express yourself. You can count on me if you need anything.)

Kinich

Where you find comfort on him after being sexu4lly 4bused.

It was a thick night in Natlan, and the heat was barely able to alleviate the weight you felt in your chest. In the last few days, you had tried to return to your normal life, pretending that everything was fine; but the reality was that the shadows of your pain continued to haunt you. You didn't want to talk, not even to Kinich, afraid that your words would fail to convey the hell you had lived through. However, the concern in his eyes convinced you that tonight you could no longer bear your suffering alone.

Kinich was at your side, silent. Not asking for explanations, not pressuring. Despite his pragmatic personality, he was perceptive and knew when someone was carrying more than they could hold. He watched you for a moment, his eyes serious and attentive, without traces of judgment, only open for whatever you decided to trust him with.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to say," Kinich murmured softly, breaking the silence gently. His rough hands, accustomed to combat and hunting, sought yours with unusual care, as if he were afraid of breaking you at the slightest contact. “But I am here, for whatever you need. You know I love you, forever”

You felt the calm strength in his touch. A shiver ran through your skin, as if Natlan’s warmth was not enough to calm the coldness that had remained inside you since that fucking day. The words were stuck in your throat, and although you wanted to answer him, your voice seemed to have faded. But Kinich understood, as if your silence spoke for itself. He gently pulled you towards him, and without saying anything else, he let his arm surround your body with a protective warmth, gently, as if he were leaving you enough time to react, in case you did not want to have any contact.

“I know that what they did to you…” he began to say, his voice low and full of a weight that he rarely showed, “is something that no human being should endure. I can't undo what they did to you, or erase that pain… but I'll be here, even if you just want company without words."

You squeezed your eyes shut, and at last, the knot in your chest began to give way. Tears ran free, and Kinich didn't look away for a moment. He stayed by your side, like an immovable pillar in the middle of the storm that was hitting you. There was no rush, no attempt to change or minimize what you felt. He was simply there, sharing the weight in silence.

When you finally found your voice, you could barely whisper through your tears:

"I'm scared… scared that I'll never feel whole again, that this has taken a part of me away forever. I feel dirty, I've been taken away…"

Kinich looked at you, his gaze filled with an empathy rare in him. With a deliberate slowness, on purpose in case you didn't feel comfortable, he placed his hand on your face, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb.

"You're so much more... you are stronger than you think,” he replied, with a conviction so deep that he almost managed to make you believe him. “They haven’t taken anything from you. You will overcome it, and you will be the same as always. It is just a process that you will face… and I will be there throughout the process, helping you. You will overcome it. I promise you that.”

His words were like a balm, sincere and firm. Although the doubt and the pain were still present, Kinich’s presence enveloped you in a feeling of security. He did not promise that everything would be fine, but he did promise that he would be there, ready to accompany you in every step you took to heal.

You both stayed like that, sharing the silence under Natlan’s starry sky, and you understood that in Kinich you had found a refuge.

Scaramouche

Where he comforts you after you've told him your family's expectations of you.

The mood in Sumeru was gloomy, reflecting the weight of your thoughts. You had had a heated argument with your family earlier that morning, a conflict that seemed to repeat itself in an endless cycle. It was differences of expectations, impossible demands, and a constant comparison that drained every particle of peace you tried to build. You didn't know how to explain to them your desire to live on your own terms, without the weight of their expectations on your shoulders.

You found yourself walking aimlessly through the city, trying to clear your mind. However, a familiar shadow appeared in your path, and looking up, you saw Scaramouche, arms crossed and a disdainful expression you knew all too well.

"Are you done ghosting around town?" he asked in his usual scathing tone, but something in his eyes revealed more concern than contempt.

You sighed, trying to keep your composure, but the tension in your chest was too strong.

“If you’ve only come to make fun of it, then you might as well leave it,” you replied in a dry tone, hoping your words would drive him away.

To your surprise, Scaramouche didn’t move. Instead, he stared at you intently, as if he were trying to decipher the shadows behind your words.

“I’m not here to make fun of you, fool,” he murmured, his tone softening only slightly. “Though sometimes it seems like you don’t even understand what you need.”

His words made your barriers crumble, and without knowing how, you found yourself telling him everything. The overwhelming expectations, the rejection of your decisions, the constant criticism that felt like daggers in your heart. As you spoke, Scaramouche’s expression changed, a mix of contained rage and dark compassion that only he seemed to possess.

“So… you can’t live up to them and they know it,” he finally said, after listening to you in silence. “Why do you have to mold yourself in their image?”

You looked at him in shock, tears threatening to spill out. It was the first time someone had said it out loud, like a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to believe.

“Because… they’re my family. I’m supposed to make them happy.”

Scaramouche snorted, his gaze turning icy.

“That’s absurd,” he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Family shouldn’t be a burden that crushes you. They don’t have the right to decide how you live. If they truly loved you, why would they hurt you this way?”

His words were harsh, but they carried a sincerity that cut through every one of your doubts. You moved a little closer, seeking refuge in his presence. Though Scaramouche rarely showed affection to you, eben if he was your boyfriend, this time he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you lean on him, his hand resting gently on your back as the weight of your tears fell silently.

“You don’t need to live up to their expectations to be worth something. If they don’t see it, it’s their problem, not yours,” he murmured, almost in a whisper. “And I… well, I’m the last one who should say this, but… you’re not alone in this fight.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like someone understood you without judging you. Scaramouche, with his reticent nature and his own history of pain, knew more than he let on.

And in that instant, you realized that even if your family would never understand your choices, maybe you had someone at your side who could support you without asking for anything in return.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

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simplydnp · 8 months ago

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be honest with me. what are the chances of a hard launch in june

anon this question goes back years. and the thing is. we have been right once before.

you ask me this this time last year? fuck no. i might even quip that dapg would come back before dnp would hard launch. well. look at us now.

and even then, you look back on the content they started with in the revival--it honestly kind of felt exactly like where we left off, only a lot more explicitly queer (we stan). and then... trying to see without my glasses 2. and bang, spooky week happened. and that shifted the balance. we suddenly got slo-mo replays of handholds. day, after day, after day, finishing with the absolute masterpiece of halloween baking cinnamon rolls. in all honesty it was so much more than i'd've ever expected from them. truly another post-baking universe.

and it never really slowed down. suddenly we had cat prom photos, catboy butlers, catboy dan w/ phil photography credit, theyre 'wrestling' --running us full throttle into gamingmas, the first since 2017. and every day we had a new thing to freak out over: standing close. golf jokes. and then... pinof reacts. i don't know what compelled them to do it but i do have speculations. genuinely, i think they wanted to defang a lot of their history. we treated pinof 1, especially, with this... reverance. and it wasn't talked about too publicly--and dnp didnt do it either. so if they really wanted to move on, to bring down the walls, open the floodgates, define this new era: they had to throw the first stone. and they did. quite heartily too. suddenly this almost taboo part of their history--almost too intimate to be perceived--was on the table. and we were talking about it. joking about it. giving clear signals of 'we see it, it's okay.' and suddenly we existed in a post-pinof reacts world. of anything, i would've never predicted they would've done that. absolutely wild. follow that with it takes two being so chill and fond. incohearant being so blatant and heartfelt. trombone champ being unhinged and chaotic. the genuine and sweet complimenting of each other in the red carpet video. devan wedding... happilyphoreverafter... we crashed forward in time. never knowing what would be next. where is the line? how far will they go.

they teased us with japhan honeymoon and we knew 2024 would be wild. but we didn't know how much. from wdapteo 2023, to specific reminiscing about japan w/ devan, WAD happening, and phil playing a huge role in it all--from the orange carpet hosting, to 'ive been in *sex noises* with phil from the start!', to 'remote crisis manager phil lester', to dan saying he can stay during the thank you.

one of the biggest videos so far this year was the tiktok likes one. i will be forever haunted by the dog eating cheeseburger and willy wonka tiktoks--theres some things i was never meant to know. and yet. they tell us. explicitly.

every single video on amazingphil since the return of dapg has mentioned or featured dan. there's been a palpable shift in the way they interact. have you seen the way phil has been glowing in videos lately? this guy is on cloud nine all the time. it's really not hard to see why.

the energy of keep or yeet w/ dan... the absolute Lack of pretense of it all. phan twitter... watch your step baby girl...

dan and phil fucking crafts. talk about an unexpected return. legacy defining, one might even say. we're still in this tailspin of what everything means and they drop this insanely iconic video on us. from the storytelling to the production to the aesthetic--and its all capped off by explicit handholding. yes, it was part of the sacrifice. but hand in hand, the heart dan ripped from phils chest in one, and the knife that did it in the other... oh boy. we're really in it now. and then they put it on fucking merch. genius. truly no one does it like them.

and the foot has been on the accelerator since. dan and phil connections, shuffleboard & mocktails, getting deep slumber party, acknowledgement & approval of fics (yes previously given but never like this)--hell, even the sims today was wild for 'is their love language horrible banter 👀'.

you didn't ask for an essay but i gave you one. all of this to say, they've been moving the line. quite intentionally so. they intentionally revived their joint branding. they are 'dan and phil' again, and seem happier than ever about it, and i think that means something. they're saying things they never would have before--out of the closet or not.

as for june... 5 years since coming out is a big deal. so is this year being 15 years of dnp. hell, so is this year for being the first out pride month where they're explicitly a duo and regularly making content together. they're sentimental, there will be something.

my craziest idea is reacting to their coming out videos ✌️😔 --but i don't think it'll actually happen. as for more realistic, i could see pride merch. and however that goes will be significant, in my opinion. i'm excited and curious.

i don't know if they'll hard launch. it's hard to put all of the implications, complications, and speculations back into the box once it's opened. dan's talked about it before--wanting to be able to fuck up and not be publically executed, instead, being able to learn and grow and work it out. i think that's a very understandable stance to have. very grounded. we'd have to ask him if tour/dapg has changed that now. i do think he's had some sort of life epiphany--whether it's about that specifically, only he can say. but i think it's there.

even if i portray a lot of level-headedness, i wear my clown nose with pride. sometimes the only option is to go with whatever is funniest at the time. they're both jokesters, so they could commit to a bit like that. but it's also like, it can be too serious for them to want to joke about. i don't know. i think we're in this almost beautiful state right now--the we know you know of it all. there's no expectations, no demands to be met, no obligations of types of content. they're happy. we're happy. it depends on if they feel ready. if they want to. we'll be here, always.

#that is to say. marraige hill is starting to get crowded boys. so if you could. do something about that. thatd be great #im sure there's things ive missed but basically it comes down to this: realistically? maybe. & thats a lot fucking closer than its ever been #theyre having fun. and that means im having fun #dnp #c.text #dan and phil #phan #<- for the fandometrics #answered

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katiascraft · 10 days ago

Text

✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊

parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader

series summary: It’s the story of a woman frozen in the moment her world fell apart. A perfect dinner ended with, “I met someone else,” and while everyone moved on, she remained stuck in that instant, unable to let go of the past. A poignant tale of heartbreak, grief, and the weight of being trapped in a “forever” that never was.

🔎 chapter one: “love is short but forgetting is so long”

🔎 chapter two: “did the love affair mail you too?”

🔎 chapter three: “you kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath”

chapter four: “help, I’m still at the restaurant” -> chapter five

‼️ best friends in this chapter: nikola (nik) , dorothy (dottie) and beatrice (betty). They all know each other from Oxford University where the four of them studied creative writing.

word count: +5,1k.

BLOG MASTERLIST - series masterlist

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

yourusername uploaded a story

view story replies

agostinabff: hope you have a lovely week off mon amour!! You deserve it. We love you 💘

↳ yourusername: thank u for being the best part of my life 💌

y/nstan: omg GIRL we are the same person wtf 😭

user4: who is he and where can i find him to KILL HIM?????

nikolabff: is my air bnb recommendation good enough ????? (That looks disgusting, uber eats exists darling)

nikolabff: can't wait for tomorrow!! London should be scared of us 😈

nikolabff: did dorothy call you? She isn't answering my calls

↳ yourusername: babes!!!! Aaaaaa i'm so excited. I just ended call with dottie. She arrived safe and well, i missed you guys so much 😭 did betty text you?

↳ nikolabff: tbh she didn't but you know how she is. can't wait to see you all tomorrow!!

arthurleclerc: hey y/n i know this may be weird but just wanted to say, i read your book and it is amazing! my brother was an idiot you know? you are an amazimg person im sure you'll find someone who loves you deeply (if you didn't already. maybe you did) okay, i don't bother you any longer. hope we can meet again someday!

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ a week ago 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you. Both of these things can be true. There is happiness, past the blood and bruise, past the curses and cries. Beyond the terror in the nightfall haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime and leave it all behind. Tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt? I hope she'll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you. No, I didn't mean that. Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury. You haven't met the new me yet” you read that piece out loud from your personal journal to your therapist. She stayed silent for a while. You looked over at her knowing you skipped some parts but what you read in the end sank in.

“I think there’s a lot to discuss from just that single piece you wrote. But I wanna ask you something before anything else: do you really believe there will be happiness after him?” your therapist made you a question that felt like daggers pinching you that resulted in leaving you breathless for a few seconds. you loved and hated therapy for this reason. There were things you couldn’t question by yourself because you never thought about it and things you didn’t know how to answer like this one.

“I wish I could say yes. But i don't think i’ve been happy since he left” saying that out loud hurt yourself even more. It was not something easy to admit and accept. But it was the truth. You have never felt really happy since then.

She nodded, writing down in her notebook “but do you believe you can be happy without him? Why is he still so important or has so much space in your life that you can't be happy if he isn’t there? Why were you happy when he was with you?” as always, too many questions with so few answers. You felt exhausted, frustrated by the fact you didn't know what to think about it all.

“I'm sure I want to be happy, I can't live like this anymore. I'm tired” you assured her and yourself. You took a few seconds to think and she respected that. “I guess if I want to then I can, right? I mean, I talk to my friends and all of them tell me time and time again ‘don't let what happened define you’ and I try but I don't know why it is really hard for me” you explained looking at the floor.

“And what’s that definition of yourself?”

“That i'm not worthy of love i guess. that there will always be someone better than me, more attractive, more lovable, more interesting. I can't be the one, for anyone” admitting it felt like an elephant stepped on you and you just died in the act. Your therapist, Maria, nodded looking at you.

“Well, but in what you wrote you tell this woman he left you for, that you hope she is a fool like you, right?” she intervened. You nodded. “What can you tell me about it?”

You looked at your hands a bit sweaty. “I really don’t know. I mean her existence made me compare myself to her. She is so different. It made me feel all of those things I said before. And maybe i blamed her existence because if she didn't existed then, charles would still be here”

“You think so?”

“I guess, yeah” you looked at her. She wrote down more stuff on that notebook you were so intrigued by.

“So, for you, there doesn't exist the possibility that maybe he just stopped loving you? Like even if she existed or not - could be any other woman or could be no one at all. Would it hurt more if he just stopped loving you?” you felt your brain make a 180 turn on itself.

“I don’t know. Maybe, yeah, I mean. I Think it’s easier to blame someone then not have an explanation for it” your therapist nodded.

“So, why would she occupy your same place then? If you are different from each other, why would she be just like you? As a replacement it seems and at the same time who’s at fault for all of this situation and insecurities. And before you answer, I think we can connect that to what happened between your dad and mom, right?” she saw your face so confused she knew this was gonna be the end of the session so you could think about it during the next two weeks. “You told me you discovered your dad cheated on your mom. So all you ever dreamed was to find someone who would be better than him, to prove yourself that that isn’t your destiny, just like your mom. And then Charles left you for this other girl. And everything you built up in your mind to try to believe in love and to escape from the reality you had to live through, then it crumbled down in that instant. Leaving you feeling like there was no way you could be worthy of love, because you tried but Charles did exactly what your dad did to your mother. And since then you couldn’t date anyone else. This is a theory, I'm not saying it is what it is of course. But it seems that if they didn't exist then you wouldn’t be this hurt and maybe forgive charles,as you said when you wrote ‘and leave it all behind’ just like your mom did with your dad”

Her words echoed in your head for a while. The knot in your throat intensified. “Charles was my everything just like my parents were. And after what happened, with Charles and my dad, I guess I let that define me. I wanted to show myself that the love i’ve seen in books and movies existed, not like in my house. I wanted to make things right. In a way, to mend what hurt me the most. The betrayal of my dad. So I put Charles under that pressure and maybe that made things the way they went down. I don’t know to be honest. I don’t know why I want alexandra to be like me. Maybe that’s another way of convincing myself I'm not the only fool in this mess.”

“I don’t think you are a fool. Relationships are complicated and the reason he decided to leave could be based on a million reasons, and even in that situation. Maybe any of them are because of you or who you are as a person. People are complex and most times messy. Feelings aren’t easy to control or understand” she explained to you. “So, coming back to this new encounter you had with him, how did you feel about it?”

“It felt weird, very uncomfortable to be around him. But at the same time a force drove me closer to him. I wanted to be closer. Ask him everything and at the same time punch him. He felt the same to be honest. Just like the previous day he left, when everything was alright.” you pulled a face you didn't know how to describe at that moment.

“And you felt the same?”

“No i think, i didn’t” she nodded and half smiled at my answer.

“Then, what’s the new you he didn’t meet?”

“Who i am now i guess”

“And who are you?” her question made you realize you didn’t know how to answer that question yet. You knew you were different, because you felt different although stuck dealing with the aftermath of that relationship. She noticed your silence (because she knew all too well you didn’t know how to answer it) and smiled gently.

“Alright, y/N. Let’s leave it here and continue next session, okay? See you in two weeks”

Who the fuck were you now?

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Mornings at your balcony were your favorite moment during the day. Your coffee was warm and comforting on a grey and windy day. You were covered in clothes and blankets. You needed that moment anyway. You wouldn’t let the winter win. You watched your neighbor cleaning his living room. He had his window opened so you could see a bit of what he was doing. However, you didn't see him very well because you didn't have your glasses on so it’s a bit blurry. You thought there was someone else with him. Probably a girl.but you weren’t that interested.the only thing you hated about your balcony was the fact that the view was partially blocked by that damn house up the hill.

After a while, you took your stuff and went into your house again. You felt warmer instantly. You left the blankets on the coach and washed up what you used to have for breakfast a few minutes ago. You had to pack as soon as possible. On saturday, you travel to london to see your college friends and also because your friend franco, another formula one driver you met by chance at a college party, it was his birthday party. You wanted that week to be a good one. Be a week you genuinely enjoy and just be happy.

But after everything that happened the last month around Charles, it was really difficult. Your therapist was a really good help of course. But you hated not knowing how to handle all of these feelings you didn’t understand and that paralyze you.

You only had one phrase in your head: ‘no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you’.

You couldn’t think of Charles as a bad man, or person or anything. Yes, he was stupid. And he destroyed your self esteem. And your trust. And yes, you still were kind of stuck in that restaurant. But you also had some kind of responsibility. And that also troubled you a lot.

Your self esteem shouldn’t be defined by anyone else but you. What do you think about yourself? Who are you? That was your fault. You didn’t know how that would affect destiny for him to leave you but well, it is what it is yet. You kind of thought that maybe it’s the price you had to pay for putting him in a role he didn't want to be in. maybe you were too much. Too intense. Too dependent. He only wanted someone to talk and have fun with. But you wanted a good husband at 18, and a good father, and the one who would take away your pain and fix your traumas.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who hurt someone, but you also hurt him in some way.

Ten years in, and you still couldn’t explain what happened. What did you do or not do for him to stop loving you? Or perhaps you can actually stop loving someone but you didn't experience it yet.

You sighed, reaching your travelling suitcase from on top of your closet. You almost fell so you had to grab a chair from your kitchen. You loved travelling but packing was a nightmare (also, because you couldn’t decide which outfits were good so you had to take two suitcases and pay extra everytime. Not that you didn't have the money and it was a problem. But you knew it was an unnecessary spend).

That’s when you remembered how it was like to travel with charles. And you hated yourself for remembering his stupid laugh so cute it made your heart melt every time. Would he still laugh like that? Maybe it was best not to know it.

If you were younger and he came back, you’d probably forgive him and leave it all behind just to be happy with him. But now, you wanted to leave everything behind: him, his family, the memories, the feelings, the hurt. And maybe that is what changed.

That was the new you.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Your laugh was so liberating. Your hair was free in the wind. He was driving through the Monaco coast. It was finally summer break and you decided to have a picnic at the beach. His hand on your tight. David Guetta on the radio. You were singing along without a care in the world.

Your fingers brushed his hand making him look at you through his sun glasses in a beautiful cute smile.

“You look gorgeous, cherie” you saw his lips pronounce those words in slow motion, feeling your every fiber get wild inside you. Your smile was so big and your cheeks pink. He could melt forever just to see you this happy. You wanted to freeze those moments with him and live in them forever.

“I love you, Charles,” you said so warmly and softly. It was your romance movie playing over and over again. That’s how you felt. But when he heard you say those words, his face turned serious. Almost pulled a face of disgust. For some reason you got so scared you wanted to jump out of the car to save your life.

You wanted to save your life.

He noticed you wanted to escape so he tightened his grip on you tightly, hurting you but he wasn’t letting you go away.

“Charles, let go of me” you said almost in a whisper. Your breath was fast. You needed to jump. You started fighting so he would let you go.

“Stop, cherie. We’re gonna have our happily ever after, isn’t that what you wanted?” he said, trying to drive and grab you at the same time. You started crying not knowing what to answer. The anxiety took over you.

“You said you loved me cherie, you can’t go now” he was crying and let go of the steering wheel. You got desperate seeing the car had no control and you were at the Monaco cliffs.

“Charles! CHARLES!” you screamed from the top of your lungs as you watched both of you exiting the driveway into nowhere. All the sea around you. Slow motion Charles looked at you with a huge smile.

“Happily ever after baby” he said and you looked horrorized. But when you were about to scream again as if that would change anything.

Everything went black.

You woke up drowning in cold sweat and tears. Your heart was beating too fast for your liking. The feeling you had in that moment of pure confusion was scared to death. For a moment you didn’t know if you were alive or dead. Your room was pitch black so it kinda felt like you died. But you were thinking and you thought there was no way you could think when dead, so you were alive.

After a few seconds of paralysis, you react and turn on your light from your bed table. You took a deep breath and scrubbed your face to wake yourself up. Your face was wet still from your tears. The moment you were conscious again you felt defeated. It was the third time in the night you were having this kind of nightmares, now three days in a row. You laid back again in bed for a moment.frustration was all over your face. You were so tired of living like this. Yet, you didn’t know how to stop. You grabbed your phone to see what time it was. It showed 5:46 am. You snarled, hating your brain more than anything in the world.

You got up from bed and went straight to the bathroom to wash your face. You knew all too well you couldn’t be able to fall asleep again nor you wanted to. It has been a terrible night already. So you let your brain win once again.

You went downstairs to your studio where it was warm. Sun isn't out yet, so here you’ll be warmer. If not, you probably would have chosen the balcony as always. Or the restaurant, although you haven't come back to it since the last encounter with charles. You just didn’t want to go back there ever again. Just like the time he left.

You sat on your chair at your desk. Eyes tired. You opened your journal. You didn’t remember writing so much like in the past week or so. But you had so many thoughts to write sometimes it got difficult for you to function properly. You just had to stay at home writing non-stop. Not only your upcoming book but your feelings. After the dream you had, a lot must be processed.

I know I'm probably better off on my own than loving a man who didn't know what he had. And I see the permanent damage he did to me.

Never again.

I just wish I could forget when it was magic.

But I also just wish you could’ve been a better man.

You sighed reading your words again on paper. You felt worried about yourself. Like, maybe you were broken and couldn’t ever be fixed. You were scared that you wouldn’t be able to fix yourself back up again. Or even thinking that maybe you were born broken so how could you fix yourself then? You were scared there was no way out of this pain, agony, self hatred, nightmare you have lived these past years… or your whole life. You dreamed about being in love again with someone so different from charles yet maybe who makes you feel the same high. Or maybe higher erasing every trace of him or memory of your dad. Now lines were blurry. You didn’t want to think about your dad, not only because he was gone and you couldn’t do anything about it, but because it felt weird linking him in some way to charles, but if your therapist said so, maybe you were more troubled than you thought.

Would there be a good guy? Do they even exist? You guessed you’ve never met one of them yet.

I hold onto this pride because, these days, it's all I have. And I gave you my best, and we both know you can't say the same.

Were you writing about him? Or about your dad?

You stared at the wall thinking about the answer that never came around.

Just like the both of them did when it came to you.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It was 10 am in the morning already. You didn’t sleep a bit. You’ve been in a zoom meeting since 8. Talks about the movie in the making were held. Casting started so they sent you a few ones they think are perfect for the roles so you have to watch them after the meeting. Also, they go through the aesthetic and changes they will make from the book, and that’s why this meeting has been so long. They needed to discuss everything with you to make sure you agreed. They wanted to be respectful with your work and you appreciate it very much. It made you feel important. In other news, they thought that taylor swift could make the soundtrack for the movie and you got very excited about it. You loved Taylor's songwriting and believed (and were almost sure) she would make the perfect song for the movie.

It was gonna be a long day ahead, full of work and watching hours of footage from castings. But it was for your dream. You still couldn’t believe you had your book be a movie in the making. It still feels surreal.

Then you remembered charles’ ex followed you and liked your posts. And you were mad at him again. You were sure (no doubts at all for real), she didn't know who you were. Because he kept you buried like you were sin.

A part of you wanted to believe he did it because he knew he fucked up and didn’t want people to judge him for his lack of sympathy towards his last lover. But at the same time you just found it cruel behavior with no reason at all to do that. You kinda felt dirty as if you were bad. Very bad. Banned from his life.

You shook your head, getting yourself back to the present time and starting working again. Your lack of rest doesn't help in getting distracted with thought every minute but you were doing the best you could. Plus, work helps you not to think about anything else. And that’s good.

You really needed a break from thinking.

⋆˚࿔ finally the london trip arrived 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

yourusername made a post

liked by nikolabff, beatricebff, francolapinto, landonorris and 678,435 others

yourusername: first few days back in london = first few days of happiness ❤️‍🩹

tagged: @nikolabff , @beatricebff , @dorothybff and @francolapinto

view more comments

user345: girl is happy we are happy

user3: omg such QUEENS

↳ francolapinto: i guess ur not talking about me

↳ user3: oh im so talking about you too

↳ francolapinto: 🤨

nikolebff: the girls girled

dorothybff: happy looks very hot on you darling 🫦

beatricebff: can you kiss already??????

↳ yourusername: no ❤️

nikolabff: gossip so good bro was giggling and kicking his feet

↳ francolapinto: it was indeed

↳ alexalbon: better bring that gossip to the paddok asap

↳ yourusername: it's CONFIDENTIAL

↳ alexalbon: booooooo ur so boring

↳ oscarpiastri: i wanna be part of this group please

↳ nikolabff: yes you can sir

↳ francolapinto: i thought no one else was allowed

↳ nikolabff: stfu 🩷

User231: i love this crossover of y/n and formula 1 drivers. I would've never expected it tbh

↳ franstan: same!!! I love it!! Didn't know she was friends with franco

↳ user354: i think they met a few years ago, y/n was asked about it on insta questions and she said they met randomly at a college party

↳ franstan: interesting

User1: girl!!! You look so good omg

francolapinto: te amo amiga so happy to see you happy ❤️‍🩹

↳ yourusername: te amo tambien ❤️‍🩹

↳ user778: EXCUSE YOU ???????

↳ franstan7: OMG OMG OMG

user4: WHAT IS HAPPENING ?

user324: so no one is gonna talk about lando world champion fucking norris being on the likes ????? 🤨🤨🤨🤨

↳ landostan: that was what i was thinking

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ finally the london trip arrived 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Laughter was all over the place as well as a lot of bottles of alcohol with names you haven’t seen in your life. It was finally Saturday night, which meant it was Franco's birthday celebration. And because it was his birthday of course all the decorations were argentina flags everywhere and boca junior club t-shirts for everyone, including you. As you got to his house you were given one at the door to wear it. Fortunately, for you it didn’t ruin your outfit and I could say it looked great on you. Or well, that’s what franco said to you while preparing you a drink you haven’t ever tried before. He said it was called fernet with coke. You were already a bit drunk because you were drinking vodka with the girls while getting ready. You didn’t like vodka that much but after everything that happened in your life, you kinda felt the urge to drown in vodka or tequila. Mi gente latino music was playing non-stop. You knew Franco loved duki and bizarrap, and they were actually at the party. You couldn’t talk to them yet. So everything was a bit crazy even if you weren’t that many people. He was just a close friend to franco. So i guess it was like 60 people. Way too many people to be honest but for a famous 2 times world champion it was really a small amount of people so it was super intimate.

“There you go, hermosa” he said, handing you the glass full of black liquid. You looked at it a bit worried in a funny way and grabbed it. He let out a cute laugh. “Try it, you’re gonna like it, i promise” he encouraged you. He couldn’t resist the view of you with that boca juniors on. Probably, the combination of you and that was his heaven made on earth. He was really down for you, since it felt like forever. Probably since that night at that party back 6 years ago or so. You always have a different light that anyone can match. and that’s what he liked most about you along with your authenticity. You were so unique to him. He looked at you biting his lip a little trying not to be so obvious.

You tried the drink looking into his eyes. You were really close but you felt really comfortable. Your friends have left you alone with him the minute he came forward to you, of course. They really believed you could work out with him. And after vodka and long talks about it with them, maybe you would give it a try. But it scared you, you didn’t want to use him as a friend. So it was a risky situation in your opinion. Although, you could see he liked you for a long time now. And you found him funny and really attractive in your opinion. You give it a few more sips to taste it fully. “Oh I think I like it,” you said, giving him a funny smile.

“I told you. I’m the best fernet preparer in this whole country… and also, I did it with love just for you” he said, making you laugh and blush after the last sentence he said.

“I’m sure it’s the love you put in it” you gave it another sip looking at him. His face turned red and let out such a cute giggle. Alcohol was making you melt for your best friend? We guess so.

He got closer grabbing your waist and planted a sweet kiss on your cheek making you nervous as you never felt for a long time. However, it felt weird. Maybe as if this shouldn’t be happening.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Franco’s house was enormous. The party was being held at the gallery near his garden. It was cold but the lights and the people stuck to each other made it warmer. You were with your girls again dancing to bad bunny and los del espacio songs. You didn’t understand a word because Spanish was definitely not your talent. You tried to learn because of Franco, and he tried to teach you, but failed every time. You did learn a few words anyway but speaking fluidly was something you won’t ever do. Or that’s what you thought about it. It was your third fernet. You didn’t know it was so good. Also it could make you so drunk. And you were way too drunk by now but you never felt so happy. You were laughing about anything and everything. Dancing without a care in the world. Enjoying being surrounded by your friends. Charles wasn’t on your mind nor any trace of him or his family or the history behind you two. Memories have faded away, washed by the alcohol in your veins. You didn’t remember having so much fun since forever. Your girls were right. Life was so much more than Charles, you were so much more than what you were with him. And all of this you have it because of you and you alone. In that moment you felt liberated. Free from the curse it was put on you. Free of judgment. Free of insecurities. Until you saw that damn mullet and when it turned around you felt kind of speechless. Your eyes locked in that man you didn’t know but he was so hypnotic. You couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Girl! Close your mouth, you're drooling! Is it for franco, huh?” Nikola joked when she saw you like that, making you laugh while shaking your head.

“No it isn’t girls, is that guy over there i don’t know who he is but he is so beautiful” you said pointing your finger in his direction unconsciously. Because when you looked at him again he was looking at you straight in the eyes. You almost freaked out and ran away from there. His fucking smile. What the hell is happening to you? Your friends looked over at him as well with no simulation at all. The four of you were pretty obvious. And that’s when another guy turned around to see where his mate was looking over with that face. Nikola almost fell to the floor.

She turned around freaked out, making all of you stop looking at them so weird. Alcohol makes you behave so embarrassing for your liking.

“Holy shit girls, it’s oscar fucking piastri and lando norris” her eyes were leaving her face for a bit. You grabbed her arms still confused. You didn’t know them but you heard nik talking about that oscar a few times. Betty and Dottie looked over at them again but they were gone.

“Okay they are gone nik” dottie said. Betty took a sip from her drink. You wanted to say something but you felt someone grab your waist from behind and kiss your head.

“Hello ladies” of course it had to be franco. You smiled nervously looking at your friends. One of your hands placed over Franco's arms not wanting him to let go. You liked it. Or that’s what you drowned in alcohol though about it.

“Hello mister, i guess we will grab more drinks at the bar, goodbye bye byeee” Betty said, taking her two girls with her leaving you alone with franco. You laughed and resigned. Nik gave franco a warning sign ‘im watching you’ making franco laugh too. And they disappeared through the people dancing and talking.

He kissed your cheek letting you go a bit so you could turn around to face him. “Hey handsome, where have you been? Are you having fun?” you said surrounding his neck with your arms and he did the same around your waist. He nodded in a smile.

“Now that I'm back with you, I'm really having fun,” he said cheeky.

“Oh shut up” you said rolling your eyes funny because of his flirty side.

“Hey, I'm telling the truth. I was with my school friends though ,they came from home” he told you and made you smile while stroking the curls on his head gently. Your fingers in his hair sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t stop looking at your lips and you noticed. But you liked it so you let him.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying your night fran. You deserve all of this love, world champion” you said sweetly looking at his eyes so shiny and deep green right now. Your words made him melt.

And there were you, the girl who can win over the man known for being the most professional at flirting. You always win with him. He is so down bad for you he felt stupid. You were so beautiful in his eyes. So amazing. He hated Charles so much. He even celebrated when he retired. They couldn't even pretend to like each other and actually it was one of the most famous feuds between drivers in the history of the sport. Franco just couldn’t comment anything positive about charles. Even if he tried he just couldn’t. The most infamous moment was when Charles won his first championship and he was asked about it. He said he didn’t want to comment about it because he had nothing to comment about. So franco started to be known as the guy who was nice to everyone except for charles leclerc. And it was hilarious to see because no one knew why. And the why was always you.

Franco wanted to have you and couldn’t. Charles had left you alone and destroyed another woman. How could he? Franco took that as an insult. You were an amazing woman. The most amazing woman he has ever met and that asshole did that to you. He just couldn’t stand him. Breathing the same air as Charles was unbearable for him.

All of these thoughts rambling around and neither of you didn’t realize you were kissing already. Your lips melting into each other in the sweetest and softest kiss you have ever had. Even better than any kiss Charles could have given you before. You hated yourself for comparing every guy in your life with Charles, but you couldn’t help it. But this felt different. It was sweet but at the same time it felt so wrong.

But you couldn’t stop.

And you didn’t want to.

⋆˚࿔ TO BE CONTINUED 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

chapter fiver: here.

author's note: things are getting complicated around here!!!

tag list: : @a-beaverhausen , @priniya , @annaluna12 , @thehoplessromanticclub , @emryb , @hadids-world , @kaztheemyth , @freyathehuntress , @diorbrxtz , @theseerbetweenus , @sie17136 , @leila-030304 , @charlesgirl16 , @ricciardosheart , @weekendlusting

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8x06eddie · 4 months ago

Text

stuck forever imagining how buck must have felt when eddie said, "it's like that thing were you meet somebody and you just click". i know his ears were ringing with all of the memories rushing in of him saying no to things like basketball and mauy thai in the beginning of their friendship. it made him revert back to being 8 years old in hershey and he made himself at home with the familiar feeling of not being good enough.

buck spiralled and hurt eddie because he isn’t aware of how much eddie actually treasures their relationship- that eddie loves the fact that they don't need to do all of those things together in order to connect on the level that they do. buck worried about his place in eddie's life because he doesn’t know that eddie has him categorized in his mind as "keep forever and ever, completely non-negotiable". all eddie wants is for buck to be near him always and to talk his ear off for the rest of his life but. buck. doesn't. know. that. and it’s been haunting me since april 4th.. can someone please tell him.. he needs to know

#my posts

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kittenintheden · 10 months ago

Text

Ethics Review

Dave Matthews voice: I DID IT

Tav (reader) and Astarion pay his old office at the Courts a visit in the middle of the night for funsies and things get spicy.

aka it's the switchy bitchy magistrate roleplay fic

Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Pairing: Astarion/reader (Tav) Content: 18+, light BDSM elements, sexual roleplay, bitches be switches, dirty talk, spanking, orgasm denial, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex (AFAB reader, not gendered)

AO3 Link

It’s late, but then, it’s always late when you’re out with Astarion these days. By necessity, mostly, but also because it’s the best time for the pair of you to get up to your more unsavory plans without catching the watchful eye of the newly-reformed Fist.

“Where are you taking me?” you laugh as you follow him through a series of dark alleys. “This better not end with me having to send for Gale to get your hand out of another magicked jar.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” He looks over his shoulder and gives you an affectionate smirk.

“Not ever.”

Astarion peers around the corner of a brown brick building, checking that the coast is clear. To you, he says, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving soul.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling his neck. “Two of your most obvious and accurate qualities.”

He chuckles. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

A labyrinthine dozen alleyways later, you’re deposited in an open square, quiet and still. The cobblestones are dark with recent rain, sending their petrichor scent into the air. As you follow Astarion out into the space, you realize where you are. It’s the Courthouse District of the Lower City, where people are tried and held for petty crimes that aren’t suitable for Wyrm’s Rock.

You huff a laugh through your nose and look over at your partner with a raised eyebrow. “Did you need to tell me something? Have a court date you forgot to mention?”

“Hush,” he playfully scolds you, holding a finger up to his lips. “Let me think a moment.”

He peers up at a particular building on the square and furrows his brow, closing his eyes and moving his hands through the air. You fold your arms and watch as he moves his fingers like he’s following a path only he can see, turning corners and raising level by level. At last, he opens his eyes, and points at window on the third floor, two in from the corner.

“That one,” he says.

“That one what?” you prompt.

He grins devilishly. “That…” he points again. “... is my old office. I thought we might pay it a visit.”

“To what end?” you laugh.

“What can I say, I’m feeling a touch nostalgic these days.” He keeps his eye on the window and beckons you to follow closer to the building. “Something about my old haunts is calling to me.”

Behind where he can’t see, you pay him an affectionate smile. In the last year or so since the fall of the Nether Brain, you’ve seen the city rebuilt and gone on your fair share of adventures and quests, always searching for some way to give Astarion back the sunlight you promised him. No luck yet, but there have been promising leads here and there. It’s not a lost cause. Not yet.

The last few months in particular have seen certain changes in your lover. The terror and fear he carried for so long clung to him like a shadow, and ever so slowly it’s beginning to lift. His laugh is more present than before, more real. The intimate moments you share are filled with trust and care, even as you get more comfortable pushing a few boundaries here and there.

Most of all, he’s been remembering. Not everything. There are parts of his past forever lost to him, written over by more years of torment than he ever had of life. But there’ve been flashes every now and again of who he used to be. Some of them he likes, some he loathes. He doesn’t always talk about it, but you know being able to pick up a piece once in a while has meant a great deal to him.

So you follow along with whatever little game he has planned.

He walks along the building, scanning the brick for footholds. Just as he puts his hand on a storm drain and tenses to leap, you halt him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks back at you, you flick your eyes up toward the window.

“Three up, two in from then end?” you ask.

He nods.

“Allow me, love.”

You hold up your hand and cobalt magic pools in your palm, forming into a sphere. You send it up above you, the arcane eye floating until it finds the correct window before it slips inside. You blink, your own eyes glowing blue as you use your magic to scan the room. It’s certainly an office of some sort.

Astarion takes your hand when you hold it out for him and instantly you’re transported inside the office thanks to a handy little dimensional door spell you picked up on one of your many adventures. You wave away the arcane eye and give Astarion a wink.

He smirks and shakes his head at you. “Take all of the fun out of the thing, why don’t you,” he says through his smile. “Suppose I’ll have to make do with checking that the place isn’t alarmed. Alas.”

The place is, indeed, alarmed. Astarion manages to disarm two common magic wires and one trickier sending stone scattered throughout the room. You reach out through the Weave for any other whispers of magic. Some artifacts and lightly magical office supplies. Nothing worrisome.

Once you’re both satisfied that you won’t end up immediately arrested, Astarion moves to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. You’re quiet as he scans the walls, turning in a slow circle as he takes everything in. His fangs flash as he gives a quiet laugh.

“The layout is different, and the color,” he says. “But yes, this is the place.” He furrows his brow slightly and holds out his hands, eyes on the floor. “I… worked here. Me. A magistrate.” His eyes find you and his smile widens. “It was a lie for so much longer than it was a reality. But it was a reality, once upon a time.”

“I’m surprised,” you say, folding your arms and nonchalantly stepping closer. “The way you spoke and dressed when we first met, I thought you must’ve been an Upper City fancy defending-the-powerful type.”

Astarion clicks his tongue at you. “Now, don’t be judgmental. That’s my job.” He waves a hand through the air. “I was quite young in my career, but I was working my way up. All the way to the third floor, thank you.”

You come in to wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Genuinely.”

He spreads his fingers over your forearm, pressing his lips to your hair. “Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” He clears his throat and removes your arms, backing away from you with a toss of his head. “But don’t be too proud. I wasn’t exactly a… what’s the term? Model citizen.”

Astarion begins to walk around the small table with four chairs set in the center of the room.

“Oh?” you say, walking around the other side to mirror him. “Were you terribly corrupt?”

He pauses and tilts his head, shrugging. “‘Terribly’ is such a strong word, isn’t it? Lets just say I may have been known to, ah… sway the odds in my favor.”

You stop and look across the table at him. “What do magistrates even do, exactly? What did you do, specifically?”

“An absolutely stupid amount of paperwork, as I recall,” he says. “At least, I certainly remember hating every scrap that came across the desk. Meting out appropriate punishment for any minor and petty crime you can think of, most of them horrifically boring. But…” He leans over the table and holds up a finger. “... sometimes I got to conduct interviews to determine if crime was worthy of Wyrm’s Rock, and I was very good at getting the verdict I wanted.”

You rather like seeing this side of Astarion. Honest pride, confidence, and authority. The tip of your tongue runs along your bottom lip as you take in your love leaning over that table, dappled in moonlight. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“And how did you do that?” You pop your hip and raise your thumb to your mouth, teasing your lip as you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “Exactly?”

Astarion notices the shift in your demeanor immediately, his own eyes going half-lidded as they track the path of your hand to your mouth. His grin goes predatory and he leans back so he can come around the table to you and pull out the chair.

“Please, darling,” he says, nodding for you to sit. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

You pay him a sultry smile and sink into the chair, which he pushes in under you. Then he walks back around to the other side with his spine straight, hands folded behind his back.

A new game begins.

Astarion rolls out his shoulders as if he’s shedding a coat. When he turns to look at you, he does so down the length of his nose, his hard gaze making it clear that he thinks you beneath him.

You shiver as a thrill runs down your back and attempt to hide it.

He shakes his head above you, tutting. You’ve disappointed him.

Instinctively, you shrink into your chair slightly as he leans forward and places the tips of his fingers against the table in front of him, continuing to lower his face until it’s a mere foot from yours.

“A pathetic display back there,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Your associates have hung you out to dry. You do know that…” He tilts his head. “... don’t you?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and drop your eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silly little patsy,” he chides as he straightens to glare down at you again. “Such stars in your eyes for friends who would sooner see you burn than stick their necks out for you.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you say, raising your eyes to him in defiance even as you let a waver of nerves shake your voice.

“What must it be like to be so tragically misguided?” he sneers. It’s like an echo of a man you once knew. One you met on a sunny beach amid burning wreckage.

You blink up at him, eyes going soft. “I can’t betray them.”

“Betray them,” he breathes, huffing a mirthless laugh as he leans one hand onto a nearby chair. “My dear, they are in the next room, and the room after that, giving you up as we speak. No loyalty among thieves, I fear.”

“No,” you gasp. “They wouldn’t.”

Astarion holds a finger up to his lips, shushing you. “I think you know better than that. But fine, have it your way. Don’t give them up to save your own hide. Let me sweeten the pot.”

He turns his body so he can side-sit on the table and put his first knuckle under your chin, lifting it so he can inspect you. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gold to line your pockets, perhaps?”

Though you try to stop it, your body betrays you as a bright blush blooms across your nose and cheeks. Astarion’s pupils dilate above you.

“Or something else entirely?” he whispers, tilting his mouth closer to yours. “I’d much sooner send those two cads to Wyrm’s Rock in your place. Help me, and maybe you and I could have a bit of…” His eyes trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and beyond before he looks back into your eyes. “... fun in celebration.”

“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper back.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I rather like you. Plus, I might get a little kickback in the form of a promotion for bringing in two thorns in the Fist’s side, but that’s neither here nor there.” He rolls his eyes and pays you a flirtatious smile on the last bit.

And that… is your opening.

Your expression grows serious and you note the moment that Astarion’s eyebrows give the briefest twitch of concern.

"You've overplayed your hand, Magistrate Ancunín," you say.

Astarion draws his hand back and gives you a perplexed look. “Have I?”

You smile, then. Calm and dangerous. "I've been sent by the Board of Ethics, you see."

Astarion is thrown by this turn, but he recovers quickly, offering a simpering smile. "Oh? Oh, dear. Seems I've been caught with my pants down."

You stand, holding his eye. "Indeed. Best go place your hands on the desk where I can see them."

With a flourish, he holds his hands up for you to see. No funny business, none at all. He goes to the desk and spreads his palms flat against the polished wood. He must feel the heat of your skin as you come close, only inches away. Inspecting. Considering.

You lean in close to his ear. "Say our word if you'd like me to stop, Ancunín," you whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks.

In answer, you grab his hips and pull them flush against your own with enough force that he gasps from it, genuinely surprised. In his ear again, you whisper, "Teaching you a lesson."

You release him and move to his side. He turns his head to look at you and you can see the openmouthed surprise in his face, but it’s more than that. Surprised, yes, but also open. Interested. Very turned on. You know this look.

This is Astarion’s “oh, we’re doing that thing I like?” look. It’s a good look on him.

You tap a finger on his nearest hand. “Keep these exactly where they are. I must warn you that you face serious repercussions for witness tampering. I have some questions. Answer them to my satisfaction, and I may consider…” Your gaze trails down to the front of his trousers, which are straining. When you meet his eye again, you add, “... reinstatement.”

Astarion tilts his chin down so he can give you a heated look. “Then by all means,” he says, lips parted. “Ask.”

“Hm,” you hum as you trail your fingers over the desk as you walk around to the other side. You mimic his stance with your hands on the table, though yours is one of authority while his is one of awaiting judgment. He tilts his head at you in question, gaze hot. You match it.

“Let’s start with an easy one.” You tilt your head toward the wall without breaking eye contact. “That placard hanging there. What is it?”

He looks and then huffs through his nose. “It’s an oath.”

You tilt your head the other way. “And what does it say?”

Astarion smirks. “‘As an officer of the Court, I will strive to conduct myself at all times with integrity, dignity, and honor.’”

“That’s right,” you say, nodding. “Now tell me, Ancunín… do you feel you’ve conducted yourself in accordance with that oath?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, flashing you a winning smile. “I offered you the utmost dignity and honor, did I not?”

An idea occurs to you and you imagine he catches the twinkle in your eye as you raise one of your hands to click your fingers, a glowing web of pale blue stretching to cage you both inside. Astarion frowns up at it. The moment he realizes what you’ve done, he gives you a look that’s half-exasperated and half-devious.

“What’s this?” he says, playing along.

“A little insurance policy. To ensure your adherence to honesty.” You reach to the collar of your shirt and undo one button. Then another.

Then another.

Astarion struggles to keep his eyes on your face, but when you lean back down onto the table, he can’t help but sneak a peek.

You toy with another button. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about dignity now?”

Astarion bites the corner of his lip to keep his expression serious. He keeps his eyes trained on your chest and seems to carefully consider his words before he says, “I maintain that I respect the dignity of your tits.”

That’s not what he meant to say. He blinks. His eyes flick up to yours. “Your position,” he amends.

His eyes flick back down. “Your position and your tits.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. That you might be… what do they say? Dipping your wick in the law office wax.”

You stand and come back around to his side, maintaining your spell as you do. Astarion tracks you all the way back around.

“I’d like you to be as honest with me as you can be,” you say softly. “Not that you’ve much choice. So, in that case, here’s some extra… motivation.”

You’re behind him now and you hear his sharp intake of breath when he feels your palms spread over either side of his hips before moving around to the ties at the front of his trousers. You loosen them just enough to give you space.

Astarion’s knuckles are going white where he presses his fingers against the desk.

Your fingers are soft and warm against his lower abdomen as they dip below his waistband, then inside his underthings. You find what you seek and grip it firmly, fisting the length of him. He bites back a groan and flexes his hands against the wood as you draw him out into the open air.

“You do keep it cool in here,” you whisper into his ear. You keep your touch light as you tease his cock, just enough to make him want but not nearly enough to satiate the need. “Why is that?”

Astarion swallows and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “A little discomfort loosens the tongue, I find.” He struggles to keep the breathiness out of his voice and very nearly succeeds.

Nearly.

Your smile is wicked. “I see. Well.”

You rest his hardened length against the varnished wood of the desk. It’s cool on his touch-warmed skin and he whines lightly as you leave him there to walk around to his other side, fingertips drawing a trail across his broad back and shoulders.

“In that case, we’ll be leaving that…” You glance down at his cock, then back at his face. “… out in the cold until you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction. Understood?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and meets your eye. “Completely.”

“Good.” You move one of his misplaced curls back into place. “If I’m satisfied, I just might let you warm it up again. We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” he says, voice dropping deeper, and you can sense the challenge there. You smile as you turn away from him.

“Let’s try again,” you say. “Do you make a habit of lying to your interviewees in hopes of manipulating a confession?”

“Is ‘lying’ the word we want to use?” he says with a lilt.

“Yes.” You turn back to look at him.

He clears his throat, chewing his tongue to hide another smile before he looks away. He thinks a moment, then says, “I occasionally massage my message to pave the way for a more fruitful discussion in my favor, yes. Only in the interest of this office and my personal satisfaction.” He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You shake your head. “My, my. And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Perhaps you need a reminder that I hold your immediate future in my hands?”

When you move back in and loosen his trousers still further to shove down his hips and below his arse, he wriggles to help. He seems to think he’s won this phase of the game. Adorable.

Rather than give him any relief, you reach out to the desk and pick up a wooden ruler, thin and flexible. Astarion opens his mouth, presumably to ask what you’re doing, but doesn’t get the chance as you use the flat of the ruler to give him a quick smack on his bare arse.

He cries out in surprise and looks around at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him the opportunity to call his out. Instead, you watch his eyes darken. He’s still in. Which is good, because gods above if you aren’t beginning to make a mess of your underwear already.

“Do you understand your situation?” you ask.

“Maybe you ought to remind me again,” he rumbles.

You do, leaving another slap on his pale skin. A shiver travels up his back from the base of his spine all the way up.

“I understand,” he says.

“Very good,” you say. “Do you manipulate the outcomes of your interviews?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he says quietly, peering up at you from under his brows.

“Thank you for your honesty. With bribery?”

He nods.

You bend forward so you’re eye-to-eye. “And do you frequently offer favors of a sexual nature?”

Astarion’s gaze drops to your mouth and he blinks heavily. “That’s only for when I see someone I like,” he says.

There’s another slap to his arse, quick as reflex, and he gives a small, broken “a-ah” as he drops his head. He spoke the truth, your spell ensures that, but you want him to be more specific. You look down to see he’s subtly grinding himself against the desk, his cock beginning to weep pre-fluid as you watch.

You place the ruler against his back to hold him in place. “None of that,” you say. “Not until you clarify. Why me?”

He groans in frustration. “Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you. Because I want to be inside you and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both hoarse from crying our ecstasy.”

Well. The pair of underwear you’re wearing are officially done for, you fear.

“What a wicked tongue you have,” you breathe, not quite able to keep up your aura of authority. You swallow and add, “Perhaps I’ll consider letting you off with a warning if we can figure out a better use for it.”

Astarion goes to his knees so quickly it makes your head spin. You don’t hesitate to take care of the bindings on your own trousers and he’s eager to help, shoving your clothing to the floor. You’re trying to remove a boot when he presses his face into the crux of your legs and runs his tongue along the seam of you so hotly that you nearly fall over. You lean down and give him another half-hearted smack. All it does is elicit a groan against your most sensitive of places.

With some struggle, you manage to remove the boot, kick your trousers and underthings off of one leg, and hop up to sit on the desk, Astarion follows you along, refusing to let you leave him now that he’s on you. His mouth works against you on its own, tongue lapping firmly at the edges of your cunt, flushing you and making you swell. He hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you know you’re already slick with desire.

You’re so momentarily distracted that you almost miss where his hands have gone.

Chest heaving, you weakly wave to dismiss your Zone of Truth and call up your mage hand, sending it down where you can’t reach to grab the wrist of the hand Astarion’s using to pump his cock while he licks at you.

“I don’t think so,” you gasp. “Still on… probation.”

You’re losing the thread and you’re perfectly okay with it.

Astarion growls in response and comes up higher on his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you tight against his face. His tongue finally finds your center and he rolls it against your entrance, plying the place just inside that makes you go flush with arousal, your clit swelling further. Then he finally pays it attention with a light draw followed by firm circles, teasing until you feel sparkles of arcane energy tingling at your fingertips and zaps of pleasure shoot through your core.

He holds you so tight to him that there’s no escape from the assault of pleasure he’s waging on your body. All too soon, you’re whimpering as you approach your peak.

And Astarion simply stops. He leaves you there, right before the edge, and you cry out in dismay and frustration. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s on his feet and pulling you onto yours, spinning you around until your hips are pressed to the edge of the dark wood. You can feel his rock hard length against the cleft of your arse, feel the wetness at the tip of him against your lower back.

“You’ve overplayed your hand this time, I think,” he pants into your ear. “Let your guard down. What member of the Board of Ethics accepts bribes?”

When you try to wriggle free, you feel his fingers at your wrists. He takes your hands and spreads them on the desk as you’d done to him, bending you over. His hips draw back and then return and you feel his hardness drag over your folds from behind, teasing but not quite putting pressure on your clit.

His breathing is heavy, but through it, he manages, “This time, you tell me the truth. Why did you meet with me?”

“To catch you out,” you gasp. “Your behavior has been… unethical.”

“Is it unethical to recognize when someone wants your cock?” he whispers, sending a tingle over your shoulders. “Is it against my oath to offer?”

“That’s not… I didn’t…”

The head of his cock nudges your clit and you both hiss through your teeth. He pulls back until he catches at your entrance, pushing in just barely. Just enough to begin to feel him, but nowhere near enough of him. Instinctively you arch your back harder, trying to take more, but he won’t let you.

“Beg me,” he growls in your ear. “Beg me for my cock. Tell me it’s why you came here.”

Your very last thread of remaining restraint is pulled to its absolute limit, but it doesn’t break quite yet. “I came here on orders to uncover a magistrate with loose morals,” you manage.

Astarion reaches a hand up to the hair at the back of your head, grabs a handful, and gently pulls to bend your head back. Directly into your ear, he whispers, “You’ve found him. Now beg for it.”

In the quiver of his voice, you can hear that he’s the one begging you.

So you give in.

“I came here for you,” you whisper back. “Please, let me. Let me take your cock.”

His breath shudders out of him. “Take it you shall.”

Astarion thrusts his hips forward, burying himself in you, and you hardly have time to so much as gasp before he sets a punishing rhythm, one arm around your waist to hold you in place and the other one still tangled up in your hair. You arch deeply, giving him as much access as you can, and he pounds into you relentlessly. On the outskirts of your awareness, you feel bruises beginning to form on your hipbones from where they repeatedly hit the desk.

You don’t care one whit.

He keeps you bent over the desk, your palms spread to keep you both upright as he fucks you hard, his moans trapped behind his clenched teeth. As you fly full speed back to your edge, he removes the hand from your head and absently places it over your mouth to muffle your own escalating cries.

The coil of your climax tightens and Astarion begins to mutter a steady mantra of “yes, yes, yes, gods, yes” beside your ear. He presses himself all the way to the hilt and rocks, the base of him stretching you just right and his balls pressed firm to your clit and there, oh there, it’s right-

You scream behind Astarion’s palm as you come, the delicious tension boiling and spilling over as contractions roll through you, pleasure washing over your body with every heartbeat. You nearly blank out for a second and when you blink back down, your lover continues to pump into you as he chases his own end.

With a shaking hand, you call up your mage hand from where it shimmers nearby and press it to his chest, pushing back with soft pressure.

“No,” Astarion whines, attempting one or two more thrusts before you back him up. “No, please, please, I didn’t finish, I-”

You turn, bottomless and eyes full of fuck and revenge, and add your own hands to the mix, all three pushing him back until he hits the deposition table, going flat on his back. You crawl up over him and straddle him, up on your knees just out of reach.

You look down upon him, beautiful and fucked out in the moonlight. “Do you regret any of it?” you say.

“I’m regretting a lot of my decisions at the moment,” he snarks. His lips part as he breathes.

With a smile, you roll your hips just enough to catch the head of his cock back at your opening. “Do you regret any of it?” you repeat.

He pants, looking up at you. Then he reaches up to grip the front of your shirt and pull you down over him in a searing kiss. When you break, he whispers, “No. Not a moment. It brought me to you.”

You roll back, sinking down onto him. He gasps and throws his arms around you, helping you get back into rhythm, and he’s so close that it’s barely any time at all before he arches his back clear up off the table and groans as he spills inside of you, the relief painted across every inch of his face. He comes for nearly a minute, twitching and humming beneath you until he finally relaxes into a boneless heap.

When he next opens his eyes, you lean down and catch him in another kiss.

The pair of you have barely redressed and cast a few prestidigitation cantrips as a courtesy before there’s a sound somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Shit,” Astarion whispers, startled. He grabs your hand and spins you both into a dim corner of the room before you both cast Invisibility. Just in the nick of time, it appears, because there’s a jangle of keys and then a harried-looking halfling comes bustling into the room, dark bags under their eyes.

They grumble to themselves for a moment, going to a box to sort through files. They don’t find what they’re looking for and move on to the desk. Once there, they open a drawer, then wrinkle their nose.

“Bleeding hells, it smells like sex in here,” they grumble. “Gonna tell Jackobson that Cole has been using his office again. Teach that arsehole for making me come fetch the file he forgot.”

The halfling pulls a file from the drawer, slams it, and exits the room.

Neither of you move for the rest of the minute your invisibility lasts. As soon as the cloaking spell fades, you both collapse to the floor in quiet giggles. You kiss Astarion through your laughter, again and again.

It’s nice to see this side of him.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tavstarion #kitten writes

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