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vxnuslogy · 1 month

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— lost to time ft. sae itoshi

— warnings: angst, character death, slight ooc?

— author's note: a reupload of my favorite work on sae while i finish editing the next 2 chapters of my hazbin series. enjoy!

— first recording

“hi sae! i heard from rin that you’ll be leaving for spain. i’m really sorry i couldn’t come to see you off, i’ve been busy studying, you know, for exams and stuff. but that’s beside the point! i wish you all the best sae! do your best and when you come back home, you better be the world’s best striker yeah? don’t worry, everything will pass by quickly so don’t miss me too much ok?”

sae hated planes. he hated them quite a lot. in was a constant reminder of that time when he was only 14, leaving home to go to spain to live out his dreams only for it to be crushed 4 years later. sae hated the airport, it was always so busy and so stuffy and so cramped. he hated the feeling of being surrounded by unfamiliar strangers, hated the feeling of people brushing up against him even if they didn’t really mean it. sae hated winter. it was the season he severed his bond with his precious little brother after all. it was the season he turned his back on him and it was the season he had wished to never relive again.

— second recording

“hey hey guess who’s sending you another voice message? it’s me obviously, why didn’t you tell me you were back already?! if you did i would’ve picked you up from the airport!

……

is something the matter sae? you haven’t picked up any of your parents’ calls and their really worried about you. you can always talk to me remember? i’ll always be here to listen, ok? don’t bottle everything up, it’ll do more bad than good. well, i have to go now. talk with your parents every once in a while will you? ever since you left for spain you’ve pretty much cut off all contact, even with me. that’s all, good night sae.”

sae didn’t really like flowers. he thought they were a hassle. plants that require specific needs and if not met, they’ll wilt. sae was never fond of them but here he was, standing in front of the counter of a local flower shop as the elderly shopkeeper wrapped a bouquet – filled with carnations, gardenias, lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums.

everything passes.

— college; third recordings

“i got into my dream college sae! can you believe that! honestly, i was really nervous when i took the entrance exams, but thankfully i studied real hard and managed to pass! i’ll be moving into the dorms soon. i’m gonna miss home. oh and rin! i heard he got into a soccer program recently, isn’t that nice! he’s following your footsteps in becoming the best striker in the world. i know, i know, you aren’t a striker anymore but it’s still nice to know that you’re still into soccer at least. by the way, when will you come back home? i kind of miss you, you know. i never got to see you off and when you did come back i was out of town and really busy. what about we plan a meetup or something in the near future? you know, make up for the times we lost? oh, i have to go now! my parents are helping me move in to my dorm. catch you later sae!”

sae didn’t really like coming home. the house he grew up in for the first 14 years of his life felt too foreign to be called home anymore. his parents felt like distant strangers that he just met a couple weeks ago – they felt more like acquaintances than his mother and father. the photos framed around his home felt like ancient relics from thousands of years ago, he didn’t recognize them. sae didn’t recognize himself.

maybe he spent too much time in spain to the point where it felt more like home. how ironic, he began to realize. he had flown back to japan to escape from his hell that was spain but here he was, in his home, in the bedroom he used to sleep in for endless nights, wanting to go back to the place that left his heart hollow.

“there’s nothing else i could do.” he tried to convince himself as he sat down on his childhood bed, the bouquet of flowers at his side. he could only sigh and let himself fall back into the bed of his long gone home. “everything passes.”

“hey hey hey it’s me again! how have you been sae? i’d like to think that i’ve adjusted pretty well in college. made a few new friends and met some old ones. honestly, i almost didn’t recognize them! i mean, do you remember makoto from middle school. he was a such a problem child back then and now look at him! he’s a scholar now! i guess everyone just starts to become more mature after hitting 18, who knows. thank you again, for the gift. i was definitely shocked when my roommate told me i had a package from you. i can’t believe you still remember that i wanted ‘no longer human’! thank you, i’ll be sure to treasure it. well, that’s all for today. call you some other time sae!”

everything passes.

— drunk recordings; the words i wish i could’ve told you sooner

“how do you work this again? ah got it! hehe, hi again sae! i’m at a party right now, man maybe you were right, i do have shit alcohol tolerance. but it’s fine. don’t worry, i’m already on my way home and the driver isn’t some creepy dude that might kill me.

……

you know, i like you very much but i don’t think you’ll believe me. i know i jokingly said that we should marry each other if we aren’t dating someone if we hit our 30s, but i kinda wanna marry you even if we aren’t 30 yet. is that weird? i really miss you. please come home.”

……

“hello? god that was so embarrassing… sorry, could you just forget about what i said in the last recording? um just, gosh i don’t even know. denying it won’t really help right haha… it’s in the past now so don’t mull over too much ok? please, just disregard that last recording. i’m really sorry, it was just me being drunk.”

sae did not in fact disregard that recording. in fact, sometimes in the dead of night he’d think about it and wonder, if he had replied to that specific recording would things have ended differently?

sae didn’t like deep and evoking questions about ‘what if’s’, he finds them annoying most of the time. and yet here he was now entertaining the idea. bouquet in hand as he casually walked around the neighborhood that the both of you had grew up in. the same twists and turns, same houses, same playground, same everything.

yet the silence was too loud, even for him.

everything passes.

— graduation recordings

“well, i think it’s safe to say i survived. i graduated sae, are you proud? man i still can’t believe i was a few point from getting the valedictorian spot but oh well. alls well that ends well i suppose. i heard you won your recent match congratulations mr best midfielder! kinda wish i was there to see it, but don’t worry! in your next match i’ll definitely save up enough money and buy those tickets to spain and your match one day! just you wait, i’ll be the screaming my lungs out and support you, i’m still your number one fan after all!”

sae had some feelings of dissatisfaction when you did not in fact get those tickets to spain and his match. maybe it was his wishful thinking but he really did wish you were there. but he knew it was impossible.

he remembered the feeling of anger and frustration running through his veins, cursing the heavens above because he felt the need to show the gods his emotions. sae hated thinking about you in that moment. he hated how he felt like he was in a new version of hell whenever you just happened to cross his mind. sae hated you very much.

everything passes.

— recordings from 2 years ago

“i’m sorry. i know you should’ve heard it from me but i guess my family beat me to it haha. to be perfectly honest with you sae, i had no plans of telling you. i’m sorry. its just, the thought of breaking the news to you. how could i ever do that to you? i’m sorry. god i’m so sorry sae.”

……

“hey. i received the gift you sent me. you didn’t have to , you know. now i kinda feel bad about having you go on break in the middle of soccer season because of me. but still, thank you. i appreciated you being here, with me. it was a refreshing feeling, talking to you again and just hanging out. work has been really stuffy and felt like i was being caged but you came. you suddenly appeared and suddenly everything was alright again. i know we only said goodbye a couple minutes ago but, i miss you already. sorry. this sounds really weird doesn’t it? anyways, thank you again for the gift. i’ll be sure to wear it everyday. that’s all, have a good night sae.”

……

“hey. sorry for calling at such an odd time. i just. i just felt a little lonely. i sound so stupid i’m sorry. good night sae.”

……

“makoto dropped by today. god he was as annoying as ever but he really cheered me up. he managed to confess to this girl he’s pining over since sophomore year. i’m happy for him. but it really got me thinking about us. i know i told you to forget about that one recording because i was drunk but now that i look back on it, i wasn’t really honest. to you and myself. i know this may be the worst timing to confess but yeah, i like you very much. since primary school, as cliche as it may sound i think it all started when you stood up for me from those bullies. now that i think about, i practically glued myself to your side ever since that day didn’t i? i’m glad you didn’t really mind that. i remember always using homework as an excuse to always have you hang out with me even though i completely understood the lesson. man, where did i get the confidence to do that stuff? but i guess those times are lost in the sands of the past i guess. oh right, sorry, i forgot you didn’t really like those type of stuff. getting all deep and whatnot. well that’s all, i’m getting pretty tired already so i’ll head to bed. good night sae.”

everything passes.

— present

“hi. thank you by the way. i don’t know, i just don’t think i’ve ever said that you recently. so, thank you. its a bit funny isn’t it? i would almost always talk your ear off every recording but this time, i can’t even find the words to say. my parents came over, talked to them a bit. rin visited as well. he’s gotten a lot taller than i last saw him, he’s probably taller than you now!

……

sae, thank you. for everything. i’m glad we stayed in touch. i’m glad we stayed as friends. thank you for making my days seem just a tad bit brighter, though sometimes i wonder what it would be like if we were, you know, dating. wonder what the difference would be. i mean we’d still talk to each other right? maybe holding hands and kisses but that’s pretty much it right? but thinking about it is useless right now. maybe in an alternate universe were actually married and adopted a cat like how we used to talk about.”

“you know, before this very moment. i accepted my fate already. i was content, i was doing fine but now. sae, i don’t want to die.”

“please remember me ok? and i’ll be sure to remember you. i’ll see you again, sae.”

“nii-chan..”

sae could only put his phone back in his pocket. his younger brother standing a good distance away from him. he could only imagine how rin looked like right now. was he pitying him, grieving with him? he’ll never know because he will never turn to look at him. not when your right in front of him.

how many times had he played all your recordings for the past 2 years? maybe a little over a 100 times? maybe close to 200 now?

sae removed all those thoughts as he placed the bouquet on the ground, the wind seemed to answer to his call – you seemed to answer to his call. despite all the pain, all the misery, all the bitter waves of grief that flooded his being whenever he played your recordings, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. he didn’t want to forget what you sounded like. your voice reminded him too much of home.

“happy birthday you idiot.” he said to you, keeping his hands in his pockets, watching the leaves of the flowers in the bouquet sway with the wind. two pieces of paper underneath it threatened to be blown away. “you said you wanted to come visit me and watch my match, well now you can.” two pieces of paper, one a plane ticket to spain the other a ticket to his upcoming match two weeks from now. “you better come watch me alright?” he could only bitterly smile.

“you’re 30 now,” he whispered, before getting on one knee. placing a velvet box in front of your gravestone. “you should’ve waited for me, you idiot.” sae could only mutter those words to no one in particular. it was as if the world had stopped for a moment, the wind had stopped howling, the sun was nowhere to be seen. he could only see you. “i wanted to marry you too, y’know.”

sae could remember every occurrence where he would sit at his balcony in spain every night after your passing. phone to his ear, listening to all your recordings. but you’ll never know how he replies to them, every single one of them with his own.

“i told the stars about you and what we could’ve had.” he chuckled, “you’re by far the hardest lesson i had to learn.”

standing up from his kneeling position, he gave you one last look before walking away. rin followed suit, but not before placing something at your grave. a pink book that you had loved till the very end.

sae hated planes, but he flew back to japan every year. sae didn’t really like flowers, but every year he’d get you a pretty bouquet. sae didn’t like coming home but if it meant getting to visit you, he’d come back over and over again. sae didn’t like reading or any deep and evoking questions but he always humored you whenever you asked him.

sae hated all those things but they reminded him too much of you to let them go.

and just like your favorite author, when osamu dazai asked to die, he simplu agreed; but just before his death, he suddenly felt obsession with life.

everything passes. just like how you’ll eventually get lost in the sands of time.

#✒️ — works #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock angst #bllk angst #sae itoshi angst

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velvetlilacsdaisies · 5 months

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Shit at Feelings i

Part one

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x fem!marked one!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS!!, drinking, swearing, filler dialogue, not proofread v well. lmk if I missed anything

A/n: my first Emperyeon series fic!! Was supposed to be just a one part fic, but I got carried away. I also just wanted to write a self indulgent piece w dialogue amongst the group too 🥲 this is my first time in a while posting but I fr love Bodhi sm I needed to have something w him in it. I hope you enjoy!

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You survived your first year, you defied the odds of what everyone else said about you. Not only defying those odds, but being one of the best in your year. Maybe Imogen and Xaden had played a crucial part, but most of the marked ones were surprised. You had been more quiet and reserved out of the group of kids for the high ranked officials, but that didn’t mean you were weak. You had proved that while being ruthless and cunning in your training. Your parents were Fen Riorson’s top battle strategist and healer after all.

In the gathering hall, everyone celebrated moving into their new ranks. While simultaneously saying goodbye to the third years they’ve grown to know. You were indulging in the alcoholic lemonade, and your fellow fourth wing with more than a few words tonight. You sat on the left side of Violet while Imogen sat on the right. Nadine and Sawyer next to Rhiannon across from you bickering playfully about something. You savoring your newfound will to live after the events at Resson.

The hall was sweltering in the summer evening heat, no amount of lesser magic had helped. Neither did the warmth you could feel from Ridoc beside you. Taking your jacket off, only being left in your tank top underneath.

“Damn Y/n,” whistled Ridoc. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your relics yet.” Everyone’s eyes went to you, and usually you would’ve been intimidated by all eyes on you. Tonight it didn’t faze you that much. Even noting the softened gaze in Nadine’s eyes, who had been skeptical of the kids of the rebellion at the beginning of the year.

Both sides of your collarbones are covered in intricate designs extending to shoulders making their way down to your biceps on both arms. You never tried to hide the relics, but you never took your jacket off or opted for a long sleeve, higher collared shirt when training in lessons.

You rolled your eyes at the male’s cheekiness and everyone gawking besides the few who knew what already laid beneath your jacket. “It’s not something I necessarily flaunt.”

“Obviously or we wouldn’t all be shocked here.” Sawyer snorted, sipping on his beverage.

“It’s so badass though.” Violet acted as if she hadn’t only seen it days prior.

“I had been fortunate in the placements of them. Since both of my parents were a part of Riorson’s regime.” You tried not to be bashful about it.

“Where’s your dragon relic?” Ridoc blurted as he looked at the design on your shoulders.

“Sheesh,” Rihannon reached over, flicking his ear. “You’re staring like you’ve never seen any relics before.”

Before you could give a response, something caught the youngest Sorrengail’s eye causing her to get up. “I’ll be back.” Violet stood up from the table, wobbling tipsily to the corner where you saw Xaden and Bodhi. The latter descended, seeing the silver haired girl approach them, offering a curt nod when they passed one another.

You gulped at how good Bodhi looked in his new third year jacket, even when it bore no difference to his second year uniform. You were just a sucker for Bodhi in a uniform admittedly. The mage lights illuminating his dark curls to a chocolate hue that tempted you to run your fingers through his hair.

Despite being close with Xaden, Imogen, and even Garrick—you kept your distance from the younger man for a year before he left for Basigath. When you were kids, you two had been close friends, maybe even inseparable. But when a rebellion happens, and you have increasingly become aware of how much your affection for him went so much deeper than being his friend—things become complicated.

When you were around him now it was the only time you felt truly timid. You could conquer the parapet, gauntlet, bond a dragon, kill venin and wyvern, but that man was your weakness. He had narrowly saved you and your dragon from a wyvern attack while back in Resson.

His cheek still dusted with a greenish yellow bruise, and jaw gashed with a healing cut. Unashamedly you thought it made him look so much more lethally handsome than he was. Gods you were resorting to a bumbling nervous lovesick puppy.

“Human women and their finicky hormones and emotions.” Your dragon, Cleasaí, chortled through your bond.

“Quiet, go eat sheep or something.” You slammed your mental shields up from her to the best of your ability while intoxicated.

Bodhi reached the table, already looking at you. His hazel eyes shimmered with curiosity as he scanned your exposed arms and collarbones. Either not used to lack of sleeves or was it the fact you unabashedly stared back for once. His mouth curled into a lazy smirk. You hoped he didn’t notice your already flushed warm cheeks redden under the mage lights, feeling a ghost of smirk on your own lips. The lavender lemonade made you feel bolder evidently as well.

“Mind if I squeeze in?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked on yours stil.

“I can move over—“ Imogen started moving closer to you, but he had already stepped over the bench to take a seat in between the two of you. “Or not.” She deadpanned. She had been one of the only ones that knew the complicated timeline between the two of you.

Your heart skipped a split second from the stare down between the both of you. Now feeling acutely aware of your posture and the swarm of what you could only compare to bees buzzing around in your stomach.

“Y/n,” he greeted casually, his voice a warm husky tone.

“Bodhi.” You tried to play cool, and take a sip of your frothy drink. Not only did you know he was looking at you, you could see Imogen in your peripheral, giving you a “what-the-fuck” look at the interaction. Ignoring the pink haired girl, you spoke up again. “Feel like a third year yet?”

“Eh, it won’t hit me until the new candidates get here.” He finally took his eyes off you as Ridoc offered him a bottle of ale. “Thanks man.” Bodhi’s side pressed up to you when leaned over to take the bottle.

His warmth doubled down into you, igniting the exposed skin where he pressed into you. Feeling his minty breath fan the side of your face, and the smell of cedar, patchouli, and musk invade your senses. You could feel his hard muscle flex through the layers of his clothing against your bicep. The storm that buzzed through your stomach turned into heat seeping into your core. Lovesick puppy or just desperate for male touch?

“I know I will be taking every advantage as a second year,” Nadine chimed in. “Finally being able to sleep in is priority number one!” She did a little celebratory dance in her seat. You snapped out the trance Bodhi left you in, and agreed with her.

“I’ll be savoring our newfound alone time too.” An extra hour in the morning, and weekends to actually do something more than chores or training. Maybe you can finally break out the sketch book that someone smuggled in for you during a supplies trip. You only found it on your bed with no note.

“Define alone time, Y/n.” Rihannon wagged her eyebrows at you. The group chuckled at the suggestive comment.

“Or will you use your newfound freedom to bring someone into your room finally?” Ridoc added, causing the group to laugh louder. If you weren’t red enough already, you had to be beet red now.

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” An inquisitive eyebrow raised at the shorter male from beside you. ‘Oohs’ rise from the group.

“Did you want to be number one, Ridoc?” Quinn giggled.

You felt both the male in question and Bodhi tense. The former blushing a deep scarlet in embarrassment and the latter wearing a neutral expression you couldn’t decipher.

“Sounds like you’re keeping watch of me.” You teased playfully. The flushed male who usually was never at loss for words was now stammering trying to deny it. “It’s okay, maybe one day I’ll take your consideration if I’m ever bored enough.”

“Not what I meant.” Ridoc put his hands over his face groaning. You finally let out a laugh from his reaction, you couldn’t help getting the slight joy of teasing him. He always got the joy of doing it to everyone else. It seemed the rest of the group was enjoying teasing the man just as much too. Everyone besides Bodhi, who had a slight scowl on his face until Imogen whispered something to him.

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By the end of the night, everyone was just about ready for bed drunkenly chatting and giggling at one another. You had consumed two more tall glasses of lavender lemonade. Most of the group now were clamoring around getting clumsy and incoherent. While you were trying to stay sane while remaining seated next to the guy you’ve always had undeniable feelings for. Overly aware of every little action he did at the table throughout the night. From him laughing to the way he gripped the bottle of his alcohol. Lovesick puppy.

You had stood at the exit of the hall up to the dormitories with Ridoc and Rhiannon. Both have to hold each other up as they bid you goodnight.

“Y/n,” Ridoc hiccupped. “I wasn’t serious about earlier, but if you’re—“ hiccup “serious I can be—“ another hiccup “serious.” You did everything you could not laugh out loud knowing it was the alcohol talking.

“She wasn’t.” Bodhi came up next to you, giving him a glare. You shot him a look, not used to such a serious or broody version of the man you grew up with. Him always being the friendlier one out of Xaden, Garrick, and himself. “Goodnight you two.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened in a shocking delight. “I knew there was something between the two of you!” She squealed, like he bared his soul with a couple words.

“There is—“ you go to correct her, but the tall male beside you cuts you off.

“Goodnight Cadet Matthias.” He had an authoritative tone that made your knees buckle. Or was that the alcohol? His muscular arm wrapped around your waist as he noticed your unsteadiness, and you felt that same sensation you felt earlier when you leaned into him for support.

Your two fellow second years gave the both of you looks before clumsily walking away, leaving you alone with the male holding you up. Your heart is now hammering as he starts to lead you away.

“Let’s get some air.” Bodhi motioned his head to the courtyard as he effortlessly led your stumbling form outside. You wanted to scoff at his proposition. Your new bed and pajamas were calling your name.

A few cadets and lieutenants lingered around the expansive yards, but he quietly led you to an alcove that brought you to a secluded spot where no one could see the two of you.

You leaned up against the stone wall, letting the summer breeze cool your skin. Carefully observing the tawny skinned man from beside you. He took out a small rolled paper and a match, lighting the roll and the sweet smell of churam filled your nose. You weren’t allowed to smoke, and you knew if you were caught you two would be expelled and possibly executed at this point.

“What are you doing?” You hissed as he took a drag, watching him let the smoke leave his mouth and inhale through his nose. There goes that damn buzzing feeling in the pit of your stomach again.

“Relax this is our smoking spot, Y/n/n, no one comes around here.” He reassured you once he exhaled the smoke again. You rolled your eyes staring at the mage light that flickered on the wall. After a lengthy pause, you glanced back at him.

“What makes you think I wasn’t serious?” You questioned, crossing your arms around yourself.

“You know these are the most words you’ve spoken to me in months? Maybe even years?” He ignored your question.

You opened your mouth, before closing it again. You couldn’t admit it was because of your harbored feelings. Not now. Because he was right, you hadn’t talked for quite some time. It didn’t feel right nor did you want to omit that confession.

“Well you were here for an entire year and I was back home so yeah it’s been a year since we talked.” So you played oblivious with him.

He scoffed, “you’ve hardly spoken to me since you’ve gotten here.”

“You just seemed so busy—“

“Cut the shit, please.” He pleaded, now anxiously dragging the joint.

As he brought it away from his lips after a couple puffs, you stole it from him. Your fingers brushing slightly as you grab the small rolled herb. The small touch warrants an electrifying feeling between your fingers. Quickly brushing the thought of if he felt it too, you took a hit of the herb. Letting the sweet smoke seep into your lungs and haze the self awareness and guilt that filled you.

You didn’t want to let him in, truthfully. You’ve already witnessed too many losses during the succession and your first year alone at Basigath. It was when your parents had been executed when you started slipping away from him. You let the stereotypical crush trope hide deep down what you felt, how afraid you were. It would hurt to know, if you finally got the balls to admit everything you’ve felt, and something happened to him or you. It already almost did once, the regret and shame still kept a hold of you for the last few days.

You could now see the disappointment in his eyes. “You’ve always been quiet and reserved, but with me? That’s never been you.” You took another deep inhale of the herb.

“Could you blame me if I was scared?” Your hands slightly shook as you handed the joint back to him. Your eyes were earnest as you looked at him.

He shook his head, running hand through his hair. “You're scared? Fuck, Y/n I almost watched you die. And you know what ran through my head thinking ‘this could be it’?” He took one last smoke, throwing the remaining part of the joint on the ground, stomping it out into the cobblestone. “That the last fucking year spent with you was speaking through a chain of command or small talk bullshit when you weren’t running the opposite if I was near you for too long.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you could feel the tears burn the edges of your eyes. That electric current you felt in your stomach only a few moments ago had solidified into a brick. Then ascended into a wall that crushed you with an iron force with his words.

You two had only briefly talked while in Aretia after what happened.

You had tended to your dragon most of the time while waiting for Violet to heal. Your green clubtail had a poorly injured claw from a wyvern, and despite her persistence it would heal, you were nervous that it would draw too many questions back at Basigath. Xaden agreed and saw Brennan to help mend some of the wound once Violet was stable. You were not able to leave her side while the stranger tended to her. She was already furious that someone besides you had to touch her.

You wanted to talk to him more after that, everything had happened so fast though. Then you went back to avoiding him.

“You’re right.” You mumbled, picking at the edge of your nails. “I’m so sorry, Bo.” Your lip trembled, and the first tear slipped from your eye.

He sighed, sounding defeated. “Gods, I don’t want to be right.” He gently grabbed your elbow, wrapping your smaller frame in his arms. “I want you to stop icing me out, Y/n.”

He ran a hand through your hair, his chin resting on top of your head as you sniffled tears silently running down your cheeks. He had every right to be upset with you, but here he was comforting you. This had always been the Bodhi you knew, how he was before the height of the rebellion. Whereas you had turned cold, letting your cowardice and stubbornness control your emotions—for what you thought was for good reason.

“I know,” you stifled against his jacket. Finally wrapping your arms around him. His grip tightened, and you were overwhelmed by the sense of comfort. You hated what this man did for you and to you.

“I shouldn’t have had this conversation tonight.” He admitted. “I should have waited until we were both sober.” He let you go, and you wished you were still wrapped in his muscular arms. A cold seeping into you that wasn’t due to weather.

You shook your head, a sad smile on your lips. “I would have run.”

“And I wouldn’t have had the courage to bring it up.” A dry chuckle echoed through the quiet alcove.

“We’re riders and we’re—“

“Shit at feelings?” He mused as he watched you tug your jacket on. You wiped some stray tears from your cheeks with your sleeve.

“I was gonna say pansies, but that works.” You sniffled, as a toothy grin finally appeared on his face.

“Should we get to bed and do this all over again tomorrow?” He offered his arm. You raised an eyebrow at him, was he sane? “I mean the drinking part, not the arguing. I enjoyed hearing more than a word out of you tonight though. So I can resort to arguing if needed.” He nudged you slightly.

You rolled your eyes teasingly, “no promises.”

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Reblogs and likes are appreciated! I am open to feedback as well as requests too! 💕🫶

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cursedonyx · 6 months

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So I had a little realisation about our favourite freckled heathen and his unending cheer and charm.

I think we can all agree that part of Sebastian’s allure is that he is so resolutely cheerful, especially in the first half of the game. He’s upbeat, charming, cheeky and extroverted, always smiling and willing to help. He loses the duelling match against you in DADA with more grace than a 15–16-year-old should reasonably have (especially considering Ominis is absolutely steaming in the background because Hecat almost made him fall over) and he’s willing to take the fall for you in the library, being cheerful with you again the next time you meet.

Sure, he has his moments, like when Solomon yells at him. But instead of engaging in an all-out brawl or screaming match, he removes himself from the situation and asks for a moment alone, presumably to calm down. A very mature thing to do.

It’s only when the relic (and likely Slytherin’s book as well) corrupts him that we see him be more on edge, snappier, more prone to temper.

Sebastian’s constant cheer and charm would lead a lot of people to think that he’s unbreakable, that he could be run over by a rampaging hippogriff and he’d just dust himself off and carry on with a smile and a laugh. And he probably would.

The thing is, that kind of constant cheer is likely down to his highly abusive childhood.

Hear me out.

We know that his parents died before he and Anne got their magic, which, according to canon, is usually around seven years old. So they would have been six or younger when their parents died, but for some reason, I think of it as being about five. Old enough to have precious memories of their parents, but still very young and impressionable.

We all know that Solomon never wanted to take the Sallow twins on, and harbours some insane resentment to the situation they’re in: an ex-Auror now living alone and essentially working as a farmer (he can be seen tilling the fields in Feldcroft) suddenly lumbered with two very small children who have just suffered massive emotional trauma, and he’s not equipped to deal with that. So he takes it out on Sebastian, who resembles the brother he presumably strongly disliked.

Whilst Anne is said to have been the most mischievous one out of her, Sebastian and Ominis, I think Sebastian is the most emotional. He likely would have been prone to let his feelings show, especially as a child, but Solomon wouldn’t have wanted to or been able to deal with that.

The thing is, resolutely tough, cheerful people have often been taught from a very young age that their negative emotions aren’t important. That their feelings are a nuisance. That they will be punished for expressing them, whether that’s through physical correction, emotional manipulation, or the removal of affection/attention. I fully expect that the grieving young Sebastian will have been told by Solomon to shut up and sit down and stop snivelling, or to behave, or to act like a man because he didn’t want to deal with it.

Sebastian will have learned to hide his negative emotions, supressing them in favour of trying to be happy to keep Solomon happy; a far preferable situation for him than antagonising the angry man who’s been angry since his parents died. It's possible Sebastian tried to be strong for Anne as well, who I expect would have withdrawn a lot, and as he loves her so much, he would want his twin to be happy, so he was happy for the both of them and did his best to cheer her up.

Being cheerful is safe. Being cheerful is a kind of protective blanket. Because if he lets himself feel all the hurt and the scary and the bad, he won't know how to handle it, so he doesn't. He just keeps smiling.

Sebastian will have unintentionally learned from a young age, or been deliberately trained to hide or mask his negative emotions at all costs, because the price for displaying them has always been serious consequences. But because he bottles it all up, when he breaks, he breaks hard. When his last-ditch attempt to save Anne with the relic fails, he breaks. Every bit of strength he had is gone, and he's left scrambling in an unfamiliar overload of pain and panic.

And when he has some time to think it through, the effects of the relic wearing off, he's truly remorseful for everything and eternally grateful that you're still his friend. Even before then, when you have to decide whether or not to turn him in, he tells you he's glad he met you, trying to fall back on those last threads of positivity that have held him up before.

That poor lad needs as much love and therapy as our lil blind bestie does.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt

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mphountitled · 16 days

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𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Summary: Visiting home brings up old feelings for the boy next door…

Myung Jaehyun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Boy Next Door AU, Non-idol!AU, Language, Mutual pining, Hyperfeminine!Reader, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), dry humping, slight ddlg themes, praise kink, dom/sub themes, Dom!Jaehyun, Needy!Jaehyun, Hyperfeminine!reader, Premature Orgasm, Loser!Jaehyun, Needy sex

The lack of actual boy next door fanfic for Boynextdoor is harrowing...

You did not hate your childhood. In fact, you would venture to say that you should look quite fondly of most of it because most of it had taken place here- in a picturesque wasteland of suburbia, and as you drive through the narrow main road, staring at glimpses of childhood relics, you begin to frown. Every memory was so unequivocally perfect except, maybe, for the ones containing him.

"Can you at least try to sound like you're not going kill yourself while you’re there?" Your best friend's voice drones on from the car speaker. Her words, no matter how valid, elicit an eye roll from you, effectively stopping your journey down memory lane. "It would be awful to have to drive down to your childhood home just because you tried to kill yourself, I refuse to have that be the way you introduce your college best friend to your mother."

"Relax," you affirm in a voice groggy from underuse. Spending an entire 15 hour drive beguiled to your car without any company except for maybe of course your Destiny's Child album and a swelling sea of dread in the pit of your stomach.

This would be the first time in a year that you were visiting your childhood home since you left for college. The first time anyone who mapped the outline of your childhood, would perceive you as the budding, blossoming, depressive adult you have become. You felt like a storm coming back into your picturesque childhood neighbourhood, threatening to sweep everything away. That feeling of dread only doubles when your driveway appears on the bottom of a hill. The cul-de-sac of your childhood with all its trimmed hedges, neat fencing and constantly perfect shudders, sends you hurtling into nostalgia and once again, common ordinary dread.

"What If I just turn the car around right now, would that be bad?"

"I have never met a college student so unhappy to be home-" Your best friend mumbles, "You're going to be living the dream!? Actual balanced meals!? Please take one for the team,"

Almost immediately, her words trigger a rumble of hunger from your stomach and you groan as your car curls into the cul-de-sac. Your heart is hammering in your ear, not for the reasons anyone might think, but because of those memories locked in your childhood. As you drive, you try to keep your eye on your house. Your perfect homely house.

Your eye doesn't even stray to the house beside it!

Honest to God!

Not even once.

"Is there a reason you don't wanna go home so bad?"

"The weather is so bad," you say almost automatically, "I think the line's about to cut,"

"Bitch, you only avoid my line of questioning like this when it's about some dick-"

"Jeez, the weather’s messing with the connection."

"If you drop this call TRUST you will be dealt w-"

"I'll call when I unpack, love you-" when you drop the call, your car is parked in the driveway and your shoulders are slumped over. You contemplate waiting around in the driveway until some relative forcibly pulls you out but that thought is quickly made obsolete when you hear a harsh knocking on the door. Your stress levels gravitate to an all time high as you watch him, waving frantically at you from the other side of the glass. His smile is bright and just as crooked as ever. His wave is frantic and energetic; Jaehyun is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, so unequivocally happy to reunite with his childhood best friend.

His only friend. The return of that voice in your head is one of things you had been anticipating on this trip. Mainly because your childhood had been riddled with so much self esteem issues, your feelings practically metamorphosed into that voice you now hear now. That's all you'll ever be to him. All you've ever been, Your mind remarks in a distasteful spit of venom.

"Get your face off of my windows unless cleaning my car for the foreseeable future is a job you're actually interested in." You say coolly as you slide out of the vehicle. Jaehyun gives space for you to stretch, all while shuffling from one foot to the next, picking at the sleeves of his flannel with a dopey smile like he was one second away from proudly telling you he 'frew up at school'.

"Still as homicidal as ever." He says your name with a familiarity that nearly knocks you unconscious. You focus on lifting your arms to the air, and ironing out tje various aches in your back.

"How long has your ass been waiting here anyway?" It's Jaehyun's turn to nearly evade eye contact at your question. He finds it exceedingly difficult to follow along with what you're saying when you so very clearly have boobs now.

"Since my mom told me you'll be back,” He says before immediately adding, “hey- how long have those been there?" You drop your arms with furrowed brows as you look at him.

"What?"

You await a response that doesn't arrive. Jaehyun only points nonchalantly towards your chest. You look down at your v-neck and back at Jaehyun. "I don't know what you're talking about," you roll your eyes as you shuffle past him.

"YOU HAVE BOOBS NOW?!” He exclaims, “EW-"

You turn around to face him, pushing your acrylic nail into his sternum, "I've always had tits- sh-shut up-"

"You literally finished high school without them. I would have noticed as the tiddy connoisseur, trust me."

You find yourself embarrassed, not by his avid teasing (this is something you've been forced to deal with every single day of your childhood and adolescence,) but you find your stomach warming for completely different reasons. Your Jaehyun-obsessed brain wants to pick apart and dissect his entire statement. Maybe he's finally noticing you now? Maybe this age-old crush will evaporate and metamorphose into something else.

You cannot speak because your nail is still digging intently at his sternum and he's staring down at you, as if waiting for whatever venom laced comeback you had waiting for him.

All you're able to focus on however, is the way in which you're staring intently at each other. For him, this proximity is probably nothing, but for you... "Also when you get in there, please for, the love of God, act surprised."

The spell is immediately broken and you're once again brought back down to earth.

The cul-de-sac.

The driveway.

The afternoon sun, surrounded by a cooling breeze.

"Please don't tell me I'm about to walk into another family dinner," your eyes grew heavy with fatigue at just the mere thought of all your family dinners before. 'Family' being used very loosely because he always somehow found himself in every single one.

"You know how our moms can get," you did. You really did.

"Ugh," you exclaim, trudging up the house steps, "1 hour of this and I'm done." Your hand pauses before the doorknob and you turn to Jaehyun with a bored, almost questioning stare. "Aren't you gonna get my things?"

His grins a wolfish grin before clutching at the t-shirt under his flannel, "Oh how I've missed being bossed around by you-"

"Fuck you-" You chuckle out. Jaehyun only turns his torso sloppily as he continues walking to your car.

"A guy could hope!"

And just like that, that smile is gone. The moment is sour. Because whatever he meant, you knew from childhood experience that it did not mean what you wanted it to.

Meeting everyone all at once had been as jarring as you expected it to be. You ceremoniously heeded Jaehyun's advice, acting so completely shocked when your relatives and Jaehyun's family yelled 'Surprise' in unison. Everyone was sporting smiles that crinkled their eyes and arms open for hugs. Before you were made privy to every line of questioning surrounding school, Jaehyun's mom swept you into her arms.

"How's is my daughter in law-" there was no time for her to watch you grow tense at her words because Jaehyun who was lugging your luggage in, calmly affirmed, "She has tits now, apparently-"

"MYUNG JAEHYUN-"

The evening had progressed with all the domesticity that you lacked during college and you found yourself at immense ease throughout dinner. Home is still home. Jaehyun is still Jaehyun. Everything that once was, still is and you took a second after dinner to ruminate in the feelings of comfort seeping into your entire being.

That is until your mother ruined it by inserting a very unnecessary, wholly uncalled for fact during dessert drudgery.

"Any boys on campus?"

"It's campus," you snorted as you stuffed your face with malva pudding, "of course there are boys," Throughout the course of your dinner, Jaehyun, who is dutifully seated directly beside you, has taken to swinging his leg against yours. A provocation from childhood that you almost immediately latch onto until you are both playing a violent game of footsies under the table.

"No boys to smooch on campus," Jaehyun speaks up, petulantly puckering his lips at you. All you're able to do is try and ignore him which proves to be a dangerous feat.

"I should think there's a new boy." Your mom says before pointing at you and Jaehyun with the flick of her utensils, "The primary school crush you two had on each other has gone on for way too-"

"MOM!?"

Your mother's slip of the tongue instantly grabs all of Jaehyun's attention. He's perking up in his seat like a rottweiler at attention with his head snapped in your direction.

"Crush?" His eyes falter, scanning the side of your face as if he was perceiving you anew. All traces of a smile are gone as he dumbly asks "What crush?"

"I've been driving for an insane amount of hours," you begin by pushing yourself out of your dining chair, "I should unpack and get to bed-"

"W-Wait I can help." You glare daggers at Jaehyun, that look alone should be enough to stop him from rising from his seat.

"Don't be rude. Your best friend hasn't seen you in ages" your mother scolds, lightly prompting your hands to curl at your sides, "We'll take care of the dishes."

Your ascension up the stairs had been charged with tension and filled with something else entirely. You walk ahead of Jaehyun as if trying to distract yourself from his presence, but everything about him is so completely there, "I can feel you staring at my ass," you mumble, needing to fill the air with something, anything at all as you reach the upstairs landing. "Guilty," he says as he follows you into your childhood room which is much the same.

Jaehyun beelines for your twin bed, almost immediately flinging himself on the childish quilted bedspread. "This place is still the same..."

"So are you actually going to be useful, because if not," you fold your arms as you stare him down, "You can leave?"

His mouth hangs open in a lopsided grin as he reaches around to grab at the very first plushie he finds. One of many.

"You still sleep with these?" He asks instead, as if your question meant nothing at all. He plays idly with the stuffed dinosaur in his hands as he leans his head back against the pillows. Seeing him here, amongst your things, brought an avalanche of nostalgia and a wave of hopelessness. He is still so attractive, even after all these years.

You sigh, "Jaehyun if you're not gonna-"

"So was that true?" There it is. The shotgun question that had been hanging like damp washing between the two of you. With your nerves shot to hell, you decide to lower your behind on the very edge of the twin bed as you busy your hands with folding your clothes. Your back is turned to him but you can feel those piercing, smiling eyes watching you.

"Is what true?"

"C'mon, don't do that,'' there is a noise of shuffling behind you. Your heart hammers in its cage with the dip in the bed sheets and you can feel him seated directly behind you. You look down at your lap to find that he's placed your plushie there, as if to distract you from the fact that his legs were now framing yours, his front pressed against your back.

"You know what," he whispers straight into your ear, sounding as serious as you've ever heard him.

Craning your neck backwards to let your eyes fall on Jaehyun would prove to be a cataclysmic mistake. It only heightens the wobble in your voice as you say, "The crush I had on you was juvenile and childish and frankly didn't mean any-"

"Dude..." he whispers, eyes seemingly boring into every single square inch of your face, "I've dreamt about being your boyfriend since I fucking found out what a boyfriend is." His words knock the breath cleanly out of your lungs and your voice grows quiet as he lifts his hand to the side of your face. "What..."

"Yeah!"

His voice is loud and boisterous but you're still somehow locked tightly in your stupor.

"Nu uh," you mumble, your eyes daringly drifting across his lips, "You're lying?"

"How am I lying, angel?" you suck in a deep breath because his thumb is rubbing dizzying circles against your cheek now and his voice has descended a gravelly octave. He dips his head down, experimentally placing a feathlight kiss on the corner of your bottom lip. So innocent, but charged with so many expletives, the possibilities rush straight to your clit.

Still, you soldier on.

"B-Because remember what you said at our grade 6 dance?"

He's not listening. He's not listening because he's finally got a taste of you and he'd be damned if he didnt get more. Jaehyun cranes your neck until you're facing forward once more and you gasp when his lips descend on the skin between your neck and shoulder. "Enlighten me," he mumbles against your skin, placing more featherlight kisses there before he quickly grows bored and decides to stick out his tongue experimentally. You turn into molten clay in his hands and the whimper that escapes you is borderline pornagraphic. This is the stuff all Jaehyun's previous fantasies are made of.

"W-When you asked me out- you said..." your voice drifts off because Jaehyun can't help but let his right hand reach around until he squeezes your torso impossibly closer. All the pudge, all the skin, all the ways he's been dreaming about having you this close and you were there for the taking this whole time.

"Fuck, I'm obsessed with you…" He says, and he does a very odd thing. He buries his face in your neck and just sniffs. This momentary slip of weakness allows you to regain some of your senses as you say,

"Y-You asked me to be your date," Jaehyun is drunk on the very scent of you now and his cock throbs as he brings you impossibly closer against his lap,

"What else did I say, baby," he wants you to carry on talking. Anything that might distract you from wanting him to leave. Anything that might keep you here just a little longer. His cock throbs at that thought alone and it has him rubbing against your skin like a dog in heat.

"Y-You said you didn't have anyone else to go with-" you suck in a deep breath through your air as Jaehyun's hand venture underneath your shirt. He slithers his hand up in a hurry until his cool fingertips are grazing the flesh of your breasts. Like a crazed adolescent driven by his hormones alone, he pulls your bra down, all while tonguing and licking at your neck like his life depended on it.

"S'sorry," he mumbles incoherently behind you, and his hand on the side of your face cranes your head backwards so that you're facing him once more, "So'so'sorry," he places a sloppy, apologetic kiss on your mouth which immediately triggers a very deep desire that is almost as old as you are.

"I wanted you so bad-" you admit with a gasp, and Jaehyun feels your confession shoot straight down his spine. He plasters his front into your backside, pressing his hips against your ass in an apparent wave of lust.

"I've always needed you," he ventures to admit, pressing his bulge against your backside as if needing to persuade you further.

Those words of affirmation are all you need , all you've needed for a lifetime and you immediately turn until you're lumbering onto him before letting your knees frame his hips. His hands instinctively grip onto, your supple, full hips and the feeling of your softness on top of him alone is enough to have him groaning into the air as his hips stutter up at you.

While you crash your lips against his once more you lift yourself away but his hips follow, "The fuck are you doing!?" He mumbles against your lips before biting lightly at your bottom lip.

"Too heavy," you mumble, "I don't wanna be too hea-"

Your words dissolve in your throat and in its place, a yelp escapes as Jaehyun forcibly pulls you down onto his sweatpants-clad lap. "You did this to me," he says, watching you intently as if scolding you, "You did this to me and now you wanna run away?" He scoffs as his hands begins to guide your hips against his. You're both in very flimsy material. Him in his sweatpants and you in similar attire except your sweatpants were a dusky pink. "Youre so pretty grinding on me like that fuck-" he speaks quickly and fluidly as he leans backward onto your bed, making more space to watch you grind yourself on top of him.

His attention is utterly intoxicating and so you do nothing but listen when he says, "Take your top off, baby-"

You peel the item of clothing off, unclipping your bra with all the speed and sloppiness that came with your lust-filled fog/ Jaehyun doesn't help. He's all too focused on guiding your hips against his, watching you face contort into pleasure.

"Pants," he says, needing to see more of your open-mouthed moans, "Take your pants off," he whispers, "Make a mess on me," he swallows thickly, "Please,"

You lift yourself to momentarily push your sweatpants, Jaehyun lifts himself momentarily to grab at your stuffed animal.

"Whatre you-" When you straddle him again, you're completely naked while he's fully clothed. The juxtaposition only elicits another wave of lust. "Hold this while you ride me," he stuffs your plushie against your chest, watching your mouth hang open as you lower your clit onto his bulge,

"O-Oh my fuck, Jaehyun-"

"Just like that, angel, fuck,' he throws his head back momentsrily stumped by the weight of his pleasure. He's trying to be dominant for you. He's trying to keep his control for you, but you're moving your hips against his, with his bulge between your legs, using him for absolute filth. It ruins him entirely.

His voice cracks when he lifts his head to look up at you and say, "Oh my god, you feel so fucking good, oh my god," When Jaehyun curses, your cunt only presses down harder against him, prompting a needier response out of you.

Jaehyun swallows thickly, "Use me, baby," he says, "F-Fuck, just fucking use me," his hips stutter upwards and his hands on your sides grip you so tightly you know it'll leave marks. "Doing s-so well for me. Youre doing so fucking well-"

He watches with an open mouth at your tits, so pillowy and full, bouncing as you rub yourself against him and he completely loses it.

"Fuck- p-please cum, I need to cum so bad-" Jaehyun gasps, wracking another torrid moan out of you as you descend almost immediately into your orgasm. Jaehyun watches with an open mouth and half lidded eyes, unable to stop himself from fucking up into you. He wraps his arm against your waist and buries his face in your chest. You rake your fingers through his hair and he shivers

"No way you just made me cum in my pants," he is so incredibly overcome with embarrassment, he dreads having to look up at you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No, Jaehyun, its-"

"I mean about not being honest sooner. That was bad of me, he mumbles into your chest and you chuckle at his petulance, "I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted for making me wait so long..."

#boynextdoor #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor smut #jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #myung jaehyun #myung jaehyun x reader #myung jaehyun smut

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gilly-moon · 8 months

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❄️ maybe a Danny and his ice core is on the Fritz ✨

Why did Danny have a Santa jacket in the Urban Jungle episode tho??? It’s so cute but its gotta be a relic from his childhood or something

#my art #danny phantom #art #artists on tumblr

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seravphs · 11 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

There are some forces greater than kings. Princesses do not happen to be one of them. What you desire will be your downfall.

wc — 5.7k

tags — royal au, mutual pining, forbidden love, childhood friends, retainer/royal dynamic, court intrigue, ballroom scene, protective Gojo, once again breaking etiquette for each other, complicated relationship (with your father), title from Upstream by Mary Oliver

part 2 of the hand which holds the knife

There’s a language you spoke as a child that you can’t seem to access anymore.

The only other person who remembers what it was is on the other side of this hall.

A hand on the pommel of his sword to ask are you okay? A flower tucked behind your ear to represent get me out of here. A shared look that meant I’m bored out of my mind right now.

That’s all you can remember. Like fairies and sorcerers, it’s a relic that’s faded into the distant memories of your childhood. All the magic has drained out of your life, and you’re left with this-

Gojo, looking regal and beautiful in his new armor, standing on one side of this massive hall built for receiving audiences.

You, as stiff and proper as a princess should be, standing on the other.

Even when you know you won’t be seen, the training you received as a child never quite leaves the set of your shoulders. You’re hiding from the court in a secret space above the hall. It’s less of a room and more of a balcony, disguised by masterful craftsmanship and perfectly placed decorations.

A long time ago, one of the sons of the Kamo clan had been a renowned architect. He had designed the windows in the Great Hall to reflect in such a way that even anyone who did know where to look would be confused by a trick of the light. In order to preserve the secret of this concealed viewing area, the king then promptly had him killed for his efforts.

Now only the royal family knows of it.

Somehow Gojo’s eyes still seem to pierce into yours, although you know that it’s impossible. Even knowing that he’s most likely just staring into space due to boredom, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching you.

After all, you’ve never been able to hide from him. Every single game of hide and seek that you played when you were children was only won because he let you. Even now, it feels like he’s watching you, camouflage or not.

If you still remembered your secret language, you might’ve been able to check. Scratch your cheek once for yes or rub at your ear for no. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected Gojo to respond to your mental summons, but there’s still an ache in your heart when he doesn’t react. It’s a fact of life for even that which you held most dear to erode with time, but it’s still difficult to forget the memory of how fantastical the world had been as a child.

Even now, there’s a painful longing in you for those days. When you still had cherubic cheeks and Gojo had missing teeth, the two of you had been inseparable. No matter where you went throughout the palace, you did so holding hands. The son of the Hand of the King and the daughter of the King, innocent playmates. Your father had loved it until it stopped being cute and started being improper.

Now, like everything else the two of you had shared, the language that had once been just for the two of you is lost to time.

From your vantage point on the balcony, you see a guard mount the throne’s dais to whisper into your father’s ear. A minute wrinkle forms between his brows. Seeing this, you gather your skirts to prepare for the long hike down the stairs. It’s the only way to get down from this balcony.

Things change. It’s time you accepted that.

You’re a little late to your father’s summons due to your delay in the secret balcony, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, at least to you. The first signs of thunderclouds gathering over his face break the instant you climb up the steps to the throne, dipping your head to kiss him on either cheek.

“Father.”

It’s a word that conveys so much in so little. He’s at once the king that you pay absolute respect to and the father that indulges you in almost everything. He receives your greeting warmly, not even chiding you for being late.

In a place of honor by his side, Gojo’s eyes dart to you. There’s an easy smile on his lips. “Princess,” he murmurs under his breath.

The king gives him a cross look. It’s an unspoken rule for the kingsguard to be seen and not heard, but as Gojo had learned through his childhood, there were few rules that applied to him, and fewer still that he couldn’t bend in some way. You don’t acknowledge him, but for him, just seeing you was enough. He melts back into being a statue once more, a beautiful if threatening decoration.

Below the podium, people shush themselves the minute they notice that your father has an announcement to make.

They know it must be important if he’s gathered all of them. Even a few commoners have been let into the throne room, albeit separated from the nobles with guards and other barriers. The news will inevitably spread like wildfire.

The princess is getting married.

Things change. You’re trying to accept that.

Your father isn’t so cruel as to throw you to the wolves immediately. The announcement is more for the sake of preparation. This is the beginning of your introduction to potential suitors. Historically, not every princess goes through such a formal affair. Your own parents, for example, had always known they were going to marry each other. A match between the richest house and the prince when the children were so close in age was easy.

You’re not so lucky. Since you were young, Gojo has spoiled you with too much attention for you to care about anyone else. Now you have no other convenient childhood friends to turn to.

Your father will want it to be a massive celebration. His only daughter, the blood of his blood, deserves music and dancing. Already, you can hear the faint sounds of the most talented opera singer in the kingdom warming up in the ballroom adjacent to the Great Hall. Some of those closest to the doors have already begun streaming towards the jubilant sounds.

That’s a relief.

It takes a little pressure off of you as you begin to make your way back down the steps. Logically, you understand why the throne is raised on a dais. In the moment, however, your heart is pounding as you begin your descent. The entire nation has been watching you since you were just a child, but a proclamation of marriage has raised the stakes.

You only exist for other people to envy. They scheme and fight for the rights that you’ve been endowed with since birth. You might at least make it worth their while. Piece by piece, you collect the fragments of what a princess who’s deserving of the jewels dripping from her neck and hair might look like. Hands that don’t tremble. A sweet smile. Perfect posture. You weave these disjointed wisps into the correct facade and slip it over yourself.

Royalty is all about showmanship. Like the balcony, hidden by a clever trick of light, everything is a feint of hand. You’re not any different from anyone standing below you in the crowd. You were just lucky enough to be born to the right parents at the right time.

You’re so focused on your appearance you barely register the sound of metal clinking. Before you, an armored hand stretches out.

It’s Gojo. He’s left the king’s side to come stand beside you. When you peek at him out of the corner of your eye, you see that his face is solemn, which it rarely is. Is the crowd whispering already, or is that just you?

It’s honorable, if you think about it. A member of the kingsguard, coming to escort the king’s daughter down the steps? It’s the very height of chivalry. But you know Gojo, and it’s anything but. His face is stoic, but his gaze is searing. How does he manage to get under your skin when such dense layers of fabric and armor separate the two of you?

Placing your hand on his gauntlet feels strangely intimate, even with thousands watching you. He doesn’t make a sound as you lean your weight against him. You suppose it’s nothing to him. No burden is too heavy for the mighty Gojo Satoru.

Your hand laid delicately atop his silver arm, he guides you back to the ground. It’s much easier when he’s by your side. Gojo is already part of the image of the princess that the people want. He looks good by your side, you know. A silver knight to match your charming court lady.

The milling bodies make a path for you even as they move towards the ballroom. No one dares to get too close, but they all want to watch you, even though you know they’ve been watching for years. It’s a bit sorrowful for you to know that in the end, everything you’ve presented for them is a lie. You’re not half as special as you pretend to be, and what is genuinely royal about you has been trained. In any other life, your positions could be reversed.

But a princess has her duties. You make no sign of this as you press forward, only looking back once to see that Gojo hasn’t returned to the king. Another one of his kingsguard brothers, much older than he is, has replaced him. It’s nice to see that your father still cares for Gojo in his way.

It’s good that he won’t be bound to his duty all the time. You had hoped he would be able to enjoy the ball. Gojo does like his revelries.

As for you, you only like them in good company.

It’s such a pity then that Zenin Naoya is the first person who dares to approach you.

He’s as sly as a fox as he asks for a dance you can’t refuse. House Zenin and your father aren’t on good terms, but that’s all the more reason Naoya circles you. Now there’s an easy way to mollify a crowd - a marriage alliance. You know he’s been pressing, as has Lord Zenin.

You’re not so easy to convince. Naoya has unsettling rumors surrounding him, and you’re loath to experience them for yourself.

Still, one dance in the public eye can’t hurt.

Like any son of a high born house, he’s a good dancer. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you.

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.”

Your father wouldn’t marry you to a man like Naoya if it brought world peace, regardless of how badly his family wanted a tie to the throne. There’s too many whispers about how he treats his servant girls and even cousins. Your father loves you. He wouldn’t put you through a marriage where your title could only protect you for so long.

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. “I find myself rather dizzy.”

Naoya tries to stop you, but another noble steps forward as he grabs your wrist. You don’t recognize him, but the motif of flowers on his clothes suggest he’s of House Geto.

“You shouldn’t harass women like that, Naoya,” he chides. “A man has to treat a lady with respect.”

Naoya’s eyes flash, but your mysterious savior is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction.

“Thank you, Sir…?” You let him fill in the silence for you.

“Getou,” he says. “I’m Gojo’s sworn brother.”

This is the man you’ve heard so much about, his partner in the guard. Their names are often brought up in conjunction. He’s as pretty as you expected of the man nicknamed the Flower Knight.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, satisfied now that you know he’s friends with Gojo.

“This is a rescue mission,” he says half-jokingly. “Isn’t anywhere but Naoya is fine? Now look impressed with me, please - I can’t have any potential wives thinking the princess finds me a poor dancer.”

It’s not difficult. Getou is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are usually adept at the arts. You wonder what happened to make him choose knighthood instead when he says, “Heads up, my lady. Someone’s watching you.”

To your right, Gojo is swaying with a beautiful woman in his arms. It only takes you a second to place her, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo, also known as the Lady Knight, is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear.

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge the other like they could.

Their bodies are sensual. Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them.

All but one.

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but Gojo’s eyes are on you. Scandalously, one hand slips just so, landing on Yuki’s lower back rather than an appropriate place just between her shoulder bones. For some reason, heat gathers in the same place on your body, as if you’re the one he’s touching instead.

It must be because he’s looking at you with such fervor. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His eyes are half-lidded, as liquid as a cat. Every move is sinuous as if he’s on the prowl. There’s something impossibly obscene about his gaze. It creeps slowly along your body as he and Yuki move in a complicated series of steps.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says with amusement. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.”

It’s impressive that he can keep up with you. Dancing is an art you’ve been tutored in by the very finest in the craft. But Getou matches you move for move, beat by beat. Your steps weave seamlessly together, creating an intricate pattern.

Unlike Gojo, he’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each beat. He knows all the most recent court gossip, and on more than one occasion, inspires an embarrassingly loud laugh from you. You’re surprised to find how much you enjoy his company.

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone replaces him. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were on your upper back down to your hip. He’ll be your last dance of the night.

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs against your hair.

Your father will be throwing an apoplectic fit if he sees, but when has Gojo ever cared about other people’s opinions?

“By whom?” You ask, all innocence.

“You’re such a handful, my lady,” he says as he lifts your hand for a spin. You hesitate. This is a move that’s much enjoyed in the Southern Kingdoms, but here, your dances are much more restricted. Like in all matters, propriety is most important.

But as always, Gojo’s freeing nature makes you more daring. You let him twirl you just once before he pulls you back to his side.

“I thought you liked that about me?” You bat your eyelashes at him in an intentionally over the top gesture.

He suppresses a groan that makes you giggle. “Don’t weaponize that against me, princess. You know I’ll fall for it.”

You’re the only person allowed to do this to him, and the knowledge of that fact pulls the corners of your mouth into a soft smile.

There are things that he only lets you get away with, and things you only let him get away with.

He’s the only person allowed to pull you closer. His hands bracket your waist, curled tightly against the dip in the fabric. Unlike Getou, his touch is firm. You’re nearly chest to chest, the intricate patterns of beads on your bodice reflecting against his breastplate.

He’s so familiar with your body it’s like touching his own.

Ruination.

He has ruined you utterly for any other touch. No matter which household you marry into, Zenin or Getou or Nanami, you’ll always be Gojo’s.

It doesn’t matter how chaste or depraved each touch is. Your body responds to him like it responds to no other. Everywhere he touches you throbs on impact, as gentle as he is with you. He’ll always be tender for you.

For the next leg of the dance, you separate. Your point of contact is slowly stripped to just your palms against each other, your bodies angled outwards. Like sharks, you circle each other - beasts on the hunt.

You’re touching but not holding each other. His palm is flat against yours, the touch barely there. You watch him. Light plays over his face like he’s been blessed. The candles burning against the encroaching night make him glow. Under his lashes, he’s watching you back, coy and seductive.

Slowly, each finger curls until you’re no longer just skin to skin, but he’s actually holding you. It’s devastating. Somehow, in this crowded ballroom, he’s managed to empty your brain of anyone else. All you can think about is him, his beautiful hands, the lean strength of his body.

At once, you feel horribly exposed. Anyone looking at you two would be able to tell how you feel about each other.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Cold. Deadly. Hinting at violence. You’ve never heard your father speak this way.

You pull back as if Gojo’s touch is suddenly toxic. His fingers cling to yours for a moment longer, and then he lets you go. He bows to the king, not nearly as low as he should. For once, you wish he’d just manage to know when to hide his true personality.

“Gojo Satoru,” your father’s voice is dripping with poison. “Care to explain why you, a member of the kingsguard, is dishonoring my daughter in such a way?”

Beside him, Captain Yaga stands stiffly. Only the smallest of frowns on his face gives away how he feels.

“He wasn’t!” You step between them. You can hear Gojo’s sharp inhale of breath behind you. He’s used to being the one who protects you, not the other way around. “We were just dancing.”

“You’re a child,” your father brushes you aside easily. “You don’t know these things. After everything I’ve done for you, you dare trample on my kindness, Gojo?”

He doesn’t say a word in his own defense.

“My king,” you try desperately. “Please, he wasn’t- he would never-”

Your father turns to Yaga. “Escort my daughter to her rooms.”

He’s treating you like a child on the day he’s announced that he’ll marry you off to another house. Your blood boils, but you’re no match for Yaga as he strongarms you away. Your father steps closer to Gojo, looking up to meet his eyes. He watches him back with an uncomfortable stillness. In the light, his eyes look almost reptilian.

“Looking at my daughter with those lascivious eyes,” your father hisses. He strikes Gojo across the face. The people in the ballroom, whom you had entirely forgotten about, gasp. Still, Gojo says nothing. “I should have you stripped of your armor and whipped in the square.”

“Father!” You struggle violently against Yaga’s hold as he carries you away. You only have one advantage. He may be strong, but he’s unable to hurt you. You, on the other hand, are willing to do whatever it takes to get free of him. When you push your fingers into his eyes, he drops you with a yell of surprise, giving you the opportunity to run back to the nightmare scene unfolding in front of you.

You cling to your father, both to ask for mercy and out of fear he’ll strike Gojo again.

“Please,” you whisper. “You can’t do this. He’s the heir to your Hand and one of the most powerful houses we’re allied with. We need him”

Your father looks down on you. He raises one hand to stroke your hair, but it almost hurts with how heavy the touch is. His fury is present in the room like another body.

“He dishonored me by dishonoring my daughter.”

“Father,” you’re weeping. It’s shameful. Everyone is watching you fall apart, something you’ve tried to avoid your entire life. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Your father turns to the rest of the ballroom. “Get out, all of you! Leave now!”

The kingsguard makes short work of them, hurrying everyone out the doors. It’s quick because no one wants to stay and face the wrath of the king. When your father realizes Gojo’s still here, he turns to him. “You too. Leave. And be grateful.”

Gojo’s eyes dart to you. In that moment, you feel an overwhelming affection for him, unwilling to leave you behind. “I’ll be alright,” you say, touching his arm. “Go.”

He frowns, but you insist, all but pushing him out the doors yourself.

“Scream if you need me,” he hisses in your ear as you finally get him outside.

When the massive oak doors creak close, it’s just you, your father, and Yaga.

“Thank you, Father,” you say.

“Don’t thank me yet. You promised me anything.”

You did, and it’s a price you’d pay over and over again to spare Gojo.

“You’ll take on a knight. I’ll find someone suitable for you. And Gojo will still have to be punished.”

Still? After everything you just sacrificed to keep him safe?

“How could you do this to me?” You whisper. You don’t recognize the man in front of you.

“You are a princess,” your father says, cold in a way he’s never been towards you before. “Act like it.”

You stare at him, stunned. There’s a beat where you think he’ll apologize. He’ll take it back. He has to. It’s always just been you and your father. You have no one else. When that moment passes, you storm out of the throne room.

It’s not just a slight. Your father has stolen from you. Gojo is yours. He has no right to him, neither as a kingsguard nor as someone to punish. You had been willing to forgive him the first crime, but the second is too cruel for you to bear. It’s spiteful, even, in a way you’ve never known him to be.

Somehow, while you weren’t watching, the world has changed. It’s as if you’ve been asleep for a long time and woken up somewhere slightly different, and you can’t get used to the little ways everything is wrong.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” your father calls after you. “That Gojo boy is dangerous.”

Danger.

You know it well.

All your life, you feel as if you’ve been trying to avoid a ledge. You keep yourself quiet and contained, stilted growth to remain a perfect member of the nobility. Now, in this moment, you feel yourself stepping off of that edge. Whatever lies below is unknown.

In your kingdom, there’s a common saying that love is strength.

There are many different sources for the aphorism, but the most recent is that of Sir Toji and Lady Fushiguro. Their love story has been dramatized into legend and plays, commercialized for an audience that devours the story of a common soldier’s rise to prominence out of love for a noble lady.

People choose to conveniently ignore the fact that they end in tragedy. Lady Fushiguro died a few years ago, and Sir Toji has never been seen since. You only know of what he looks like from a retelling your father took you to watch two years ago. Despite belonging to your court for years, he’s all but faded from memory. Toji is a man of myth rather than a real person.

That’s love, you think. His grief after the passing of his wife drew him into a seclusion so intense no one could remember his face, just that he was tall with a scar and black hair.

Love so powerful it could twist remembrance and distort the face of such a well-known individual - you like that. That’s love with real power, not the play kind that’s been half baked in roses and sugar dust to convince you to buy something. True love is paid for in blood, not cash.

You don’t agree with the proverb, not just because it’s not what you take away from Toji’s story, but because of your own experiences. Love makes you weak.

Still, you don’t hate it. It’s saved your life more times than you can count, after all.

Under Gojo’s armor, scars litter his body, one for every hurt he’s taken for you.

Some say that he’s the reincarnated companion to the first king, the greatest of all knights. Others say that he’s a demigod, born with half of a god’s power. Whatever you think, it’s undeniable that his strength is something of legend. In what other scenario would he come to harm but by defending the princess, so much weaker than himself?

There’s a healed slash across his ribs from the time you were six and assassins crept into the royal gardens. Gojo had been barely older and armed with only a dull training sword, but he still managed to cut down eight men twice his size to protect you.

When you were twelve, a horse tried to buck you during a parade, spooked by a mouse underfoot. Gojo, ahead by yards, ran to catch you. He was rewarded with the sickening crunch of his wrist turning sideways as he braced your fall with his own body.

There’s a jagged lightning strike on his lower back, a cut that never healed right. The ridged edges of scar tissue pucker, tugging the skin taut. It’s just another wound he’s received from you. He’ll use anything to shield you - not just his body alone, but his reputation. The first time someone challenged your honor in a trial by combat, spouting lies, Gojo put the rumors down with ruthless efficiency.

There’s no chink in his armor that’s as effective as you. Endangering the princess will always be the easiest way to get to Gojo, because he’ll throw himself in harm’s way to keep you safe. But if you’re revealing your cards, Gojo’s your weakness, too.

It’s a delicate position you hold as princess. Although you’re technically untouchable, you’re well aware of the way everyone around you is watching, waiting to take advantage of the smallest misstep. The higher you stand, the further you have to fall. Gojo only had to defend your honor because of the rumors surrounding the two of you. The fact that he was your champion only entrenched them further - it’s just that no one dares to speak of it openly now.

It’s a shame to your father and your royal house that you are likely the first princess with such a terrible reputation in years. Even you see the validity of the situation, though you can’t agree with your father’s methods of addressing it. Who wouldn’t question your bond?

Most princesses are chaste, delicate little things. As fresh as the royal roses and twice as unblemished. They keep men at an appropriate distance and smile meekly behind their fans, eyes downturned and as gentle as a lamb.

You’ve never enforced a boundary with Gojo. At this point, he’s a part of you rather than a separate being on his own, a strange two-headed creature with the same heart. He’s your ever present shadow, your most stalwart defender. The way he’s constantly circling you, never more than an arm’s length away, has given rise to whispers that a princess’s reputation would normally quash.

These things work in funny ways. Up to a certain point, it can be easily brushed away by the strength of your standing in court. No one would dare to besmirch your honor publicly. But you’ve long since crossed the point of no return, most likely before you even turned twelve. The closeness between you and Gojo eschews court protocol to the point that even your status can’t protect you. You’re no delicate rose, but a tainted bud.

Although it hurts you to know that your father suffers from your lack of discretion, you refuse to push Gojo away. Your protests are kept to a bare minimum, just enough so that all the rumors remain just that, rumors. Everyone knows, but no one can prove it. Gojo obeys, albeit unwillingly. Your word is his law, after all.

But although you own him body and soul, Gojo belongs to your father now.

In one way, it’s your father’s attempt at defending you. Kingsguards can have no romantic affairs. Any love Gojo bore you would be seen as courtly, the extended dedication of a knight to his king. It would be duty, not romance, that would make him honor-bound to protect you. It’s an easy explanation for all these years of blind devotion.

All of the kingsguard loves you, but in the way a follower worships. It’s not dependent on who you are, but rather what you represent. You could command them to kill anyone you pleased, or offer up their own lives. It’s not something you like thinking about, especially in conjunction to Gojo.

You’re not the god, anyway. In any scenario, they’d be forced to choose your father over you if it came down to it. As long as kings exist, princesses can be replaced. It’s much harder for you to produce a new king.

Your father loves you.

It’s just not an easy kind of love.

Despite taking Gojo, he offers you a replacement that you don’t want, but will be forced to take anyway. Sir Toji comes out of retirement for only the most noble and sacred of duties - protecting the one and only child of the king.

At the moment, anyway. Your father is still hoping for a male heir.

You didn’t think Toji was still alive, if you’re being honest. Although people constantly wondered what he was up to after the events of the play, you simply assumed he died of a broken heart. That was the easiest explanation for why he hadn’t been seen in years, but when your father calls you to him, there’s a man standing by the side of his throne.

Tall. Dark hair. A scar over his lip.

If the shoe fits, you suppose.

The smile he gives you is threatening, but you try not to be prejudiced from the very start of your relationship. It’s just the scar, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

“It’s an honor, your highness,” Toji says, and bends low to kiss your hand. His lips are dry and chapped, a stark contrast to Gojo.

It’s hopeless from the beginning. You’ll always compare him to what you lost.

Your father does, too. That’s precisely what went into choosing your dedicated knight. He wanted Toji because as a widower, an older man, and even because of his natural personality, he’s seen as an unlikely candidate to be your lover, especially if the main contender for the position is Gojo, classically pretty and elegant.

No one will question your relationship with him, unlike your relationship with Gojo, who every girl and even quite a few boys in the entire kingdom desire.

It’s the perfect move.

It makes you miserable.

Getting used to Toji’s presence is difficult. When you turn, you always expect Gojo, with his dancing eyes and sharp tongue, ready to make fun of the latest courtier who dared approach you.

Everything is strange, even his position. More often than not, Gojo walked beside you. You only had to turn your head to whisper something into his ear.

Toji remains a few steps behind, menacing people who approach you from the shadows. It discomfits you to turn, expecting shared laughter, and greet only air.

He notices, of course.

“I’m right here, princess,” he says the fifth time you do it.

“Of course,” you smile at him, a little pained that he caught you. “I’m sorry, I keep forgetting.”

“Do you miss that boy that badly?”

You stiffen. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever makes you happy, my lady,” Toji says with an easy shrug that clearly conveys he doesn’t care too much if he’s not being paid for it.

That’s not to say he isn’t good at his job. He’s fantastic at it, actually. You’d heard rumors that he was the only man in the realm who could possibly stand against Gojo, though you never believed it. Gojo had been untouchable for your entire life. There had never been anyone who could even close to him.

Toji is a total shift in your paradigm. For the first time, you begin to wonder if Gojo is truly unbeatable. You’ve never seen anyone as fast as either of them, or as strong. Toji has the potential to upset Gojo’s status as the best knight in the kingdom. But he hasn’t.

He seems to have no interest in court machinations. You have no idea what your father even offered him to come out of retirement for you. Toji’s no help, either. You’re afraid to ask him your questions.

You don’t trust him. Mainly because he seems like an agent for your father, but also because you’re afraid of him despite yourself. He’s a monster, and you’re not sure what your father was thinking when he assigned him to you.

The peace between you two is unsteady. It’s a mutual agreement based on a common understanding that no one benefits from making your lives harder for each other, but all the same, there’s no trust between the two of you. He’s not the choice you would’ve made.

In any life, it would’ve always been Gojo.

#sera writes #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojou x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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steve-faglan · 4 months

Text

Breaking and Entering

Reader x Steve Raglan/ William Afton

TW: NON CON, NON CON, NON CON!!!

Summary: You and your best friend, Mike decide to break into the old Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Restaurant to get high and explore the relics of your youth. It's all well and good until you realize you're not the only ones in the building.

PART TWO: HERE❤️

William Afton was widely known to be involved in the disappearance of several children during the years that Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was open. Because of this, he's renamed himself Steve Raglan and taken on the role of career counselor to ensure a security guard for his life's work.

Not only smart but extremely well coordinated, William navigates the halls and secret passageways of Freddy's today just as swiftly as he did in the 80's.

You'd been to Freddy's back in its glory days. You've seen the animatronics in their prime and even witnessed the tall yellow rabbit mascot that used to walk around, though he creeped you out, so you always steered clear.

Lately, college has been taking a toll on your mental state, so you decide to indulge in some good old-fashioned nostalgia in the form of "innocently" breaking and entering at Freddy's. Mostly you're just looking for a place to smoke a joint and think about anything other than your major you wish you'd switched a year ago.

"Come on, you said you'd go with me. No one's ever there, it's been closed since the fucking 80s, man," you plead with your friend Mike to join you.

"The temp agency just tried to get me to work there!"

"So then there's no security, right?!" You drive a hard bargain or maybe Mike's extremely obvious feelings for you influence all his decisions.

"Alright. I'll be over in 10. I'm putting Abby to bed." He caves and you giggle in victory before hanging up. While waiting for Mike, you roll a few joints, grab your CD player, and slide a lighter into your front pocket. The minutes drag by until you hear Mike's piece of shit car pull into your driveway. You bolt out the door and climb into the vacant passenger seat.

Mike can't help but stare at you for a minute. You're easily the most beautiful person in this town as far as he's concerned, but he can't bring himself to make a move considering his ever-complicated home life.

"Thanks for doing this, dude. School is kicking my ass." You smile at your friend, and he quickly turns away, hoping the night is concealing the blush on his cheeks.

The drive to Freddy's is short and exciting. It's been years since you've seen this place. Mike pulls into the furthest, darkest corner of the parking lot and the two of you devise a plan of entry. At the very back of the building, there are two large loading dock doors. With both you and Mike using all your strength, you get it open just enough to crawl through.

"Jesus Christ, what did I let you talk me into?" Mike coughs away the dust.

"Come on, this way!" You drag him by the arm, the blood in his face rising just from your touch. Anyone with two eyes could see how Mike felt about you, except you.

You and Mike sit on the floor, right in front of the main stage. The four, old robotic humanoid animals still occupy their spots, holding their respective instruments or props. Time has been unkind to them.

You spark up one of the joints and pass it back and forth to Mike. You each share a headphone as you stare into the tall, decrepit ceiling of the restaurant.

"You think the bathrooms here still work?" Mike asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

"Surely they do if they wanted you to work here, right?" You ponder the question further. "Maybe check the ones in the office area." You point to a door that you recall from childhood that leads to the "boring" part of Freddy's. You ended up there by accident and swore you heard screaming, so you never went back.

Mike disappears in pursuit of a restroom, leaving you by yourself on the large, open party floor. You light another joint and stare quizzically at the robots. You become lost in thought thinking about how lonely it must be here, after all this time.

"You've been waiting for an audience, haven't you?" You tilt your head. Mike's taking longer than you anticipated, so you grab the other headphone and place it in your vacant ear. The volume is loud enough for you to imagine the animatronic band playing it. For a moment, everything around you melts away. You close your eyes, reliving a carefree time in your youth.

"Y/N!!!" Mike barrels down the hall. He's sprinting around every corner, tripping and stumbling the whole way in fear and adrenaline. "GET OUT!! GET OUTSIDE!!" He screams, but you can't hear him. You can't hear a thing. Just as he's about to make physical contact with you, he's yanked backward. The large, yellow rabbit that used to freak you out drags Mike behind the kitchen doors before bludgeoning him over the head, knocking him unconscious.

"I thought you couldn't do nights, Micheal?" The rabbit man binds Mike's wrists together and drags him through the same doors as before. He securely fastens his restraints to a support beam and stands. Already a tall man, he towers in the suit. William Afton.

William slowly turns his head, looking right at you. You sit with your back to him, on the far side of the room, closest to the stage. He takes two steps before you glance behind you, wondering where your friend is. Your breath hitches in your chest when you're met with a giant bowtied rabbit. You glance behind him to see Mike's motionless body on the floor. Time's moving too fast to tell if he's alive or not, and you scream again before taking off toward the door.

The rabbit man gestures to the stage and begins to slowly stalk toward you.

"Stay the fuck away from me! What did you do to Mike?"

"I'll do a lot worse if you don't stop fucking screaming!" William's voice is robotic and warped through the automated helmet of the suit. He's inhuman to you. Your mind can't wrap your head around the fact that anyone is in the suit, let alone William Afton himself. You try to silence your wails, but you can't do anything to stop the terrified sobs. All you can do is think about Mike.

"I-Is he dead?" You whimper, in a state of shock.

"Not yet," is all the rabbit says before he advances on you, grabbing you with unnatural strength. Your arms are pinned by your sides and he lifts you off the ground with ease. Kicking and fighting does nothing but bruise you up, but you try regardless. You manage to free one arm, and in your hysteria, you knock the mascot's helmet off his head. The helmet falls with a heavy thud, but it's as if it's muted in the background as you stare at William. He stares back, unfazed by his revealed identity. It almost looks like he's smiling.

"W-W-W-"

"William," he growls before placing his steel-covered hands around your throat while you were too distracted to notice he'd sat you back down. You claw at the lifeless metal and cloth, but slowly, your vision becomes blurry, and then... Nothing.

Mike wakes before you. He recovers quickly as he realizes where he is. He searches for you frantically, but you're nowhere to be found.

"Y/N!" Mike screams, but there's no reply. He's alone in silence for a few minutes before the unmasked rabbit man appears carrying your wilted body. Mike begins to panic. "What did you do to her?!"

"Calm down, Micheal. She's just tired. She's gonna need her energy." William grins, sending a wave of nausea through Mike's stomach. "You should feel lucky, you get to watch." He steps out of the robotic suit revealing clothes similar to the ones he wore when he first met Mike, not long ago.

"Watch what?" Mike raises a brow. William doesn't reply, he just starts cutting the clothes off of your body. "What are you doing?! Don't fucking touch her!"

William laughs at him, licking the entire length of his middle finger and sliding it inside you while he stares at Mike. He continues to play with you, rendering Mike into a livid mess. William shakes his head, amused, continuing with whatever dark plan he's already hatched for the evening.

You have no idea how much time has passed, but eventually, you wake up. You groan as you try to sit up, only to find that you're bound to a tabletop in an X formation with your legs hanging off the side where your knees bend. There's a raggedy drape of cloth over your body and the dry, musty smell is enough to make you sick. You scan the room in a quiet panic, unable to move and truly study your surroundings. Quickly you spot Mike. His left eye is swollen and will surely be blacked by the time you get out of here... If you get out of here.

"Mike!" You try to yell, but it comes out as a strained wheeze after the damage William did to your throat. Mike locks eyes with you and that's when you notice how scared he looks, but not for himself. You furrow your brow and look in the other direction. There stands William. He's out of the suit now, standing over you with a devilish grin.

"Breaking and entering isn't a good look for either of you," William chuckles. "But especially you, sweetheart." William places a soft hand on your cheek. You recoil in fear.

"Don't fucking touch her!" Mike thrashes in his restraints. It's clear to you that Mike knows what's about to happen before you do.

"Please, we're sorry. We won't say anything to anyone, just let us-"

"Don't be cliche. You knew what you were doing and you did it anyway. This is someone's stuff, you know? Someone's livelihood."

"I'm sorry," you sob.

"You're gonna be," William hits the joint he commandeered from you, and after a long drag, he flicks it to the side and begins to unfasten his belt.

"No! No, no!" You plead, arching and bucking your hips in hopes of loosening the cables that secure you to the tabletop. Mike causes his wrists to bleed, but he still can't get free. William strokes his erection as he watches your helpless body writhe under the sheet. You accept your fate, horrified and humiliated, you look away, facing the stage. You quickly notice it's empty and your heart begins to race.

"They won't be joining us. This is for my- our eyes only." William releases a deep, taunting laugh and starts pumping his middle finger in and out of you again.

"M-Mike..." You try to ask for help, unsure of what he could do for you at this point, but desperate to be free. He won't even look at you now. He's slouched over, looking at the floor, trying to drown out the sensual wet sounds coming from William's fingers scissoring inside you.

"He doesn't want to save you, sweetheart. He wants to see you get fucked against your will." With his last word, he heaves the entire table closer to him, giving Mike a front-row seat to the show. Panic consumes you. Before you have the chance to beg for mercy again, William tears the unkempt sheet from your body, leaving you entirely exposed.

"No! Wait, please!" Your fight or flight response kicks in, but you're helpless to do either. The cables strain against the table, but you're unable to move an inch. You look back at Mike. He meets your gaze and the two of you share a knowing look before you feel William slide the head of his cock up and down your clit, soaking it in the arousal your body had no choice but to pool between your legs after the ways he touched you.

"You make it hard to believe you don't want it when you're dripping like this, sweetheart," William taunts. You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed and afraid, unable to watch the blood rise in Mike's face as he watches you get defiled. Just as you're sure William is about to slam into you with no mercy, he pulls away. You open your eyes and glance at him in confusion, hoping he's realizing he can just let you both go and that would be the end of it. But that's not the case.

William bends to knees, placing your soaked entrance right at the perfect height for him to consume you.

"Let's see how difficult I can make this for you." William buries his tongue in your wet folds, flicking the muscle delicately over your violated clit. You try as hard as you can to fight back any kind of reaction, but you fail. A soft, breathy moan slips from your lips like a note from a music box. William laughs against your sensitive skin.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry." Mike hangs his head in defeat, listening to the sounds of you succumbing to William's sensual touch.

"What are you sorry for? She loves it," William smirks before curling a finger inside you, eliciting another explicit moan from you. He regains his standing position and replaces the head of his erection at your pulsating entrance, waiting. "I've needed this. You have no idea how stressful it is to keep a place like this under wraps."

All you can think about is how stress got you here. All you wanted was a smoke session with your best friend in a cool venue, and now, here you are. You're jarred from your thoughts when William's massive erection drives into you. It's abrupt and painful, but your body gushes with arousal to make up for the stinging, pleasurable friction.

"No!" You scream. Mike fights against his restraints one more time, thrashing and sliding his body in any direction he can, but he's stuck. William throws his head back in ecstasy as he plows into you. He's fucking you like he's eating his last meal. Breathless grunts of focused pleasure fall from his chest. His rough, calculated hands find your breasts, toying delicately with your nipples.

You close your eyes and try so hard to escape the reality of the situation, but William lands a hard, heavy smack across your face, shaking you back into the moment. With a stern hand, he grabs your face and forces you to look at Mike. He's red-faced, enraged, and tired. You can't decide if you want him to look at you or not.

Mike mouths an "I'm sorry" to you, but all you can do is stare at him while William picks up his pace. Your vision is unsteady as he jostles you around.

"You've gone quiet. I think I need to fix that." He draws his hips back and in a split second, your eyes widen in fear before he slams into you at full force. A loud, moaning wail emits from you and the humiliation finally tears your gaze away from your best friend. "There she is," William smirks, steadying his thrusts yet again.

"Please... Stop..." You moan between gasps. Your orgasm is building at break-neck speed. The last thing you want is to climax around William's invasive erection, but it seems as if you have no other choice. The hitching breaths in your chest become loud, sultry moans. Your mind is too frazzled to focus on withholding any signs of enjoying him. Tears stream down your face, but you admit to yourself that you don't want him to stop.

Mike looks away for a moment, but can't help but stare at you. Your eyes flutter shut and your back arches so intensely. He watches the 'O' shape your mouth takes and imagines those same lips wrapped around him. He has to shift uncomfortably, hoping to conceal his already obvious bulge. After you've ridden out your high on William's cock, he slowly slips out of you. Taunting you.

William knowingly reaches under the table and unfastens whatever link was holding each of your extremities. Your hands instinctively find your most delicate, used areas.

"Don't touch yourself unless I say so," he snaps, taking your wrist in one of his strong, demanding hands. His riddance of contact allows your mind to clear from the climax and you're suddenly afraid again. A notorious serial killer is making you his toy.

"Let her go, you've had your..." Mike searches for the words, but he's unsure how to describe the vulgar scene before him. "Just let her go, man." He looks exhausted.

"Don't talk yourself out of a good thing, Micheal," William chuckles before shoving you to the ground in front of Mike. You land with a thud, releasing an involuntary whine of pain when you hit the hard surface. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"No! I-" Mike attempts to protest, but William cuts him off.

"Oh, please. You're not fucking her. Probably never will. Now you get to get off on the idea that it's being taken from her."

"You're a fucking monster!" Mike thrashes against his binds, protectively snapping at William like a guard dog.

"You want me to let her go?" William squats beside the two of you. You lie fucked-out and terrified, curling up next to Mike for some sort of dignity. William grabs your hair and sharply yanks you toward him. You release a high-pitched squeal and allow him to guide your head to Mike's pants zipper.

"What are you doing?" Mike shuffles uncomfortably.

"Don't make me wait," Afton snaps at you and you quickly reach a shaking hand for Mike's pants button.

"What are you doing?! Stop, let her go!" He tries to shake your hands away, noticing the waves of tears falling down your face as you already piece together what William might make you do.

"Mike, I-" you're cut off by William shoving your face into Mike's newly exposed crotch. He diligently bobs your head for you, fist still wrapped in your hair. The second you make contact with Mike's cock, he releases a deep, sensual sigh. Small moans fall out of him left and right, nothing he can do to stop them.

"Tell her to stop, Mike." William waits, but Mike is silent. You squeeze your eyes shut as more tears well up. "Tell her to stop, and I'll let you both leave right now." Silence.

"Mike?" You beg, relieving yourself from the forced fellatio. Mike doesn't look at you, he can't. William smirks and shoves your face back to work. He makes good use of your throat as you take Mike as deep as his shaft can possibly go, ignoring any protest from you.

Mike begins to pant heavily. Little whimpers escape his mouth as his orgasm builds.

"F-Fuck," he huffs before finishing down your throat. When William finally pulls you away, you're a choking, sobbing mess. Betrayal doesn't properly describe what you're feeling right now.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry, I- I don't-" Mike fumbled over his words, red-faced and breathless.

"Shut up, now. You had your turn." William lifts you from the ground with ease and throws you against the same table as before. This time, you're bent over it, presenting your ass to him like a trophy to be won. To be taken.

"Please let me go home. I want to go home..." You sob with your face pressed to the large party table. Mike's eyebrows upturn as he watches you cry. Guilt consumes him, and the helplessness of your cries only amplifies that. He's not sure why he didn't tell you to stop, he knew it was the right thing to do. But he was so enveloped in the feeling of your lips bobbing up and down his erection, how could he ever ask for it to end?

"Shhh, you're doing fine, sweetheart." Afton coos in your ear as he leans over you. He's so tall, it's nothing to him. He plays with your pussy for a moment, slipping a long, nimble finger inside you. His eyes roll back in his head as he tests how tight you are in this position. "Perfect."

William slips inside you, fucking you as if he didn't just screw you senseless not long ago. His large, calloused hand comes down hard on your right ass cheek, and a loud slap echoes through the empty restaurant. You release a cry of pain every time he lands a blow, and he does it a lot. You're fucked out, beaten, bruised, abused- everything.

"Plea-" you beg, but another HARD smack to the ass shuts you up.

"Shut up! I'm so... Fucking..." William slams into you one final time before you feel his cock twitching inside you, filling you up. "Close..."

"No!" You try to kick and fight and do anything in your power to stop him from cumming inside you, but it's entirely too late. You sob loudly as Mike watches in horror. William removes himself from you and his handiwork spills from your swollen entrance. Your weak knees wobble under your weight.

Afton looks at Mike and grins deviously before flipping you over and clasping his powerful hands around your neck. The sound of Mike pleading for your life becomes a dull mumble in the background as you slowly lose consciousness. Once you're out, William readjusts his rolled-up sleeves and lands a hard, knock-out punch on the side of Mike's skull.

He dumps you both in the back alley, unsure if you're both alive or dead. He doesn't care, he just doesn't need you here anymore.

Mike wakes up first, placing a gentle hand on his face and wincing at the pain.

"Y/N? Y/N!" He scrambles over to you and takes you in his lap. You're still naked and you're covered in bruises and scrapes, a testament to how hard you fought and how strong William is. "Please wake up. Please wake up, dude. This isn't funny."

You don't move.

"Please wake up! Wake up, Y/N! Wake up!" He repeats over and over, shaking you and lightly tapping your face with his open hand. Finally, you suck in a big breath. The sound of you inhaling causes Mike to jump, but he quickly pulls you into his embrace, relieved to see you alive.

"Mike..." You groan. He quickly sheds his jacket and wraps it around your crumpled form, hoping to give you some sort of cover. The two of you get into Mike's car and head back to your house. The ride back is mostly silent until he finally speaks.

"Y/N, I- back there, I..." He doesn't know what to say.

"I don't think he would've let us go anyway." You stare out the window in a state of shock, secretly reliving the way William made you feel.

"No- that's not the point. I mean-" Mike struggled with his words yet again.

"Do you think he let us live for a reason?" You finally glance at Mike. It's the first time you've looked at him since he filled your throat with an entire friendship's worth of pent-up feelings.

"I don't know, but it doesn't matter. We're never going back there, I promise." He's attempting to comfort you, but something depraved and demented inside you is already thinking about what he'd do if he got his hands on you again.

#tw non con #tw dark fic #non con #fnaf dark fic #steve raglan smut #steve raglan #william afton #dead dove do not eat #dub con #william afton smut #fnaf movie #fnaf smut #steve raglan non con #william afton non con #steve raglan x reader #matthew lillard smut #five nights at freddy's

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luviemax · 4 months

Text

summers in spain- oneshot

a/n: my official apology for wtv happened in begin again (iykyk)

-> carlos sainz x female!reader, no physical descriptions of reader

masterlist

warnings: not proofread, as per always...

It's finally time for the Summer break. It feels like an ice age that you've been waiting for Carlos to come home. Well, home is home. You occupy yourself with relatively superficial things. You build Legos. You read. Yet, time still passes slower and slower, day by day as you eagerly await Carlos' return back home. Back into your arms, where he'd be safe. Safe from the piranhas of the paddock, or the flashing lights.

Naturally, you're overjoyed when he finally lands back home. In fact, he makes a suggestion, that the two of you should make a trip down to Madrid to visit his parents.

At first, you're slightly apprehensive. For one, the two of you have only been together for so long, and besides, what if his parents absolutely hate your guts? What if they don't think that you're good enough for him? Because you could swear that he was the best person in the world. Nothing would be adequate enough for him, in your eyes at least. But these insecurities vanished with the words falling from his lips.

"Amor. I've never had a doubt about you," he takes your arm and brings you to the couch, onto his lap, "not about this relationship. Not about you, as a person. Besides, if you make me happy, then they'll be happy for me. If they're making you uncomfortable, we'll leave at an instant. I promise." His words soothe you, in just the right ways. He breaks you in, and you agree to go on the trip.

On the plane, which was headed for Madrid, you're wracked with nerves. You've heard nothing about Carlos' high praises for his parents, yet the thought of actually meeting them made his stomach churn and blood run hot. Yet, the sensation of his arms around your waist grounds you, and consoles you in a way that no other person could. His lips against your forehead warms your insides and makes your heart sore, not with anxiety, but with love.

Carlos' driver, who he seems cosy with, comes to pick the two of you from the airport. The two of them make casual talk in the car, yet Carlos seems to effortlessly and simultaneously ground you and bring you back to Earth so simply, from the simple stroke of his fingers against your own hand.

Slowly but surely, Carlos' driver, whose name is Alvaro as you come to learn, pulls up to an absolutely breathtaking mansion. The walls are tall and the ceilings seem high, and the pillars uploading the house seem absolutely regal.

"Carlito!" His mother, Reyes, calls out from inside the house, "Oh, and you! You're absolutely gorgeous!" Her mother embraced you warmly. She's nicer than you anticipated. "Let Antonio handle all your luggage, Carlos will tour you around the house." Reyes thanks Alvaro as he leaves to park the car.

Carlos takes your hand in his own, which is warm and reassuring, and he begins to guide you around the house.

He shows you the spacious kitchen, the beautiful library, the warm living room, the large dining room, and last but not least...

"This is my bedroom." It feels like something sacred. The relics of his childhood are still there. The little racing cars, and the bigger remote control ones. Various Alonso posters plastered all over his room.

That night, you meet Carlos Sr. as well. You see where your boyfriend gets his finesse from. Carlos Sr. has a certain charm to him. He's nothing short of pleasant, although he retires to bed early, claiming to be tired from a long day.

You have a restful sleep that night, wrapped up in Carlos' arms, safe in his embrace.

The next morning, you're awoken by Carlos' lips against your foreheading, and his hands stroking your back. "Good morning amor. Get ready. I want to bring you somewhere." He guides you to the bathroom, where you get ready by putting on a baby blue sundress which you know Carlos loves. When you return to the room, you see him waiting for you on his bed, aimlessly scrolling around on his phone.

"You look beautiful." He stands up to carress your hips and give you a sweet, prolonged kiss. "Thank you. You're not looking bad yourself." You run a hand through his slightly damp hair. "Come, let's go." He takes your hand, and brings you through the house. The two of you greet his mother good morning, before leaving.

He brings you to the most stunning beach you've ever seen. "This is my safe space." He tells you, entangling his fingers in your hair as you rest your head on his chest. The two of you spend a few hours there, content with the simple silence that comes with the comfort of your relationship.

Carlos brings you everywhere. Throughout the course of your little getaway, he brings you to his favourite restaurants, his favourite little stores, and you can't help but love him even more for it. You love that he's being vulnerable enough to share these parts of his past life to you.

Ironically, when you're on the plane back home, you begin to miss what you were dreading just a week ago. Reyes and Carlos Sr. embraced you as their own family, and were nothing but welcoming to you.

When the two of you arrive back home, Carlos knows that you're the one.

He goes back and he starts shopping for rings.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos saiz smut #f1 x reader

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 months

Text

Brainrot ramble: Asra's childhood angst edition

During the routes, Asra and Muriel say that they met 17 years before the events of the prologue. But in the routes where we get to see Asra reunite with their parents (mainly Asra's and Lucio's routes), they say that it's been roughly/almost/about 20 years since the couple were trapped in the Devil's realm.

In the Travel at Night tale, where Muriel meets Asra for the first time, the kids talk about him like he's a newcomer. They know the new kid is small, fast, nimble, spends time around the docks, and has only been around for the last two weeks.

So where was Asra for those (roughly) three years between Aisha and Salim finishing Lucio's gauntlet and him showing up at the docks with the other orphaned kids?

In Asra's route, as Aisha and Salim head back to Vesuvia while MC and Asra stay behind, they mention that the house they used to live isn't even there any more. To keep putting geographical pieces together, starting with a house that doesn't change ownership but that is somehow destroyed, and a kid popping up down at the Docks - that points to the Floating District. We know that that neighborhood's infrastructure fell apart under Lucio's rule, and while the shopping area was around long enough for MC to visit there pre-plague, it's likely there were other parts of the area that sank into the sea first.

We know that small Asra knew their parents had been taken by Lucio (Muriel learns this when they meet), and that Asra waited and hoped that they would one day come back. Is that what happened those first three years?

Three years of hiding in a house slowly sinking into the water, surrounded by the life of a young family abruptly paused and slowly decaying? Three years of watching the food from their parent's last grocery visit disappearing, and scavenging for something to make in the dusty kitchen themself? Three years of growing out of the clothes they last put him in, and rummaging through his parents' drawers for something of theirs to wear? Three years of listening for every footfall outside the door, waiting to see if it was an intruder to hide their presence from or their parents finally coming home? Three years of clumsy, childlike attempts to keep the house the way his parents did, watching the water level rise and knowing it was a countdown? Three years of being completely, hopelessly, alone?

And then the day would have come when the house couldn't stand any longer and Asra would have known time was up. They would have had to collect what they could save and hope that, wherever they ended up staying, their parents would be able to find them when they came home. ...if they came home. He would have wandered until he could find a new hiding spot to take all his rescued relics of home and try to build something that felt just a little bit like it. They would have walked down their old street one day to see that the house, and everything in it, had finally succumbed to the waves. And after three years of isolation - a third to a quarter of his life, at that point - he would have been plunged into the unpredictability of sharing space with other people again.

No wonder their hideout had an incense burner and a sachet of myrrh. No wonder he had a collection of books, salvaged from his parent's study and one day placed on the shop's shelves. No wonder they clung to their scarf. No wonder he refused to depend on anyone and truly allow himself to be known by someone again. No wonder the first time Muriel saw them, they were running.

Years later, after the horrific plague and the disastrous masquerade, Asra finds out what three years of waiting and hoping feels like all over again. Only this time, he's the one who keeps leaving. It's suffocating to wait day after day in the same quiet house, and somehow even more agonizing to see you coming back to life and transforming this space into home again - a home that they can't rightly claim as their own yet.

But he comes back. They always, always come back.

#the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana game #the arcana hc #ask arcana brainrot #asra alnazar #asra the arcana

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petit-etoile · 5 months

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hi! :) i love your writing!! Could i request an Astarion fic based on the Mahmoud Darwish Quote “they asked ‘do you love her to death’ / i said ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’”?

it's our last chance ( we'll get it right )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 2,902 content warnings: canonical discussions of death, spoilers for astarion's act iii romance, spiritual interlude to this fic, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, an exploration of how s.ex can be healing, the faintest hints of a mortal!tav but that's up to the reader, what if s.ex cures vampirism ? other tags: canon compliant, character study, introspection, codependency, religious imagery & symbolism, p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ Astarion tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

This is a night reminiscent of the day he died.

The sun has faded out over the horizon. The streets are bloodied once more, and hundreds of shadows have transformed into the shape of a bat.

Astarion’s grave is very old and covered with moss. You watch as he kneels in front of it and brushes his fingers across his name in reverence. You join him and cross your fingers together in prayer. You don’t know what you’re praying for but you mumble the words under your breath. It isn’t until you start digging that you begin to understand why you’re really here. You dig and dig and find relics of a life you never knew — dead flowers and childhood toys, tears that you cry. A mother and father’s love.

Astarion looks so much younger now that Cazador no longer hangs over his very being. The tension around his eyes has lessened, and even though he’s feeling something you can’t imagine, he wears the smallest smile as you uncover the gifts left behind by his family. Proof that Astarion lived, proof that Astarion existed. You dig until your fingers reach nothing and then you turn to him. He means to plant a seed and watch it grow.

He hands you seeds from a flower you can’t remember the name of. You pour them into the depths of this grave and fill it back up with dirt. You drop handfuls and wait for it to rain. You turn your chin up to the sky and wait for the storm clouds to release rapture.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says suddenly.

He looks at you like a man learning to see for the first time. The softness of his features only intensifies the longer he looks at you. Astarion is always made up of hard angles and harsh lines but tonight, he looks upon you with an earnestness you haven’t seen for him in quite some time. You’re caught off-guard when he caresses your cheek.

If Baldur’s Gate were to weather a storm tonight, Astarion would be the warmth from the cold of the rainstorm. You close your eyes at his touch and lean your cheek into it, nuzzling his palm. Astarion decides that it isn’t enough. He’s selfish, manipulative, roguish and cruel, but when he leans forward and kisses you with his plump mouth, you forget about all those things. It’s healing. You open your lips for him.

‘I love this,’ he murmurs, snaking a hand down to the small of your back. ‘And I want it all.’

The storm breaks overhead, but Astarion covers your body with his and you forget that you hate the sound of thunder. He kisses the very soul of you, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. There’s something about the way he nips at your skin that infinitely thrills you. How could a man so determined to be dangerous, so keen on becoming the most powerful man in the world melt at the sound of your voice? Had Astarion always been this weak for you, or was this a new transgression in his never ending quest to crush his desires?

Astarion kisses you.

He is the only thing that quenches your thirst.

He knows that.

When you first fell from the illithid ship, you had felt a hunger unlike any other swell up in your gut. It was freedom you had never experienced, and somehow, you came out on top. What happened after that was only like the romances you had read about. When a beast hunter falls in love with their bounty, when a mortal loves their immortal despite the difference, when an angry vampire becomes softer and softer the more he learns about kinder touch. You’re a romantic, after all.

You think that you should talk about it. You want to ask Astarion if he’s sure. But of course he’s sure, he’s never been surer of anything. Asking him now would be a disservice, you think. He’s worked so hard to come this far. You don’t ask. You kiss Astarion back like you’ve never kissed anyone before.

His mouth is yearning. Astarion pines for you like a prince pines for a sweetheart — and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth are so overwhelming that you can’t help but cling to his shoulders, using him as a lifeline.

He turns his cheek against yours and sighs wistfully against your skin. Slowly, carefully, Astarion presses his fingers between your legs curiously. He does it just to hear you gasp. You meet his eyes, and your cheeks burn so hotly you think you might be dizzy. Astarion consumes your soul. He presses you down in the flowers you planted above his grave. Clover, daisies, and asters grow around, twirling in your hair as Astarion collapses into your arms. You hold him as he shakes.

‘I was dead before I met you,’ Astarion whispers in the crook of your neck. ‘I was a ghost.’

‘You’re alive now,’ you promise. He cradles your soul in his hands. ‘You’re alive now and you’re the sun, and I love you.’

Maybe it’s not that you aren’t sure Astarion is ready. You’re nervous about the setting. It’s not that it’s inappropriate or dire, but that anyone could see at any time and you were a selfish creature. For so long, it has always been you and Astarion and everyone else. Now, Astarion presses into the space between your hips and mouths at your chest. He tastes your skin and your nipples, and you shiver at the touch. He eats your heart. You’re grateful.

‘I’m not convinced,’ Astarion says roughly. ‘Should I die, where will I go?’

‘You will go where I go,’ you say as he sinks into your flesh. ‘You are half my soul. I’ll beg the gods. We can never be one without the other.’

‘And if they deny you?’

‘I’ve already killed gods,’ you say. ‘What are a few more if they deny me my love?’

Astarion lets out a satisfied hum, content with the fruit you have given him. He ripens you with his fingers and you turn your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and allow him to caress your sides, closing your eyes as he touches the more ticklish parts of your body. He nibbles at your collarbones

You say, ‘This isn’t your grave.’

Astarion’s mouth ghosts over your skin, and finally, he sinks his cock into you until you’re gasping for air. It pushes and fills and causes lights to dance in the corner of your eyes. You touch the little hairs at the nape of his neck to distract yourself.

‘You’re right,’ Astarion says softly.

‘A place of rebirth.’

‘A place of happiness, my love,’ he says. ‘Now when I see it — ’

‘More,’ you whisper.

You feel a rush of tenderness sweeping through your veins. You are drawn to it like a moth to light, and you chase Astarion as he flees from you, sliding your hips back against his so that he’s never gone for too long. You waited patiently for Astarion. Every touch, every kiss is a feeling so rare that you can’t help but savor it. You admire the vulnerability he shows you, and when he leans back to lift your hips higher for a better angle, you moan softly and cry.

Astarion’s fingers burn holes into your skin. He leaves a wildfire against your skin. It leaves you wanting more. But you’re always going to want more, aren’t you? Even a lifetime of Astarion is not enough. You seek the warmth in his gaze.

You aren’t sure how long you’ll last. The time between your trysts and the sheer passion causes you to be needy. He likes it that way too. Likes the way that you’ll always seek him out first. The first in your heart. The first in your soul. You wish you could pour yours out of your body to give it to him. He’s half your soul regardless of what he might say. You never understood the concept of an immortal soul until now. You pull Astarion back to you and kiss him, teeth to teeth.

But it’s not enough.

You don’t think it will ever be enough. You dig your nails into his spine and hold onto him. You cry weakly. It feels too good and like it’s too much at the same time. You part your legs wider and drag him further, hypnotized by the feel of his thighs beneath yours. Astarion shows an enthusiasm you haven’t seen in a while, and you’re reminded of how much you’ve craved him. The knife at your throat, the scowl on his face, the night at the party… Astarion is all-consuming. You never thought it would happen.

At first, you thought Astarion was primed to ignore you forever. You were kind and good and sweet, and now you knew that was everything Astarion was looking for. He tastes your kindness and goodness and sweetness and becomes drunk on the taste of your shared fate.

Astarion bites you on the shoulder but for once, it isn’t to draw blood and feed upon what makes you who you are. It’s a lover’s bite. An inquisitive nibble. That part of sharing is what this is about. He meant it when he said you were more than blood, more than a fling. You always thought about it…

Astarion proving his love to you now was welcomed. You summon a new life for him here during this pale evening. A life where he will not know hurt. A life where he will not be betrayed by those he trusted. Astarion was in your hands now, a crow on your wrist. He sings you a pretty song against your neck. He’s vocal now, content with moaning and mewling as he takes his pleasure in the warmth of your body. You wish you could bottle up his pretty song and take it with you forever.

You press your mouth to the sharp curve of Astarion’s ear, sneaking a kiss against the pointy tip. ‘Come closer to me, my love,’ you whisper. ‘No one must know.’

‘Everyone must know,’ Astarion disagrees softly.

‘Even the birds?’ you ask. ‘Even the trees?’

Astarion smiles. You can feel it. ‘The entire world must.’

‘Are we in love?’ you ask him softly, looking upon him fondly.

‘We are,’ he says, laughing.

You are in love like you have never been in love before. Astarion is a romantic and he cherishes this new world with you. He’s intoxicated by the freedom of your scent. And it’s not as though it’s any different for you. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and keep him there, and when his arms shake and tremble, you accept his weight.

You kiss his throat and he raises his chin so you can kiss it more. You’ll pretend that it doesn’t entice you. You want to sink your teeth in like he has, to share with him that quiet exaltation. Astarion gives it to you more and more, and finally, you can no longer tame that part of you set to rupture. Your pleasure causes your vision to burn almost.

There is a world where you and Astarion have never met. A world where the mindflayers never devised a plan and you were still searching for enlightenment. The thought of it scares you so you cling to him and you climb into his sternum, holding onto his skin while the world is remade in your image. A world without Astarion is not a world worth living. You know that to be true. That’s why you’re here now.

Astarion follows suit in quick, frantic strokes. He loses himself in the quake of your core and digs his fingers into the dirt next to your head for stability. You watch as pleasure overtakes him and he wavers, choking on a ragged moan. You press unfocused kisses against his shoulders and sink beneath the earth.

It’s a good thing Astarion finds his confidence in the taste of your bones. He eats from you an essence that would make him strong. When he sits up, eyes soft around the edges and mouth swollen from your love, you can see the change in him. Have his shoulders always been that wide? Has his back always been that straight? Has the majesticness of his attitude always been so grandiose?

Astarion holds out his fingers and you kiss the tips of them. You give him a blessing and watch as his skin begins to glow. Cazador had unmade a proud man. You have rehabilitated a broken man. But Astarion is not defined by his brokenness, not authenticated by his terrors and trauma, but by the whims he has shown you tonight.

When Astarion pulls you from the bed you made in the grass, you can see a dim light filtering through the overhead tree. A familiar sight, like the first time. You pull his jacket over your head to avoid any more mess and become acutely aware that Astarion is watching you breathe. He listens with that frightening vampiric hearing as your lungs exhale. He smiles as your heartbeat settles.

You distract yourself as he enjoys his orgasm by making him a crown of flowers. You twist them expertly like you once did in your youth, and when Astarion turns his head, you give him a kingdom. The fresh green of the leaves accentuates the paleness of his hair.

You know what you’ve done even if the world does not. It was an objectively stupid thing to do, Astarion said so himself. Life is a challenge, and you were not a quitter. If anything, you knew that you deserved it. A ghost called your name and you answered, unfrightened by the specter’s cold touch. Slowly, you replaced that frigid air with your own heat until there was nothing but fog in the aftermath.

‘Sometimes,’ Astarion begins when he’s ready, ‘I still have these cruel thoughts. This fear still consumes me but… It’s so unlike before I hardly recognize it.’

‘You’re not his first son anymore,’ you say.

Astarion smiles and slides the crown from his head. He twirls it between his fingers. ‘Not — Not that fear, no. Something else.’

‘What else could frighten you?’

‘Everything,’ Astarion confesses. ‘I listen to your heart when you sleep for any change. I check your face every day for any extra wrinkles.’

You laugh. ‘I’m still young,’ you insist. ‘We have time, Astarion. I am with you every moonrise.’

‘The worst thing about loving you is that I will never stop,’ Astarion says, staring at his headstone. ‘I don’t want you to die in a world where I could still love you.’

You think you’re going to be sick. You don’t mean to cry, but you do. You burrow your face in your hands and weep so hard Astarion wraps his jacket around you and kisses your head, shushing you until you’ve let it all out. It’s…not how you wanted to end the evening.

‘You didn’t let me finish, my love,’ he murmurs against your forehead.

‘Then go on,’ you say miserably.

‘I will never stop loving you,’ Astarion says again. ‘For a thousand more years and one.’

You twist the knuckle on your middle finger anxiously. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to feel.

‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ he tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

You look at him suspiciously, and his ardor steals your breath away. His jacket slips from your shoulders. You watch as he fixes the carvings in his headstone and adds to them in a sprawling language you’re almost too exhausted to read. Eventually, you find your voice again. You lean your cheek against his shoulder, and if your eyelashes are wet against his skin, he says nothing about it.

‘Tonight,’ Astarion says, ‘and on top of my grave, you have brought me back to life. That is a debt that cannot be repaid.’

You turn to him and this time it is your turn. You take Astarion’s jaw in your hands and lift his mouth to yours, kissing him so sweetly you’re almost certain that he swoons from the touch. It’s like kissing him for the first time, a kiss that sweeps over and over, until the ocean of night sweeps over you and you melt into his sinew.

‘You love me?’ you ask him just to hear him say it again.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says.

Love is not always in the eyes of the goddess. Love is buried somewhere most will never find it. It is healing, it is sweeping, it is gratifying. It is watching your lover’s hair turn grey strand by strand every morning. It is chasing the sun before it falls beneath the stars every evening.

You think you get it now.

Astarion rests his cheek against your palm, and for the first night since he was turned into a vampire, he slumbers in your touch. He dreams of a future where you are both mortal and laughing.

‘I love you too,’ you confess, and Astarion smiles in his sleep.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #THIS PROMPT LIVED IN MY MIND RENT FREE SINCE I GOT IT #& after a long time trying to decide how to redeem it #i finally figured it out !!!#i hope u enjoy it nonny

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