#the angst is beautiful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riaki · 5 months

Note

ur highschool bully gojo was chefs kiss 💋 what do u think about them going to the same college and taking the same classes?? and the reader sitting next/talking to some other guy and satoru gets jealous?? arwahhhshdhshshs so many possibilities, i hope u continue writing it!!

hi nonnie !! thank you so much :) this is ur official part 2 ! i was struggling to think up some possibilities but this helped a lot :oo | read part 1 here ! -> cw: swearing, jealousy, i let it get fic length oops

(former) highschoolbully!gojo on the brain again… like. when you end up seeing him again however many months later, and you can tell that he’s changed. it’s not like its immediately obvious to anyone who doesn’t really know him like you (used to); but he’s a little softer-spoken and his smiles seem nine times more genuine. it’s not a hundred percent; the kind that really lights up his face instead of just barely falling short of his stark blue eyes, but it's something.

of course, you have nothing to base it off of, because when you do inevitably see him again it's the very definition of meet ugly.

college is a new frontier, but its also a clean slate. its your first time going into something so new without your old bestfriend at your side, but some faint flickering thought reminds you that it might be better that way. but the universe is against you from the very first day, when youre gettin yourself some coffee from the same chain you did the morning of that fateful presentation so many moons ago. you're too busy thinking to yourself what kind of strange parting ritual it is to relive your trauma to notice the lanky, white-haired boy who hits his head on the chiming bell over the doorway. people are giggling around you n sighing dreamily but youre too deep in the music pumping through your headphones to notice and your eyes are glued to the class schedule on your phone, trying to ensure you dont get lost on the first day when—

you blink and your ass is flat on the dirty floor of the coffee shop, and the first thing you register is that your stomach is soaked and burning. you'd spilled your coffee. it takes you a moment to realize, but when you do you're pissed. so you quickly get to your feet, trying to reign in what little of your ego you have left to give the offender who bumped into you a piece of your mind as you look up, then..

how unlucky do you have to be?

just like that, satoru's slid himself back into your life, after ramming through its locked gates. you forget that he always forgets the point of keys, both when it comes to his apartment (which you still have the spare key of in case of emergencies), and the door to your heart. to rub salt in the wound, the only thing that's stained with your coffee order are his shoes, which look like they cost three weeks of your old job salary, but it's all over your shirt. of course it is. because why not? make it look like you tripped and fell into a patch of mud on your way to the lecture hall and tack on an unwelcome reunion with your ex-bestfriend.

to you, it's like the cloud of gloom from your highschool youth has resettled over your head like a swarm of gnats on a dreary, hot summer day. the stars always seem to skew and misalign themselves for you. but for satoru, the stars have handed him one of those huge swirly lollipops that you only ever see being paraded about by toddlers. he recovers almost instantly, trading the burn on his feet and the way it sours your expression like he's just squirted pure citric acid into your throat for a pleasant burn of his own on his cheeks. but it's whatever. girls seem to like it when he blushes, for some reason. he won't question it, if it works on the only one he cares about.

he holds his hand out, ready to help you out like the good samaritan he's become— and it's like a real burn to his heart this time when you ignore it and stand up on your own, refusing to look up and meet his pleading gaze. might as well have taken an iron stoker right out of the fire and jabbed him with it. but he's gojo satoru! he won't be defeated by this one mere, maybe very significant reunion. he's got stamina.

so he offers to buy you a new drink, feels his heart sink when you shake your head (can't even spare a little 'no' in his direction), and talks enough for the both of you when you leave the dingy little store make your way down to campus and the lecture building. you clearly don't want to see him, but he ignores that in exchange to notice the way you shiver every so often. the previously searing-hot coffee that stains your shirt turns cold fast, and moisture n wind don't mix well. he wishes he could offer you some of his own warm coffee, no doubt sickeningly sweet, but he has some sensitivity now, apparently. so, in a brash moment, he decides to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders instead.

when you cross the threshold between city and campus, you expect him to yank it off your back and be on his merry way. but he keeps walking next to you, so you walk a little faster, and you absolutely loathe the cheeky little grin that curves the corners of his lips up to show a glint of teeth when he effortlessly keeps up. you curse his long legs when you find yourself winded, but at least you can lose him when you get there.

or, that's what you think. once again, your constellations break themselves to rebuild anew for satoru. you're about to call him a stalker when he follows you all the way to your classroom with that smirk that's growing exponentially until— oh, no.

your phone that's been on the schedule up until now desperately scrolls to the roster— and there it is. he's in your class. needless to say, not another word goes between you as you stomp in and take a seat. luckily for you, you've already corresponded with your roommate's brother (who's annoyingly cute, satoru notices) and agreed to sit next to each other. satoru takes the seat right above you and never stops kicking his freakishly long legs against the wood the entire time.

so yeah, it's obvious he's not a saint; he still has that undoable ego and he's cocky as fuck (as you have the misfortune of finding out when he quickly bullies your professor), but there's a certain familiarity in that no matter how ugly it might appear to others. and if you asked (which he really, really hopes you will someday), he doesn't hang around douchebags who use kids' foreheads for ashtrays and treat girls like they're candy from a glittery pez dispenser. and at least he's switched harassment targets. even though he has an overwhelming sense of superiority over others and never has his lips together for more than five seconds, and even though he has this hellish habit of clicking his pen whenever he's not talking (or when someone else is), it seems like he's changed.

and over time, you gradually find yourself warming up to him. the spunkiness that used to get on your nerves ceaselessly becomes an object of endearment, and you don't really mind the way he never seems to stop moving anymore. it's a nice sort of distraction in the lifeless still of the lecture hall, albeit the pen clicking still drives you near insanity. you notice he always does it obnoxiously and quickly when you're talking to your roommate's brother, but you ignore it.

and for satoru? he hates that he can kinda sorta really tell that you're the only one who can read him like he's a damn book, cus you slowly start to soften up in the nostalgia of his presence like cold playdough between warm fingers that tell you he may have finally caught you again after letting you slip the first time. and he notices it. this time, he's determined not to let you be the one that got away again. but youre really giving him a shit time outta it with the way you constantly entertain the guy who always has his breath in your face.

yeah, he's got a cute face that's sunkissed by freckles. yeah, his hair looks like he models for shampoo companies. and fuck, he has a nice voice. but what of it? satoru's the one with the mesmerizing blue irises and the cloudy white hair your professor wishes he had instead of sad little wisps of old age. still, as chilly days turn into frigid weeks, he gets the perfect backseat angle of the growing relationship between the two of you. the boy's kinda dumb so you copy off of satoru’s work when you need to (he has to hide the 1-0 scoreboard between him and the guy on a sticky note from you when you take his notes), but said guy’s always buying you stuff and lending you erasers and laughing when you flick the shavings at the annoying girl who never stops whispering in the front of the room.

satoru tries to act unbothered, and he almost convinces everyone. including himself. but the angry, burning knot in his chest that's entirely different from coffee stains suggests something more. that should be him at your side. him, making balls of paper with rude scribbles and silly doodles to throw at the people he knows you don't like. him, surprising you with little gifts and the cheap trinkets he knows you adore so much instead of all the luxury things he could afford. there's no way this punk could possibly measure up to him, right? but at least you and satoru are well on your way to becoming friends again. not as close as you used to be, but it's something. substantial. and he's learned to be patient in the time you've been gone.

but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't tired of it. he’s endlessly plagued with thoughts of increasing intensity— first, it starts out with just you. only you. the way he likes it. the way he likes your face, and your pretty eyes and your gorgeous lips and your soft hair and your figure and the complimenting clothes you wear. but it takes a turn; thoughts turn into dreams that turn into fantasies and he's lying when he says he doesn't enjoy them when he accidentally lets it slip during a group study session— and it’s all fine— but then, that guy appears. the brat who seems to sit a centimeter closer to you with each coming day. not only does he haunt satoru in real life, he’s tormenting his dreams, too. tainting the image of beautiful you.

needless to say, satoru starts to wake up with his hands gripping his damp pillow like he's choking it, acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his neck and over his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the dorm's air conditioner run and thinking of what it'd be like for dreams (the ones where he replaces the boy) to become reality.

it's a buildup. and soon, he reaches the apex; it's like a rollercoaster, that stomach-twisting moment when you reach the top of the rail that points to the steep descent downward. but this time, he hopes it's a thrill he gets instead of the usual falling fright; the one he got when he realized he’d slipped between your fingers in highschool.

and satoru finally comes to a grinding halt at the top of the ride one breezy fall day when he decides he wants you back in his life after you smile brightly at him and wave goodbye for the day. he’s tired of you having one foot in and one foot out of his heart; he wants, needs more. he always has, he realizes.

so he’s thinking about you and how to approach the feelings he’s realized during those long lectures, and one morning he comes up with some semblance of a plan when he’s high on the sugar from the fruit tea you bought him that morning. and he hopes that, by the end of it, he'll leave your apartment with your hand in his currently empty one, chilled with the remnants of cold condensation from the bottle.

soon enough, satoru finds himself extinguishing his nerves and raising a tense fist to knock on the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flimsy plan to ask you out on a midterm study sesh and maybe even a date, but he stops when he realizes it’s slightly ajar. a brief thought of what look might be on your face when he surprises you crosses his mind, so he lets himself in quietly, because he knows every single floorboard that creaks like the back of his palm from his childhood. he’s hit with a wave of warmth and an achingly familiar scent that twists at his heart, and your apartment is cozy and safe and it screams you and he thinks he catches sight of his jacket slung across the back of the couch in your living room, but he’s not sure so he takes a step forward and—

he’s greeted with the sight of that stupid guy with the nice hair and the freckles, and it makes his heart drop. but even worse, he’s kissing you and his arms are winding around your waist but you’re kissing him back with a slight hesitation that’s blinded to satoru by his shock and the fingers he thought would end up in his own tonight card through the boy’s hair and your lips glisten with the strawberry-kiwi flavored gloss he watched the boy give you a few days back and his world is turning red and he feels like his throat is constricting and he can’t breathe—

and he doesn’t even realize you’ve parted lips and you’re calling his name through the newfound tightness of his chest and the painful ringing in his ears thats even louder than any silence of a lecture hall, or the void that should’ve been filled with your voice during the time you were apart. but now satoru realizes he’d take that any fucking chance to have that again because it’s so much better than what he’s stuck with now. having you, but not really having you, because you’re there but you’re someone else’s and you’re not his and he isn’t yours. the best thing he could ever hope for was for you to own an article of his clothing and a piece of his shattered heart, broken into a million fragments. some cruel voice in his buzzing head reminds him to change the scoreboard to 0-100.

and he could buy you cheap hot coffee or earn your smiles from scrunched up paper balls or even hear your laugh with crude jokes, but there’s no point when he realizes he can’t buy you with caffeine or earn you with hitting the back of people’s heads with his bio notes or have you and your laugh all to himself anymore.

it’s almost pathetic, the way satoru’s voice cracks and changes. the look of unadulterated concern on the face of the boy who stole your lips just adds fuel to the fire.

“gojo? what are you doing here— hey, are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

he noticed you’d stopped calling him satoru a few weeks back. he should’ve seen it coming.

“huh? oh, yeah. i’m good. i think you’re the one hallucinating.”

he’d never told a bigger lie in his life.

satoru had left after excusing himself for intruding. how very unlike him to be so polite, you think.

so in the end, he leaves your apartment with something in his hand, after all. but it's not your own— just his blazer that you’d given back to him before he stepped out the door, taunting him with the faint scent of coffee and lingering perfume. his hope was foolish, so it seems. it’s too bad, he thinks. if it were him, he would’ve sandwiched you against your counter while he kissed. but it wasn’t. apparently, it was your turn for your stars to align at the price of his.

and so, gojo satoru, the boy force-turned man with a chipped ego and a completely broken heart, loses you again.

bonus bonus.. part 2….

5K notes · View notes

sualne · 9 months

Text

more about the AU!

(timeline)

#one piece #crocodile one piece #monkey d. luffy #nico robin #crocodad au #my art #my comic #described in alt text #so we're done to 28 comics planned now! (tho they will be more as it goes im sure) this luffy will be different from canon since sm of what #made him the luffy we know is because of shanks and his family. i'll be going back and forth in time for the first 17 years since it doesnt #need to be told in order til a Certain Event. i'll make a timeline post once there's +5 of posts from this AU. by now im sure people #whove been following my art for years know that im throwing out fluffies and funnies while readying my beloved beautiful baseball bat with #nails that spells 'ANGST' on it.

3K notes · View notes

velvetwilde · 11 days

Text

pretty, pretty princess

861 notes · View notes

artist-rat · 2 months

Text

I feel your breath upon my neck / a soft caress as cold as death

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #lae'zel #tav #oc: viivi @artharakka #my sister is playin the most tragic fuckin g beautiful girl im screamin cryin throwing up i love her tav so much.....#shit got real very fast<3<3 #the angst bro!!!!#(ik this is a standard event but the outcome...... the outcome..)#btw. i love lae'zel so much #uhm should i try being consistent with tws i feel there's a lot of them lately and u can probably expect there to be blood absbdbdbb anyway #knife #knives #it's a dagger but... youknow

787 notes · View notes

emry-stars-art · 10 months

Text

@lyndiscealin your addition to this post… immaculate, I wanted to draw it, I hope you don’t mind I made minor changes 😅

And did you mean for it to fit almost perfectly with the next bit, because I feel like you did, all I needed to add was one panel between - like, fix the mood in the last two panels and it’s like a seamless comic you’re a genius

Anyway THANK YOU everyone is so brilliant with their ideas and additions 💕

#Lyndis you beautiful angst queen you #if you couldn’t tell by what parts of this I’ve written so far #I do love me some angst #so I did this in the course of one evening/night 🥰#yay for simple styles #fan art #my art #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #royal au #chibi #tags #comic

2K notes · View notes

borschtsoupart · 3 months

Text

#satosugu #satosugu angst #satosugu art #satoru gojo #getou suguru #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk fanart #jjk geto #jjk shoko #digital art #beautiful eyes

485 notes · View notes

seance · 1 month

Text

THE MUSKETEERS 10TH ANNIVERSARY REWATCH / fave episodes [3/?] ↳ SEASON 1, EPISODE 8 / the challenge

#themusketeersedit #the musketeers #perioddramaedit #perioddramasource #the musketeers bbc #d'artagnan #aramis #porthos #athos #tmrewatch*#edits #we're so back #i kept watching and reading fics but i couldn't find the time to gif in real time #but i can never say no to angst AND ot4 realness #literally what was the reason for that porthos scene if not 'beautiful king showing off his incredible skills ft his adoring proud bfs'#and i stand by that #also luca you'll forever be famous for your crying face i'm sorry i hope i don't sound insane #flashing gif /#i love them dearly i'm keeping them in my pocket

317 notes · View notes

salsakiyoomi · 10 months

Text

“so this is it? you’re just going to leave?”

suna’s voice slightly breaks as he asks that question, he doesn’t know where he went wrong — when he went wrong for you to suddenly break up with him, like, for god’s sake, you've been dating for three years, what happened?

it hurts when you don’t answer, it hurts even more that you won’t meet his gaze with your face turned away from him, “come on, y/n, look at me.” he says pleadingly.

you don’t look at him, you’re not sure if it’s because you don’t want to see the desperate look in his eyes, or if it’s to hide the tears in your own, “i’m sorry, rin.” you say quietly, “this is just — it’s not working out, okay?”

“not working out?” he repeats back, his voice breaks again, “what do you mean? we’ve - we’ve been together for three years, we were happy, you were happy. what changed?”

the chilly december breeze blows against the two of you — you hug yourself as if seeking warmth, it was cold atop the rooftop of suna’s penthouse and you were starting to doubt if it was even a good idea to bring him up here for this.

you inhale in a shaky breath, “look, i just think we need a break, okay?” you don’t tell him it’s because you think he’s spending too much time at practice, or that it’s because he’s not giving you the attention you need, no more clinging to you on friday nights watching horror movies or that it’s because of the one too many nights out drinking with his friends and coming home with the overwhelming scent of a woman’s perfume completely engulfing him — you know suna would never cheat on you but the implication that he might’ve in the haze of the alcohol and the zero recollection in his hangover the next day leaves you doubting.

“a break? and then what? we’re just gonna get back together after you’re done cooling off?” the last part comes out a little harsher than he meant — he’s hurt, he doesn’t get it, you’re just going to leave with no reason whatsoever.

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “sorry, i…didn’t mean it like that.”

you still won’t look at him, and it hurts more than he would admit, “i just, i don’t get it.” he mumbles, almost like he’s talking to himself, “at least tell me why you’re leaving.” it comes out in a whisper, he doesn’t want to believe this is actually happening.

“i told you, rin, this just isn’t working out.” you say quietly, looking down on the city lights below, hugging your jacket — his jacket closer to yourself to keep your body warm as another harsh gust of wind blows.

he groans, “this isn’t a reason — come on, baby, we’re happy — ” he says but you cut him off “we were happy, rin. but this,” you finally turn around to look at him and gesture with your hand between the two of you — and suna doesn’t miss the tears brimming the corners of your eyes, “whatever this is now between us, this isn’t how we used to be — i just, i can’t do it anymore.” you say, your voice finally breaks, your cold resolve shattering.

“why?” he asks quietly, attempting to hold your gaze but you turn away from him, “i think you know why.” you murmur.

he doesn’t, he really doesn’t but he doesn’t think that there is a way to get you to back down from this anymore.

silence falls around the two of you like a heavy blanket that only makes the december night colder — he lets out a huff of air, turning around to look at the roof — the couch by the pool that the two of you used to sit by all the time, soft lips pressed against each other and sweet nothings whispered to one another, talking about a future the two of you would share as you got drunk on each other’s love.

he doesn’t think he can come back up here without thinking of you again.

“fine.” he finally says, breaking the silence, “if this is what you want then fine.”

he doesn’t mean that, he doesn’t want that — he wants to hold you in his arms and kiss you and tell you that he can fix this and that everything will be okay, he doesn’t want to let you go but he knows that he has to.

you nod your head, and you turn around to face him and he wonders if you’re hurt about this the same way he is.

“this is yours,” you mumble quietly as you begin to take off your jacket and he raises a hand to stop you, “keep it.” he says, “i don’t want it.” it’ll only remind him of you, as if everything else wouldn’t.

now it’s his turn to look away from you, he can’t bear it, the sight of you, your face or your hair or the blush that taints your cheeks from the cold or how pretty your lips look, knowing damn well that he won’t see you again.

you gulp and nod, “i’m sorry, suna.” he tries to ignore how much his heart aches when you use his last name, tries to ignore how his chest tightens when you actually walk past him and he catches a whiff of your perfume — the one you love so much, the one he loves so much.

the december cold is chilling when another gust of wind blows and you’re gone with his jacket and suna is left with an empty feeling in his chest.

he’s never getting the jacket back, or you for that matter.

a/n : can be read as the prequel to this and is inspired by this drabble by @augustinewrites

#fireside by the arctic monkeys #miss augustine i loved this drabble very much thank you for blessing us with your beautiful writing #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #suna rintaro #suna headcanons #suna drabbles #suna scenarios #suna angst #suna x reader

1K notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 6 months

Text

"Zandik, do you think we're together in all the universes?" Your question comes out of nowhere in the middle of your check-up, which makes even the wise doctor pause his movements. Normally, you try to make conversation while he's about to prick you with the needle, but this question was odd.

"You mean, as in the possibility that we've met and reached this stage in various other worlds?" You hummed in acknowledgment, and the Harbinger's answer came immediately.

"No, that would be impossible," the logical scientist stated matter of factly before sliding the needle into your arm, making you wince but his smooth voice continued to distract you for the most part. "There are an infinite amount of alternate universes, with an endless number of possibilities. To say that we've met in all of them would simply be an idiotic fantasy." You couldn't help but laugh at his response because that was exactly what you thought he would say.

"Well, I like to think we are," you playfully countered as he cleaned the injection site and bandaged it. "I just hope there's a universe where you confessed to me first, instead of me having to viciously drag your true feelings out of you every time." Dottore scoffed. You would never let go of how foolishly he acted in the Akademiya.

"Are you getting this from the novels you've pestered me to buy? I still do not understand how you find such drivel to be entertaining." Dottore prepared to listen to your heartbeat now, moving his hands under your shirt.

"Hey! It's not drivel! You shouldn't be saying that when we both know the kind of things you read," you protested back to which he only smirked at you. The banter died down, a comfortable silence returning to the room again as Dottore listened to your heartbeat. It was slow and steady, and for a few seconds, Dottore pondered your words. Alternate universes. Alternate selves. It was something he was admittedly interested in. How did his alternate selves act? Were they similar? Different? What kind of worlds existed beyond Teyvat?

In which universe existed the information and resources that he needed to cure you without difficulty? What fate did you meet in the other universes? Did you... he doesn't dare to think the word.

Dottore looks at your face again, tired from the strain of illness but still smiling from the conversation. He may not know about the other universes... but he swears to save you in this one.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #dottore x reader #dottore and fragile reader's romance is tragically beautiful #writing them fluffy with a hint of angst is so good #this may be a bit corny BUT I DONT CARE ITS CUTE <333

644 notes · View notes

wingedqueenlynx · 4 months

Text

Angst drawing is complete ;]

Based off Riddlers deteriorating mental health and the various painted mirrors in Arkham knight. Our poor boy is going through the ringer.

I just wanna give him a big hug or a warm blanket to comfort him, cause he needs it. (It’s actually the first time I drawn a character against a mirror and I’m really happy with it) :D

#arkhamverse #lynx’s art stuff #the riddler #edward nygma #arkham riddler #angst drawing #SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE HIM A HUG- FOR THE LOVE OF GOD #Sad wet cat of a man #I haven’t been the same after I found out he painted mirrors to avoid looking at himself 😭#Eddie your beautiful- you scrunkly man

366 notes · View notes

peceraynadamas · 29 days

Text

Nobody:

Me after finding fallenwings: I have the perfect mitski song for this

Genuinely had the shittiest week ever, but there's no going mad after discovering this bad boy. The concept of Vaggie and Lute being bitter, toxic yuri exes is too irresistible. I am not really a fan fiction person, but I read a fic earlier, it changed my life, so gonna make a bunch of stuff for them now. I just have so many thoughts about them and their parallels.

Like if they were exes, that means they were domestic once, right? (privately perhaps bc of Lute's homophobic ass lmao). But what if Lute took Vaggie on many dates to dance and spar together or Vaggie showed her how to make pupusas and laughed when she realized Lute wasn't paying attention at all, too busy watching her in her element.

A relationship born from rivalry to friendship and beyond, all that love, and they'll never belong in each other's arms ever again.

The angst is very nice.

Aside from my blabbing, trying out something different with my art style. Drawing necks after not drawing them for so long is weird, I can't say I know how to feel about it yet.

197 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 7 months

Text

“Bites in the Night, Part 2:” another Astarion x Reader Drabble from the road…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Part 2: “You’ll have to keep quieter than that…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 1.2K of angsty smut

Summary: he drives you mad, your vampire rogue. All that flirting and sexual innuendo and glances and proximity… something has to be done about it. Hopefully not alone.

CW: NSFW, longing and angst, female masturbation, consensual fingering (with cold, undead, beautiful fingers), vampire biting

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The rain patters softly on the canvas of your tent. It should make you relax, after the long day you have had. Your body aches, legs sore from walking and fighting. But no spell will give you healing or relief from this sort of ache.

It is of a different kind. And he is the cause.

Astarion is always the cause of your every bruise and sore muscle, not that he has even taken you. No he hasn’t come asking for that, not yet. Though you know the thoughts have flitted in your own mind, and you suspect from the way his eyes skate over you every day, that he has been thinking the same. But not yet. No, just the way his words tease you incessantly as you journey, the way he tends to shove enemies towards you in battle, his eyes dancing over your every stroke. As if he wants to make it just a bit harder, to keep you fighting so he can watch. He wants to engage with you, if not fuck you yet.

His words all day have set a fire in your belly. No matter the double entendre, the not-so-subtle ways he makes you think constantly of sex.

It’s driven you near madness, so much so, you can’t lay your head down. Alone in your tent, you pace. Your bare feet tread on the carpet you have spread out to cover the dirt. You can almost hear him now: “Careful, wouldn’t want to wear a hole in it just because you wish me to fill your holes, darling…”

How? you grind your teeth. How could he torture you so much, you can even hear his dirty thoughts as if they were in your head?

You doubt it’s a vampiric power. More likely, it’s his own godsforsaken charm that has its fangs in your brain.

Taking a deep breath of air, you let the scent of fresh, wet dirt break your raging thoughts. There is something you could do about it, after all. Quickly, you slide off your breeches, stepping out of the tight suede and savoring the way your mound can finally cool. One foot raising to rest on the edge of a chest, you let yourself be touched, slowly easing your own hands where it hurts. So wet, so slick, you are thankful for the constant noise of the rain outside to cover the wet squelches of your own juices. Closing your eyes, you imagine those pale, dexterous and strong fingers inside your folds instead, imagining it is his cold touch that fingers your clit and gets drenched in your arousal instead of your own.

Nearly there, you sigh, a moan leaving your lips.

A moan muffled suddenly by a hand reaching from behind to cover your mouth completely. And the palm is large and cold.

Undead.

Astarion shushes in your ear, pulling you back against the chilling hardness of his body. Your stomach flutters, even as you can’t see him, except for the arm that wraps around your shoulders and hand that still silences you. “Sweet thing, you have to keep quieter than that if you don’t want anyone else to know what you do in the dark of night alone…” Something brushes over your belly, his other hand tracing his fingers lower and lower until they trace down your arm. “May I?” he breathes one more time as you nod vigorously. “I could smell it, you know, your scent from the next tent over…”

His icy touch travels down your arm, his hand and fingers threading into yours. Your hips buck to meet the added pressure, you can’t control them as they rock into his palm, the cold of his touch making you squirt all the more as he pierces into your swollen and heated folds.

Hand still covering your mouth, you moan into his gentle gag on you, feeling the little reverberations in his chest as he answers with some of his own. His breath tickles your ear, chilling as it courses down your neck, loud and deep and rasping. You feel his nose press against your temple, taking in your scent, your sweat and the perfume of your arousal that coats the air so thick, even you can smell it now.

His fingers play you, making you dance and writhe and grind into his hand. Your knees grow weak, bearing your body down into his touch more and more. With a grunt in your ear, he shifts closer behind you, catching your ass hard against his own body, cradling you on his thigh. You hear his breathing grow ragged, rough, his body more than strong enough to take you this way. As if you weigh nothing at all. And still his fingers stroke you, teasing in and out of your entrance, crooking inside to catch some secret spot even you did not know existed. Something prods against your ass, something full and hard. Cold as the rest of him. His own arousal strains in his ache for you. And he wants you to know it. He gives a little thrust of his body against yours, you aren’t even sure if he knows he does it. Not with the way his hand picks up it’s pace fucking you with his ice-cold fingers, or the way his breath whistles in your ear, rough and rasping in his throat.

The thought of his own arousal alone pushes you right to the edge, the catch of his thumb right over your clit sending you into a crashing wave of bliss. His fingers do now slow, no, they thrust deepest yet into your channel making your ride your climax on them until you are left as nothing more than a mewling limp body, resting against him.

“Good girl,” he purrs, withdrawing both hands to hug you against him still. “Now, if I may be so bold, may I feed? I’m fairly certain I’ve earned it, sweetest darling…”

You manage a nod again, unable to use your voice as the aftershocks of your orgasm still grip you. You barely feel the slice of his fangs into your neck, your tremors of pleasure still too great for any pain to even register.

You’re in some cold ecstacy, finally held and fed on, the ache he’s conjured between your thighs relieved at last by his own masterful attentions. You drift off like that, the soft sucking of his mouth on your neck, the tight, if cold, embrace of his arms around you. Heavenly, you finally find some peace.

The next thing you know, you wake tucked in your bedroll, your thighs covered in dried slick. You will need to bathe, but you don’t care how soon. Let him smell you again today, a nice little thank you for last night.

Slipping on your clothes, you make your way for breakfast, your eyes landing on Astarion as he leaves his own tent. He smiles at you, arrogant and lustful, raising his hand to his face as he licks his fingers.

Your belly floods again with need, and you groan. Just another day of this heated cycle of want.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

My other Astarion x Reader fics:

✨“Bites in the Night:” Part 1 “Go back to sleep, daring…”

🩸“The Rogue You Were: Welcome me… NSFW”

🩸“The Rogue You Were: Cleanse me… NSFW”

🩸“Just a Drop: a Drabble as he turns Tav”

428 notes · View notes

elryuse · 27 days

Text

THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOWERS

WONYOUNG X MALE READER X GAEUL

TAGS : LOVE TRIANGLE, CHEATING WONYOUNG, LIGHT YANDERE GAEUL, ANGST, HAPPY END, FLUFF

The city lights blurred past the taxi window, a kaleidoscope of neon mirroring the turmoil within me. Each raindrop hitting the pavement echoed the hammering in my chest. Wonyoung was gone, not physically – she still shared our apartment, a ghost haunting its familiar walls – but emotionally, her heart stolen by a cruel mirage.

Sunghoon. The name felt like a curse word on my tongue. He was everything I wasn't – loud, flashy, the center of attention. Wonyoung, my sunshine, my Wonyoung, had been lured by his supernova glow, leaving me in the cold, desolate space he left behind.

We were the perfect couple, or so everyone thought. Public appearances, stolen kisses on award shows, our social media a testament to a love people envied. But behind the curated feed, cracks had begun to show. Her lingering glances at Sunghoon, the whispered conversations during interviews I couldn't decipher.

I buried my head in the sand, clinging to the illusion of our happiness. Until the day I saw the message. A careless text left open on her phone, a single sentence that shattered our carefully constructed world.

"Meet me tonight, baby. Can't wait to see you again."

The phone slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the coffee table like a gunshot. The once-sweet scent of her perfume in the air turned suffocating.

Days bled into weeks, a hollow space where Wonyoung used to be. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored. The guilt gnawed at her, I knew, her apologies echoing in a phone call that replayed on a loop in my mind. But the words, laced with a desperation I no longer recognized, rang hollow.

My saving grace, my lighthouse in this storm, was Gaeul. Wonyoung's best friend, always a presence on the periphery of our relationship. Now, she was the constant by my side, a silent pillar of support.

Nights were the worst. Sitting in the living room, the echo of our laughter bouncing off the walls like a cruel ghost. Gaeul would sit beside me, a warm presence against the chill that enveloped me. Her hand, a grounding force.

One night, as sobs wracked my body, a flicker of something new sparked in her eyes. Not pity, but a hesitant understanding. A silent confession we both acknowledged but couldn't yet voice.

Wonyoung returned, a broken bird with tear-streaked cheeks. Her apologies were a torrent of words, a desperate attempt to rewind time. But the pieces of our love were scattered, impossible to reassemble.

My heart, once overflowing with love for the girl with sunshine hair, was now a barren landscape. The thrill she craved had left her empty, the excitement a fleeting mirage.

Gaeul was different. Her love was a quiet flame, a steady warmth in the storm. Her eyes held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a quiet strength that complemented my own.

As Wonyoung packed her things, a ghost leaving the life she'd built, a flicker of hope ignited within me. It wasn't the same fierce love I once held for Wonyoung, but it was a spark nonetheless.

Looking at Gaeul, her hand resting on mine, I finally found the words that had been lost, choked by sorrow.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I think… I think I might be falling for you."

The rain outside had stopped, replaced by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds. A new beginning, fragile but hopeful, stretched before me. The love I once had for Wonyoung, a vibrant flower, might have wilted, but from its ashes, a different kind of love bloomed. A quiet love, a steady flame, waiting to be nurtured.

Timeskip

The scent of jasmine, once a sweet reminder of Gaeul's calming presence, now made my stomach churn. It clung to the air like a ghost, a stark contrast to the cloying perfume that filled the apartment when Wonyoung reappeared.

"Y/n," she breathed, her voice trembling like a teardrop. She stood in the doorway, my name a soft plea on her lips. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The Wonyoung I knew, the vibrant sunshine girl, was gone, replaced by a fragile wisp of a woman desperate for redemption.

"Wonyoung," I mumbled, unsure of what to say. Gaeul was away for the weekend, visiting her family. A selfish part of me, a flicker of the love that still flickered like a dying ember, welcomed this unexpected visit.

"Can I come in?" she pleaded, her voice a mere whisper. I hesitated, the image of Gaeul, her hand intertwined with mine, flashing in my mind. But Wonyoung's watery eyes were too much to bear.

"Just for a bit," I muttered, stepping aside.

She moved like a wisp, collapsing onto the couch I used to share with Gaeul. The scent of jasmine mingled with the heavy perfume, creating a suffocating mix.

"I miss you, Y/n," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "I miss us."

My heart clenched. The memories flooded back – stolen kisses in backstage corridors, whispered secrets under a blanket of stars. But that time had passed, replaced by Gaeul's quiet strength, her unwavering support.

"Gaeul..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Gaeul is kind," she said, her voice laced with something bitter. "But she doesn't understand you like I do."

She took a step closer, her hand brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, a betrayal of the fragile peace I'd found with Gaeul.

"We could try again, Y/n," she whispered, her voice husky. "Forget Sunghoon, forget everything. We can be like we were before."

Her words were a siren song, a desperate attempt to rewind time. The Wonyoung I once loved stood before me, but the ghost of Gaeul's hurt loomed large.

"Wonyoung..." I began, searching for the right words.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, framed by the entrance, a dark cloud behind the veil of her hair. Her face, usually radiating warmth, was set in a mask of cold fury.

"Gaeul," I stammered, the air thickening with tension.

Wonyoung, sensing the shift in atmosphere, whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What's going on here?" Gaeul asked, her voice devoid of its usual gentleness. It was a voice I'd never heard before, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

Wonyoung, flustered, stammered an explanation. But Gaeul cut her off, her gaze fixed on me.

"Y/n," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The question hung in the air, an accusation disguised as concern. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she clung to the words "everything alright" like a lifeline, was unsettling.

"Yes," I lied, my voice thin. "We were just… catching up."

Gaeul's gaze never left me. It was an intense scrutiny that made me feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. The jasmine scent, which once offered solace, now felt like a suffocating prison.

Wonyoung, sensing the hostility, opted for a graceful retreat. Mumbling a quick goodbye, she practically flew out of the apartment, leaving an unsettling quiet behind.

Gaeul turned to me, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions. The love, the possessiveness, the anger – it all swirled together in a terrifying cocktail.

"Don't let her manipulate you again, Y/n," she hissed, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The Gaeul I knew, the comforting presence, seemed to have vanished. In her place stood a woman I didn't recognize, a woman consumed by a love that had turned possessive.

The night that followed was a blur of accusations and justifications. My apartment, once a haven of peace, became a battleground. The love triangle that had started with Wonyoung's infidelity had now morphed into a suffocating web of possessiveness, with Gaeul as the spider at its center.

As the sun peeked through the blinds, casting harsh light on the wreckage of the night, I knew things couldn't go on like this. My once cozy apartment, filled with shared laughter and the scent of Gaeul's jasmine tea, now reeked of tension and the cloying perfume Wonyoung had worn.

Gaeul sat on the couch, her back ramrod straight, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Gone was the gentle touch that used to comfort me, replaced by a cold, unyielding demeanor.

"Gaeul," I started, my voice hoarse. "We need to talk about this."

She finally looked at me, but not in the way I craved. Her eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, were hard and calculating.

"What is there to talk about, Y/n?" she spat. "Wonyoung just waltzes back in after breaking your heart, and you're ready to fall for her all over again?"

"No," I said, trying to defend myself. "I just... I don't know what happened last night. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her lips turned into a thin line. "Sorry doesn't fix things, Y/n. You need to make a choice. Me or her."

The ultimatum hung heavy in the air. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have issued such an order. This possessive stranger felt like someone I barely recognized.

"Gaeul," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "We haven't even…"

"Haven't even what?" she snapped. "Haven't confessed our feelings? We've been there for each other through everything, Y/n. Isn't that enough?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the facade. But the possessiveness remained, a dark cloud clouding her love.

The truth was, it was enough. Gaeul's unwavering support had been a lifeline during the storm of Wonyoung's betrayal. Yet, the way she was acting now felt suffocating. Did I love Gaeul? In the aftermath of Wonyoung's heartbreak, maybe it was a form of gratitude, a comfort zone I'd settled into.

"Gaeul," I tried again, "I need time."

Her eyes narrowed. "Time for what, Y/n? To run back to Wonyoung's arms the moment she bats her eyelashes at you?"

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "Time to figure out what this is, between us. This possessiveness… it scares me."

The anger in her eyes flickered momentarily, replaced by a flicker of sadness. "Is that all I am to you, Y/n? Just a possession to be claimed or discarded?"

My heart ached. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have spoken like this. The love that bound us, now twisted by her possessiveness, threatened to unravel completely.

"Gaeul, you're not just a possession," I said, trying to reach her. "You're my friend, my support system. But… but this isn't healthy. We both need space."

She stood up abruptly, her movements jerky and tense. "Fine," she spat, the word laced with hurt and anger. "Have your space, Y/n. Just don't come crawling back to me when you realize you threw away the good thing you had right here."

With that, she stormed out of the apartment, leaving me alone with the ghosts of the night and the deafening silence in its wake.

The following days were a blur. Neither Gaeul nor Wonyoung contacted me. The space I'd craved felt more like a desolate wasteland. The apartment, once a haven, felt empty without the comforting scent of jasmine tea or the familiar warmth of Gaeul's presence.

As the days turned into weeks, a strange realization dawned on me. My feelings for Wonyoung, once a passionate inferno, had dwindled to embers. The betrayal had left an indelible mark, a permanent scar on our relationship.

What about Gaeul? The possessiveness that had initially scared me, now felt like a twisted reflection of the love she held for me. A love that, however distorted, was genuine.

One evening, I decided to take a chance. Armed with a bouquet of jasmine flowers, I stood outside Gaeul's apartment, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

After a long wait, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

"Y/n?" she said, her voice thick with surprise.

I held out the bouquet, the jasmine flowers radiating a comforting scent. Gaeul's gaze softened, a flicker of recognition replacing the initial shock.

"Gaeul," I began, my voice rough with emotion. "I messed up. Big time."

She didn't say anything, but her eyes held a silent invitation to continue.

"I was scared," I confessed, taking a deep breath. "Scared of losing you, scared of letting go of the comfort you offered. But my fear twisted your love, turned it into something unhealthy."

The vulnerability in my voice seemed to resonate with her. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

"I don't want Wonyoung," I continued, my gaze meeting hers with newfound clarity. "The woman I miss is the one who brought me jasmine tea in the mornings, the one who held me through the night when my heart ached. The woman I love is you, Gaeul."

A hesitant smile bloomed on her face, as beautiful as the first flower peeking through winter's frost. She stepped closer, the scent of jasmine mingling with the warmth of her body.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Can I… can I kiss you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, a silent permission. As our lips met, a spark ignited, a gentle flame rekindled by honesty and second chances. The kiss wasn't fiery or passionate, but filled with a quiet understanding, a promise of a future built on trust and love.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of apologies, forgiveness, and cautious exploration of this newfound love. We talked for hours, peeling away the layers of fear and misunderstanding.

One evening, as the city lights twinkled outside our window, casting a warm glow on the apartment once filled with tension, I knelt before Gaeul, holding a small velvet box.

"Gaeul," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "You were my friend, my rock, and now you're the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, a radiant smile breaking through the dam. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with happy tears.

The following year, surrounded by friends and family, we exchanged vows. The jasmine scent filled the air, a symbol of love, comfort, and a second chance. As I looked into Gaeul's eyes, brimming with love and joy, I knew I had found not just a wife, but a partner who understood the complexities of love and was willing to work through them.

The love triangle that had threatened to tear my life apart had ultimately led me to the one person who truly mattered. And with each passing year, the love we shared, nurtured by honesty and trust, only grew stronger.

#ive gaeul #ive wonyoung #ive starship #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #apreciation post #update #yandere #angst #kpop fluff #wonyoung #kim gaeul

176 notes · View notes