#-- from a distance star | ooc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

k0yaz · 27 days

Note

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

764 notes · View notes

celestemona · 2 days

Text

⋆˙⟡ — TANGLED FATES

pairing: kinich, kaedehara kazuha, wanderer x reader

cw: soulmates! au. characters may look ooc. approximately 3k words. no pronouns mentioned though "my lady" is said in kazuha's part. fluffy, angsty, lovely. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Kinich

Kinich had always felt a subtle pull toward something—or someone—just beyond his reach.

From the moment he was born, the thread that connected him to his soulmate had been a delicate shade of translucent red, often fading to the point of nearly vanishing. It was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a tangible sign that his soulmate was far away, perhaps even in another nation.

The people of Natlan revered the concept of soulmates, believing that every thread was woven by the hands of fate itself. Kinich, however, was not the type to wander beyond his homeland in search of this elusive connection. The rugged beauty of his tribe, the thrill of hunting, and the camaraderie of his people grounded him. He found comfort in the familiar rhythms of his life, though sometimes, during quiet moments beneath the canopy of the trees or while gazing at the stars, the thought of his soulmate would flutter in his mind like a restless bird.

Yet today was different.

As Kinich navigated the vibrant festival of the Scions of the Canopy, filled with laughter and the smell of roasted meats mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit, he couldn’t shake a strange sensation. He glanced down at the red string on his finger, and to his surprise, it was brighter than he had ever seen—deep crimson, like the fiery sunsets that painted the sky at twilight. The sudden vibrancy sent a jolt of energy through him, and his heart raced with possibilities. For the very first time, it felt that his soulmate was closer than he had ever imagined.

The thought barely settled in his mind when a commotion broke out nearby. Kinich turned to see a crowd gathered around the bungee jumping platform, a popular attraction that had people leaping into the air with exhilarating abandon. The sight of the participants soaring through the sky brought a fainted smile to his face—until he noticed one figure preparing for a jump.

His heart seemed to stop as he caught sight of you, your hair whipping in the wind, laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd. You appeared fearless, but as the countdown began, Kinich noticed something off: the rope seemed frayed, a dangerous instability in an otherwise thrilling endeavor. Panic surged through him as the countdown reached zero.

Before his mind could catch up to his body, he reacted. The faintest snapping sound echoed in his ears as the bungee cord gave way—a horrified gasp echoed from the crowd, but Kinich was already in motion. With a practiced flick of his grappling hook, he shot toward you, the hook catching a solid anchor just as you fell.

In the heartbeat between falling and impact, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, jerking you from the void. Time seemed to slow as the world spun and your eyes locked onto his—the man who had saved your life.

Kinich landed gracefully with you in his arms, his grip steady and reassuring as if it were second nature. As the adrenaline pulsed through you, your heart raced not just from the near-death experience, but from the realization that your strings—both of yours—were now glowing vividly, a striking red.

The connection between you was undeniable, even if the situation was surreal.

“That was... close,” you murmured, still catching your breath, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Kinich’s usual nonchalance wavered momentarily as his eyes lingered on yours. He gently set you down, his hand brushing against yours as the string on his pinky tightened, pulling you two together subtly but magnificently. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he said, his voice low but calm, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, even through the lingering adrenaline. “Maybe a little of both.”

He let out a quiet hum, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Seems I’ll have to keep an eye on you, then.”

Before you could respond, a pitched voice cut through the air. “No! I though you’d finally gonna get yourself killed, Kinich. Shit! It seems I was wrong again.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “You wish.”

You blinked, wondering where the voice came from and noticing the sudden change in his demeanor, but before you could ask, Kinich’s focus returned to you. His intense gaze softened as he extended a hand, offering it to you with an unexpected formality. “It seems fate has brought us together in the most dramatic of ways.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “Seems that way. And here I thought I’d get a thrill from jumping, not falling.”

“There are safer thrills,” he answered, his hand still holding yours dearly. “One that doesn’t involve falling from cliffs.”

You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide a smirk, the soft flirtation in his voice making your heartbeats go faster. “Oh? Like what?”

He let his gaze linger on yours, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “Perhaps we’ll find out together.”

The red string between you entwined, as if urging the two of you closer. For the first time in a long while, Kinich felt more than just duty or the thrill of a adventuring—he felt the warmth of something that had been distant for too long.

And for you, the world around you seemed to quiet as the only thing that mattered now was the connection between you and the man fate had quite literally sent to catch you.

Kaedehara Kazuha

From the moment of birth, the faintest whispers of your soulmate begin to form in your mind, weaving through your thoughts, and growing clearer with time. The voices aren’t constant, but they drift in and out, as if carried on a breeze, reminding you of the presence of someone far away yet intimately close. Sometimes, it's a word spoken aloud, a laugh shared with a friend. Other times, it’s a fleeting thought, as private as a breath. And from childhood, this voice becomes an indelible part of your life, a companion whose face you have never seen but whose soul you know deeply.

Kazuha was still a boy when he first heard the voice. He was playing alone in the gardens of his family’s estate, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the gentle murmur of the wind. And then, as soft as a whisper, he heard it—a voice that wasn’t his own.

It was delicate, like the sound of water trickling over smooth stones. A voice so pure it carried the sweetness of a lullaby. At first, he thought it was part of the wind, some trick of the breeze, but as the days went on, the voice returned. Sometimes it sang, sometimes it hummed a tune that was unfamiliar yet soothing. And when it spoke, Kazuha listened, enchanted by the rhythm of the words, even if they weren’t meant for him.

Years passed, and the voice became a familiar presence in his life. He learned to recognize its tones—the way it brightened when it was happy, or softened when the person behind it was lost in thought. Even when he left the security of his childhood home, embarking on his wandering journey, the voice followed him. It was a constant companion, a tether that connected him to something beyond the world he knew.

The voice belonged to an opera singer from Fontaine, though Kazuha would only come to know this much later. As children, you’d hear each other speak, often unaware of the impact your words were having on the other side of the world. You’ve been singing since you were small, your voice a bright light in the waterside streets of Fontaine, and Kazuha had come to love the sound of it—first as a soothing melody in the background of his thoughts, and later as a force that brought him comfort during his travels. He could sense your emotions through your voice—the joy you found in your craft, the occasional frustration in your rehearsals, and the quiet moments when you’d murmur your thoughts to yourself.

You, too, had been listening to him. From the first haikus he had whispered into the wind as a child, to the quiet contemplations of a young man growing into his own. Though Kazuha was never one to speak much, the moments when he’d recite poetry or talk to the wind were enough to fill your heart with a sense of companionship. His voice, calm and steady, was a comfort to you as you navigated your own world of art and performance.

Neither of you knew exactly who the other was, but your voices had become a part of each other. Even without a meeting, you had grown up together—two souls connected by the invisible threads of fate.

As Kazuha grew older, his understanding of the voice deepened. He’d often find himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake with the faint echoes of your songs still lingering in his ears. He marveled at how perfectly your voice blended with the world around him—the wind, the sea, and the rustling of leaves in the forests he wandered. Your voice had become a song in the symphony of his life, and he cherished it.

For you, his words were like the poetry he often whispered to himself—a gentle, constant reminder that somewhere out there was someone who understood the world the way you did. You often wondered what he looked like, what kind of person could speak so softly yet carry so much meaning in his words.

Years passed, and though your connection remained strong, you never rushed to meet. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding that one day, you’d find each other.

It wasn’t until Kazuha’s travels led him to Fontaine that your worlds finally began to merge. The hydro nation was a place where the beauty of the arts and the depths of the sea intertwined. Kazuha had no intention of seeking you out immediately. He had learned patience long ago and trusted that the wind would guide him when the time was right.

But as he wandered the streets of Fontaine, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, he heard your voice again—clearer than it had ever been. This time, it was no distant whisper but a melody that floated on the air, rich and vibrant. You were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, your voice filling the opera house with the same beauty that had once echoed in his dreams.

He stood at a distance, watching you from the shadows. You were every bit as graceful as your voice, your movements fluid and elegant. Your presence commanded the space around you, yet there was a softness to you that drew him in. You were speaking with one of the directors with enthusiasm as you discussed the details of the upcoming opera. And though you didn’t know it, the man you had shared your thoughts with for so many years was standing just a few feet away, watching with quiet reverence.

Kazuha’s heart swelled as he took a deep breath, allowing the wind to guide him forward. It was time.

With the same grace that had carried him through countless battles and journeys, he approached you, his steps light and unhurried. When you turned, eyes meeting, the recognition was instant. The voice that had been a constant presence in your lives was now matched with a face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading light of the afternoon. And then, with a soft smile, Kazuha spoke.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that stirred the air around both of you. He took your hand in his own, bowing slightly as he lifted it to his lips. The soft kiss he placed on the back of your hand was filled with all the quiet emotion he had carried with him for so many years. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Your smile widened, warmth rosing on your cheeks. “The honor is mine. I’ve heard your voice for so long… I almost thought I was dreaming when I heard you recite your poems for the first time.”

“As did I,” Kazuha replied, his crimson eyes soft as he gazed at you. “Your voice has been with me for as long as I can remember. Hearing you sing now… it feels as though I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

You laughed softly, the sound as musical as the voice he had come to love. “And I’ve been waiting for you. I always wondered when our paths would cross.”

“They were bound to,” Kazuha said, his tone warm. “The wind always carries us to where we are meant to be.”

With his and your hands still gently intertwined, you stood in the heart of Fontaine, the city alive with the murmur of art and life around them. But for the two of you, the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the echo of the voices that had connected you for so long.

In that moment, you knew that your journey—though long and winding—had led you both exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

Wanderer

In Teyvat, the concept of soulmates wasn’t something everyone discussed openly, but it was an unspoken truth understood by all. It was a tragic but beautiful reality for those people: no one ever dreamed—at least, not until they met their soulmate. The first and only dream a person would ever experience was a shared one, an intimate meeting with their destined one. This dream wasn’t bound by time or place, often filled with subtle moments, quiet connections, and profound understanding. But the dream itself didn’t mean immediate union. Many spent years after their dream searching, wondering when—or if—they’d ever cross paths with their other half in the waking world.

And not all believed they deserved a soulmate.

Wanderer had learned of the legend when he was still known as Kunikuzushi, back in the early days when he was newly formed and still discovering what it meant to exist. He hadn’t thought it applied to him, a puppet—a hollow being without a true heart, someone who was neither human nor divine. But one night, long ago, when he was still innocent and full of hope, he had a dream.

In that dream, he met you.

It wasn’t a vivid or wild vision. It was quiet, serene. You walked in a vast wheat field, your steps so rhythmic as if you were dancing between invisible trails that only you knew where it’d take you. Your back was turned to him but the sound of your laughter was a song that played like a lullaby in his head. When you looked up, your eyes meeting, something inside him stirred—a sense of calm, of being understood without words.

There were no grand gestures, no spoken promises. Just a glance, a soft smile, and a feeling that warmed him from the inside out. You were real, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt connected to something outside of himself.

When he woke, the memory of that dream stayed with him, lodged deep in his mind like a forgotten melody. He tried to dismiss it, thinking it was some strange byproduct of his flawed creation. How could he have a soulmate when he wasn’t truly human?

Years, centuries passed, and Kunikuzushi became Scaramouche, and Scaramouche became Wanderer. He fell deeper into darkness, fueled by bitterness and anger. Yet, despite the walls he built around himself, the memory of the dream never fully faded. It lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes emerging in his quietest moments, like a long-lost hope he didn’t want to admit to. He believed that dream was lost to time, and that he had been undeserving of it. He had resigned himself to solitude, pushing away any notion that he might still have a connection to someone out there.

But everything changed the night he wandered the streets of Sumeru.

The night was calm, and the air was thick with the fragrant scent of flowers. It was one of those evenings where the city was still alive, bustling with life even under the veil of darkness. The marketplace glowed softly in the distance, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Wanderer had no purpose being there, only walking aimlessly, his mind drifting between thoughts.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the memory of that dream began to surface. The image of you, twirling in a field, returned with startling clarity. He could almost see the light in your eyes, feel the quiet comfort of that moment. His steps slowed as a strange, almost magnetic pull tugged at his chest, drawing his attention toward the marketplace.

And then he saw you.

You stood at a vendor’s stall, your profile illuminated by the soft lantern light. His breath hitched. It was as if time stopped. You looked exactly as you had in the dream—your presence both familiar and startling. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. After all this time, how could you be here?

You turned slightly, inspecting some trinket on display, completely unaware of him. The world around him blurred, all the noise fading into a distant hum as his focus remained solely on you. He felt his heart—did he even have one?—thunder in his chest.

A storm of emotions raged inside him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Could this truly be real? After all he had done—his mistakes, his hatred, his isolation—was it possible that fate hadn’t given up on him? Was he still deserving of a soulmate?

He found himself rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. He couldn’t approach you, not yet. How could he, knowing what he had become? A part of him was relieved, though—relieved that you existed, that the dream hadn’t been a cruel joke. But the hesitation that lingered was undeniable. What if you saw him for who he truly was and walked away? What if, after all these years, he was no longer the person you had dreamed of?

You moved away from the stall, and at that moment, your eyes swept over the crowd, casually scanning the area—until they locked onto his.

The recognition was instant, like a spark between two halves of a long-separated whole. You blinked, clearly processing what you were feeling as if the dream had come flooding back to you all at once. The same quiet understanding he had felt in the dream now passed between you in reality. Your expression softened, and though you seemed uncertain, you didn’t look away.

You took a tentative step toward him, your curiosity was evident. His heart raced again, the walls he had built around himself suddenly feeling fragile as if a single word from you could shatter them entirely.

And then you spoke.

“I saw you once upon a dream,” you said, your voice gentle, filled with the same warmth and wonder from the dream. There was no accusation in your tone, no judgment—just simple truth.

He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, yet none of them made sense. All he could manage was, “Did you?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I thought it was just a trick of my mind, but… seeing you now, I know it was real.”

He stood frozen, a mix of doubts, disbelief, and relief swirling inside him. The person he had dreamed of, who he thought was forever out of reach, was standing in front of him. And you remembered him.

His voice was quieter than he intended when he finally spoke again. “I never thought I’d find you.”

You stepped closer, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Neither did I. But… here we are.”

The warmth in your eyes was something he hadn’t felt in so long. It made the walls around his heart tremble, threatening to crumble. He wanted to say so much, to explain the years that had passed, to tell you how unworthy he felt—but none of it mattered in that moment. You were here, and you had dreamed of him, too.

Perhaps, despite everything, he still had a chance at something real. Something good. And for the first time in his long, fragmented existence, Kunikuzushi felt a flicker of hope.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #kinich #kinich x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader

783 notes · View notes

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 3 months

Text

lips of an angel

pairing: married! leon x marriage counselor! reader

cw: infidelity, p in v, oral, over-usage of 'good girl', regret, leon is an asshole (like, he's really a dick), reader is also not a good person (so, hopefully it's ooc for u lol), not proofread enough

summary: leon is married to ashley (she deserves better) and he cheats on her with reader who is the marriage counselor

a/n: based on a reddit post lol. also, it's time for us to admit that lips of an angel is such a fucking good song and leon would listen to it. (imagining this is id! leon and that song came out around that time so actually it's perfect. anyway, bye)

wc: 2.7k

[edit] taglist

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

@onlyasimp4-2dbitches

@pr3ttyd0llie

It starts like many horror stories do: with a knock at the door. He's tall, dark, and handsome, standing in the doorframe. Except not that dark, not very tall at all, but incredibly handsome and you've come to find over the sessions you've spent together that his looks are your weakness. His weakness is you. And many other women. Including his wife, who usually attends these sessions, but tonight, he comes alone. Maybe it's the rain that's beating down on the windows - thought it should sound like a warning - that makes you feel sympathetic enough to let him in when you know you shouldn't.

You let him sit on your couch, but make him hang up his leather jacket on the coat rack so he doesn't ruin the furniture. So you can see his biceps better. And his forearms when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The first two buttons are already undone, but that's how he always dresses. You know this because you spend too much time looking at him. What does his wife wear? Skirts? Dresses? Pantsuits? She could wear a goddamn clown costume to every session and you'd be none the wiser because you're staring at her husband like he's a piece of meat.

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but why are you here?" you ask him. "Your appointment isn't until Wednesday."

"I'm having marriage troubles. I thought you might be able to help."

It's in the job title: marriage counselor.

"Where's Ashley?" It's a loaded question, and the gun is pointed at your entire fucking career.

"She couldn't come. Plus, I don't think she'd like to know about these problems I'm having."

You take a deep breath, contemplating absolutely nothing because you've already made your choice. You made your choice months ago when you had your first appointment with the Kennedys.

“Remember when I said I had a history of cheating?”

“I do. Has this become a problem again?”

“Not exactly,” he says with a slight chuckle that you later find is ironic in nature. “But I’ve been having thoughts…”

“Are these thoughts sexual?”

“Very.”

“Have you tried taking care of it yourself?” You make a hand gesture to signal ‘if you know what I mean’ and pray he knows what you mean so you don’t have to say the words ‘jerk off’ explicitly.

“Yes, but it hasn’t worked.” He looks directly into your eyes when he says it.

"Are these thoughts about a specific person?"

"Yes."

His answers, which are limited to only a few words at a time, make you feel like you're shaking up a magic 8 ball, and the blue goop reveals a die that has little to say beyond 'It is certain', 'My sources say no', and 'Try again later'.

“Is there a way you could distance yourself from this person so you don’t have any potential ‘slip ups’?” you ask.

“Sure, but I’d have to stop counseling if I did.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy-”

“Leon.”

“Right. Leon, I’m not trying to be presumptuous, but are you insinuating that these thoughts are about me?”

“That they are.” His smile gives you a golden star-shaped sticker for guessing correctly.

You give him a scowl. "I'll set you up with a new therapist, then."

“Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning forward, staring right into your soul. “Are you attracted to me too?”

“I’m not comfortable answering-”

“That’s not a ‘no’. Is it?”

You try to wipe the look of shock arousal off your face.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it. I remember you asking a lot of questions about my sex life, especially the parts that don’t involve my wife, and getting visibly flustered when I answered them.”

“Of course I asked questions like that. I’m a therapist. It’s what I do. I’m sorry if you-”

You should ask him to leave, separate yourself before you explode in frustration. Getting defensive is not a healthy way to argue. You know this. You've told him this.

“If I remember correctly you asked me about how I touch myself, when I do it, if I watch anything.” He doesn't wait for a response from you, but it wouldn't have come anyway. “And, the whole time you were sitting there chewing on your pen, pretending not to imagine it. And then writing it down in a hurry, making sure you got down every little detail.” He taps on your pad of paper.

“Can I see this for a moment?” He snags it from the table beside you and flips through the pages. Without thinking, you leap forward and try to snatch it from him, falling into his lap.

The embarrassing part is when he lifts you off of him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s highly confidential!”

“Mr and Mrs. Kennedy,” he begins to read imitating your voice.

“Enough.” You use your sternest voice with him - which is far from stern.

“It says right here that Mr. Kennedy is 'a total dick’ but ‘totally fuckable’.”

“It does not!”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But you were thinking it. Weren’t you?” He looks up with a smile on his face that’s both charming and cruel.

"I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to play with me right now, Leon."

It's the devil's edition of 20 questions, it seems.

He flips the pad closed, and says, “I’ll leave right now if you answer one question truthfully.”

“Fine," you huff, snatching the pad of paper and stashing it out of his reach.

“Did you go home and touch yourself while thinking about me?”

You shake your head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not."

“You couldn’t even make it home, huh? You did it right here, didn’t you?”

You don't have to answer - the look on your face gives it away.

“Was it on the couch? Right where I was sitting? Where I'm sitting right now."

“Fine. You win, you got it right. Are you happy now?” You concede because you want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, so you can go hide your face and die.

You want him to fuck you within an inch of your life and then you'll die happily. La petite mort? That's what they call it, right? You want that.

Leon just hums in response, giving you no insight into his thoughts. Though it doesn't take a therapist to guess that he's mentally fucking you. To your surprise, he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up.

When he gets to the door, you say, “Wait-”

“What?” He asks, nonchalant to such a degree that one might believe the events of the previous few minutes never transpired at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Like I said I would.”

“You’re just gonna leave? Do you get off on embarrassing people? Is that it?”

“No. I get off to you, and you know that." He's oddly defensive despite having the upper hand. "I also know that a large part of you despises me, but it’s because there’s a part of you that wants to fuck me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. “You’re the therapist, not me.”

“I’m telling your wife.”

“You’re going to tattle on me?" He laughs. “That wouldn’t be very HIPAA-compliant of you, would it?”

“Why are you doing this?" It feels like a nightmare that you can't escape where a terrifying shadowy figure is chasing you while you're screaming out for help and no one's listening. Except, this is more horrific due to the fact that you like it. Your thoughts about the man in front of you are downright depraved. You are both the monster, mirrors of each other.

"I thought you wanted to fix your marriage," you say.

“My wife wants to fix our marriage. You and I both know it’s doomed. But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?”

You shouldn't be saying half the things you are right now, but it's too late to turn back now. You are the sunk cost. And the ship that was the concept of 'fixing Leon's marriage' has already sailed.

“You want the truth? I’ve known since the moment you opened your mouth that your marriage was done.”

“Then why did you keep having sessions? Was it for the money?” He pauses. “I doubt it. You’re a good therapist. You could get other clients. There was another reason. And, we both know what that reason is, but I won’t make you say it. I’m not that mean.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And that’s what you like most about me.”

“It is not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Fuck you!”

“Do you want to? I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Convince me.”

“Haven’t I already?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking me to convince you instead of telling me to fuck off? You just want me to come up with a reason that doesn’t make you feel bad about doing it.”

“And there isn’t one.”

“No, there isn’t," he says with a bit of pity, knowing he's dragging you down into the second circle of Hell with him.

“You have to swear to tell your wife.”

“Is that a yes?”

He did not swear to tell his wife, but Leon is a cheater and a liar already. If he swore to tell his wife, you'd only be an idiot to believe him.

“Lock the door.”

He turns around and flicks the lock. “Done.”

You stand up and his mouth is on yours. He’s the best kisser. Silver-tongued, you should've known it. You can fucking taste it too. Metallic. No, that's blood. You bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

You’re the one who starts undressing him first but he doesn’t make fun of you. He helps you out of your top instead.

“Goddamn you have perfect tits. It’s a shame you always keep ‘em hidden.”

“It’s a professional environment.”

“Yeah, it’s so professional that you fuck your clients in it.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

"Don't worry. You’re not the first therapist I’ve fucked. I’ll lead.” Leon lays you down on the couch - roughly, but cradling your head so you don’t knock it on anything.

You gasp. "Leon, the couch is damp from your wet clothes," you whine.

"I promise it'll be soaked by the time I leave."

Before you can open your mouth, he’s kissing down your chest, making his way to your panties. His tongue is good at more than just talking. He has you unraveling within minutes, moaning obscenely.

“As much as love your pretty moans, baby, we’ve gotta be quiet. Don’t want you to get fired.”

“I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a good therapist, and a good girl.”

“You think I’m a good girl?”

“So good. And you taste amazing.” He places a kiss on your clit and you nearly cry, having forgotten the feeling of his tongue in the mere seconds you spent without it. “I want you to come in my mouth.” He sucks on your clit until you do.

Leon's lips are dark and puffy when they meet yours - the ones on your face. He asks, “How did you imagine us doing it?”.

“Mostly me on top of you.”

“It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” he says, placing featherlight kisses from your jaw down your neck.

You shake your head. “None of this is.”

“I know. You've got morals. You’re a good girl.” He pauses before whispering into the shell of your ear, “That’s why you deserve to have me however you want me.”

His right hand is busy holding you steady so he fingers you with his left. You watch as his wedding band slips in and out of your pussy along with his middle finger, giving a double fuck you to his wife with each movement.

He seems fascinated by the squelching sounds, no longer focused on getting his dick inside you. The heavy rain outside covers up some of the noise but not enough to save you the embarrassment.

"Jesus. Just fuck me already." You try desperately to avoid sounding desperate, praying he takes your irritation at face value.

But you're too obvious, you wear your sick, sick heart on your sleeve.

"You want my dick that bad and you haven't even seen it yet."

"I hope it's as big as your ego."

"No you don't. That'd be painful, medically concerning probably."

You want to laugh because he manages to be funny and charming as hell despite being an absolute dick, but that fact makes you hate him more. And the blood that courses through you has nowhere to go but south.

All the while, his fingers refuse to leave your aching center. "Leon," you whine, pushing his hand away, "you're gonna make me cum again."

"I know," he purrs. "I wanna make up for all the months you've spent here by yourself, with your fingers inside you instead of mine."

"I was pretending they were yours." There's no point in saving the confession anymore.

"I'm sure you were, but I've got somethin' better for you, baby."

And, abruptly, he removes his fingers. You watch him unbuckle his belt, and despite this being your fantasy, you look at him like he's betrayed you.

"What?" he says, coyly, "I thought you wanted this."

"I do, but I was about to cum, and you just took your fingers away. You're such an asshole!" You pout like a bratty child.

"Yeah, I know I am," he says - his words are muffled by the square packet he tears with his teeth. He slides on the rubber barrier before he picks you up and sits you down on his cock, disregarding the obscene noises you make as he shoves himself inside you all at once.

You're wet but there's a stretch. His dick is big, maybe not as big as his ego, but bigger than any you've taken before. This is how he gets away with it, you think.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans. His hands have an iron grip on your hips. "You've gotta learn to loosen up and relax. You're too high strung. This is probably good for you."

It's not, you'll find when the orgasm wears off, but right now it feels really fucking good.

His thumb circles your clit while you bounce up and down, working well in tandem. Ironic, as you've made so little progress in your weekly sessions. As expected, the dual stimulation makes you slick with arousal, opening you up for him.

His voice sounds distant, droned out by your own moans which get even louder as his words get filthier. "Bet all your advice didn't work 'cause your brain was all fuzzy thinking about what my cock would feel like inside you. Or maybe you did it on purpose 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."

"No… n-no-" you say, voice trembling just as your thighs do.

"S'okay, baby. Girls with messy pussies like you can't help it. Just need to get some dick in you and then you can go back to being a good girl."

Can you? Maybe you can a 'good girl' in the bedroom, but a morally-upstanding woman? Even in your own eyes, he's corrupted you.

Still, you call out for him, "Leon," you cry, the singular syllable drawn out. You are lucky that the thunder from the storm is louder than your voice could ever be.

"I know," he says, "I'm close too."

The way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him.

You are oddly dissatisfied at the fact that he spills into the condom, not into you. It feels so impersonal. Because it is. It doesn't escape you that he didn't say your name - not even a pet name - just a simple 'fuck' when he came.

You point him in the direction of the trashcan where he can throw away the physical evidence of the mess you've made.

His pants are back on in a second while you remain naked on the couch.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he says. "Ashley's making dinner. Don't wanna keep her waiting."

"You're gonna go home to her?" you say, more disappointed than surprised.

"Yeah. What did you think I was going to do?"

Truly, you weren't thinking. If you were, you would not have had sex with Leon.

"I'm surprised you're not happy. I'm gonna go spend some quality time with my wife. That was your advice - wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But what? You're our marriage counselor. I'm just trying to fix my marriage."

"You're doing an awful job."

"I know," he says, with his hand on the doorknob. "See you on Wednesday."

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy

345 notes · View notes

sorcerersseestars · 1 year

Text

synopsis: Gojo blames you for the first-years' disaster that the higher-ups caused.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

warnings: mention of death/a corpse, yelling, heavy feelings of self-blame, stuttering (it makes sense here tho I promise), emotionally constipated Gojo, mention of not eating for an extended period of time/being hungry (due to the situation), manga spoilers!! (star plasma vessel arc), indirect confessions

word count: 5.2k

notes: There are some slightly non-canon details. I’m pretty sure that Nanami and Yuji don’t know each other at this point, but let’s pretend they do. Also, I’m insinuating a more seasoned bond between Gojo and Yuji/reader and Yuji - let’s also pretend that they’ve been teaching Yuji for longer at this point, for more angst potential. :) LAST THING - you used to be a very mediocre child/adolescent actor in a few small/bad films. Only relevant for one detail.

Also, Gojo may be a bit ooc here - possibly overdramatic in his wordings - but I really wanted to write a Gojo that loses control of his emotions, since I think it'd be difficult to elicit such a reaction from him. I hope it suits him okay!!

GOJO HAS ALWAYS had a soft spot for you. In high school, he would regularly volunteer himself to take your blame, even though you never asked him to do it and would practically begged him not to. But, he was frustratingly persistent and would do it despite your many protests. If you ever cheated on an assignment, Gojo would claim he copied yours. If you fumbled during a mission, Gojo would lie in the report. If you both snuck out and got caught, Gojo would say he dragged you out with force. Whenever you would have an argument with someone, Gojo would comfort you afterwards, insisting the other person was in the wrong even when they obviously weren’t.

Although he has eventually ramped down this ridiculous treatment over the years, you will never forget this boyish idiosyncrasy from your younger days.

Today, however, it’s like those days never even existed. You don't recognize the person standing in front of you. You can’t blame him for his reaction – it's wholly natural – but it still jars you.

Today, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly that there's a very permanent, unchangeable consequence to your actions – or rather, your lack thereof. The consequence of your stupidity, the result of your thoughtlessness, lies unmoving in this room. The body of Itadori Yuji, separated from reality only by the thin plastic covering of a body bag, rests on a table only feet from where you stand.

His mentor, one sworn to protecting his students, sworn to delaying his impending execution as much as possible, stands before you. His signature blindfold obscures his eyes, and you can only imagine the wild, swirling gaze you would be faced with in its absence.

Yuji’s mentor – your long time close friend, who has never blamed you in any great capacity for anything through the entirety of your friendship – now looks at you scathingly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, tone icy.

He's not looking at you as he rigidly hovers over the operating table, but you can feel the intensity of his emotions despite the distance. Words fall out of your brain, and you struggle to string together a cohesive thought.

“I-" You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “The higher-ups told me not to go with them, I don’t know wh–"

He barks out a harsh laugh, cutting off your pathetic excuse. His head is in his hands, fingers roughly carding through his disheveled hair. He pauses in his ministrations to face you: he is suddenly towering over you, broad frame filling even the corners of your vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He growls. “Did you stop to think for even a second? Why would they ever ask a teacher to stay behind?”

Tears begin to slide down you cheeks. You quickly wipe them away and will your building urge to break down to go away.

He sighs, his breath leaving him loudly and aggressively. “I don’t understand how this happened. You know how this works, (Y/N)! You know how the higher-ups are!”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out quietly, voice stretched and thin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back, (Y/N)!” Gojo shouts.

Shoko and Ijichi are silent. Shoko is looking at the ground, her stony expression difficult to determine. Shoko, your friend who always sticks up for you no matter what, especially when dealing with Gojo. Shoko, who hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you arrived. For once, she agrees with him.

Your eyes land on the black body bag laying on the operating table, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Your legs weaken underneath you and you begin to shake. The sobs you’ve been suppressing rip out of your throat. Ugly, choking sobs.

Nobody moves to comfort you. If anything, Gojo’s scowl deepens, and Shoko turns away at your display of emotion.

“I know,” You sob. “I know it doesn’t. I know it's my fault.”

You take a few shaky breaths. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for it to happen- I- it’s my fault.”

He slides his blindfold down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You are about to blurt something else out, but before the words can leave your tongue, you catch his gaze and you’re immediately frozen. His boiling blue irises steal your breath and leave you rooted to the spot. Never in your life have you seen him this angry or even display this much emotion.

“If you keep standing there and crying, I think I’m going to kill something,” He says lowly.

“Gojo,” Shoko interjects in a warning tone.

Gojo bites back, “Why not? We all want the higher-ups gone. It’d be so easy. Shit like this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

Ijichi pales. Shoko roughly says, “Are you crazy?”

He doesn’t answer, and the determined look on his face isn’t necessarily comforting. It seems a storm is brewing – the most powerful sorcerer is being driven to a point.

You’re reaching a point, too – your breaking point. You feel like you can’t breathe. When you inhale, your lungs refuse to inflate past the shallowest of breaths. It’s all hitting you now, clear thoughts rising past the fog of adrenaline that overwhelmed your mind. The reality is that you fucked up, and it’s not fixable.

You fucked up, and there’s no going back in time to change your decision, to go against orders to stay with your students. There’s no way to bring Yuji back.

“Why are you still here?” Gojo says with an exasperated huff, addressing you directly. “Seeing you only adds to my anger.”

You say nothing, your mind occupied only with your regrets. He frowns and tries again.

"Unless you want to dive further into this preventable death," He says coldly. "Leave. There's still a job to be done.”

You barely hear his words. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to collect them, to interpret them, as it hyper-fixates on the horrible hole forming in your heart. Your eyes are wide, pupils enlarged, and you are visibly quivering.

“Didn’t you hear me? You need to leave!” Gojo growls, frustrated at your lack of reaction, believing it to be indifference.

“They must be in shock, Gojo,” Shoko murmurs. “They’re shutting down.”

Shoko’s diagnosis is indeed correct. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of their mouths; your shoulders and heart have grown heavy, leaden, from knowing the fate you led your students to. One deceased, two severely injured. All because of a risk you did not take, an order you did not disobey.

Yuji’s bright smile burns into the back of your eyes, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the ultimate mistake.

One second, your eyes are on the black body bag, and the next second you can’t see anything, your vision blurred by tears and by speed. You’re running, you realize, legs pumping as fast as they can. Your lungs ache and your legs cramp up, but you can’t will yourself to stop. You can’t think. You can’t catch your breath.

When you inevitably collapse, you don’t know where you are or how much time has passed. It’s just a patch of grass damp with dew, a few maple trees dotting the banks of a small neighboring stream. You’re laying under one of these trees, your arms outstretched so your fingers can comb through the cool, wet blades of grass. You’re vaguely aware the the sun set at some point after you left. Maybe it’s been a hour, or a few more. You have no idea.

You want to scream, you want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t; it won’t come. When his grinning face and determined smile taunt you, reminding you of your sins, you can only screw your eyes shut, willing the torture to end.

Wetness finally runs down your face, and you taste salt. It is oddly comforting. Your hands repeatedly grab the gentle grass, numbing your mind until exhaustion eventually overtakes you.

There’s a buzzing filling your brain. You groan and roll over, reaching out to your bedside table to grab the offending object. You startle at the feeling of sharp gravel under your fingertips – it’s unpleasantly damp, as well, leaving muddy residue on your hands.

The buzzing starts again, and this time you clearly feel the vibrations through your leg. You sit up, scooting back until your back firmly hits the tree trunk behind you, and force your tired eyelids to part. You have to squint, as the sun has already risen and has crossed the sky a fair amount – it must be approaching noon already.

When the buzzing persists, you grumpily rip the phone out of your pocket. It’s not an alarm, as you had expected. In fact, you startle at the caller ID: Gojo Satoru.

You stare at your phone blankly, your brain buffering. You ultimately let it ring out, although your finger hovers over the answer button. Once the screen fades to your usual background, your throat goes dry. Missed calls from Shoko, Nanami, and Gojo fill your screen. You quickly skim the accompanying texts and wince.

Shoko <3: I know we’re all upset, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you…just let me know you’re alright, okay? (10:43 pm)

‘Nanamin’: I heard what happened. It isn’t your fault, (Y/N), no matter what anyone says. Call me if you need anything. (6:26 am)

Satoru: Where are you? (11:34 pm)

Satoru: Pick up (11:59 pm)

Satoru: please (12:03 am)

Satoru: I fucked up. I need to talk to you, please let me (12:05 am)

Satoru: I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but let someone, anyone, know you’re alright… (7:12 am)

Satoru: Megumi just told me he tried to visit you but you still weren’t home. (Y/N), please…say anything…I need to know that you’re okay (11:17 am)

It all rushes back to you: your lethal mistake, the deserved reaction you received from your two best friends, how you shamefully ran away. Fuck. There’s no way you can face any of them, especially not Megumi.

You wish this never happened. Hot tears burn your cheeks again; your eyes flood with regret. Shame quickly floods through you, making you feel hot all over. How can you feel sorry for yourself when it was your fault in the first place?

You roughly wipe your face with your sleeve and stick your phone back into your pocket. There’s no way you can respond right now. It’s bound to die soon, anyway, so there’s no point in trying.

You don’t want to move from where you sit. You want to sink into the ground and stay there until the horrible feeling inside you goes away. But…

“What if it doesn’t?” You whisper those words out into the universe, a sinking feeling in your gut telling you the answer.

You want to cry more, allow yourself to shed more tears, but you don’t. You wobbly stand up, and are surprised at how weak you are. When was the last time you ate – yesterday morning, before the disastrous mission?

You have to go home. You can’t stay here, in the middle of nowhere, neglecting yourself. It’s a thought that rings in your head and won’t leave you alone until you decide to listen. Okay. You will go home. You can manage that.

It takes a while, but you find your way back to your apartment. Last night, you had apparently meandered into an expanse of empty land neighboring the school, as you pass by Jujutsu Tech on your way back. It is a bit off the beaten path – you doubt anyone has ever intentionally gone where you ended up last night.

During your journey home, you have to reference your Google Maps app a few times, but you somehow successfully get back home, despite your directional challenges and weakened state.

Until you step into your apartment, you don’t realize how cold you are. Your feet are numb from being cold and wet, your toes icy when you peel the damp socks off. You cringe at how unaware you have been at your body for the past 24 hours: your mental state ignored all physical needs.

Your stumble to your bedroom, aching body screaming for a rest. You relent easily, collapsing on your bed face first. You’re so grimy and covered in remnants of the dirt bed you laid in last night, evidence of your outside stay covering your clothing. Bits of twigs and leaves invite themselves into your sheets – you couldn’t care less right now, though. You don’t even think about it.

On instinct, you plug your dead phone in without even looking. There’s silence for a minute or two before it whirs back to life, the screen flashing at your tired eyes.

There’s another message waiting to be opened.

Megumi: Come back soon, sensei. He’s getting unsufferable

Megumi:…more than usual

A hoarse chuckle leaves your throat, the first laugh that’s left you since the whole incident. You sigh immediately after though, as you begin to wonder how Megumi has been dealing with everything. If you hadn’t run away, then…

Your head is in your hands again. No matter what path your thinking strays down, you keep returning to your immense guilt over what happened.

You wish you were mad at someone. You wish that you felt angry at Gojo, but you aren’t – you can’t be. In your eyes, he wasn’t wrong; how could you be mad at him when you agree?

You’re not mad, but there’s this other unpleasant feeling. It feels like one of Nobara’s nails has been lodged in your chest, and every time you think about his reaction, the nail twists a little deeper into your heart. He’s never yelled at you before. That hurt.

It’s understandable, but it still hurts.

Gojo…You don’t think you can face him yet, but he may come to you if your radio silence continues. Maybe you should just get it over with and call him. You can just tell him you’re alive and hang up. That should suffice.

Without thinking further on it, you grab your phone and dial his number. Within two rings, the line connects.

“Yo, (Y/N)! Long time no hear!” His chirpy voice booms through your speakers. He’s back to his usual self – overly casual and full of mirth. He sounds way too cheerful; it throws you off guard.

A sharp inhale leaves you as you’re about to tell him that you’re fine and to not worry, so that you can hang up and avoid him. But, nothing comes out. Everything you thought of saying flies out of your brain. You’re left wordless, mouth hanging open.

“You there? (Y/N)?”

You shake your head, coming to your senses.

“Yes,” The single word that leaves you is weak and breathy.

“You good? Are you home now?”

“Yeah. Home now. I’m alive, so no need to bother checking in on me,” You say thoughtlessly.

God, that was lame. You can’t help but cringe at what you just said. It’s what you intended to convey, yes, but that’s not how you wanted to say it.

“Just alive? Sounds real peppy over there!” He chuckles. “I was going to come over anyway, but you’ve really pushed it over the edge.”

“Ah,” You say somewhat panicked, searching for a way out of this. “There’s really no need. I just need rest so there’s no need. I’ll see you later, then.”

“You mean soon!” He chirps before you can hang up. You groan into your pillow; this is exactly what you had been trying to avoid. How are you even going to look at him?

You’ve just put your phone back on your nightstand when there’s sudden footsteps approaching your bedroom. Before you can think further, the door is flung upon and a familiar figure appears before you.

“Ultimate best friend Gojo Satoru has arrived! Everyone applaud!”

A series of small claps ensues, while you just stare on in silence and disgruntlement. A wide smile stretches across his face at your displeased expression.

“C’mon angel, not even a single clap? That’s cold.”

You roll your eyes, but only half-heartedly. The gesture is so pathetically slight that Gojo’s smile falls a fraction. You don’t have much emotional energy to expend on humoring him, it seems. Because of him.

It’s then that he fully takes in your appearance. Tear stained cheeks, dirt caking your clothes and body, scraps of organic material matted in your hair and clinging to all parts of you. There’s even smudges of dirt around your eyes where you’ve attempted to wipe away tears.

He questions your appearance, trying to appear lighthearted, “Was the forest calling you? You really didn’t sleep here?”

You immediately feel self-conscious of your appearance and cross your arms. You manage out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“No, seriously…where did you sleep?” He probes, this time lacking the lightheaded tone.

A weak, sheepish smile appears on your lips, “Ah…the ground? You were right, I guess.”

He blinks. You rub the back of your head and avoid eye contact, softly laughing an awkward little chuckle.

“Seriously?” He asks, but it lacks any judgment. He is truly just in disbelief.

You just nod.

“Hey, are you…are you sure you’re okay?”

You weren’t expecting that. You wish he would stay in his childish mindset – these real questions are worse.

You breathe out slowly, “I mean…yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s not a very convincing delivery, but it was the best you could manage. The corners of his lips turn down slightly, almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on your answer. He knows he should question you further, dig a little deeper, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he excuses himself, “I’ll be right back. Just stay put! I’ll know if you move, so you better not move an inch.”

He raises two fingers to his eyes, then directs them to you, clearly saying ‘I have my eyes on you!’

It’s amusing - he’s always amusing - but when you try to smile, your lips just flatline. You can’t tell if he notices, since he has already turned away and walked into the bathroom, but you hope he couldn’t tell.

When he returns, he’s holding a dampened washcloth.

“Bath time!” He says, shaking the cloth excitedly in front of you. You flinch a little as a few stray drops of water unexpectedly land on you, which he lightly laughs at.

And then he begins swiping away the dirt that has accumulated on your body. He starts with your face. He’s on his knees, one elbow resting on the space neighboring your right thigh, leaning in to have more control with the cloth. You close your eyes when his face comes within inches of yours - too close. Even when you feel as horrible as you do now, your heart won’t stop thumping quickly against your ribs, as if it cannot deny those deeply hidden feelings you harbor.

He hums while he works, gently dabbing all the places where you have visible dirt. It’s comforting, or at least it should be. You heart begins to clench tightly, and you so badly want a hole to appear in the ground to swallow you up.

“Gojo, why are you being so nice now?” You ask, voice small. “I don’t really deserve it. I’d…prefer the alternative. This feels wrong right now.”

He sets down the cloth, wincing at your pitiful words. Is that how you really feel?

He pauses. He’s not good at this sort of thing – acknowledging other people’s vulnerability, lowering his own walls to empathize with others, any of it. He hates it. He hates how emotionally he acted yesterday, he hates how it has affected you.

“No,” He sighs. He speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, “I…shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you force yourself not to cry, “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it. Everyone was thinking it.”

He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is downcast. He ducks, lowering himself to the ground even more, to enter your field of vision.

“Hey,” He says softly. “Do you trust me?”

Your brow furrows; you don’t understand why he’s asking you that. You feel yourself nodding, though.

“Everything I said yesterday,” He starts, but then shakes his head at himself. “No, everything I yelled at you yesterday – it was misdirected. What happened wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing what was about to happen.”

“But now, it’s obvious,” You mumble. “I should have known.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You were following orders. The ones assigning the orders are at fault, not you.”

You grab your sheets with tight fists. You turn your head to the side, away from his invisible gaze, “Orders that were obviously suspect. It’s still my fault as an experienced sorcerer.”

Gojo’s chest constricts. You sound exactly like he did yesterday; the consequences of his actions echo back to him from your mouth.

“I promise it’s not,” He insists, but it falls on deaf ears. “I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve made mistakes, but you never treated me like I treated you yesterday.”

Gojo clenches his teeth. This is hard. He hates bringing up this side of the past, but he’ll do it for you.

“You never judged me for what happened during the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Even though you wanted to leave that night, and I ignored you, you never blamed me.”

“You were seventeen,” You say quietly, shakily. “We were all kids. That was over a decade ago.”

“But you knew how to make it better,” He says breathlessly. “And you never even once insinuated that it was my fault.”

You smile sadly at him, and your next words are sure and immediate, “Because it wasn’t.”

Gojo’s mouth hangs open for a second, still amazed at the understanding and kindness that so easily shine through you even in the darkest moments.

He reaches out for your hands, unsure, and squeezes them when he finds them. “Can I…can I start over ? From yesterday?”

You blink blankly, not completely understanding, but give a hesitant nod anyway.

He exhales deeply and lowers his head to your hands until his forehead brushes your fingertips. It’s completely unexpected, and you freeze upon contact. His head is bowed to you – embarrassment and confusion flood you.

You are relieved when he raises his head to speak.

“What happened with our students isn’t your fault,” He says quietly but with conviction. “It’s the work of the higher ups - it’s their fault, nobody else’s. I’m…”

He pauses. Words he never says need to come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this happened while you were here and I was away, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things out of your control. This was never your fault.”

You are silent. You say nothing. You don’t move. Your expression stays blank.

He panics. He takes your silence as a sign of not being forgiven – which is not what he fears, in fact he doesn’t want to be forgiven. But he doesn’t want to lose you, and that’s exactly what he thinks has happened. Did he completely sever the bond spanning more than a decade?

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, but,” He swallows thickly, the anxious feeling rising. “But I hope this doesn’t…”

He tries again, “I hope our friendship…I hope you- I don’t want to lose you after all we-”

“Satoru – it’s not that,” You say quickly. “You haven’t, I promise. I have already forgiven you. I forgave you from the moment it started.”

You close your eyes, clenching them shut. You don’t want to cry again. “It’s just that…even if I’m not directly at fault, Yuji is still dead. Our student is dead. Despite anything that can be said of the situation, that fact will not change.”

He really shouldn’t tell you this. He needs to, but he shouldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” He says again, voice only a whisper. He’s even closer now, only inches away. A hand raises to ease his blindfold down so that it rests loosely around his neck.

Your eyes on his are so clear, and reveal so much – surprised by his bare gaze, confusion clear in your beautiful eyes he finally can see so clearly up close.

“Of course,” You whisper breathlessly. “Always have.”

“Close your eyes, and hold on,” He says. “Don’t want you getting lost again, angel.”

You know what that means. Teleportation. But where could he be taking you that is so important right now? Maybe somewhere he knows you like to calm you down?

You’re taken aback by the rush of air around you even though you’ve traveled like this many times.

The few uncomfortable moments in the strange vortex allow you to question where be could be possibly be taking you. Before you can decide on an answer, however, the roar in your ears subsides, and you are steadied by his grip around your shoulders. He's so close again, wisps of his soft hair tickling your neck. One of his large hands drops down to clutch yours. You’re ashamed about now nice it all feels in such a situation.

Then all that slips away and you're immediately on guard - there's another cursed presence nearby.

“Gojo-sensei, you’re back? That movie was kind of weird and bad, but I swear that one character was (L/N)-sensei. Do they have a twin or something?”

Your eyes pop open. Your hand falls out of Gojo’s as your grip completely goes slack. That voice…Youthful, full of energy and a kind innocence. It could only be...

Gojo responds ecstatically, dramatically, “Ah, but of course not! I have brought an honored guest! An old time Hollywood star whose home was the red carpet! The famed, the budding talent, (Y/N)-”

He’s cut off by a shriek. He blinks twice, and you’re already far from his side, rushing to the secret he has to keep - the secret he couldn’t possibly keep from you.

You crash into Yuji, binding him in a crushing hug. He's open mouthed and spluttering in surprise, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed right now. You have no idea how, but he is standing before you, living and breathing. As seemingly endless tears pour down your face, you miss now the confusion on his face morphs into a look of grim understanding. He doesn't know what you went through, but he can guess.

And then you're laughing. Crying and laughing. Heaving breaths to accommodate your almost hysterical laughter, standing back to wipe away your tears before hugging Yuji again.

The sight of you hugging your student so tightly, healing with just this action, coaxes a half smile out of Gojo. Only half because he is in danger of faltering himself, bottom lip wavering as a wave of emotion flows over him.

The abandoned blindfold is clenched tightly in his hand as he tries to hold back the emotions welling in his brilliant eyes. He almost wants to put it back on to hide the emotions underneath, but he can’t, not when the whole reason he took it off was to see this with his own eyes.

No words are exchanged for a long while. They don't need to be, and even Gojo can see that.

By the time he is taking you home, your dynamic has shifted back to something more normal. It's raining, but you insist on walking back, citing the fact that his teleportation makes you horribly dizzy. (Or maybe, just maybe, you want a little more time with him. But you'd never admit that to yourself.)

The constant overhead drizzle is a bit annoying, but is bearable despite Gojo's claims of it tainting his very existence. He’s clearly back to his overdramatics - it's comforting.

The streets are dark, with only muted warm yellow lights lining the sidewalks, creating only vague halos of light due to the misty air. Gojo walks close to your side, an arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. At some point through your chatting, it slips down to your waist. You don't notice it right away, but once you do, all you can do is wonder if he's done that before - if it's normal for friends.

You notice something else strange. His blindfold is still loosely hanging from his body, his baby blues on display. It's hard to look at him like this - you feel too exposed - even though you desperately want to get lost in his eyes. Yes, your deep affection for him still rings true, even if he yelled at you, even if he did expose your horrible, cringey child acting.

“I can’t believe you put on that movie!” You exclaim, miming exasperation.

Gojo chuckles, “Scolding me again, that’s a good sign. Even if it’s for an illogical reason – c’mon, ‘Painters in Paris’ is a classic!”

You can’t hold back your wide, devious smile, “I guess you would think that since you literally look like a fucking paint brush!”

His jaw drops, and he looks at you faux-offended as you practically double over in laughter.

“Angel! No, I really should be calling you devil! You- get over here!”

Although you run from him, he quickly catches up to you and you’re in his grasp. He immediately overwhelms you with vicious tickles.

“Gojo!! Satoru, you– stop that!” You say between bouts of laughter. You’re off balance, and his relentless attack isn’t helping. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna–!”

You stumble and begin to topple to the cold cement, but you’re scooped up before you meet your demise.

A small gasp escapes you at your proximity, and at his eyes so clearly looking deeply into yours, yearning burning through them. He's never looked at you like this - has he?

“Woah! That was close, huh, angel?” He smiles, tone nonchalant and voice steady. He seems unaffected by your closeness, but his eyes tell a different story. You don't know what to trust - him or his eyes. But they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul – what answer does that leave you with?

And what answer do you have? Right now, with his strong arms around you, those beautiful eyes glittering as if they hold a sea of stars, that sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies, those lips you can’t help but glance at for too long–

You know.

Without thinking, you give in to your instinct to keep leaning in, and your lips meet his. It's not a passionate crash, but more of a gentle whisper to the soul. A soft brush to his lips, all the sweetness he brings to you returned.

Then, you pull away slowly, almost in confusion. Did you just do that?

You’re horrified. What did you just do without a single thought behind your action?

A gentle chuckle brings you out of your momentary horror.

“So what, you’re a paint brush kisser now?” He chuckles softly, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip.

You take in his expression - flushed cheeks, a soft smile, eyes full of a softness you've never imagined they could have.

"Yes,” You agree, your mouth stretching widely from the excitement and happiness you can’t hold back, “ l proudly am.”

He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, again and again and again until you're both out of breath. You both stay in that moment, feelings that lay hidden for years finally spilling out, until you're completely engulfed by the rain.

note part 2: I have a tendency to be over-detailed about boring/fluff details, so I tried to do that less here. First one shot in a while !! I hope the flow is still okay…I also couldn't decide how to do the ending, so l hope this works?

Also wow I can’t stop writing hurt/comfort and Gojo being an ass! I have another story drafted that’s also Gojo x reader and hurt/comfort as well…

Here’s a hint about that one: 🌸🩸

If you’re looking for more hurt/comfort, here’s my gojo hurt/comfort series: here (more action-y than this though)

Thanks for reading !! :)

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru is a little shit #jjk #ieiri shoko #gojo fanfic #yuji itadori #gojo satoru is emotionally constipated #gojo x reader #gender neutral mc #gojo satoru x you

1K notes · View notes

xmalereader · 9 months

Text

PS5 Peter Parker x Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

REQUEST: May I request a PS5 Peter Parker x Male Reader. The reader and Peter used to be a thing when they were in high school but, they didn't work due to Peter's distance and cold because of him being spiderman especially when aunt May died. Years later, they encountered each other, the reader achieved his dream of being a writer, he wrote a book about him and unexpectedly, Peter came to his convention. Peter has been following the reader ever since they broke up, he always checks up on what he was doing daily without him. He visited the reader's convention hoping for a closure and confessed that he still loves the reader.

TAG: @jihanbang

WC: 4.7K

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, mentions of high school sweethearts, age gap ( one year difference ), Peter is angsty, reader is a writer, break ups and make ups, request made, insomniac Peter Parker, Spider-Man, some mature language, memories, childhood, high school memories. Peter POV, OOC Peter Parker.

NOTES: I may have gone a little overboard with this one, but I don’t care. I’ve actually been planning on writing an angsty Peter about ex lovers and all and when I saw your request I just had to write it right away. I was gonna keep it short but instead took it further almost 5k! (°▽°), but anyways I enjoyed writing this and put it as Peter perspective. I hope you enjoy this shot because I know I did!

Peter stares at the poster board plastered on the front window of the cities famous bookstore that he’d been passing by on the way out of F.E.A.S.T. He wasn’t much of a reader when it came towards books of fantasy or romance and would much rather have his nose stuck between the pages of a physics and engineering book, but he’d for sure read this new one coming out soon. His eyes drift over to the authors picture, staring at the smiling man and taking in their appearance. How long has it been since he’s last seen that smile?

Peter remembers the first time he saw that smile.

He was sixteen years old and freshly new to high school near his aunt May’s place. He’d grown nervous and anxious at the idea of starting his first year of his last three years of education before collage could even start, he remembers arriving late on his first day, flustered and embarrassed when walking into his first period only to have everyone laugh at him when the teacher points out his tardiness to the whole class.

He was embarrassed, but also lucky enough to get a seat in the back of the classroom where no one would see him. The only difference was that the only spot avaliable was next to the schools president who was a year older than Peter and the only Junior in his first period class. Peter always steered away from class representatives having experience their egos back in middle school. The good thing was that he didn’t have to deal with it all day and only for the first hour of school.

Until he found out that the president was in all of his classes, meaning that he would be seeing the kid for the whole school year and being partnered with him in various projects together. When he was first partnered with the class president he figured that he would be the only one doing the project and getting them an easy A only to get the total opposite from him.

Peter was surprised when Y/n sat next to him during class, shoulders bumping as he opens their textbooks and began to plan out their project and what subject they should look into along with figuring out where to meet up and when to get started. Peter didn’t think that the class president would actually help him out or put the work into their project.

He figured that he was only being nice because he was the schools star until he started following Peter everywhere. He’d invite him to eat lunch together or even drag him to the library in order to get started on their project it wasn’t until Peter actually freaked out when Y/n followed him home, thinking that he was being stalked and gained the confidence to stick up to the president, glaring at the junior and asking him why he was following him and claiming him to be a stalker.

Only for Y/n to laugh at Peters accusations and quickly clear up the problem by telling him that he actually lived in the same street as him, pointing out to the house just a few blocks down from Peters aunts place. Lets just say that Peter was embarrassed that day.

It wasn’t until their time together became a routine.

Y/n would be waiting for Peter every morning in order to walk to school together, visiting his place and joining his and aunt Mays dinner nights and keeping them company. There time together almost everyday caused a strange feeling to bloom deep down inside of Peter, questioning himself as to why he was feeling this way whenever he was around Y/n.

Peter liked science and like a scientist he had to experiment.

So, the teen started the process. His mornings with Y/n on the way to school were normal the two always talking about class work that was left unfinished or Y/n telling Peter about the different ideas he had in mind for the students and making sure that the year ends perfectly for everyone. There lunch together was also normal with Peter sitting across from Y/n as he eats his chocolate pudding, staring at the other teen who also eats his lunch and passing Peter his own pudding cup.

Y/n knew that Peter liked the schools chocolate pudding and always gave him his each time they got it for lunch without even having to offer it and Peter would easily take it without hesitation and eat a spoonful while they continued to converse.

Peter didn’t get that familer feeling anymore and figured that he was possibly just sick that day. Only to get that same feeling again when their both sitting in his bedroom after finishing up their project with Y/n rambling to Peter about his writing and the amount of ideas he had in mind while showing his drafts, sitting so close to each other that they can feel each others breaths.

That’s when Peter discovered that he was crushing on the class president.

Which resulted into Peter screaming into his pillow that night after going to bed. He couldn’t be crushing on Y/n out of all people why him? Since his discovery he was much more careful around Y/n, cutting their time together, leaving earlier than him in the mornings to the point that he had to fake being sick in order to avoid seeing him.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to notice Peter avoiding him and he wasn’t one to let things drag on. The day that Peter arrived to school an hour early in order to avoid Y/n he didn’t expect himself to be grabbed by the back of his backpack and dragged inside the janitors closet. He panics at first until he’s face to face with Y/n, staring at him with wide eyes and noticed how angry he looked.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Peter chuckled nervously while shrugging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap, Peter.”

Peter can’t help but wince softly by his stern voice, avoiding eye contact when he feels his heart race, noticing how close Y/n is being while he continues to talk.

“You’re always leaving earlier than me in the mornings which is funny because your always waking up late and I have to be the one to wake you up—you stopped eating lunch with me and your always taking sick days which never happens because you hate missing school and you never get sick!” He continued to ramble on, losing Peter half way when he’s staring at him with admiration. The fact that Y/n not only noticed Peters avoidance but also pointed out the smallest things about him that not many people knew about, not even his aunt did.

“—and then you leave me behind after school when we always walk back home together and you don’t answer my texts! So, I figured that I’d corner you before school started in order to get answers.”

Peter is pulled from his thoughts and focused back on Y/n, staring at him as he stands before him with crossed arms and a frown on his face and a raised brow, waiting for an answer.

“It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit.”

Y/n was quick to respond, surprising Peter.

The two are staring each other down until Y/n sighs in defeat, frown softening while breaking contact and rubbing his temples. “Look, I won’t push you to tell me but can I least ask…did I do something to make you act this way?” His voice is filled with concern which only makes Peter quickly speak up. “No! No you didn’t do anything its…” He hesitates to speak, growing afraid and anxious by how Y/n will react when confessing his feelings.

He’s afraid to lose the person he really cares for, but he can’t always keep his feelings bottled up.

“Peter—?”

“I like you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched when hearing Peters confession, eyes full of surprise and with a gaped mouth. Before he could say anything Peter continues on. “I didn’t know until I started being around you more often and ever time I’m around you my hearts races and my stomach makes me feel like I want to throw up. I was avoiding you because I was afraid of how you’d react if you found out and I thought it would be better for me to keep my distance in hopes of getting rid of these feelings, but it only made me feel worse.”

Peter would think that Y/n would reject him and possibly leave him alone in the closet, ending their friendship after confessing. He didn’t think that he’d pulled into a kiss, warm hands cupping his cheeks and soft lips against his own. Peters eyes were wide in and face going red, he wasn’t only full of surprise but it was also his first kiss.

“You’re an idiot if you didn’t think i’d feel the same way.” Y/n says against Peters lips when breaking apart.

From that moment on the two started dating.

Peter expected the entire school to find out that their popular Vice president was dating him only to get nothing due to them keeping their relationship private. Y/n wanted to continue enjoying his time with Peter in school without being bombarded with questions by the various popular students who liked him. The two had their peace for the first year until graduation neared.

During Y/n’s last year of school he had told everyone that he wasn’t running for president for his Senior year and instead with the extra time he had he spent it at Peters place after school. The two would listen to each others talk passionately about what they loved with Peter talking fondly about his science projects and him listening to Y/n ramble on about his writing and his book ideas that he’s noted down for Peter to read and critique.

Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

Before Peter and Y/n officially started dating he focused on his duties as the cities hero, never having to worry about keeping it a secret from anyone else but his Aunt only to find out that he’d have to eventually tell Y/n about it which only freaked him out. He couldn’t allow him to know due to the fear of ruining their relationship and perhaps putting him in danger if things were to get bad as he continued to be the cities hero.

So, little by little Peter became distant towards Y/n.

Coming up with excuses as to why he didn’t want to go out to the point that arguments started over the smallest things. Peter wanted to keep Y/n close to him but the fear of being discovered as to why he’s always late to their small dates caused him to make the worst decision ever. It was the week before senior graduation that he broke up with Y/n, making up a lie that he didn’t want to hold him back when he’s in college and should have the freedom to be with other people who were far better than him.

Peter couldn’t even look him in the eyes when he utters those words and instead runs away like a coward.

That same night he had cried himself to sleep, feeling devastated and broken by his poor decision but also telling himself that it was for the best. Peter avoided Y/n on the days that he tried to talk to him, coming over to his aunts place to try and have a conversation only to be pushed away, keeping himself busy with his Spider-Man duties and spending more time in the city.

It wasn’t until after graduation that Y/n moves out of his parents place and got himself an apartment on the other side of the city, far away from Peter. He didn’t have to worry about going outside and bumping into his ex each time he checked the mail or took out the trash even though Peter wished to see him again he knew it’s was better to stay away.

Even after twelve years he couldn’t stop thinking about the man.

As the years went on he had found Y/n on social media, checking in on his profile every few weeks and taking notice of the various pictures that are posted along with interviews and conventions about his book that is to be released soon. Peter didn’t want to look like a stalker checking his ex’s socials, but can’t help himself and do it.

After returning back home from F.E.A.S.T he didn’t expect to find MJ working in the living room. Even though the two were close friends she had recently moved in with him as a way of saving some money and making living easier for the both of them.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked when enter the house and closing the door behind him while heading towards the kitchen to make himself something to eat while he listened to MJ type away on her computer. “Just on a new article.” She answers and looks up from her computer to see Peter searching the fridge. MJ took the opportunity to close her laptop and rush over to Peter with a smirk on his face.

“An article about what?” Peter closed the fridge after taking out the orange juice and slightly jolts by MJ’s sudden close appearance, startling him and sighing deeply.

“About Y/n.”

Peter froze at the familiar name.

Even though him and MJ had been friends for years he hadn’t told her or Harry about his past relationship with Y/n he never even mentioned dating someone when he was with them. He wasn’t ashamed he just didn’t want to bring up something he regrets ruining.

“The author?” He stutters out and focused back on pouring himself a drink and setting the carton of orange juice aside while he listened to MJ. “Yeah! I got to interview him about his book and he was very nice.” She went on about her time with Y/n. “Oh! He actually gave me a copy of his book before the release date and I took today to start reading it, I’m half way through but I really like it. I think its kind of cute that he turned his life story into a little fairy tale of his own.” She chuckled while approaching the living room where she picks up the book.

Peters eyes land on the cover page and watched her open the book to where she left off, his eyes averting as he focused on drinking his juice.

“Check this out! While I was reading it I noticed that the love interest has the same name as you.”

Peter chokes on his juice.

Spitting and coughing by the action.

“Are you okay?” MJ approached him, patting his back as she looks at him with worry only for Peter to reassure her that he’s fine and that he choked on his juice, claiming that he was drinking to face when in reality he was shocked by MJ’s words.

“Can I see?” He points towards the open book that she left open on the counter. “sure.” Her approval is all he needed for him to pick up the book and scan the pages, eyes moving back and forth as he read a few paragraphs and noticed how familiar the sounded to him. He doesn’t realize how engrossed he is that MJ clears her throat. “You can borrow it if you want, although you don’t look like the kind of guy who reads this sort of stuff.” She teased, earning a small laugh from Peter.

“You’d be surprised.” He gives off a faint smile, checks turning red as he closed the book. “Would it be alright for me to borrow it? I won’t move your bookmark.” He said.

MJ chuckled while nodding her head. “You can borrow it, just make sure to give it back once your done. I want to know what happens next.”

Peter promises MJ that he’ll return it once he’s finished.

He doesn’t read it right away and instead waits until sunset when he’s getting ready for bed, finally getting the peace and quiet that he needs before he takes the book from his nightstand and stares at the cover, growing nervous by the second until he finally decides to open the book.

Peter spends the entire night reading Y/n’s writing and realizing that his story is a reflection of their past relationship only with a few changes here and there, but it felt like Peter was watching a movie about his past and the things that both he and Y/n did together. He remembers the amount of drafts and ideas that Y/n wold show Peter and how he struggled to write a good story. He remembers Y/n telling him that he wanted a story that his readers would actually enjoy a story that will pull them in to the point where they are begging for more.

The story is written in Y/n’s perspective, obviously using a different name for the character he’s writing about. It’s the way that the words are perfectly written for him to understand and remember those days of them being together. It all came crawling back to him as he nears the end only to find out that the ending was different.

Instead of both characters breaking up the story continues on with Y/n’s perspective of his life in college, not giving much detail about what happened to the relationship and ending with him finding joy in writing. Which leaves Peter questioning himself, why?

When he completes the book he sets it aside sitting in silence and thinking about everything that happened between the two. He thinks about the first time they kisses, their first date, the first time that Y/n convinced Peter to sneak out to a party, the time that Y/n snuck inside Peters bedroom window as the two snuck around like teenagers would.

He also thinks about their break up and how scared he was to even look at Y/n when ending it between the two.

It was obvious that he still loved him and after twelve years he couldn’t let go.

—

Peter shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be at this convention when he clearly told himself that he’d keep his distance and yet, here he stands in a line full of fans that came to see Y/n and get their books signed. His hand gripped a copy of the book, growing anxious each time the line got closer only to chicken out every time he gets close and head back to the end of the line.

His anxiety washed away every time he got to the back of the line and did this almost five times until the line was cut short when announced that this was Y/n’s hour before leaving, meaning that Peter couldn’t turn back nor could he avoid confrontation. His heart raced as the line moved closer, keeping his head down in hopes of avoiding getting attention. He found out that he was the last one in line which would make the whole situation less awkward between the two.

He wouldn’t be holding anyone back and could leave whenever he can without a problem.

That was until his turn came up.

After the young girl in front of him gets her book signed and goes along her day he noticed Y/n turning around in order to get another marker due to the last one running out of ink, not noticing Peter when he approached the table. He slides the book in front of Y/n and when he turns back around his focus is on the book first, smiling as he flips it open.

“Sorry about that my last maker ran out and had to get a new one! But, good thing your the last I’m in no rush!” He chuckled out, being friendly as always as he flips to the front page where he signs his name. “who am I signing this for?”

Peter hesitates.

“Peter Parker.”

He noticed Y/n freeze mid signature, looking up slowly to face Peter.

After twelve years Y/n hadn’t changed a bit, his hair was still the same and so was his sense of fashion, remembering when he was teased for wearing a coat the minute fall started even though it wasn’t even cold outside yet.

The two stare at each other in silence only for Peter to break the tension between them. “I liked your book.”

Y/n blinks at him, focusing back on the book and clearing his throat while he nods. “Thanks…” He finished signing the book and closed the cover, sliding the book back to Peter while avoiding eye contact.

Peter wanted to wince, but it was expected. He ended things terribly between them and didn’t blame Y/n for avoiding him. As he reached out to take the book back into his hand he lets his fingers trace over the binding the tension between them growing even more as they remain silent amongst themselves.

“Why did you end it like that?”

Peters question gets Y/n’s attention, finally looking at him with a confused look. “What?”

“The story, why did you end it like that?”

Y/n licks his lips. “Because I thought it fit well.”

“Even when you know what the ending was really like?”

Peter wasn’t trying to judge his writing or criticize the ending, he was simply confused as to why he ended it when him sounding like everything was fine when in reality the ending would have been different if he had added their break up into it.

Y/n doesn’t know what to say, remaining silent as he stands from his seat and tried to keep himself distracted by cleaning up his area and pouting things away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I know what its really about.” Peter speaks up, taking a step forward and setting the book down on the table as he watched Y/n collect his things. “You’ve showed me your writing before and I know how much you like being honest in your stories—“

“Not everything has to be true.” Y/n blurts out getting Peters attention who gets cut off mid conversation while looking at the man that he knew loved to write stories with passion who’d quickly pull out his phone the minute an idea came to minute and would note it down for later.

“What do you mean?”

His question causes Y/n to really look at him. “Yes, the story is about us and yes I changed the ending, but that doesn’t mean that everything is true. If you want the truth then I am more than happy to tell you the truth.” He glares at Peter while shoving his jacket inside his bag. “The truth is that I was miserable in college, I hated that place and the people who were there with me. I didn’t care for anyone and I stopped writing for years because every time I sit down and pick up a pen and start writing I can’t help but think about you all the time and that stupid smile on your face. I found it hard to visit my family knowing that you lived just a few blocks down.”

Peters heart races when listening to his explanation.

“So I figured, why not write our story the way I always thought it would be like?”

By the time he was done talking he had finished getting his things, giving peter one last look before leaving, brushing past Peter and making his way towards the exit while Peter stood back and watched. He felt like he was losing him all over again telling himself that it wasn’t worth it and to move on like he has been in the last twelve years, but after reading his book after getting the truth as to why he wrote it he knows he can’t sit back this time and watch as the person he still loves slip away from him.

So, Peter is quick to react. He’s rushing after Y/n and running out of the bookstore, looking both ways until his eyes land on Y/n who walked further up ahead. He’s running after him, chasing down the man and grabbing him by the arm and he pulls him into an alley way, perhaps not the best place but the only one that can give them some privacy from the public eye.

“what are you—!?”

“I’m sorry.” Peter cuts in.

“Peter—“

“No, let me finish.” He cuts in again, this time letting go of Y/n’s arm. “I’m tired of running and I’m tired of letting the best thing get away from me. I know what I did to you was horrible and it was the most dick thing I could ever to do and yes, you should be mad at me and you should hate me for it, but I never stopped thinking about it. You have no idea how many times I wanted to reach out and apologize but every time I thought about it I couldn't help but think about how I ended things and I regret everything about it.”

Y/n sighs softly, eyes softening as he leans back against the wall. “Then answer me this, why did you end things?”

Peter froze, the familiar fear crawling back to him.

“Because I.,,” He couldn’t speak. “Because I was afraid to lose you if I told you the truth. I was afraid that you’d possibly stop liking me or end things with me first before anything else.” He was rambling at this point knowing that he wasn’t telling him everything and was still avoiding the truth.

“Peter,” Y/n’s voice is enough to bring him back. “The truth, now.” His tone grew stern, glaring this time.

Peter sighs in defeat. “I didn’t break up with you because of you going to college, I broke up with you because I was afraid of telling you that I’m Spider-Man…” He finally says the words, finally revealing the truth. He expects Y/n to laugh at him or perhaps walk away without a word only to hear the most jaw dropping thing ever.

“I knew.”

‘you knew—how?”

Y/n laughed at Peters shock. “Peter I was always paying attention. I knew that something wasn’t right when you grew distant with me and I didn’t realize until I found your suit hidden under your bed. I didn’t want to believe that my boyfriend was Spider-Man until I started piecing everything together.” He explains to Peter. “You were always late to our dates, ditching classes which you never do, I even noticed the amount of muscles you gained when we were in gym together.”

Peter blushed at the last statement not realizing how much Y/n stared at him each time he changed in front of him.

“If you knew why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out and instead I decided to wait until you were ready to tell me…and this is the results.” He points a finger between the two, realizing that this all caused them to break up even when he already knew. Peter felt even worse now that he knew the truth, wanting to punch himself and feeling ashamed of himself.

While Peter cursed at himself for everything, Y/n speaks up with a small smile on his face. “So you thought about me?” Peter blushed at his comment. “Yeah.” He answers honestly, staring at the man who chuckled. “You wrote a book about me.”

“Technically it wasn’t about you it was about us.”

“Still counts,”

Y/n can only laugh which makes Peter smile feeling like teenagers again. Their laughter and smiles bring them back memories of their time together and perhaps they can make new ones

#male reader #Peter parker x male reader #Peter Parker #marvel x male reader #Spider-Man x male reader #Spider-Man #insomniac spider man #peter parker ps5 x male reader #PS5 Spiderman #Insomniac Peter Parker

538 notes · View notes

ode2rin · 1 year

Text

good to me

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. fluff fluff fluff, a bit suggestive… | established relationship | rin w his money money money

in which: going outfit shopping with itoshi rin is kind of the best and worst idea

“uhm, rin? i don’t think it suits me…?”

“let me see.”

a bit unsure about the clothing draped over you, you adjusted the outfit, preparing to show yourself to your lover who patiently waited on the other side of the dressing room. it wasn't a bad fit per se; in fact, if you were being honest, it looked really good on you. it was just that… there are days that sometimes it is hard to believe so.

and it’s not helping that you’re here today for an important purpose. today, in which, you’re out shopping for an outfit to wear to meet your boyfriend’s parents the day after tomorrow. you will be meeting the itoshis. to say that you were nervous is an understatement. after all, it was an important occasion and a further step in your relationship, so you are hellbent on wanting to make a good impression.

taking a deep breath, you pushed aside any lingering negative thoughts and stepped out of the room, standing in front of rin with your palms facing his direction. you gave a little twirl, showcasing the ensemble.

with that twirl, rin's eyes widened in sheer wonderment, his voice caught in a symphony of awe and admiration, as if the sight of you had stolen his ability to form words.

good heavens.

“what do you think? is it too much?” you asked nervously.

too much for his heart, that is.

rin's silence only intensified the flutter of your heart, anticipation building within you. he knew that his words alone wouldn't suffice to capture the sight before him. without a word, he rose from his seat and closed the distance between you.

“what are you doing, rin?” you questioned, your voice filled with curiosity and a hint of breathlessness.

“showing you what i think,” he replied, his voice laced with unusual tenderness.

with that, rin gently placed his hands on your waist, turning you around until your back pressed against his chest. together, you faced the full-length mirror to your right, offering a reflection of your entwined figures.

his touch was delicate, his hands caressing your hips and settling at your waist, fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. you found it hard to meet his gaze in the reflection, your eyes fixated on your own feet.

“eyes up here, love.”

almost instantly, your gaze met the reflection of his burning eyes, filled with affection and a touch of awe.

“so beautiful… all of this for me?” rin murmured, his voice filled with coaxing wonder, his words a teasing dance that feigned ignorance, as if he didn't already know the answer.

his proximity overwhelmed your senses, each breath he took causing a shiver to run down your spine. the earlier anxiety you felt about the meet-up faded away, replaced by a tangible heat emanating from his body pressed intimately against yours.

as rin's warm breath grazed the delicate curve of your neck, a trail of electric sensation sparked to life, setting your skin ablaze. the gentle brush of his lips against your jaw sent a shiver of anticipation through your veins, intensifying the already charged atmosphere that enveloped you both.

“just for you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

damn right.

you looked really good in this one, rin thinks so. regardless though, there’s no clothing or any adornment that would ever change the way rin itoshi views you. he looks at you as if you hang each of the stars in the sky. and sure, you obviously did not. but in his world, you did. yet in rin’s true fashion, he won’t tell you that.

instead, he’ll just call you beautiful. so often that you’d forget what your name even was.

but how can he do that when there’s a glint of weariness in your eyes telling him you don’t believe the word right now?

rin, his arms now securely wrapped around your waist, gazes into your eyes through the mirror.

“what’s the matter?” he asks, concern etched in his voice, seeing right through your worries.

“do you think they’ll like me?” you whisper, insecurity lacing your words.

“they will,” rin assures you, his voice brimming with conviction.

“how are you so sure?” you inquire, your fingers tracing mindless patterns on rin's forearms that encircle your body, seeking both physical and emotional comfort.

rin wanted to tell you that he couldn't care any less about what others thought of you. you were his, and damn sure he was yours. it was everything and more that truly mattered. nothing could come between that, never on his watch.

but he knows that's not what you need to hear, and what kind of lover would he be if he couldn't attend to your needs?

“well, you are with me. what more reason should there be?”

“you’re right, they should like me for even putting up with you,” you tease playfully, a small smile gracing your lips.

“shut up.”

“see, baby? i am putting up with that attitude. poor me, really,” you continue, a mischievous tint dancing your tone.

“as if you don’t put up with me by choice. you chose me,” rin counters, his voice getting uncharacteristically soft at the end.

you turn in his embrace, your hands finding their place around his neck. with a soft gaze, you meet his eyes, then let your gaze linger on his lips before returning to his eyes once more.

teal. it’s all you could see.

teal eyes that held so much ferocity in the field, impersonal to anyone but you.

with you, they transform into a celestial abyss, twinkling with the secrets of a thousand constellations. within those pools of teal, you discover the entire universe of his love, a galaxy created solely for you.

you are the sole witness to this cosmic devotion, a privilege you very much cherish.

“that, i did,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “best thing i did, if i say so myself.”

and for that, rin will spend each day showing you how grateful he is. in this moment, however, he decides to express it through a tender kiss, a silent gesture of his affection to which you eagerly respond.

as the kiss lingers, you both pull away, a soft smile gracing your lips. the taste of sweetness and the warmth of his touch still lingers, leaving you with a pleasant tingle on your lips.

“get this, and everything you tried before it,” rin suggests, his eyes scanning you from head to toe once again.

“we agreed on getting just one!” you knew about rin’s tendency to spoil you, so you made it a point to inform him about your request on keeping it in moderation before entering the shop.

but rin itoshi? moderate? you should’ve known better.

a playful smirk tugs at rin's lips. that smirk looks like another headache waiting to happen, carved in his sinful lips.

“i remember agreeing on getting anything i’ll find good on you.”

and did he find everything good in you? ‘good’ will never come close to how rin sees you. you guys should do this more often, rin thinks. you giving him a bit of a fashion show, and him showing great appreciation.

“but i tried a lot!” you tried protesting once more. you had been here for almost an hour, trying on countless outfits. the total of everything you tried would probably be someone's bank account's worst nightmare.

“okay, and?”

well, certainly not your boyfriend's bank account, that's for sure.

note. i wrote this on my phone pls forgive me for any errors you see ._. | the girl i sat next to on the bus was watching a kdrama scene like this so… i was having the biggest brain rot of my life while sitting on a damn bus for 2 hours ^__^ | and i miss rin i miss him | so here <3

#☁️ my ode to you #I AM CRAZY ABOUT HIM (part 234798234782)#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

2K notes · View notes

porteurdereve · 2 years

Text

EVENT INFO

G'raha has been ready for this event for as long as he's existed. He wants to go on his own adventure, conquer enemies, reap the rewards, and have fun. While majority of the biomes suit G'raha, I think I will narrow it down and give explanations for each one. At his core, G'raha Tia is a researcher and historian/archeologist, so he will focus on seeking knowledge first and foremost.

Fantasy Biome: G'raha will want to explore this biome in hopes to retrieve artifacts and information on Spirale's past. He has scoured the texts from the library and bookstores to find limited information. He believes that these caverns holds secrets to unlocking the truth behind Spirale's past.

Sea Biome: Having heard stories about the settlements in the Ruby Sea, the Sunken City of Skalla and the Tempest, G'raha is extremely excited to explore the aquatic terrain of the Sea Biome. He doesn't have much of a goal other than learning more about the myths associated with the sea.

Jungle Biome: From exploring the likes of Rak'tika Greatwood, G'raha knows well that civilizations sprouted in dense forests and hidden behind the foliage can be unearthed treasures, scripts, and historical findings. He wants to explore the jungle for these purposes!

Abilities: Considering G'raha Tia is a multi-class character (tank, healer, dps), he will be able to use all his abilities. However, my wise friend Jade suggested that I narrow on which class he should be. So, considering on your character's abilities, G'raha will adjust for them! Rather, if you'd like him to be a paladin to your healer, a dps to your tank, or a healer for your dps then please let me know!!

As for his abilities, he is quite OP and I've included only HALF of the abilities and spells he actually has in game to make things easier on myself. However, he will have access to limit break if things get tough. He will only use limit break once and it'll be a few replies in rather than at the very beginning to mirror the progress of going through the dungeon.

If you'd like to plot please just dm me or like the starter call! :)

#from a distance star | ooc #isola event

1 note · View note

mentally-a-slut · 3 months

Note

Can I request "You deserve to be loved." For Astarion with female reader please? Please make it smut too!

Thanks so much for the request! I have been super ill, but I managed to get one thing done! I hope this is to your standards, this is my first time writing for Astarion so I hope it's not too out of character. I left Tav pretty neutral, so you should be able to imagine her as anyone. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Remember, please leave feedback! I love to hear your thoughts and it helps motivate me to keep writing.

Rating: E

Warnings: smut, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, angst with happy ending, Astarion has a praise kink i don't make the rules, dom!Tav, kinda sub!Astarion, female Tav, likely ooc Astarion, not proofread

It was a calm night, the stillness of the camp blanketing over everyone as the stars glimmered in the darkening sky. Scratch lay idly by Shadowheart, eyes fluttering with the beginnings of sleep as the cleric's hand absentmindedly stroked his head.

Most everyone was already knocked out, the events of the day rendering them useless against the wave of sleep that washed over them. Tav was the only one that couldn't put her mind to rest, thoughts racing behind her eyes as she tried and failed to join her companions in their peaceful oblivion.

At least, she thought she was.

After an hour of fruitless attempts of rest, she abandoned her tent with an aggravated sigh, opting to get some fresh air. When she slipped out of the canvas walls, her eyes fell upon the gleaming silver hair of Astarion, restlessly sitting outside of his tent with his piercing gaze directed at the sky.

She knew that vampire spawn didn't exactly sleep, but Astarion usually went into a trance at night. He said it helped him feel energized in between feedings. A twinge of concern jolted through her, gaze softening as she approached the gloomy spawn.

"Astarion?"

His red eyes quickly cut towards her, his scrutiny heavy on her form.

"Are you alright?"

His gaze flickered with an unreadable emotion for a split second, too quick for her to discern. He hesitated before responding, the familiar too-sweet drawl coating his words. "Quite alright, now that you're here."

Tav's cheeks blazed with a poorly restrained blush at his charming words, and she averted her eyes to the ground between them. She heard his movements before she saw them, the soft brush of his feet brushing the dirt as he rose from his seat.

"I do so love when you blush, so pretty and red."

His cold finger trailed along her jaw, gently prompting her to direct her gaze back to his. She attempted to blink away her flustered state, instead focusing on the handsome elf's face. His sharp features were contorted into his familiar expression of mischief, dark red eyes upholding a look of desire.

Fighting the fog of attraction, she narrowed her eyes at him, searching his practiced expression. He was always a flirt, quick-witted and prone to making her blush, and yet something felt off about him. Something festered beneath his sweetened gaze, almost invisible behind the facade he upheld, but Tav caught a glimpse of it.

One glimpse was all it took for her to step away, brows furrowing as she created distance. His eyes flashed momentarily, a small crinkle of his brows the only sign of his confusion. "What's the matter, darling? Why so shy?"

He attempted to step closer to her, resulting in Tav taking a matching step back. She thought she saw a flicker of hurt before he steadied his expression. "Oh, I see. Don't want to cuddle up to a vampire?"

He turned away from her, already in the motion of retreating to his tent, when Tav shot out her hand and grabbed onto his arm. "That's not it."

He tilted his head to peer at her, teasing smirk already pulling at his lips. His flirtatious remark was cut short when Tav suddenly darted for his tent, hand still firm around his arm. He let her lead him, silver eyebrow raised in curiosity.

The cloth of the tent flaps had barely fallen shut when his cold hands met her waist, pressing her up to him in a way that had Tav's heart beating against her chest. "Eager, are we?"

His breath dusted her cheeks as he held her, seductive gaze steady on her beneath his lashes. Her eyes fought to flutter closed as he leaned in, lips just barely pausing before her lips.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her question was almost quiet enough to miss, but Astarion's grip loosened as he pulled away in shock. "What?"

Tav put a shaky hand to his chest, wanting nothing more than to hold him this close forever. "The flirting. The lingering touches. The stares. Why?"

Silvery brows furrowed, undead hands still idle at her waist. "I didn't take you to be dull. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

His snark didn't go unnoticed, the same tone he took when someone tried to pry into his business too much. Tav's lips quirked downwards into a frown. "I know what desire looks like. The look you gave me back there was a decent imitation of it, but I saw through it. Why pine after me if you do not truly desire me?"

Tav tried not to let her disappointment show at his loss of touch as he dropped his hands from her waist and stepped back. "I don't know what you mean. I do desire you."

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest as she gave him a withering look. "I don't much like being lied to, Astarion. Nor do I like to be led on."

A flash of guilt crossed his eyes, almost quick enough to miss. "You're a clever one. Fine then, I confess. I needed safe passage to the city, and the only way to get it was to seduce you into providing it for me."

Her heart seized in her chest at his words, hurt and betrayal curdling in her stomach. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

His previously avoidant gaze shot towards her when her voice cracked with emotion. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

She struggled to keep her composure through her next words. "Seduction was not the only way. I would have aided you no matter what, romantic feeling or not. I do not need anything in return. I would have helped you. I would have- I do care for you. There are no strings attached unless you wish there to be."

She recoiled from his hand as it reached out towards her. Tears now steadily falling down her cheeks, she continued with shaky words. "And I will still help you, even though you have hurt me. Even though you have made me think there was something... I thought you liked me. I really thought we could have," she heaved a sob between her words, "Why did you have to make me fall in love with you?"

Her eyes avoided his, tears rushing down her face as she hung her head down. If he had a beating heart, he was sure it would be hammering against him.

"You... Love?"

She hid her face in her hands as she cried, granting him a small nod.

"Tav, I..."

"Don't. Just... I'm sorry for thinking you returned my feelings. I don't expect anything from you, and you're still welcome to stay with us."

She turned to leave, eyes burning with emotion, when his cold hand gripped her shoulder. She froze, holding her breathe in case any movement would scare him away.

"Tav, please don't go."

His voice was timid, a broken sort of tone that she could never dream of him carrying. She chance a movement, turning her head to peek at him. His eyes were watering, sincerity pooling in the blood red of his gaze.

"I... It wasn't fake."

A stuttered breath as Tav turned to face him, tear stained face contorted into an expression of dread, fearing he was playing a cruel joke on her. "What?"

"The feelings, the flirting... I admit, at first it was purely self-preservation, but..." he gently trailed his hand down from her shoulder to her wrist, "you... you enraptured me."

"Astarion, you don't have to-"

"I mean it. This isn't me trying to use you, I'm not just doing this as an apology, I truly mean it. I fell for you, and it terrifies me."

She turned her wrist in his grip, staring down at his hand as she maneuvered hers to fit against his. "You love me?"

She stepped forward, bringing a hesitant hand to his face. His brows furrowed as he nodded slightly, almost like it pained him to admit it. Slowly, she moved closer, giving him time to recoil. When he leaned in, she fluttered her eyes closed and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss.

His other hand went to her face, delicate fingers stroking her cheekbone as they kissed. There was no desperation, only gentle passion as they melded together, pouring all words unsaid into their embrace. When Tav pulled away, Astarion sighed and chased after her lips, only stopped by her firm hand on his chest.

"You don't need to do anything you don't want to do. I'm alright with not sleeping together. You don't owe me anything."

His pupils swallowed up the red of his eyes as he whined, true desire swirling in his gaze. "You saying that only makes me want you more."

Tav hummed in surprise as he pulled her lips back against his, fingers tangling in her hair as he hungrily devoured her lips. His free hand snaked around her, palm pressing firmly into her lower back and arching her into him. Tav sighed into him, pulling away from his lips to murmur, "are you sure?"

"Never been surer, darling."

She stopped his approach, giving him a sultry look as he pulled her even closer against him. "Alright, but we're doing this my way."

He raised a brow, his teasing smirk sending a jolt of arousal down her spine. "Oh, yeah? And what did you have in mind?"

She pressed a soft kiss against his lips, admiration flooding her eyes. "You let me do the work." She tutted against his lips as he started to protest. "Please, Astarion, let me take care of you. You deserve to be loved."

His resolve completely vanished at that, and he pulled her back for another desperate kiss. Tav's core burned with each sound from his lips, whines and moans vibrating against her lips. She pushed him towards his bedroll without breaking the kiss, giving a pleased hum when he obeyed.

She sank down with him, straddling his lap as he sat. His fingers fought with the hem of her shirt, insistently tugging as he whined against her lips. She smiled and pulled away, chuckling as he tried to chase her lips. "Use your words, love."

"You're a tease," he all but whined, hands still itching to rid her of her top.

She answered him with only a stern look, pulling his hands from her waist. He groaned in frustration, pride a little more than hurt as she coaxed him to obey. "Take it off. Please."

"Good boy," she teased, all too aware of the growing bulge her words caused. His hands wasted no time in exploring the skin of her exposed stomach as she peeled away her shirt, tossing it over her shoulder. He sat up to capture her lips, firm hands desperately trying to gain control.

His fingers dug into her waist as she rolled her hips down against his, eliciting a groan from him. She rolled her hips again, pressing harder against his prominent arousal. His hands frantically trailed across her skin, gripping her ass as she grinded once again.

Her core grew hotter as he moaned against her, and she pressed kissed down his jaw and neck as she began to tug at his shirt. She pulled back to look at him, holding back a moan as he rutted against her. "This okay?"

"Yes, yes, it's okay," he whined, breathless as he pressed himself between her legs. She discarded his shirt, continuing to press hot kisses down his neck and chest. She pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back to lay down. She held her hip up away from his, grinning at his frustrated groan.

"Be patient," she warned, trailing a finger down his torso and teasing the waistband of his pants.

His hand found the clasp of her bra, fingers restlessly fidgeting against it as he looked up at her for permission. She nodded with a smile, and his swift fingers released the garment within seconds. He groaned as her breasts were exposed, bringing a hand up to one and flicking a thumb across her nipple. She faltered for a moment, hips rutting down on his as his hands teased her chest. "So gorgeous, darling, perfect."

She felt silly for blushing at his words, the simple compliment turning her insides to jelly even as they were half naked. He smirked and pulled her down to him, pressing his tongue against her lips and sighing at the feel of her chest against his. Tav snaked a hand between them, delicate fingers brushing against his length. His responding moan send shivers down her spine, encouraging her to press her fingers against him harder.

He rutted against her hand, grabbing any part of her he could reach. He pulled away enough to whine out a "please," and Tav swiftly unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them off. His hardened length strained against his underwear, a growing damp spot evidence of his desire.

He whined as she pressed her palm against him, and he grabbed her wrist to still her movements. She glanced up at him, concern in her face. He panted, shifting involuntarily to try and gain friction. "As much as I love what your doing," he trailed his other hand up her thigh, coming to a stop at the waistband of her pants, "I want to taste you. Please."

Tav couldn't stop the whine that fell from her lips, his words sending an entire new wave of desire through her. She nodded, moving to help him remove her pants. Once she was fully bare above him, his eyes burned with lust as he stared at her glistening cunt. Tav didn't have any time to be insecure before his hands gripped her waist and tugged her up his body, settling her spread legs just above his lips.

He quirked a brow at her, silently asking permission. His breath tickled her folds, making her groan with her words. "Oh, fuck, yes."

His hands gripped her ass firmly as he pulled her core down against his lips, his tongue immediately flicking against her swollen clit and teasing her entrance. She threw her head back with a moan and tangled her fingers in his hair, involuntarily rutting against his mouth.

His tongue was quick, flitting between her clit and dipping into her core with precision. She half worried that she would suffocate him with her thighs before she remembered that he was undead.

Tav swore as his lips closed around her clit, sucking harshly and sending her eyes into the back of her head. Her muscles tensed as he lapped at her, core tightening as he brought her closer to the edge.

"Fuck, just like that! I'm gonna-"

He hummed against her, sending vibrations through her core and pushing her over the edge. He didn't pull away until came down from her high, tongue coaxing her through it.

With a sigh, Tav adjusted herself back to where she was, leaning down to kiss him and sighing when she tasted herself on his lips. "You taste delightful," he muttered between kisses.

His cock throbbed beneath the restraint of his underwear, and Tav couldn't help but roll her hips against him. "Don't tease me, darling."

She did it again, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Do you want this?"

"More than anything."

She smiled at him, one of pure admiration, and then hastily rid him of his underwear. He sighed when her core brushed against his painfully hard cock, tightening his hold on her waist. She leaned down to peck him on the lips before lifting her hips, stroking him teasingly as she lined them up.

With one last look of confirmation, she pressed her cunt against his tip, her tight hole swallowing him torturously slow. His gaze was heavy on their joined bodies, fingers digging into her waist as he groaned.

The stretch was pleasant, brushing against her walls as she slowly lowered onto him. She sighed as her clit brushed against her pelvis, his cock now fully sheathed inside of her. She stilled for a moment, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

The movement shifted them slightly, making him groan against her lips. She smirked, lifting her hips slowly. With a hand on his chest to steady herself, she sent him a cheeky wink and sank back down. His eyes darted all over her body as she rode him, watching her tits bounce, staring as her cunt swallowed him up. "You feel so good, filling me up," she whined, thrusts getting faster.

His moans grew louder at her praise, hands pressing tighter against her hips and guiding her down against him. "Such a good boy, letting me ride you."

He sat up, pulling her against him and matching her thrusts. He whined, pressing sloppy kisses against her throat as he rutted into her. "Please, feels so good," he whined, fangs brushing the delicate skin of her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him into her neck.

"So, so good for me, such a good boy," she moaned, thrusts becoming rougher, "you wanna cum inside me?"

He groaned, cock twitching inside her as she tightened around him. "Please, please, so close, I'm so close-"

"Bite me," she whispered, "c'mon baby, cum inside me while you sink your teeth into my neck."

His orgasm crashed over him just as he sank his fangs into her, the sweet tang of her blood coaxing forward his release. She soon followed, moaning as he painted her walls and drank his fill.

He pulled away from her neck, pressing his lips against hers and smearing her blood into her mouth. She whined into the kiss, cunt clenching with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

He pulled back, eyes swimming with emotion as he studied her face, their sweating bodies clinging together. "I love you."

She smiled before kissing him softly. "I love you too."

168 notes · View notes

crguang · 3 months

Text

meet me in the afterglow

The Astral Express landed on your sick planet and removed the cancer of your world. Even though Himeko belongs with stars as bright as she shines while your place is on steady ground, you would suffer the distance if it meant knowing her.

long distance relationship, hurt/comfort, 7k words.

A/N: this really beat my ass. himeko pov practice, i wanted a more emotional piece so she feels a bit ooc to me

The video call connects and your slightly obscured face is viewed at a low angle. You look down at the screen, smiling with your teeth when you see her, and Himeko easily mirrors your happiness. Her cheek rests in the palm of her hand, elbow on the desk’s surface as she gazes at you through the phone.

“Hiii,” you wave at her cheerfully. Himeko hears the sound of a door closing in the background and with a couple of steps into your apartment, the lights flicker open, illuminating your bright expression born from the mere sight of her. The weariness of her eventful day washes away faced with the striking love you hold for her and she can’t help a short giggle from falling past her lips at your greeting. The musical sound lights up the color in your eyes.

“Hi. Did you just get home?”

You hum in agreement, your keys rattling in your hands. “Today was so long. I’m happy you called.”

You step out of your shoes and walk around your apartment, only looking up from the screen to open your bedroom door. Himeko watches you prop the device on top of your desk and wander around the room while you discard your jacket. A full-length mirror stands across from the desk, showing your figure even when you’re not in the camera frame.

“Me too, we haven’t talked in a while,” Himeko says as you rummage through your drawers. “How have you been?”

“Yeah, we’ve both been really busy,” you find a clean shirt and begin pulling the one you’re wearing over your head. “Oh!”

You excitedly walk back in front of the phone, shirt hanging around your neck and exposing your torso. You seem too thrilled to care, but Himeko’s gaze unashamedly lowers to your chest until you clap your hands once and speak again.

“I got the promotion yesterday! I wanted to tell you. I’d say it was worth being worked to the bone this last month.”

“You did?!” She beams. “I knew you would, no one worked as hard as you have for this. I’m so proud of you.”

The delight on your face warms her from head to toe. It’s a wonder how light you make her despite being multiple warp jumps away, you shine through the distance and effortlessly reach the depths of her chest, filling her with hot air until she’s drifting among the stars she knows so well, weightless. You take the work you do seriously, so she does as well. Your victories are hers, and it feels as though she’s gone through them all with you even though she’s not often physically present.

“Thank you. How are you? Is the Express parked somewhere?”

“I’m doing good. We’re on the way to Herta’s space station right now for a few minor repairs and to stock up on supplies. We should be there for a couple of days.”

You change into a graphic t-shirt and thin pyjama pants, nodding along to her words. You pick the phone back up and bring it closer to your face. A small, fleeting crease appears between your brows as you truly take her in and notice her lack of sleeping clothes.

“Are you still working?”

Himeko hums lightly, a finger absentmindedly tracing patterns on the desk. “I need to finish up a couple of things.”

You take her with you to the bathroom, and the brighter light makes the concerned down curve of your mouth apparent. “Don’t sleep too late.”

You miss her fond smile. “I won’t.”

You set her up near the sink so you can start brushing your teeth. It’s nice to be privy to these mundane moments, these glimpses of domesticity, even if Himeko wishes she could witness them in person. Her smile twitches at the corners at the cursory thought, but it zooms past when your eyes light up with an idea and you rush to spit the toothpaste into the sink to talk properly. Your expressiveness is a treasure she deeply cherishes.

“I forgot to tell you,” you quickly rinse your mouth and wipe it with the back of your hand, “I need your advice on something. I was invited to this formal-ish dinner this week and I’m not sure what to wear.”

“What kind of event is it?”

You pick up the phone and make your way back into the bedroom. “An acquaintance’s birthday dinner. It’ll be a good way to make some connections, though, hence my hesitation.”

Upon Humeko’s request, you adjust the screen on your desk to show her the outfits you visualized for the event. You’re too engrossed in your task to feel shy as you change in front of the camera and the endearment of it all almost overshadows the desire bubbling in Himeko’s lowered gaze. She finds her fingertips aching to trail down your bare biceps and forearms, across the tender skin of your wrists and over the lines of your palms; a homogeneous mix of gentle yearning and lingering melancholy simmers inside her chest. The distance between you suddenly feels as immense as it is because no matter what either of you does right now, she cannot touch you. It’s an imposing part of her, touch. Tangling her fingers in your hair, tracing the faint marks of your hips and thighs, pressing reverent kisses on the apple of your cheeks or behind your ears— they are confessions she slowly realizes that she can’t go without. She will utter warm truths meant solely for you, and even shout them if you wish, but her hands are growing restless. She does everything with her hands, she tinkers and soothes and creates, but she cannot touch you, not as often as she craves to. The feeling isn’t unfamiliar, she simply tells herself that she misses you particularly hard on this day and counts the next ones until you reunite. Tonight… perhaps it’s the month-long absence with only scattered messages exchanged between you or the fact that you’re trying on clothes for yet another event she won’t get to experience with you, but the longing curled around her rib cage tingles uncomfortably.

You turn to face the camera, showing off one of your outfits, and Himeko’s smile holds a sad tint that you don’t notice straight away. It’s hidden behind genuine affection, but she unknowingly becomes slower to answer and you send her a quizzical look.

“Are you okay?” You ask, stepping closer to the phone to see her better.

“Of course.” Himeko blinks, not expecting the question, and answers reflexively. You don’t seem convinced, so she adds, “This outfit is my favorite, you look gorgeous in it. You should put your hair up to go with it.”

You nod slowly, eyes flickering over her features in search of what lurks beneath her easy demeanor. When she doesn’t expand on the matter, you let it go. You start taking off the outfit to change back into your pyjamas. It’s briefly quiet for a moment and in usual circumstances the silence would be comfortable but there’s a persistent weight on Himeko’s chest that she can’t part with, it manages to cloud your sunny smiles and bright eyes enough for a soft sigh to escape her. She’s full of affection as you settle into bed with your phone in your hands and look at her with half your face squished into your pillow, it is exactly what this discouragement is born from and she can’t elude it. She feels a touch of guilt come into the mix for having something so beautiful bred such negative emotions.

Your thumb hovers over her image on the screen as you speak. “If you’re not too busy… I have this weekend off. We could see each other?”

Himeko quickly runs through the tasks she has to complete this week. If she moves some things around and delegates others well, she should be able to free up at least an entire day to visit you— and she will because just the thought of having you close has her floating a few inches from the ground.

“I can do Saturday,” she replies. The promise of seeing you soon almost melts away every other thought.

“Oh. That’s not too bad.”

Her pout is playful but her question is not. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I just miss you.”

Right. Though you don’t often complain, she’s reminded that the distance also weighs on you sometimes. Guilt grows steadily in the dark confines of her guts like a slow-acting cancer. Himeko knows it’s not anyone’s fault that she’s a Nameless fated to travel among the stars while you’re rooted to your world, helping its recovery from a Stellaron disaster. You’re needed where you are, she’s walking the path of the trailblaze, but she can’t help feeling awful at the dismissive way you imply that it’s been some time since you last saw each other in person. She bears the responsibility of your happiness and a sense of failure overcomes her whenever it’s clear that her absence saddens you. It’s easier to blame herself when she’s the one who never stays too long in one place.

“…I miss you too, you know.”

“I know,” you offer her a soft smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. Himeko does her best to return it. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

—

Himeko doesn’t show up on Saturday. You’ve left her multiple messages, called her phone throughout the day, growing increasingly worried every time you reached her voicemail, and waited in your apartment for hours in case she would appear on your doorstep. You stand in front of the kitchen counter where two cold servings of her favorite dish lay and stare at the phone screen, opened on your private texts, like the familiar three dots indicating that she’s online will suddenly pop up. You tell yourself that she likely got caught up in something important and ignore the mocking voice that asks, “Are you not important, too?” You feel the food under your nose is laughing at you, its carefully plated vegetables reminding you of your previous excitement and exacerbating your current disappointment, so you put it in a container and throw it in the fridge. You’re not hungry anymore. It’s not the first time your plans have fallen through but Himeko usually warns you that she can’t make it or calls you with soft apologies on her lips. Because of your schedule, you’ve had to cancel a couple of times too, these things happen and no one’s to blame for them. That thought doesn’t dissolve the dejection burning your throat.

It’s late in the evening, and you settle on the couch with a book you’ve been meaning to read for weeks now but have been lacking the free time to do so. Two chapters in and the words stop making sense; they dance on the page and merge to form completely different sentences as your mind wanders to what lies beyond your skies— the grandiosity of the Astral Express. You visited it a few times, back when its crew parked on your planet and helped seal the Stellaron that was eating at your world. You still remember its large panoramic windows and the boundless stars beyond them, its long hallways and cozy parlor. Traveling with such an extraordinary companion makes each day worth remembering. That train is her oldest friend, she saved it from erosion and has taken great care of it since, it’s witnessed her growth as a Trailblazer and showed her sights you can’t picture. You understand, a little because Himeko introduced you to the constellations with a hand on your forearm and you smell coffee beans whenever you look up at them from your balcony.

You mark your page and put down the book. There’s no point in attempting to read more tonight, your head is full of those first days spent learning Himeko; her talent for diplomacy, a strength that could shake the seas and a regard for life just as unwavering. She sometimes says your meeting was meticulously etched into the firmament. You didn’t care much for the truth behind fate before her, she single-handedly turned you into a believer like she was an angel apparition bringing news from above. You’d argue being loved by her is akin to a religious experience, her palms soften your woes and her sincere words touch parts of you that you’ve never known until she spoke. You wish to revere her without constraints.

You’re so lost in memories that the sudden melody of your ringtone startles you. You reach for the phone on the coffee table. You stare at the contact, hesitant, before erasing all wistfulness from your features and accepting the video call.

Himeko waits for the call to connect with a thundering heart and guilt pooling in her stomach. She dreads this so much, dreads seeing the frown on your lips knowing she’s the cause of it, that she’s put back talking to you for two hours now. She owes you an explanation, of course, and she doesn’t seek your forgiveness for her lack of communication. Her apprehension comes from the disappointment she’s sure you’re feeling, and a familiar sense of failure washes over her at the thought of letting you down again.

Your pouty face appears on the screen and Himeko can’t even force a shaky smile.

“I’m so sorry,” the words are quick to tumble from her lips like they’ve been uncomfortably sitting in the back of her throat for days. “I should’ve called. The Express needed some last-minute repairs and I’m the only one— I’m sorry.”

It’s the truth, but her voice is small to her ears because it sounds like she’s making excuses when she has none. She should have taken a few minutes to explain the situation to you instead of leaving you hanging for hours after assuring you that she’d be there this weekend. Getting lost in her work is easy and happens more often than not but she has a foreboding feeling that she truly messed up this time around, something curls around her throat and squeezes, forcing unsteady breaths out of her.

“It’s… It’s fine, Hime. Is everything okay?”

Your easy understanding is not a facade and it worsens her guilt, she could swim in it and not touch the bottom. She sees the hurt you try to push away for her sake, it’s in the depths of your eyes and the slight curve of your mouth. A recurring thought lingers in her mind; she doesn’t deserve you.

Himeko nods once, futilely swallowing to loosen her throat. “Everything’s alright, I had to sort out some complications with the suspension components and the HVAC systems. I didn’t forget about you, I just… got caught up in other things. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s a bit of a bummer, I made your favorite,” you sigh playfully, hoping to lighten the mood, “I’ll just have to eat it all.”

Your teasing has the opposite effect. Her heart drops knowing you must have been cooking for a couple hours in anticipation of her visit. The scroll of missed opportunities she keeps locked in a corner of her mind grows longer and the longing in her chest expands to her fingertips.

“You… made my favorite dish? I didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted to surprise you.”

Himeko rubs at her eye with a weary sigh in an attempt to partially conceal her mournful expression before she has the chance to shift it into something less melancholic. A taunting voice, her voice, whispers in her ear that your efforts are wasted on her, that they’ll forever be wasted on her because she can never be away from the Express for too long. You’re at home, staring at the heavens, waiting for her to land and she breathes easier among the stars. You deserve to live your life without your head constantly in the clouds. She’s holding you back, the voice rings inside her head like multiple murmurs on top of each other, she’s stringing you along despite the weight of circumstance dragging you both down.

“Hey,” you say softly, noticing the far-away look in her eyes and the quiver in her brow. “We can set up another time to meet. When are you free?”

She wishes she had a definite answer. Pom-Pom is currently reworking their timetable to ensure the Astral Express doesn’t run out of fuel and in the meantime, there’s no guarantee that she’ll be able to see you. Still, she can’t bring herself to tell you the harsh news so she softens the blow to give you some hope.

“I’m not sure… Hopefully next weekend?”

You try hard to keep your face from falling, she can tell, your expressiveness is one of the things she adores most about you. Tonight, it only hurts.

“I’m out of town, it’s my parents’ anniversary, remember?”

“Right.”

The following pause in the conversation is tense with the unsaid, what you both know to be true yet refuse to vocalize; it’s getting harder to make time for each other due to the drastically different, busy lives you’re living. The voice in her head gets louder. It turns into an insistent ruckus fiercely protective of you meant to preserve your wellness even at the cost of her heartbreak. You deserve someone who will take the time to celebrate your accomplishments, who will share the most intimate part of your life with you, and she… Himeko can’t simultaneously be that person and a Nameless. She wants to be there, her body yearns for your proximity to confess all the things she can’t find the words for, but she would have to sacrifice a piece of her identity for that consistency, something she can’t bring herself to do. Her love for you shouldn’t hurt this much. It’s unfair, how her affection is the source of your pain. How much longer can she lie to herself and pretend that having you this way is better than not having you at all? How much longer can she stand the defeat in your eyes?

“...I miss you.” It’s a pitiful sound, helpless and small. She wills herself to be strong against the sad smile you respond with.

“I miss you too. But we’re both where we want to be, right? You get to blaze a trail every day and I make a difference here.” You speak the truth, and yet it doesn’t soothe the tightness of her throat.

“It doesn’t make it easier, does it?”

“...No. It doesn’t.”

Himeko knows what she has to do. Your smile falters, the following silence weighs on her bones, and she comes to a conclusion long overdue. A quiver runs through her fingers and she has to keep them out of the frame so you can’t see her growing distress. She takes a slow breath, blinks her unshed tears away and forces the words out of her mouth.

“What if… What if we—”

“Don’t say that,’ you interrupt her readily, firmly, furrowed brows worsening her guilt.

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t take it back.”

She knows that, too. Even so, it was always going to end like this. Himeko feels like she’s falling apart, flayed layer by layer until she sits painstakingly raw in front of you. A screen and millions of miles separate you from her, burning her desires to hold you tight and bask in your comfort to ashes. She is reduced to heartbreak and guilt and yearning, she is an amalgamation of emotions impossible to contain in a human body; her hands shake, her next exhale is wobbly but she can’t bear to look away from you and your sorrow. It’s her fault, it was her pursuit of you that doomed you to where you are now. She was so intrigued by your determination and selflessness, your aching need to create a better life for you and everyone around you despite the corruption of the Stellaron plaguing your planet. Your attention was intoxicating and gave her the same feeling as watching the stars breeze past from one of the Express’ panoramic windows. It hurts now, but she could never regret knowing you.

“What if it’s the right thing to do?” Himeko asks weakly. Her eyes flicker all over your face as if etching the image of you into her mind.

“How can this feel right?”

“...Because I love you.”

She loves you and she can’t withstand being the cause of your pain. She can’t string you along knowing she can never give you the companionship you’re worthy of. She can’t keep holding you back from fully enjoying the life you’ve built for yourself. What she can do is spare you months of disappointment.

You swallow thickly. “And ending things will make it better?”

“I don’t know, but it’s better than… than this.”

She’s not expressing herself properly, her emotions cloud her mind and she finds it difficult to choose the right words to convince you that this is the best decision for both of you.

“How?”

“Because it’ll hurt less.”

Her eyes shut briefly at your stunned silence and her head tilts away from the screen so you can't see how much this is affecting her.

“It’ll hurt less than being with me, you mean.”

It’s not a question, so she doesn’t reply. She wants to say she’s doing this for you, to save you the agony of waiting around for her, but she doesn’t trust her voice to stay steady. Her fingers grip the edge of her desk to keep her grounded. She hears a shuddering breath coming from the other line.

“Are you breaking up with me, Himeko?”

Your words announce the point of no return. If she doesn’t do this now, she’ll never find the strength to bring it up again.

She looks at you, and her reply comes out a choked whisper, “Yes.”

The train’s engine is loud in her ears to fill in the quiet between you. You nod absentmindedly, slowly, as you compute her answer. Your eyes don’t settle on the device in your hand, avoiding her mournful gaze, and the camera shakes a little when you straighten up on the couch. The air is heavy around her, it seems to weigh on her like gravity, and her pulse drums in her head like a haunting tune. Your lips purse to control the quiver in them.

“...I’m sorry,” she says uselessly.

“I have to… I have to wake up early tomorrow,” you don’t want to look at her a moment more and despite how much that hurts, she can’t find it in herself to blame you. She can’t stand herself either. “Um… Goodnight.”

The call ends before she has a chance to speak. Himeko is left staring at the dark screen, tears blurring her vision at the edges, and without the need to appear fine in front of you, she crumbles. A quiet, choked sound escapes her and she slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle the pitiful sobs that start racking through her body. She spends a lifetime hunched over her desk, forehead resting on its cold surface, crying over the loss of you. Memories of moments shared with you— your sunny smiles and melodious laughter, your sleepy voice over the phone, her adoring palms on your full cheeks— every wishful happy ending that she wanted for you torments her mind. She’s drowning in an ocean of her own making. Regret accompanies her guilt and self-loathing, and she starts telling herself that perhaps she should have fought harder to keep you. She should have sacrificed more, she should have stopped herself from uttering words she can’t erase, she should have…

A week passes so slowly that it feels like she’s been in this state for a decade. The Astral Express crew have all noticed the changes in Himeko’s mood, her prolonged quiet and red-rimmed eyes, but they’re used to her comfort and don’t know how to ease her mind. They try, clumsily, and she appreciates their efforts even if they amount to nothing. She would turn to you for these sorts of things, now she has no one to tell about how she lost you. Her thoughts circle back to you, she wonders what you’re doing when she wakes up, if you’re mourning her like she is you, if your softness has been replaced by hatred or worse— indifference. She goes through the motions because she has to, as the navigator of the Express she can’t afford a week of feeling sorry for herself when so many things require maintenance regularly. All of it is second nature. Her mind wanders to the tremble of your lips while she goes through her checklist. She blinks tears away as she discusses the conductor’s timetable with them. At night, she stares at her phone and fights the urge to press the call button under your contact name.

Himeko finds herself in the Express parlor on a night she should have gone to bed early. The universe beyond its big windows no longer offers the same comfort it used to and she sits on one of the large couches, huddled in on herself. A half-empty bottle of wine stands on the floor next to her frame. The warmth in her chest and the fog of mind dull her heartbreak to a tolerable ache, tears are drying on her flushed cheeks and her sniffles are fewer than a half hour earlier. The bright phone screen light hurts her tired eyes but she can’t look away from the last video you sent her of you showing your look before leaving the house for that event you once mentioned to her. In her state, she can’t remember the details. Her stare is on the little twirl you make, the white smile you direct at the camera and the movement of your lips as you ramble about your hopes for the night. The clip plays over and over, it has been in a loop since she started drinking. The train car is quiet, there’s only your excitement livening up the place. She stops hearing most of your words at one point, lost in your features and the way you address her so affectionately.

The desire to call you simmers inside of her like the alcohol she ingested and makes her fingertips twitch. You’re speaking to her in the video, but it’s not enough. It’s not truly you, just a captured moment of a time she hadn’t broken your heart. She wants to hear the real you, to ease the worry that you hate her now even if she can’t fault you for it. Her muddled mind replays the same thought like an annoying chorus and she sluggishly picks up the bottle on the ground to bring it to her lips. All she feels is a little warmer and a little more numb. She wants you. She wants your arms around her, your murmurs close to her ear. The last time she’s held you dates to around two months ago, maybe, she can’t be sure. Her thoughts are a blur.

Himeko stares unblinkingly at her screen and doesn’t register that her thumb has navigated to your contact and pressed the call button until the line rings. She puts the phone to her ear with apprehension, heart thundering, and holds her breath. The call goes to voicemail. The defeat that crashes over her almost nullifies the effect of the wine, she sucks her lip into her mouth before calling again. And again, and again, and each time she’s met with the same automated message of you asking to leave a voicemail. Her throat tightens. She feels fresh tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She knows she has no right to expect an answer from you after what she’s done but her distress grows with every call she makes. She just wants to hear you, that loving undertone in your voice when you’re speaking to her like she’s special and cherished. She doesn’t count the number of times she’s pressed the redial button and she doesn’t stop to think off how pathetic she must seem, desperate to hear from someone who wants nothing to do with her.

The call connects when she least expects it.

“Himeko?” Your groggy voice answers the phone, leaving her quiet. “Is something wrong?”

Part of her can’t believe you picked up, the other cringes as it realizes that you were asleep. She doesn’t move the phone away from her ear to check the time, she’s frozen in place with her fingers clutching the device. Her mouth opens and closes while she figures out what to say, and the longer she takes the more awkward the silence becomes. Her reply comes out slightly garbled, like she’s biting back her tears, and at first all she manages is your name.

“You… Y-You picked up,” she finally says, swallowing hard to keep her voice from breaking.

“Is something wrong?”

Her eyes squeeze shut. She’s so relieved to hear you again, but the fatigue lacing your words breeds a familiar sense of guilt that washes over her in an instant. She’s woken you up with her insistent calls and your first thought is to worry about her. On one hand, it means you must not despise her as much as her mind has made it seem like. On the other, she’s ripped you from needed sleep and she doesn’t even know what to tell you. She’s wasting your time and if you still felt anything for her prior to now, you surely won’t after that.

Himeko wills her pulse to slow down enough for her to focus. The wine went to her head thirty minutes ago, and it’s making her hazy. She lets out a shaky exhale, taking a moment to steady her breathing before she answers quietly.

“I miss you.”

“...You called for that?”

She can’t help but flinch at how tired you sound, a hint of annoyance in your tone. She deserves it, she tells herself. It’s the middle of the night and she’s calling you to whine about how she misses you, however true that may be, it’s ridiculous and unfair. Her fingers grip the device tighter, her bottom lips trembles, and she tries to think of a response that won’t irritate you further.

“No. I mean, yes? I just… I missed you.” She gets progressively quieter as she speaks, eyes shut tight in apprehension. The alcohol slurs her reply slightly and slows her delivery.

“You don’t get to do this, to call me eight times in the middle of the night after you ended things just to say that you miss me.”

“I know… I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have called you…” Regret fills her lungs and tightens her throat. She wraps an arm around her knees and curls in further into herself. “Are you mad at me?”

“...Are you drunk?”

Himeko pauses longer than a sober person would. “Yes…” She says shamefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Drink some water and go to bed.”

It feels like you’re shutting her out, refusing to speak to her when all she wanted was to hear your voice. Her heart sinks and she tightens her hold around her knees. She barely manages a response after a bit of hesitation.

“Okay. I will… I just— missed you and it was stupid to think…” She can’t string a coherent sentence together, her thoughts are jumbled because of how little she’s been sleeping lately and the alcohol she’s been sipping on for the past hour. She also has no idea what to say. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth and betrays her by spilling unfiltered sentiments. “I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s making me miserable.”

She’s only ever felt this bad after talking to you when she broke up with you over the phone. It’s obvious you don’t want to hear her drunken blabbering and she feels like a fool, holding back tears as she listens to you breathe on the oher end of the line. She just needs something from you, anything that might provide her some comfort even though she knows she doesn’t deserve it.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“Huh?” It takes a minute to understand you. She bites back a sniffle, almost certain you’re about to end the call. You would have every reason to. In a moment of drunken confusion, Himeko forgets herself and blurts out, “N-No, of course not, I wouldn’t… I love you.” She’s forgotten she can’t say that anymore, and Himeko is left breathless and horrified at the realization.

The line is silent. She can’t hear your breaths from how loud her heart beats in her ears. Her body tenses, the grip on her phone turns white-knuckled and she doesn’t dare speak another word until you do.

“...You’re the one who broke up with me. Now you miss me? You love me? Seriously?”

“I do miss you. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing, that it would be better for both of us because you get so sad and it breaks my heart to know that I’m to blame.”

“You don’t get to decide what's good for me. Do you have any idea how I’ve been feeling? It sounds like you did it for you, not for me.”

“No, I…”

“Get some sleep. Goodnight, Himeko.”

Himeko’s body jolts upon hearing your reply, her eyes snap open and she sits up a bit on the couch. There’s more she wants to say to you, but you hung up the phone before she could even call out. She wants to say that it’s not true, she did have your wellness in mind when making that decision. She’s left sitting there, the quiet around her almost deafening. She stares into space as she slowly lowers the phone from her ear.

After a few more minutes of sitting in her sorrow, Himeko finally heaves a sigh of defeat. She can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much. She sets the phone down on the couch, the urge to throw it across the room almost unbearable. She can still hear your words ringing in her ears as she buries her head in her hands, her fingers digging into her hair, and she desperately tries to hold her emotions from spilling out of her in undignified, strangled noises. Her throat feels like it wants to close in on itself while her chest heaves with the effort it takes not to break down in the middle of the parlor. She needs you. She feels so empty without you, and it’s her fault. She thought she was sparing you unnecessary pain and that you would eventually be better off without someone like her, who you can’t see or talk to consistently. She believed that being apart from you would hurt less than having to sit behind a screen and watch you for hours, longing eroding her bones. She was wrong, and the longer Himeko sits there, the more she’s convinced of it. The arguments she’s made up in her mind to justify her decision feel meaningless. She can only feel the weight of your absence as warm tears stream down her cheeks.

The next day, Himeko reminds herself of the path she follows. The spirit of the Trailblaze lies within her, she’s a Nameless and that means she fights to the end no matter the outcome. Three days after that, there’s a knock on your door.

You’re staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom one evening, letting the comforting patter of the rain against your window panes soothe the melancholy of your heart. The breeze is also welcome, you almost doze off against the pillows, eyelids heavy, when a firm fist knocks on your front door. You hear it through the rain, and a frown tugs at your lips. You’re not expecting anyone in this weather and frankly, you’d rather be alone. You consider ignoring it, hoping whoever is vying for your attention gets discouraged and leaves. After a minute, three strong knocks sound from behind the door again. You leave your bed with an irritated sigh. You stride towards the entrance of your apartment, unlock the door and sharply twist the handle to reveal your visitor.

Himeko’s soaked figure stands on the porch. The rain darkens her long hair and seeps into her thin clothes, strands of red sticks to her forehead and her coat uselessly hangs around her shoulders, drenched like the rest of her. Water streams down her face but her eyes are clear as they look up at you, wide with nerves and determination. Her body trembles with a cold shiver. Her lips part in fleeting surprise like she wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. She’s been rehearsing what to say to you in her head on her way to your place, making sure she would leave having said everything she meant to tell you. However, now that she’s standing in front of you in the flesh after so long, the words melt on her tongue and all Himeko can do is utter a single word.

“Hi.”

“Himeko…?” You blink at the sight of her like she’s an apparition meant to mock you. “What are you…”

“Before you say anything, please, let me start,” she swallows once and stands a little straighter, head high. Confessions that have been sitting on her chest for what feels like an eternity come tumbling out of her lips. “I was a coward. I gave up on us when times were toughest and let my insecurities make up reasons for it to justify the fact that I was scared. I was scared you would realize that I don’t deserve you and that you’re better off with a woman who can actually be present in your life. I still believe you’re worthy of that but it was wrong to end our relationship over the phone with no proper discussion, and it was worse to call you afterwards while I’d been drinking. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to be without you, no matter what form our relationship takes. I feel you under my skin like the muscles that make my heart beat. Knowing you is part of what makes me happy, it’s as much a part of me as the Trailblaze, and without you, I’m incomplete. Whether that means anything to you now, I… I love you. I’m in love with you. You don’t have to take me back, but I needed you to hear it.”

You stare at her in disbelief. She has to blink the water out of her eyes as she speaks but her voice never wavers, her conviction shines through the pouring rain and sends your pulse into a frenzy. Himeko’s bare shoulders shake with the cold and she gazes at you with a heaving chest while her words settle in the air. At this distance, her fingertips ache to reach out for your touch. She stands in front of you, and she suddenly forgets how you feel under her palms; the texture of your hair between her fingers, the curve of your back, the plane of your stomach. She longs to experience it all.

It feels like a lifetime before your body decides to obey your mind again. Your heart swells, your lungs fill with air, and you do the only sensible thing you can do. Stepping into the downpour, your palms cup her frozen, rosy cheeks and pull her close. Your lips press into hers with a desperation you didn’t know you were capable of, melding with the softness of her mouth in a passionate kiss. You immediately feel her cold arms around your waist and her wet lips reciprocate your affection. Himeko holds you flush against her as she kisses you with equal emotion, gripping your clothes like she can’t bear the thought of being apart a moment longer. Under the heavy rainfall, you’re as drenched as she is in half a minute. Her breath mingles with yours, your senses become attuned only to her loving mouth and soaked chest pressed to your own. You don’t feel the cold. The water turns your kisses slippery, your lips slide together like you’ve been kissing her your entire life, and Himeko makes a breathy sound into your mouth. In the next instant, her hands are wandering up your back and down your sides, pulling you impossibly close to her body until you’re two pieces of a whole that will never be broken. Her touch spills confessions she will repeat over and over.

Your pace slows to gentle kisses on each other’s lips, foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin and a shiver runs through you from the temperature, but your chest warms at the way Himeko’s nose nuzzles against yours.

“You’ve always been worth the distance, Hime. How could you not be?”

“I’ll find a way to be with you more often. I promise.”

She seals that promise with a revering kiss wet with the heavens’ tears.

#honkai star rail #himeko x reader #hsr himeko #hsr x reader #hsr x you #himeko x you #himeko murata

143 notes · View notes