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nnight-dances · 9 months ago

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ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer.

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing.

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision.

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep."

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now.

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat.

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties.

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him.

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to."

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh.

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior.

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours.

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…?

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :)

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you

bin: …

bin: i love you too

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disasterofastory · 5 months ago

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Ache [poly!141 x reader]

It’s an urge you can’t ignore anymore. It gnaws at your mind and burrows deep into your bones until they ache. It claws at your skin, making it feel too tight and too foreign; like an armor you've outgrown but can't shed. Your body has forgotten how to rest, and your soul is just as restless, pacing circles inside you, searching for escape.

So when you can't bear it anymore, the vast emptiness of your chest, you strip your life down to its bare skeleton. All the things that once defined you are reduced to whatever fits in the trunk of your car. And you don’t look back, not even once, because looking back might undo you.

That’s how you find yourself here, standing on the porch of a farm you only found by chance, thanks to a snippet of conversation overheard at a gas station miles away. The air smells of earth and hay, carried on a soft breeze that nudges the creaking rocking chairs into motion. In front of one of them, they are all mismatched, there is an old coffee mug, chipped and stained, serving as an ashtray.

You knock, loud and desperate. The sound shatters the quiet like a stone thrown into the still water. For a moment, nothing happens, and you are left staring at the peeling paint on the door, almost starting to wonder if this is a mistake.

Then it opens.

You become face-to-face with a man who is broad-shouldered and sun-weathered. His presence is as solid as the land around you. His funny hat is slightly askew over his face framed by an impressive beard. He blinks at you. “Can I help you, miss?”

And then, it all spills out. Words tumble from your lips, frantic and jagged. Each one is sharp with the frustration and exhaustion that have been festering inside you for years. You talk and talk, unable to stop because you don’t know how to hold it back anymore, or how to describe the burning ache that feels like it’s eating you alive. You tell him how your life doesn’t feel like your own anymore, how it itches and stings like a poorly healed wound. You confess the tiredness, that bone-deep, soul-deep weariness that presses on you heavier with every passing second. And you admit that you don’t know the first thing about farming, but the world, too loud and too fast, beyond this porch is drowning you and you can’t keep up anymore.

Your words are met with a heavy silence. You stop, your hands twisting nervously at your sides, the weight of everything you’ve just confessed sinking in. When you finally look up, you are no longer facing just one man but four. They stand there, still as statues, eyes wide as if you’ve just dropped a live grenade at their feet.

And, somehow, they let you stay.

Kyle’s the first to agree. He’s got a soft spot for women in distress. Always has. It doesn’t matter if this life isn’t for you in the end; he won’t let you leave until he knows you are steady enough to stand on your own.

Johnny adopts strays without thinking anyway. They already have too many cats, dogs, and more than a few animals that no one else wants. What’s one more?

Simon, sharp-eyed and quiet, sees the desperation burning in you, the same raw, untamed fire that once drove him to join the army. The way you claw at yourself as if trying to peel away layers of your existence to become something, anything, new. It hits too close to home. Letting you walk away would feel like turning his back on the version of himself he barely survived.

And John? John doesn’t say much, but then, he doesn’t need to. He just knows. His eyes hold an understanding as if he’s seen this kind of desperation before (ghost). He sees the quiet fire behind your exhaustion, the need to start over because continuing as you were is no longer an option. He knows you will fit here, in a way you can't even explain yet.

“Guess you’d better come in,” he finally says, stepping aside to make room.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you breathe.

#cod imagine #cod x reader #poly!141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader

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coltcassidyy · 1 month ago

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I know this is probably gonna get annoying, but I can't help it. I'm hyperfiated on invincible atm. But a lapis lazuli inspired male reader.

Mark finds his gem in space or something and frees him, and now he has this strong ass gem alien living with him, trying to learn human customs and stuff.

It’s not annoying my g don’t worry bout it. I like writing for people … but I need to get some non invincible requests soon before I crash out and explode my kitchen

Mark Grayson x Lapis Lazuli/reader

TW: reader is male, No nsfw (I wasn’t sure if you wanted any or not). Non-sexual nudity. Includes romantic HCs.

I’m writing this at fucking 3 am. On the night before Easter. I’m trying to catch the fucking Easter bunny

Mark thinks you’re so fucking cool. You’re a gem? With water powers? And blue skin? Sure you occasionally remind him of the mauler twins but mark is happy to have somebody Oliver can look up to … having … odd skin, and all …

The way you behave is just so silly to him sometimes. This ranges from eating basic foods wrong (eating cake in layers, eating burritos / tacos sideways , etc), behaving so formal in the least formal places possible, saying odd things because you don’t quite understand English yet. ( Ex: “you know what, mark? I could care less.” “Then … care … less?” “… you know what I mean.”)

There’s some behaviors of yours that mark doesn’t find as silly. Like your ptsd. From the war (I think a war happened in Steven universe? I don’t remember). Yeah he hears you murmuring in your sleep.

Being not human and all, you never really understood the idea of being polite. You’re extremely blunt in all situations, and if marks there, he tries to spare you— to explain your situation. But honestly, it just makes things work. Sometimes when you go out in public with mark, he’ll beg you to let him do all the talking.

When mark first saw your powers in combat he was absolutely entranced. It was beautiful— the water itself was already gorgeous, but watching you contort it so elegantly is just the icing on the cake. Watching you maneuver and use the water to the crescendo of its abilities was so satisfying and so breathtaking. Sometimes, he’ll have you play with your powers simply because he likes to watch the water move.

Speaking of water! When you came to earth for the first time, you kind of … smelled. You didn’t stink … but you didn’t necessarily smell good. Mark tried to explain to you in words how to bathe, but it wasn’t really getting through to you. So your first actual bath was with mark.

This is one of those moments where mark had you play with your powers just so he could watch. Sometimes when you shower together or bathe together he’ll have you change the temperature or the water pressure. You didn’t think of using your abilities in such a way before, but now that you’ve discovered it, you never want to stop.

Your first bath together was where mark got to get a really good look at your gem placement, too. Right smack dab in the upper middle of your chest- a little below your collar bones. Mark always liked crystals and gems— he thought they were pretty, and he thought it was interesting how the earth could produce something so aesthetically pleasing just from minerals and dust. He thinks yours is pretty especially, the way the water reflects or the light catches in it sometimes, it’s hard to miss— and hard to ignore.

Mark finds your powers to be incredibly convenient. Taking down low level fire goons, or whenever he needs to wash his hands, get a drink (you thought this was quite nasty, but apparently mark doesn’t mind), or just when he’s hot or dirty and needs a refresher.

Mark had to teach you social interaction. It was insanely embarrassing— but thankfully, he really only used his mom, atom eve, amber, or William to practice. Mark assumes that after spending so much time with William that it gave you a bit of a … sass.

You’ve eaten the soap from marks bathroom before. You coughed up bubbles for weeks. (Smells good ≠ tastes good. He had to teach you that as well.)

Romantic HCs

Sometimes, after a really bad day, mark will ask to lay down with you and he’ll trace his fingers around the gem in your chest. It’s satisfying and smooth against his fingertips, and it’s a nice feeling for you too.

He enjoys having a partner who can fly. Sometimes the both of you will just go on flight trips together, flying over cities or hovering in the night sky to look at the stars. You don’t ever do this without holding hands though. Holding hands makes you feel closer and more connected, and without that simple gesture, sometimes you get quite uncomfortable.

You weren’t necessarily comfortable with PDA at first. To your culture, touch and affection is an incredibly intimate and sacred thing. Though you didn’t necessarily agree with it, you obeyed anyways. So when mark broke the news to you that PDA is actually quite normal, you went a little overboard with it. You love the idea of displaying to others that mark belonged to you and you alone, letting the world know of your love— of your unbreakable bond.

Similar to mark laying you down and tracing over the gem in your chest, after a bad day or a particularly rough fight, sometimes you’ll have mark trace his fingers over your body, just gentle touches to remind you that not all super-abled humans (or viltrumites.) are out to hurt you— to remind you that at the end of the day, mark will always be there to soothe your wounds.

The both of you don’t really kiss mouth-to-mouth a lot. Only on special occasions. You don’t like it— you think it’s nasty. So the both of you opt for kisses to the forehead, the hands, the inner wrist, the cheek, the nose … anywhere but the lips, basically. (Mark believes that kissing each others hands is much nastier than kissing on the lips, but he doesn’t want to confuse you, or make you even more grossed out by humans then you already are. He just keeps his hands washed.)

((This is kinda short but holy fuck Easter bunny give me chocolate))

#invincible x male reader #male reader #invincible #Steven universe #lapis lazuli #mark grayson x male reader #mark Grayson #bacon egg and cheese

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novasolstarr · 5 months ago

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Some little rambles I wrote about earlier along with a couple little sketches featuring this beloved duo and a reminder to Sebastian why he can't ask Eyefest for more complex, human related situations

The rambles themself are a bit of a word salad, but in the end, I just like to imagine Seb grew pretty comfortable around Fest because of their more animal based thinking and behaviors

It's a nice change of pace from the deceptive, cruel, and downright evil humans he'd been through the wringer with. Sure, it makes some things a pain in the ass to talk about and explain to them; but there's also that little layer of vulnerability knowing that she's not going to go out of its way to do something absolutely wretched without a good reason behind it. She simply just doesn't see the point in wasting energy on such a thing!! [Excluding the expendables, but they've just got some anger issues, its fine] Unless it absolutely NEEDS to do something, why would they bother?

This is still a word salad, but please, people, I need you to understand me and my brainworms here.. y'all don't understand how much they cause me physical pain

#roblox pressure #pressure #sebastian solace roblox #pressure roblox #sebastian solace #sebastian pressure #sketch #pressure sebastian #sebastian solace pressure #eyefestation #eyefestation pressure #eyefestation roblox pressure #eyefestation roblox #pressure eyefestation #pressure headcanons

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prael · 1 year ago

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pas de deux - IVE An Yujin (ft. Jang Wonyoung)

Part 1 of folie à deux.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

18+ An Yujin (and Jang Wonyoung) x Male Reader smut

Masterlist Word Count: 7,727

folie à deux - folly (madness) of two pas de deux - a dance for two

It's survival—that's how you mask it.

It's the hard reality you tell yourself to justify being the pseudo-servant to these two girls, just to make the year as easy as possible so you can graduate. Playing their games. Never questioning their words or actions. The house of cards they've built is fragile but they keep it in check.

Somehow, you're one of the cards, one wall of the house. You've only been in the school a month. The fresh-faced transfer who fell into the grasp of the two girls who practically run the place. You can't deny it has its benefits. Like every one of Yujin and Wonyoung's friends, no one ever questions anything and you would never run the risk of falling into the bad books of school bullies.

Oh, and you also get to fuck Wonyoung senseless.

Luckily, the walls of the library are thick, everyone else is in class and the library door is locked. Or someone would have heard the squirming Wonyoung moaning expletives by now.

"Harder." Her nails threaten to pierce the skin. Claws gripped to your forearm. Her words are sharper still, cutting through the air with the same lethality as her looks. "Stop, stop, stop. Hand, there. Circles, remember. And go fucking harder will you?" You position as instructed, how you know she likes it. There's no room for creative freedom here—it's Wonyoung's way or it's no way.

But, god. She knows exactly how to break you—just enough that when she puts you back together, your mismatched pieces slot perfectly into her shape, allowing her to completely mould and manipulate you at her will, at her whim. And oh, does she love when you let her.

"That's it, there. Yes!" Wonyoung presses the heel of her foot into the small of your back, pushing you further in, urging you closer and deeper, drawing a hoarse groan from her throat. She's sprawled flat on the desk, on the second floor of the library. You're looking over the balcony, down at the empty room. It's almost monotonous, it happens at the same time every week. Hidden in the same top corner of the same library, at the same time on the same day. You've got her legs spread and your cock in her cunt.

Your fingers are digging into her thighs, pinning her hips to the desk. You don't falter once, going exactly as fast, exactly as hard, and exactly as deep as she likes it. Her movements are in tune with yours. Familiarity. Wonyoung's perfectly groomed eyebrows are furrowed, heart-shaped lips pursed, eyes scrunched shut.

"You're close, right? I can feel it..." Your words come out ragged and laboured. This isn't supposed to feel good for you, you aren't supposed to have an opinion. It's her own fantasy—an excuse for her to let herself get fucked like a little whore without question or consequence—your body's just along for the ride. You're not an actor in the scene, not a participant. You are the means to an end; a character-prop. Something to be used by the main character. To further her plot.

She responds with a shaky mewl that turns into a string of frantic cries, her slender, legs locking around you.

It ends how it always ends.

She cums. Hard.

You don't. Too messy, she says. You can't cum inside, you can't cum on her and you can't just cum on the library desk. Too risky and unhygienic. It's almost cute watching her try to cover up her gasp and squeal as she rides her high, biting down onto her soft sleeve, probably tearing through a layer of fabric with her pearly whites.

That's just how it is with Wonyoung.

***

"There you are!" Yujin is by your side and snaking her arm around yours, holding you just above the elbow and leaning against you. "Where's Wony?"

"Probably halfway down the highway by now, her boyfriend picked her up fifteen minutes ago," you explain as if it's the most normal thing in the world that Wonyoung hopped off your cock and into her boyfriend's car in the space of ten minutes. But that’s the life she lives—you live.

"You can take me straight home then, let's go." Yujin smiles up at you with her signature grin and those half-moon eyes. If Wonyoung were the definition of danger, Yujin was still just that, but wrapped up in cotton wool and given to a puppy. Her playful expression could melt even the hardest heart, and yet, thanks to her money, she too could get away with just about anything.

At least Yujin made your life easier. There was a little more give and take in your friendship—unlike with Wonyoung.

Still, you wonder exactly how the two of them do it. The whole school around their little fingers. The teachers—they overlook Wonyoung's little indiscretions as soon as the excuses leave her pretty little mouth, so convincing is her act. And then there's Yujin, she—

"You bitch!" In sync, you and Yujin look away from each other and towards the two young ladies holding each other by handfuls of hair. You don't know either of them, but they are blocking the way to your car.

"What's going on here?" asks Yujin, speaking louder than normal to ensure that her voice breaks through the constant bickering. The voices quieten and the hands release their grips, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

The pair turn to you both as they both speak at the same time. "This whore took my earrings!" One points at the other.

"Yeah? These are my earrings. How dense can you be?" one fires back, clearly pissed off, making exaggerated hand gestures for emphasis.

"Bitch, they belong to me! Stop taking things that aren’t yours, you slut! This is you and Jisun’s boyfriend all over again!"

"Ladies, please," Yujin says calmly, in just those two words she captivates attention. "You girls are friends, right?" She doesn’t give time for a response. "Well, if you're really friends, you'll sit and talk about this instead of pulling each other's hair. And if I'm being totally honest, those earrings don't exactly look worth the effort."

They lower their fists slowly, looking a little less angry now and more embarrassed to be told off. You half expect a little, "yes, mother" and an apology from them.

"Great!" Yujin says after some silence. She tugs gently on your arm, strutting between the two girls with you in tow. They stand and watch as you pass by. You only get a step or two past them before Yujin stops.

She turns to face the girls, still staring wide-eyed at the two of you. "Actually, aren't you girls forgetting something? You owe us both an apology."

The two exchange glances, looking surprised by the statement. "Wh-what for?" one asks, eyes darting nervously between you and her friend, who seems equally puzzled.

"For being in our way." The pair look around and suddenly notice the small crowd around you, phones pulled out, cameras glaring. They pale almost immediately. And you can see that they know this only ends one way. Because no one says no to Yujin.

The girls nervously get down on their knees and bow their heads. "I-I'm sorry!"

"We're sorry!"

"Excuse us!"

"Please forgive us!" They're flustered, apologizing to you and Yujin as though their lives depend on it. It feels like forever has passed when Yujin finally laughs and turns away.

"Have a lovely evening, ladies," she says in a tone sweeter than sugar, leaving the girls kneeling and guiding you again towards your car.

For all intents and purposes, these two girls are fucking crazy.

Delusional.

folie à deux

***

"You will stay and eat. I insist." It's ever so clear where she gets it from. Just like his daughter, Yujin's father simply would not take "no" for an answer. You know that really, you have no choice but the lock the car and follow Yujin up the steps into her house.

"Make sure our guest is comfortable." He glances at the maid to signal her. You notice a flinch, though only passing—the girl is nervous. No one can relax when they're in the presence of an Ahn. After his instruction, he walks into the door without another word.

You make the climb Yujin had not two minutes earlier, up the stairs and into the front door of the house, through the door left open, which the maid closes behind you.

The mansion's interior is exactly what you expect—luxurious, opulent and vast. But where you thought there might be a hint of the gaudy and tacky, there is only tasteful, expensive decorating, the finest of furniture, and grandeur befitting the family who owns it. As always, there's not a thing out of place.

Yujin's at the top of the stairs. She has already swapped out her formal blouse for a comfortable t-shirt, but she still wears the pleated skirt she did before, sitting just above the knee. "Couldn't escape father then? I think he likes you."

"He doesn't show it if he does." You shrug.

"He didn't wave you away without a word. That means he likes you." Yujin speaks as she walks down the stairs towards you. Off somewhere to your right, you hear the busywork of the kitchen, preparing the food he insisted you eat. "It's funny because I can't think why..."

She mocks you in the way she always does, with a grin on her face.

"It must be my wit, charm, personality, and incredible looks," you tell her with a wry smile.

"Huh... I didn't know my dad was gay."

"Shame he's not really my type." It's your turn to grin now.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's an understatement. I know your type."

"Maybe you do," you say while climbing the stairs to meet her at the top.

She stares you down for a moment and you wait for her latest quip. She eventually looks over your shoulder, down the stairs to the maid. Yujin informs her, "We will eat in the upstairs lounge."

***

"And Gaeul, did you hear?" Yujin can barely contain her excitement as she slams her chopsticks on the table. The conversation had been flowing for a while now, mostly from Yujin as she fills you in with all the recent gossip on people you barely know.

"Which one is she again?" This one you already know, but you always enjoy the way she describes and introduces her friends. It’s so often so unserious.

"Kim Gaeul, the one in my dance class." Yujin pauses. Her eyes roll. "You know the one. Short hair, even shorter skirt. Cute smile, even cuter ass?"

That would probably narrow it down.

"Okay, but what about her?"

"Well you know that guy she's dating? The German guy?" The love lives of Yujin's friends are a bit of a blur. The more you hear about them, the less sense it all makes. "He proposed!"

"They are that serious?"

"Very! I guess it was love at first sight. Gaeul certainly saw something she liked."

"They're still young. It's a big commitment."

"But, if you want something, you should take it," Yujin affirms.

"Just like a criminal," you joke.

Yujin giggles. Something is charming about Yujin's laughter. There's an innocence and lightheartedness to her that brings you a sense of tranquillity. Suddenly, a weight rests on your shoulder. A chin nestles into the side of your neck. Warm, moist air fills your ear, "Maybe you could learn a thing or two. Life's too short to wait around and hesitate."

The weight and air vanish, and suddenly you feel cold. Yujin's French perfume lingers in your nose. "And it's good for her right, she must be getting fucked a lot." Yujin continues as normal as though the moment never happened. She picks up a piece of meat between her chopsticks, taking care not to get the sauce all over her. She brings it closer to her lips, smiling ever so slyly the whole way.

Yujin takes a drink before she continues, “and so Rei said to her that…”

She continues onto rest of the story and the many more after which you don’t really pay attention to, the moment before still lingering on your mind.

***

"As delicious as always." The two of you had spent at least an hour in the upstairs lounge, eating as you talked, catching up with events, and then talking about nothing in particular.

The maid bows at your compliment before taking away the tray of leftovers and leaving the room.

Yujin lay her arms over her chest as she leans back into the couch. Her eyes roll as her head falls to the side, staring over at the bookcase behind you.

"I hate reading." You can hear her disgust in her tone. "Dull, pointless, useless, boring..."

Yujin stops, eyes fixed upon you. Her eyebrows pull together with curiosity. "But you must love it, right?"

"There are worse hobbies."

She gives a thin-lipped grin, unconvinced. Yujin tilts her head to the other said, hair thrown over her head to settle on the other side, "do you, though? Because you and Wonyoung spend a lot of time in the library."

She knows. Of course she knows.

"Just studying." You smile weakly and give an awkward laugh, running your hand through your hair.

"Wonyoung doesn't study." She says that flatly, cutting the air. Yujin may well be the only person in the school who dares to question the actions of her best friend. She has no interest in playing along with the lie.

You sit in silence. Any excuse would only be an insult to her intelligence.

"You're lucky really," she muses, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at the frilled edge of her skirt. Yujin makes a conscious effort to cross her long legs, exposing the small expanse of creamy flesh where the skin between the hem and knee socks met.

"Why is that?" you ask, with eyes fixed firmly on the tantalising flesh.

"Every other guy in school would kill for an hour alone with Wonyoung." Yujin purred.

"A bit drastic. They want what any young, single man would want."

"Hmm, those poor things are a second away from cumming in their pants just being in the same room as her."

Yujin gave a delightful, innocent-girl smile, contrasting with her crass language. She wore her angel-like grin with a devil's look. "Not you though. Which is exactly why she wants you."

"Why?" Your eyes flicker to the floor, away from Yujin. The thoughts circle.

"Like I said: they're far too eager for her to respect them, but not you. No." She spoke clearly, firmly. "The way you stare at her, it's almost as if you don't care that much for her."

"Not sure I understand. She is a friend, I care." you admit.

"But you don't beg it like the other boys do. She must find that attractive about you, not being desperate, but still willing." Her legs uncross slowly, tortuously so, pulling her legs apart ever so slightly. She smooths the crease of the pleats over her thighs.

You sense a chance to turn the wind and sail the conversation in Yujin's direction. "What about you? The one boy from art class seems really desperate to get close to you."

The vaguest flash of surprise came across her eyes, as if you'd interrupted her. The shock passes.

"Ah. Him." She rolls her eyes, puffing her cheeks as she does. A disgusted grimace mars her angelic expression.

"He's into you." Who isn't?

"I can tell. Not my type." She waves dismissively, having no need for your words. "I can," she pauses over her words, "take care of myself."

A creeping heat climbs your spine. "Really?" Your question sounds more curious than teasing, though your tone carries more than a hint of amusement.

Her slender shoulders shrug ever so casually. "Of course I can. Everyone needs a little," she purrs the next word, "dissipation."

It is the wording more than anything that draws a pensive mood. Yujin said it casually enough, with her fingers absentmindedly pressing up and down her exposed leg, almost as if the mere thought of it was enough to excite her. Her gaze glazes over at some unseen memory, and she gives a knowing smirk before her thoughts snap back to the real world.

"Yujin, I—"

She cuts you off, "there are so many, too many, horny boys in the world, but so few are dependable." The hand tracing her thigh edges just a centimetre further upwards, folding the pleat under the touch. "it was nice to have you here for dinner, but I have something I need to do."

"Are you expecting me to go so that you can...?"

The smile spreads from ear-to-ear across her face. "I'm not saying anything. But you know where the door is." She rises from her seat, a perfectly poised princess, and moves gracefully towards the door. Her body swaying under her baggy shirt and flowing skirt.

She doesn't give you time for a reply.

You're left alone with only the dying embers of her expensive perfume.

***

Class finished early and you're waiting. As you always did when you finished before the girls.

However, this time is different. You haven’t seen Yujin all day and aren’t sure how to act when you do. Not after what you saw yesterday. You lean back against your locker, streams of people passing by. Most ignore you, or the few that acknowledge you pay only a glance or two before continuing.

"Hey, Gaeul," you call to the one girl you recognise passing by, "have you seen Yujin?"

"Bro, she left already." You don't know when she started calling you bro. Maybe she always had. Could be part of her friendly nature. Gaeul is about as easygoing as they come.

"Is something wrong with her?"

"Nah." A gap appears in the crowd and you move to join her, heading out of the building. "You know how it is. If she wants to leave five minutes early, no one will stop her."

Another student cuts between the two of you, forcing you towards another group that blocks your way. You spin away to avoid them, manoeuvring through like a speeding car on the highway, catching up with the on-rushing Gaeul.

"And she didn't say anything?" you ask when finally back by her side. Gaeul's looking at her phone—probably reading a text from her husband-to-be.

"Hm?" Gaeul throws a glance out of courtesy. "No." she mutters before replying to the text.

"Nothing?"

Gaeul opens the door to the outside and you follow her through. She's striding like a girl with places to be, so you have to half-jog to get back by her side.

"Oh! Yujin did tell me to tell you something, actually. She said, tell him to act like a criminal. Whatever that means."

Act like a criminal.

"Thanks Gaeul," you speak quickly, diverting towards your car.

"Bro! What does it mean?" Gaeul calls after you but you don't wait around to answer.

***

The maid is there to greet you when you knock on the door of Yujin's house. Apparently, Yujin is waiting for you upstairs, and after letting you into the Ahn house for the second time in as many days, the maid disappears again into the background, leaving you to explore.

You see, yesterday ended almost unceremoniously. You stayed for dinner, you ate, talked, laughed. And then you left.

Except, it wasn't actually that simple. After Yujin left the room, you held around for a minute, finishing your drink. The ice-cold one in the fancy tumbler. Taking in the room around, as for all the time you had spent in there, you were more focused on Yujin than the exquisite decor. You admired it for all it's worth and savoured your drink until you decided that you shouldn't overstay your welcome.

It should have been simple. Walk to your car, get in, and go home.

Until you walked down the corridor and found a door ajar with the smallest of gaps. You leant gently against the frame, peering in just enough to give you a view of the bed.

On the bed was the girl you expected to find. On the bed was Ahn Yujin.

The curtains were closed, but enough sunlight managed to peak through. Light bounced off the soft skin. Each breath sent her chest swelling. You followed every rise and fall with hungry eyes.

With the afternoon sun kissing her flesh, highlighting the curve of her shoulder and collarbone, she looked even more heavenly. She wore her short hair wild, swept back and almost messy. And that's all she wore.

Her clothes discarded. A crumpled heap just beside the bed. And yet, there was a strangely intimate beauty in their chaos. As if she had just stumbled out of them in some urgent and carnal heat.

Her entire being had been shaped into perfection, carved from a block of ivory, her delicate fingers, smooth legs, slender shoulders and bare chest roseand fell with the soft inhales of breathing.

It was not the Yujin you knew; there was no hint of her elegance and poise. Here only lustful indulgence. A reckless hedonism that wanted no secrets to be kept or questions to be unanswered. Her body lay free of the bounds that normalcy imposes, inviting you to admire what she kept concealed, every precious curve and secret corner of her immaculate skin, every beautiful mark and blemish, that, in itself, was a testament to the humanity that lies just under the surface of such sublime beauty.

There was no doll, nor porcelain queen. No statue of stone or plaster. Instead, she was living, breathing, moving and feeling. Each touch was electricity. And her eyes said it all.

There was woman—in its rawest form.

And you had stood. You had stared. For as long as you dared. Until you tried to tear yourself away. You could not deny your perverted mind that moment of indulgence. And indulge you did, right up until the fear of being caught overcame you.

It should have been so simple. Walk to your car, get in, and go home.

For the last twenty-four hours, the image plagued your mind. You were consumed with her. With the idea of her. Of what she had done, of what could have been had you dared enter her room. And the guilt alongside it.

And now you're here, a day later, walking back to the scene of your crime. The door is ajar again, a few feet ahead. You push lightly, gently, inch by inch. Your breath held and the anticipation thick, clouding your mind and filling every thought, not of anything other than what you might see behind that door.

And then it comes into view. The bed and the disappointment.

A bed perfectly made, and decidedly empty.

You realise your folly—thinking, hoping, expecting the same sordid sight as before.

"I was wondering if you'd turn up." Her voice comes from behind you and her tone is low, hushed, and seductive. Every word tingles down the spine. Her fragrance arrives a beat ahead of the girl herself. "Did you get my message?"

"Yeah, about being a criminal," you answer as innocently as you can manage, still recovering from the shock.

"Exactly. As criminals, we take, without question, what we desire," Yujin whispers the last few words in your ear, a heavy, breathy tone that takes any resolve left in you and melts it before it's even fully formed. Her scent surrounds you. It overwhelms you.

"Yesterday, what you saw me do," she begins, her fingers reaching for your arm, gliding gently and purposefully, drawing slow patterns with a single nail, "you had the decency to resist temptation, but I don't want that." Her fingers grip your forearm tightly.

"It doesn't matter why you resisted. All I know is that you watched me... touch myself, pleasure myself. Do I turn you on?" She knew damn well the effect she was having.

You answer her question with another question. "Yujin, what are you playing at?"

"You're smart. Don't you know how this goes?" She steps, smooths around the shape of you, and into your field of vision. "Don’t you know why you’re here?"

She raises her arms slowly, making a show of her body. With all the possible casualness, she smooths her hands up her sides, slowly, passing her stomach and onto her chest, and gently caressing. A shirt clings to her slim frame. The thin fabric is practically see-through, clinging to every delicious curve. The bottom few inches lifting, revealing flesh and the lines of lace trim on her matching her cream panties.

"I can't fight it, Yujin." Your hands find their way to the curves of her waist. She wriggles under the touch, happy to have the reaction she desires.

"Fight what?" She smirks, clearly amused by your confession and how easily you give in to her. Her hands roll gently across her breasts.

"The alarm in my head saying it’s a bad idea."

"Don’t fight it. Because I'm really, really hot," she whispers as pulls her top up her body. It rolls over her head and flops to the floor and you marvel, breathless and hungry, at the expanse of silky skin and feminine curves.

Her hands stroke at your crotch and she laughs softly. "Hard already?"

Her fingers curl and squeeze around the outline. She gives an approving smirk at the way it twitches under her touch, even as she mocks its hardness. "For me, huh?"

You nod, and she smirks. You move your hands up her body, but just as you begin; she twists free and walks towards her bed.

"Go, stand." Yujin points at the centre of her bedroom, towards the foot of her bed.

The carpet beneath you is soft, and you're barefoot. Walking. Watching. Eyes never leaving Yujin. Her bare thighs, defined, slender and soft. The curves, so gentle, and her accentuated hips. Her round, shapely behind, cradled so perfectly in tight-fitting panties. You have barely reached your position when she looks at you from over her shoulder and wiggles her panties slowly down her legs and leaves them on the floor.

She's crawling on the bed. You can't move—you barely manage to breathe. Each breath burns your throat. You're motionless, speechless, hypnotised in awe at Yujin. As requested (perhaps ordered) you remain. Watching from afar. Yujin seats herself on her bed with delicacy, her knees pressed together.

"I have to be honest with you," she confesses. "I'm not going to fuck you. But you can help me. If you're willing, that is."

"Anything" is your reflex response. You're powerless. She has you in the palm of her hand, and the growing ache in your groin, which was eager to be free of the confines of your pants, only affirms your thoughts.

"Are you sure?" Her head tilted to the side, teasing you with naivete. Yujin laid a single, slender finger on her lip and pulled it down suggestively. "If you come over here," Yujin insisted, her free hand parting her knees and patting the bed between her thighs, "then we could help each other."

There's a flurry of activity. You pull off your shirt and leave your trousers behind. Now you're kneeling across from her.

"Watch me. Just watch." Her voice is softer now, sultry, as her fingers ghost down the column of her neck, along her collarbones and then tracing the curve of her breasts, with the lightest grazes against her nipples. Her eyes fall closed as she carries on tracing feathery touches on her torso.

To be here now is all you could have wanted, really. If anything is happening beyond the sound of her shortening breaths and soft hums and her hand snaking between her legs, it's beyond your awareness. Yujin is shifting in front of you, wiggling and squirming; biting at her lip until it reddens and fills; gasping at the gentle caress of fingertips sliding slick against the smooth lips between her legs.

"No touching, just look." As if to drive the point home, her gaze holds on you for a moment, her lips curling into the sweetest smile. As a reward for your patience, her eyes grow warm and welcoming. Her legs spread wider, and Yujin hums. Her touch builds slowly, making small circles. There's no sign of urgency to her actions, none of the frustration that Wonyoung showed when waiting for her release. But Yujin isn't simply touching; it isn't about release. She's revelling.

Her breasts move with her heavy breaths. Her body trembles; her legs shake. She leans back slowly, taking support from her elbow, exposing herself wholly to you, with her head pressing back into her pillow, her hair sprawling in a mess and her pink lips slightly agape as her mouth shapes sounds that die as quickly as they're born.

"Yujin, I..." You lean forward onto your knees, placing an arm by her hip and another by her shoulder. You're hovering over her. Watching the display before you in stunned silence.

She grabs a handful of her tit, squeezing and moaning. "Keep talking," she breathes, her lips still quivering.

"I want you so bad."

She presses harder and slides her finger a little lower, dipping inside her cunt. Her other hand goes to your arm, then strokes over your bicep up to your neck. "You can do better than that." She whispers, wrapping her hand around your nape.

"How could I not want you?" Your knees are between her legs, you lower yourself closer without breaking her rule. You do not touch. "Not when you smell so enticing. Or sound so delightful. Or look so stunning."

Her mouth opens, panting breaths and half-uttered sighs fill the air. "And?"

Strands of hair fall over her face, you bring a hand up and hover it near to them, seeking her approval. Her eyes dart to your hand and consider it for a moment before giving the gentlest of approving nods. Your hand brushes the strands to the side. Her cheeks are bright and rosy, her skin damp, moist with perspiration, though still like silk to touch, you discover as you run a finger down her cheek.

"And when you look at me... with that smile. You have such a cute smile, like right now, that innocent—"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

You oblige. Yujin rises to meet you. And you take her in a hungry kiss. She falls back against her pillow. You slide a hand around her thigh, gently holding it against yours. The sensation of skin on skin is electric.

"M-more. Give me more." Yujin demands, and you give her thigh a squeeze in agreement. Your hand moves to her ass, giving the swell an approving touch, caressing the skin, and kneading ever so slowly.

You watch her, in the dimness between kisses, studying her delicate expressions and tiny reactions and all the while you enjoy the feeling of her pliant flesh beneath you.

This goes on and on. The kissing. The touching. The moments of separation. When Yujin pauses and lays her head down, catching her breath. A few heartbeats pass, she opens her eyes and watches you. Languidly, she smiles and beckons you to lean closer, to hold her again and taste her sweet lips once more.

The dim, orange sunlight of early evening has long since faded. A soft, blue light envelops her bedroom. As the minutes passed and the two of you enjoyed each other's touch, Yujin never stopped. Never stopped her hand buried between her thighs. And this time your kiss broke by the jolt of her head, thrown back into the pillow. Her neck is at full stretch and her lips agape.

No moans come from her mouth. Instead, her breath hitches and holds. She freezes like this, under the moonlight piercing between the curtains. Reflecting from her skin. An image of pure beauty. Unadulterated pleasure.

Her eyes remain shut, but a beaming smile grows.

Finally, she sighs deeply and lets out her last shuddering, shaky breaths. She rises again and searches your eyes with her half-open ones and smiles once more.

"That was perfect," she murmurs, satisfied, as she lolls back into the pillow and rubs her hand—the hand covered with her cum—over her heaving, sweat-slicked chest.

You can only admire as she rubs her hand over her tits, smearing them with a mixture of cum and sweat. And when she's done, she lets her hand fall beside her head, the other resting on your shoulder.

"What are you thinking?" Her question came slowly, her speech still languid.

"How amazing you are."

Yujin smirks before stretching, arching her back from the bed, thrusting her tits at you. "You've probably thought that a lot." She's hot, and she knows it. "Anything else? With me here like this?"

"Your body is better than I imagined. Perfect."

Yujin brings a hand up to cup her tit, as if offering them up for you. "Glad you think so." The next word was a demand, "Taste."

Her chin tilts down and her gaze lifts. Her eyes watch curiously as your head dives to her chest. The most overpowering thing is the smell. The combination of her rich perfume and the scent of sex.

"That's it. Let me guide you." Yujin reaches round, holds the back of your head, and pushes your lips on her nipple. She giggles as you suck greedily, nibbling at her and lavishing her flesh in sloppy adoration. Yujin's skin glows a hue you'd never seen before. And tastes a taste so sickly sweet that you swear is so addicting that as a second becomes a minute, your tongue would never tire.

"Good." Her voice is soft and doting, but her breath catches for a brief instant as you roll your tongue over the swollen peak, drawing a tighter grip on your head. Her hands bury into your hair, her nails against the scalp. She pulls at you, guiding your tongue across her chest.

Yujin whines. And for all the sounds that you've heard today, there is none so sweet, nor one that cuts so deep as when she pulls you away. "God, I feel so sexy now."

Yujin lets her leg rub up to yours. Gyrating gently and grinding your thigh with hers, she works herself closer. Then her legs curl, capturing you and holding you. Yujin raises up so her face is millimetres away, whispering into your lips, "You don't even know what a turn-on you are right now."

She guides your hand with her own, down between her thighs. And she rubs your fingers up against her slippery opening. "Feel that? That's for you, and I can't wait any longer." Her eyes fall closed and her forehead rests against yours.

"I want to fuck you, Yujin."

"We aren't going to fuck." She punctuates each word separately but speaks without anger. Her tone is honey. It's dripping with lust despite the coldness of the words. "But I am going to let you cum now."

Her hand leaves your own, leaving your fingers pressed against her cunt. Both her hands now. Both against your body, rubbing at your chest and working their way down. Yujin's got a devilish, vapid expression. An insufferable confidence.

"And maybe this is selfish, but," Yujin grins wickedly as her hand takes a fistful of cock. "I'm also going to get off to watching you blow a load."

Her thumb, smeared in her arousal, rolls and drags. It's a wicked gesture that plays you like a marionette. Yujin draws her wet thumb up your length. The pressure and tension are enough to bring your breath hitching.

"It'll be huge." You lean into the feeling and whisper hotly. The heat building between the two of you is dizzying. She wraps her fingers around the base of your cock and squeezes firmly, jerking her hand up to the head.

"Good." The word escapes her parted lips as she takes the first full stroke. And then she doesn't stop. Her fingers tighten and the movement is repeated, finding a quick rhythm that you follow along to.

"Touch me," Yujin orders again. She looks down between your bodies, the tangle of arms, where she strokes your cock rhythmically. Using her other hand on your wrist to push you into her. Two fingers. That's what you give, gently stroking down along her cunt. Two fingers inside and curling up slowly inside her. Your hand pressing against her cunt, palm rocking against her clit. "Keep doing that."

You follow along. Obeying her directions and fulfilling her commands, making short little motions between her legs. You've watched her cum once and know exactly how to bring her there again. You push further, probing deeper, massaging the hot slickness. And you must be doing it right. Her grip on your wrist slackens and her body collapses back into the silk.

Finally, she fully focuses on you. Her hands work your cock. Up, down. Smooth, measured, fluid strokes. Unsurprisingly, she's perfect, each action purposeful, coordinated, and calculated. You know from the tension already winding, growing tighter and tighter, that it's a race you're destined to lose.

Yujin sighs heavily. Her lips remain open but her eyes grow serious. Head propped by the pillow, she's watching her handiwork. Watching the first drops of cum leak out and she palms them, taking them into her grip, making it messier as she continues to pump. Her eyes lift to watch your face as it distorts, and as you let out a groan.

"Are you close yet?" Her hand tightens. Faster. Rougher. Her fingers graze your sensitive cock, your body convulses and the involuntary reaction is a knee-jerk buck of your hips into the warmth of her hand. And her laugh follows. Delightfully warm, innocent, genuine. It fills the room and pierces through any self-conscious embarrassment. "Guess so, huh? Come on, cum. Just for me." Her thumb drags over your cock's head.

Your hands still moving, and Yujin's body beginning to quiver. With her orgasm fast approaching, she's determined to make you finish first. Her other hand has a hold on your balls, encouraging them to let loose.

Your lungs hurt from the shallow gasps and a sick knot forms in the pit of your stomach. A tingling buzzing and a throbbing that overcomes everything, wiping the thoughts from your mind. Only her eyes. Yujin's warm, hazel, angelic eyes are what remains. They stare with determination, urging you on.

She knows. You know. You can't hold it anymore. Your body isn't yours anymore, it responds to Yujin, and when she grins, you have no power. Yujin's in control, the only words in your mind. "Cum. Cum all over."

"Ugh, fuck..." is all the warning that you can manage. Her grin widens into a malicious smile and her hand becomes a vice. You can barely breathe; a dull buzzing rings in your ears. Your vision is a blur. All-consuming pleasure blinds. You buck into her hand and feel the thick ropes of cum leave. Firing onto her toned stomach. On to her tits. Wherever her hand directs you.

"Wow, really came hard," Yujin grins teasingly at her messy hands.

Breathing is easier now, and the rush, though it fades, lingers still in every inch of you. And as feeling comes back, as your mind clears, you realise your own hand never stopped. You're still mindlessly fucking her with your fingers. Still making Yujin writhe and moan. She's so warm. Wet.

"Fu-ck. Ke-eep doing... that." Her legs pull at you, forcing your body on top of hers. You respond in your movements, curling your fingers into her and slamming them harder. Your palm hits her cunt every time with a slap.

She's got a hand on her tit, squeezing the cum-covered mounds, her hand sliding around in the sticky mess. It's spreading—the mess, all over her tits—and she's using it for pleasure. It glistens in the soft blue moonlight, catching your eyes.

"I-m..." Yujin starts, then gasping a sharp intake of breath, then more noises, stunted. This goes on until, finally, she takes one slow, heavy, deep breath, filling her chest and holding it there. Her eyes are glassy as if she's not looking through them. And she's still gripping your sensitive cock, hand covered in cum. You groan softly as her hand rubs the last few drops out.

She cums again. She tried to warn you, but this time she's nothing but moans. Erupting from her. Rough. Deep. Coming from within. She gushes. Wetness coats your fingers. Her cunt overflows and runs out onto your hand. A mess of her cum on you, a mess of your cum on her. You watch her breathing as the final few gasps leave her, slowly returning to a steady, even rhythm.

Yujin is breathless. "W-wow..."

You kiss her cheek gently. Your body finds its place beside hers. "Fuck me, Yujin," you exhale.

Yujin's breathing is slow and even, a smile beaming, radiating that warm glow that is her. She takes a deep breath in, then lets it out again.

"No." There's not an iota of sympathy.

You let out an audible sigh, but Yujin holds her finger up. "No sex tonight," she corrects herself, before pushing on your shoulder, rolling you over until she sits atop you.

Her lithe, cum-covered body presses down upon you. Her hips against your spent dick. She leans back, straightening her torso. She barely weighs a thing. Her body is as light as a feather. Yujin gives an innocent look, smiling but avoiding the eyes, but after a moment her smile turns coy, even teasing. She runs a hand over her body and pulls it away, strings of sticky cum stretching from her fingers to her stomach.

"I need a shower." She runs her eyes over your body. "We need a shower."

"Or we can continue..." you speak as you run a hand up her thigh.

Yujin moans in response, and she closes her eyes at the contact. A tremble wracks her for a moment, until her eyes snap open. "No." She pulls back and pushes off you. "Come. Let's shower."

She's standing beside the bed, and you admire her. "You look gorgeous." The words float in the air, and Yujin lets a soft, barely visible blush form. She takes it well; you would've thought she'd dismiss the words, but she smiles warmly.

"Come on." Her finger beckons you.

You follow and don't take your eyes off her. And why should you? Her body is so enchanting, swaying her hips from side to side in her lustful saunter. Her ass and shoulders roll in sync perfectly.

***

Hot water and steam. One runs down your body and the other fills the air. Not thick enough to block your sight but still veiling everything in a white, blurry mist, just enough to muffle the sound, enough to add something in the background.

"Mm..." Yujin murmurs as you rub her back. A luxurious bar of soap. You lather your hands and work it across her body. Underneath her arms. You guide your slippery hands to her sides, lifting and moving with them as they run along her stomach. You tickle gently above her hip bones, smiling at her small reaction—how her hips roll away instinctively.

"So, what happens now?" you ask. Yujin had been completely quiet during the shower. But you can't help but think that you need to address what just happened, what could happen.

"Well, I could bend over right now, right?" Her voice is bubbly, still in a post-orgasmic high.

You chuckle. "But you won't."

"But I won't," Yujin confirms. "I haven't decided yet."

"That's ominous."

Yujin closes her eyes. "Not like I'm the only girl who you're fooling around with."

"So you want it to be exclusive?"

"No." Yujin takes the soap and turns to face you, rubbing it over your chest.

"You're a hot guy, with a nice cock," Yujin's eyelids fall half-closed and her lips spread to show her tongue running over the corner of her mouth, and with the faintest shrug, and adds: "We both know I could have my way with you anytime I want."

Yujin moves past you towards the jet of running hot water. She bows her head under it and lets it rinse off the foam. The suds flow down her body. The streams turn to rivers. Bouncing, trickling, coursing between her supple breasts, down her narrow waist, over her toned stomach, then along her long legs. She takes a second longer than necessary, basking in the spray and enjoying the sensation, and the visual she knows she creates for you.

She reaches out and pulls you under, body against body. She brings her mouth to your ear. "But no one can find out. That would cause you a lot of problems." Her hands grip you tightly as if to emphasise the seriousness. And while her tone remains jovial, there is an underlying sternness.

"What do you mean? What would happen?"

"The position my dad is in, we can't afford to have this come out. He would have you out of the school and out of my life in an instant." Her voice lowers, almost a growl, but there's amusement in it. Her smile widens as she looks you in the eye. "But that won't happen, will it? We'll make sure of that."

"No, won't happen."

"And while we're on the topic..." Yujin grabs at your crotch, stunning you. "If you're gonna keep fucking Wonyoung, you might want to do a better job of hiding that. It'll end the same way."

"Y-you don't mind if I fuck Wonyoung?"

"Please, I encourage it." Yujin wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and pulls you in closer. You move your arms to hold her back. Skin on skin. Her breaths are hot, and steamy. She whispers the next few words, drawing out every syllable, each sound heavy with meaning.

"I..." You lose what words you want to say, flustered by her open, unexpected, and totally cool, reaction.

"Why would I? It's hot as fuck." Her lips brush over your cheeks, ghosting over the skin with a soft, supple touch. "And I know she won't fuck as good as I will."

NEXT PART HERE

#wonyoung smut #yujin smut #ive smut #male reader smut #x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #wonyoung x reader #yujin x reader

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roryknightwrites · 1 year ago

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Reo Mikage is Actually Great BPD Representation- Some Thoughts

So I had the extremely unfortunate experience of being exposed to Blue Lock (unfortunate because it's all my tiny pea brain can think about now), and while it is absolutely full of silly guys whose brains I want to pick, this little bugger really stood out to me. The second he came onto the screen, I KNEW I smelled the borderline on him. As I watched the series and read the manga, I noticed he is actually an incredibly well-written depiction of someone struggling with BPD. Reo is a super layered character and my favorite hobby is picking apart those layers and yapping incessantly about them, so here we are. I want to write this analysis for a few reasons:

1.) Too many people misunderstand Reo and categorize him as dramatic or childish without any elaboration and he deserves a proper character deep-dive. I think him being borderline explains a LOT of his reactions/choices throughout the story.

2.) Borderline representation is extremely important to me. I'm diagnosed borderline and have struggled with this disorder for around ten years now, so I get really excited when I spy BPD-coded characters (especially if they're likable people and not just ghoulish irredeemable villains or manic pixie dream girl characters). This disorder can be so isolating, especially when the majority of people will never even bother to research or understand it. I know that some people like to chalk Reo's emotional reactions up to him being a moody 17-year-old, but I think I have enough evidence to prove that this is undiagnosed BPD that's festering in his noggin. Not to mention, literally nobody else acts like this in the series. Reo is incredibly unique and distinct in the way he behaves through this narrative and I think it's way past the point of normal teenage angst. Regardless, believe what you want. He'll always be borderline to me tho <3

3.) I have a master's degree in English and what good is that if I don't write long, painful, pointless essays on anime guys? Not that this is exceptionally well written, I just like to laugh at myself for getting a whole M.A and then this is the shit I publish online lmao

By the end of this, I hope I can shed some light on wtf is going on inside of Reo's silly little head. (I'm also obviously not a psychologist, don't use any of this to diagnose yourself pls I don't need the scandal)

If you want to read, buckle up, because this is gonna be a long one!

First, let me define BPD- It's a personality disorder characterized by a long-standing pattern of instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, and self-image. At its core, it is a disorder categorized by emotional dysregulation (the inability to regulate one's emotional responses) People with BPD feel everything EXTREMELY hard. That's important to keep in mind IMO, because while their reactions may seem dramatic or extreme, what they're feeling IS dramatic and extreme. Everything they're feeling is amplified, so their reactions are amplified. Obviously from the outside, people assume it's an overreaction since they can't see what's going on inside the borderline's head. When you sit down and dissect the thought process of someone like Reo, it becomes a lot easier to understand why they react the way that they do to certain situations.

(Also, I'm not going to reiterate more than once that an explanation is not an excuse to treat people poorly. I cannot read ANYTHING on BPD without hearing every 2 minutes how the disorder isn't an excuse to hurt other people. We get it!! I'm explaining it, not excusing it. This enter essay is an analysis of why someone acts the way they do, not whether or not it's excusable)

So then, what behaviors/signs does somebody need to exhibit to receive a borderline diagnosis? The 9 diagnostic criteria for BPD are as follows:

1. Fear of abandonment

2. Unstable or changing relationships

3. Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

4. Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors

5. Suicidal behavior or self-injury

6. Varied or random mood swings

7. Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

8. Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

9. Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

Someone would only need 5 of these to receive a proper diagnosis. Just with the main story and the spin-off manga that is currently released, I think I have enough evidence to argue that Reo has 8 out of 9 criteria for a BPD diagnosis. For the sake of organization, I’m gonna group some of those together though, indicated by a + symbol. I also want to define a few important terms before I start yapping, so that y'all without BPD can understand wtf I'm even talking about.

Favorite Person (fp) - This is someone who holds massive significance in a borderline's life. They emotionally depend on this person a lot and to a certain extent, their worldview almost revolves around them.

Splitting- the change in perception of someone or something caused by black-or-white thinking or dichotomous thinking. It is the devaluation of someone who was once idealized and vice versa.

Mirroring (aka: the chameleon effect)- the constant, unconscious change in one's identity or sense of self by imitating another person’s behaviors, characteristics, or traits. It is common in people who have a vacant or distorted self-image which is a general symptom of BPD.

Now, time for me to break down the most prominent moments where Reo showcases borderline behavior. As I mentioned, I'm going to try and organize this under each criteria point (with some being grouped together)

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self:

Before I delve into Reo's relationships, I want to start with his baseline sense of identity. It’s established early on that Reo is a very bored, empty, unsatisfied person. Nothing excites him, nothing motivates him, and everything is handed to him. He’s frustrated because his parents notoriously try and buy his affection even though he doesn't want anything. For most of his life up until the narrative starts, he's wandering through life empty and frustrated. That is, until he finally sets his sights on soccer and decides to dedicate his life to winning the World Cup:

The wording, 'proves my existence' is interesting here. I think this is the first instance Reo has felt alive. So far, the only notable thing about him has been his family and his money. He hasn't achieved anything exceptional for himself, but now he has that opportunity. With this goal, he can really build something up from nothing and make it his own. It's almost like he's clinging to this dream to prove that he has some purpose in his life other than being the family heir.

Now, this dream changes when he meets Nagi, of course. I'm not gonna focus too much on their relationship in this section, but I will mention that meeting Nagi shifted Reo's entire dream, and not for the better. Through the narrative, his dream went from:

Winning the World Cup

Winning the World Cup with Nagi

Proving to Nagi that leaving him behind was a mistake

Improving himself and becoming a good striker on his own

Being a tool for Nagi to become the best striker

Had Nagi not come in and ask for Reo to come back to him, I think Reo could have done a great job at establishing his own sense of identity without Nagi. But no matter how much he works on himself, with Nagi in the picture, he's never going to value himself more than Nagi. Reo lets Nagi cloud his identity to the point where Isagi calls him out and asks what he's even doing at Blue Lock in the first place, since he clearly can't survive on his own, he needs Nagi with him.

After dealing with the turmoil of being abandoned by Nagi, Reo goes through a few stages. He starts with wanting to become somebody worthy of being beside Nagi, somebody that Nagi would want to choose. Devoting himself to becoming stronger and more versatile, his end goal is to have Nagi realize he made a mistake by leaving him behind. After a few more matches, Reo starts to realize that he needs to grow and change and become a stronger, better version of himself for himself and not for other people.

He decides that the fight was all his fault to begin with, that he should have never forced Nagi to play soccer and now he is going to get back to what his dream was originally, combined with his new desire to be a stand-alone player (and person, for that matter). Reo accepts the mistakes that he made, admits that he shouldn't have forced his ideals onto Nagi, and resolves to become a better person for HIMSELF. That's excellent!

Of course, Reo can't be happy for TOO long. Nagi comes out of the woodwork saying that he can't beat Isagi on his own and asks for Reo's help. Reo does stand up for himself a bit, saying that Nagi is being inconsiderate of his feelings and mentioning how long it took for him to recover from Nagi leaving. Now, the BPD trait here is how Reo not only forgives Nagi and is jumping on him and hugging him THE NEXT PAGE, but he also just disregards everything he said in this sequence. In a matter of two minutes, he no longer wants to be a player that can fight on his own or improve for himself, he wants to improve for Nagi. He starts ruminating again about how hurt he was when Nagi left, but now he's saying all of it wasn't so that he could get stronger individually, it was so that he could be reunited with Nagi again. Nagi asking for his help and saying that now they can play together again motivate Reo more than anything we've seen so far. (Nagi notoriously throws Reo little affection crumbs like this that Reo eats up, but I'm not trying focus on that) Now, Reo's alright with being a tool for Nagi's success again. Everything that happened was supposed to make him stronger so he could be a better partner to Nagi, right? Reo also says as the chapter ends, to please let him be a part of Nagi's dream until Nagi becomes the world's best striker. That's literally so sad!

He's also immediately back to the 'our' 'we' 'us' talk as well. If he can master his chameleon style in order to keep Nagi above the rest of the players, he wont get left behind again. If he devotes his time and energy into being a solo striker like the rest of these guys, Reo knows that he wont be able to keep up. This was always supposed to be his role, right? Building Nagi up to his full potential! :*)

I also like the detail that Reo is back to hugging Nagi and holding him, but Nagi never really touches him back. I think Reo's love language is touch for sure, not that it's incredibly relevant, but I do think it shows that Reo is back to being 100% comfortable around Nagi as if their fight never happened. I hear a lot of fans asking how Reo could have forgiven Nagi so easily, and I say this with my entire chest, it's the BPD. The black-and-white thinking combined with Nagi being Reo's fp and the excruciating pain of being abandoned by him in the first place ?? Of course he's going to take him back. Also, I've seen people blame Reo for not saying no to Nagi when he asks for help and I have to say that is an absolutely insane take. How are we gonna look at a panel where Nagi asks for help and then blame Reo for helping him?? I'm not going to focus on it too much in this post but in my opinion, it is crazy how little accountability both the narrative + fans give Nagi. Reo is pegged as responsible for both of their downfalls and it's nuts tbh.

Currently in the story, I think Reo's identity is still centered around Nagi. It's really easy for borderlines to structure their entire lives and personalities around their favorite person, but I can only hope that these two keep having open and honest discussions with one another. Hopefully, Reo will eventually learn that he can exist without Nagi and that he's more than just 'his arms and legs'.

Unstable or Changing Relationships:

The most notable relationship in Reo's life is Nagi. They're both each other's first real friends, which already sets up a less-than-ideal dynamic. Nagi has no idea how to communicate and he has pretty weak emotional intelligence. On the other hand, Reo is great at communicating, but he isn't used to regulating his emotions. For a lot of borderlines, they can go a very long time without experiencing any symptoms when they don't have a favorite person. When you think about it, the bulk of the disorder is shown through those interactions with other people. If Reo has never had a real friend in his life, I don't think he'd be used to the emotional turmoil that comes with having a fp.

The minute Reo meets Nagi, he's attached. All his classmates notice it, too. They question why Reo is suddenly so obsessed with this random kid who has no interest in him. Reo is ignoring everybody that isnt Nagi.

Very quickly, Reo boils down his view of the world to being him and Nagi versus everybody else, and he makes that very clear. It also depicts something that I think is incredibly crucial to Reo’s character that a lot of people overlook; as Nagi develops to be Reo’s favorite person, Reo’s dream isnt ‘playing soccer’ anymore. It’s Nagi. It’s being with Nagi, playing soccer with Nagi, being useful to Nagi, taking care of Nagi, and being somebody important to Nagi. He doesnt teach Nagi the rules or how to actually play, he teaches Nagi how to play with him. He literally re-writes and re-structures the game so that it can center around him and Nagi. Nagi calls him out on this in the spin-off manga:

Reo doesnt care about the structure of the game, he cares about Nagi. The other people on the field don't matter. The other team doesn't matter. He also starts to unknowingly put Nagi up on a pedestal, which is another borderline trait. He starts reiterating that Nagi is special, he's different from everybody else, he's destined to achieve great things. The more he raises Nagi up, the more he isolates the two of them in his mind, reiterating the idea that it's them against everybody else. His language reflects this too: Reo exclusively talks with 'us' 'we' 'our', insinuating that they're going to do everything together.

When Ego says that there can't be two winners, Reo says that he'll make Nagi the best striker. His 'ego' will be making Nagi successful. Along with putting Nagi on this pedestal, Reo also very early on establishes the fact that he'd pick Nagi over himself any day of the week. He's the only person in Blue Lock who really couldn't care less about becoming a striker himself: his dream is to be a tool in Nagi's success. Or, in simpler terms, he wants to be useful and make Nagi happy.

These two were in trouble from the very beginning. Nagi is lazy as all hell, has 0 motivation to do anything, and his dream is to live a life of luxury and never have to work. Reo, being the borderline baddie that he is, is more than happy to do EVERYTHING for Nagi. Borderlines love extremely hard! It's one of our best traits and I think it's important to showcase that Reo is a massive sweetheart at his core. He clearly loves Nagi a lot and goes to extreme lengths to make sure he feels taken care of. To someone with BPD, NOTHING is too big of an ask for a person they love, especially if that person is their fp. I also disagree with the argument that Reo 'made' Nagi codependent. Nagi likes being taken care of, he says it all the time. If you ask me, I would actually argue that Nagi takes advantage of Reo a little bit because he knows that Reo will do anything for him. But regardless, I think that Reo starts to develop an unspoken expectation with Nagi that he'll provide him with everything he needs, and in turn, Nagi will stick around. I don't think he's doing this intentionally, nor do I think it's being done in a manipulative way. I just think that Reo has a dormant fear of being abandoned that he doesn't totally know he has yet.

It isn't just Nagi that Reo showcases having unstable relationships with, though. Zantetsu is another good example. Reo starts out disliking Zantetsu, he snaps at him a couple times, and calls him a moron more than once. He starts to warm up to him because Nagi tells him to. The favorite person has MASSIVE sway in the borderline's life. If Nagi likes someone, Reo likes them too. (This is, of course, on the condition that they aren't a threat, looking at you Isagi).

In the immediate next chapter, Reo is acting like they're all best friends. He's climbing on top of them in their big bed, saying that the three of them are gonna win their matches, being a little pookie. He goes from not liking this guy at all to considering him one of his close friends super fast. Also on the topic of Isagi, when they're making up the teams for the second selection, Nagi doesn't initially want to tell Reo that he wants Isagi on their team bc he's worried Reo will be upset. But, when he does finally say it, Reo is literally fine with it because like I said, who Nagi likes, Reo likes! On the condition that they don't replace Reo, which clearly happened soon after.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Reo also shows how he can go from loving someone to despising him very quickly. After Chigiri and Kunigami tell him to get back up in the game post-Nagi's abandonment, we can literally see the switch flip in Reo's head:

Suddenly, he hates Nagi. Nagi's a jerk who abandoned him; he never cared about him, and he threw him away. Dude literally says "Let's kill the bastards that betrayed us". This act of unintentional devaluing is called splitting. What Reo's essentially doing is going from one extreme to the other: if Nagi isn't his perfect treasure, he's the devil that broke his heart. There's no room for a grey area. The reasoning behind borderline's developing this black-and-white mindset is rooted in self-defense. If Reo devalues Nagi into being nothing more than a traitor, then he's stripping away the power that Nagi has to hurt him. If he looks at him like a rival or a villain, it's protecting him from being hurt by Nagi again.

That doesn't mean that he genuinely believes any of this, more so, he's trying to convince himself that it's true. We see that at his core, the reason he's acting like this is because he's hurt. I'll go more into it later on, but he's constantly thinking, what does Isagi have that I don't? What do I have to do in order to win Nagi back? This black-and-white thinking is an automatic self-defense mechanism that I think he's doing subconsciously. Regardless, the shifting he's doing here can cause a little whiplash, which brings me to:

Varied or random mood swings + Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights:

I can’t think of a better way to describe Reo's temperament than the wiki, so let me quote it: "Generally, he seems to feel every emotion with full force and is extremely aware of his own faults and shortcomings, which is evident in several instances of painful breakdowns shown in the spin-off manga. Due to his high emotionality, he can even get violent when he loses his temper."

Reo is characterized as being emotionally unstable. When he's happy, he's elated! When he's sad, he's miserable. There are a ton of scenes between the manga and spin-off manga that show how fast his emotions can flip, but this one was one of my personal favorites:

In this scene, Reo has developed a little scheme in the dining hall where the guys are trading their side dishes. At face value, a throwaway moment. But, I think it's worth looking at because not only does this show Reo's emotional response being triggered in an opposite, semi-extreme direction, but the root cause for the reaction was that he felt rejected by Zantetsu. In his own weird way, he's asking Zantetsu to come over and hang out with him. He's not being exceptionally clear with that message, but I can still pick up on it. "You wanna join in, don't you?" He's extending the invite, making himself vulnerable, and Zantetsu shoots him down by saying nah, I'm fine with my noodles. Reo JUMPS on him like YOU KNOW WHAT? I TOOK THAT PERSONALLY! lol. Jokes aside, I think this moment is a great one to argue Reo's BPD tendencies because it's such a seemingly mundane interaction. Even Zantetsu is surprised by Reo's random outburst. This also sets up the fact that one of Reo's most obvious triggers is being rejected/abandoned/betrayed, an extremely common one between those of us with BPD.

Other instances of Reo having a bad temper are a lot more obvious. In the match against teams V and Z, Reo straight up elbows Raichi in the throat, and then tries to go throw hands with Kuon for hurting Nagi. He only stops because if he gets into any more fights, he’ll get thrown out of the game and won't be able to play with Nagi anymore. He’s visibly pissed though and calls Team Z a joke. Hell, even Reo himself can recognize on a certain level that he can't control his emotions: they control him. They cloud his judgment and make him react in ways that he wish he didn't.

He is constantly plagued by these extreme emotional reactions that are out of his control. Not to say that people with BPD are unable to ever control their emotions, because we can! It takes time and therapy and practice though, which Reo hasn't had. His lack of regulation is also why he has such a dramatic and extreme meltdown when Nagi abandons him.

Fear of Abandonment:

Reo's biggest trigger and the cause of his inner turmoil throughout Blue Lock is his fear of abandonment. I mentioned before that I think he's had this fear dormant inside of him for a while as so many borderlines do, since he hasn't had the chance to experience it before. He alludes to it early on when they first arrive at Blue Lock:

The thought of leaving Nagi for somebody else? Reo considers that heartless. They came together, after all. They're going to win the world cup together. Nagi could break both of his legs and Reo wouldn't leave him, because again, Reo isn't there to team up with the best player and become the best striker in the world: he's there to play with Nagi!! And, like I said, in Reo's mind it's him and Nagi vs everyone else-

Reo exhibits a lot of signs early on of being jealous while they're playing in Blue Lock. I mean, as we discussed, everything should be focused around him and Nagi. When Nagi passes to Zantetsu in the team V and Y match, Reo pulls up like 'hey, why didn't you pass it to me?? ):' There are a lot of little moments like that, but Reo's jealousy is a lot more relevant to my argument after he gets abandoned by Nagi.

Let's talk about that word: abandoned. It seems dramatic, right? Reo uses that term constantly and exclusively. Every time he brings that moment up, he uses the word 'abandoned', or he'll say 'betrayed' or 'chose'. These are very definitive words. He’s not saying Nagi ditched him or flaked on him or blew him off, no; he has abandoned him. That word choice may seem disproportionate to the situation, but that's Reo's reality. This was the ultimate betrayal to him. The constant use of that vocabulary reiterates that in Reo's mind, there is no grey area. Either Nagi chooses him, or he chooses someone else. In choosing someone else, he abandons Reo. Reo is paranoid that Nagi isn't ever going to come back to him and it's because of something that Reo is lacking. How can Nagi like Isagi more than him, anyway?

Now, I do fault Nagi a bit for not communicating better at that moment. I understand that he's bad at communication, but I don't think Reo could have been more obviously upset if he tried. The dude was in TEARS. Nagi saw him devastated and then expected everything to be fine when he met him in the bathhouse? Idk. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he didn't realize it would upset Reo to such an extreme: maybe he thought that they would miss each other, but Reo wouldn't take it personally. I'm doing my best not to harp on Nagi since this is about Reo.

Abandonment is detrimental to people with BPD. It causes extreme inner turmoil that we see with Reo as the story progresses because it is the only thing he can think about. If he isn't trying to cover up his hurt feelings with this idea of revenge, he's self-destructing over being abandoned. He becomes obsessed with wondering why Nagi chose Isagi over him. Was there something wrong with him? Isagi isn't that impressive, why would Nagi rather be with him? These thoughts torture him endlessly and fuel his desire to 'steal' Nagi back. He literally says to Isagi, that he's going to steal Nagi back. Much to his dismay though, Reo starts to notice that Isagi is bringing out some positive traits in Nagi. Nagi's entire vibe is different with Isagi. Nagi is having fun playing soccer without Reo. In fact, he's having more fun. He's making plays he's never made before. His face is visibly different; he's more excited than before.

This is heartbreaking for Reo. Not only was he right that Isagi did have something to offer Nagi that he couldn't, but Reo is having a massive self-hate spiral during this point as well, so he's internalizing all of his flaws and mistakes while the thought is sitting in the back of his head: did Nagi actually have a good reason for abandoning me? Was I not enough to satisfy him? Did I only drag him down? This gets significantly worse the longer he watches Nagi and Isagi play:

Everything is falling apart. Nagi is doing completely fine without Reo, and Reo is an absolute mess. We're circling back to Reo's lack of identity here as well. He's watching firsthand that he's losing Nagi to Isagi: what does he do? What happens to him if he loses Nagi, who is he without Nagi? He's overwhelmed during this match and at one point Reo literally screams that he's going to tear apart their connection. Jealousy is consuming him, but it's also those feelings of inferiority and wondering if he really did deserve to be abandoned. If Nagi is so happy without him, maybe he really did have a reason. These are the thoughts that are circling around in Reo's head. Not to mention, he is constantly tortured by the flashbacks of Nagi leaving him, which I think is a great detail. Some readers might say it's just pointless recapping but I disagree, I think it's depicting how traumatic that was for Reo. As a borderline, being abandoned by your fp IS traumatic. Reo relives that moment so many times because so many things trigger it for him throughout Blue Lock. He can't even look at Chigiri and Kunigami without thinking about him and Nagi. It's a really devastating experience that quickly deteriorates him emotionally.

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness + Suicidal behavior or self-injury:

One of my favorite things about Reo is the fact that he is self-aware that he's behaving somewhat irrationally, but he doesn't know how to stop. When we look at one of the several times that Reo is curled up crying over Nagi, he mentions how he really did want to tell Nagi to go and have fun, but he didn't. He couldn't. The visuals shift for this too:

Reo doesnt want to be acting this way, but he can't help it, and that's frustrating to him. It makes him start feeling ashamed of himself. His inner thoughts start to spiral and he feels weak and alone. He's reflecting here on what his true feelings really were at that moment, and how scared and lonely and weak he felt as a result of Nagi leaving him behind.

These feelings quickly evolve into Reo feeling worthless and falling into bouts of self-hatred. He's so ashamed of the way he's feeling and behaving but it feels so out of his control. He says, "maybe if I hadn't gone to Blue Lock in the first place, I wouldn't have to experience this feeling." As I said before, borderline's feel things EXTREMELY intensely; the disorder is described as living with third-degree burns all over your body. Everything hurts. His feelings are so intense and all-consuming right now, it's all he can think about:

I saw some posts in the fandom reddit asking why Reo is acting like this. One in particular reads: "I get that he is betrayed and stuff but he is acting like it’s the end of the world, is it explained later why he acts like this? Is it because he doesn’t think he can win without Nagi?" Not to call this person out, I just want to answer the question in this post-

It has nothing to do with winning; it was never about winning. It was always about Nagi.

If we're looking at Reo through the borderline lens, it IS the end of the world for him. Nagi was his world. What's worse, he's fully aware that he's not acting rationally and he doesn't know why, which is making him feel ashamed and weak and embarrassed. Now I know why he's acting like this, but there are no Blue Lock psychiatrists sitting around to wack him with the mood stabilizers or the DBT handbook, so he's gonna stay feeling like a monster.

He lets these thoughts, along with the resentment and anger from being abandoned in the first place, fuel him for the second selection match. As he's watching the game play out, as Nagi is about to score the winning goal, Reo's mind starts racing with intrusive, negative thoughts.

He's praying that Nagi fails, that he gives up, that he stops trying, anything to stop that solidifying moment where he scores the winning goal and proves once and for all that not only was Reo not strong enough to stop him, but Nagi doesn't need him anymore. He catches himself really quickly, because he realizes he's sounding just like his parents. Everything is spinning out of control so bad, Reo wants Nagi to end up in a vulnerable position so that he isn't the only one falling apart. As he catches himself thinking this, he's disgusted with himself. He calls himself 'utter trash', and as he watches Nagi score the winning goal, he falls to his knees, wishing he was dead.

As he sits there decomposing in emotional turmoil and suicidal ideation, Nagi's team chooses Chigiri to join them, and it's the nail in the coffin. This is probably Reo's lowest point in the entire story IMO. Nagi comes up to compliment him on his plays and Reo shows us another classic borderline move: he's anticipating how bad it's going to hurt to be abandoned by Nagi again, so he's trying to push him away before it can happen. We see the dichotomy of his spoken words and inner thoughts here, where he's talking big game to Nagi, saying things like 'you clearly don't care about me anymore, you're throwing me away, if you're going to abandon me just do it properly', while internally he's thinking 'I'm the worst, I wish I was dead, please take this bait and break my heart so that I can self destruct in peace'.

i LOVE the visuals during this moment. This is what Reo thinks is his last line of defense, the last thing he can do to preserve any part of his dignity is to make Nagi hate him so that he'll stop throwing these crumbs of affection at him. It's also really telling that despite his switch in behavior and the devaluing of Nagi, the root of all of that is STILL that he was so hurt by the abandonment.

I don't think I need to analyze the suicidal ideation because he just straight up says he wants to die like three times in this scene but, aside from that, the visual of his inner thoughts vs what he's actually saying is so powerful. Not to mention the chameleon imagery which i'll geek out about in a second, this is another example of his black and white thinking along with the reiteration that being abandoned was literally traumatic for Reo: he says they can never go back to what they were before. Speaking as a borderline, this is painfully true. When people break my trust even in a small way, I can never view them the same as I used to. I can forgive them and let it go, but I'll never be as open with them as I once was. In Reo's shoes, he had Nagi up on this pedestal that he was perfect and would never do anything to hurt him, but he did hurt him (in the worst way possible).

After Nagi tells him he's a pain in the ass and that he doesn't care anymore, Reo thanks him for 'finishing him off'. In his mind, they're done now and he can suffer in peace and quiet without dragging Nagi down anymore.

Bonus Point: The Chameleon Effect

I LOVE THE FACT THAT HIS THING IS CHAMELEONS AHHHH

The chameleon imagery with Reo makes me INSANE dude. As I mentioned towards the beginning of this post, a part of borderline that is seldom talked about is the tendency to take on 'the chameleon effect', or mirror the people around them. REO'S ENTIRE THING IS CHAMELEONS LIKE BFFR ?? That image where he was trying to get Nagi to hate him, was before he even started using his chameleon style, it was just something the authors thought was necessary to include during Reo's mental breakdown. Aside from the cool imagery, his chameleon style is a reflection of his relationship with Nagi. He gets called a jack of all trades and a master of none early on in reference to how when he’s without Nagi, hes not really exceptional at anything. He never really took the time to master one specific thing because he was always so concerned with helping Nagi. This rings my BPD bell for a couple reasons: first of all, when you have no sense of identity and you’re worried it means you have no real personality ?? Steal one!! Take the closest person to you and copy that one. That’s something us baddies know VERY well. Also, think there’s something about you that your fp doesn’t like? Change it! You can morph into anything they want as long as it means they won’t leave you !! :*) Before he makes up with Nagi, he copies moves in hopes that it'll make him stronger and appear more desirable to Nagi. After they make up, he copies whoever he has to so that he can get Nagi to that goal and make himself useful, make himself somebody that Nagi wants to have around. It is a literal direct metaphor for him changing anything and everything about himself for Nagi and graaaahhhh it’s so cool

Reonagi ?? Some thoughts-

I want to close this yap session with my thoughts on Reonagi as a ship. I do think that they can work and I want to make that clear. I'm not on board with the 'borderlines arent capable of having loving and fulfilling relationships' crap. That being said, they both have to put in a bit of effort. Reo has already recognized a lot of his own issues. He admits that he was wrong for pushing his ideals onto Nagi, that he needs to let Nagi grow and be his own person, etc. Nagi really hasn't accepted any fault. I stand by the fact that Nagi needs to be more sensitive with Reo. Way too often when a relationship like this fails, all the blame is put on the one with borderline. I'm gonna be the outlier here and say that if Nagi cares about Reo, he needs to learn about Reo's triggers and be mindful of them. I'm not saying that since Reo is sensitive to abandonment that Nagi should just isolate himself from everybody else, but what I am saying is that when he's going to do something that doesn't involve Reo, he needs to learn how to communicate that he still loves and values Reo. "I'm gonna go play soccer with this person right now, but I haven't forgotten about our promise. When I come back, we can play together. I still love you and I'm not going to leave you for whoever tf I'm playing with rn." (sneaking that 'i love you' in bc like..they're literally canon at this point asdfghjkll) But, I do think that Nagi loves Reo and cares about him in his own way. The two of them just have to keep working on their communication skills. Nagi has the potential to have a hot rich husband who will literally bend over backward for him and buy him all the robux he could ever want, he's gotta put in a shred of effort!

I also like to think that Nagi didn’t totally get the fact that Reo doesn’t gaf about just playing soccer. Nagi thinks soccer is what they do together, it’s what makes reo happy, right? He’s always pushing him to train harder and take the game more seriously because he likes the sport, RIGHT? It would make perfect sense to go play with isagi so that he can get better at soccer and come back to reo a more improved player. Maybe that’s why he was surprised when Reo was so mad in the bathhouse, bc he wasn’t making the connection that Reo cares more about him than soccer. That Reo puts all that energy into him playing soccer because he thinks it’s something that they can have as their own, and once Nagi notices how good he is, he’ll start enjoying it and the two of them can hold hands and run around the soccer pitch!! I think Nagi missed that part tbh, and I don’t think he know that even now in the story. Maybe Reo doesn’t even notice it.

Anyway, a shameless plug to my reonagi playlist if that's your thing (i cooked with this one, i fear) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5CsvSqmuI4cxOl1nTaV4GJ?si=737a0f21e0bd482a

Closing Thoughts:

Reo is a bpd baddie and I love him very much. I think he's a sensitive guy with a lot of feelings who would benefit from taking time to work through his trauma and his emotions. I hope that he eventually is able to build an identity for himself that doesn't involve Nagi, but baby steps, I suppose. I think Reo is a great balance of positive and negative borderline traits and he reads as a really believable and sympathetic character. He is, however, definitely that friend that you have to slap to stop them from running back to their ex.

Jokes aside though, BPD can be extremely hard to live with, even more so when it's undiagnosed and untreated. If someone you love has BPD, take the time to read up on it and do your best to understand them. I promise you, it will mean the world to them.

If you managed to get this far, thank you for reading! This was a messy stream of consciousness and I appreciate your support by listening.

#blue lock #reo mikage #reonagi #nagireo #nagi seishiro #bpd #reo mikage bpd

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noctilin · 6 months ago

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Hi Jez!! First of all, I would like to say that I LOVE your art so much! I've been following you since the days you were obsessed with AkiHam and made me buy P3P just to play with her, hehehe~ Your art is so inspirational!! Could you explain a little bit more about the underpainting process on digital, please? Do you lower the opacity on the flat colors and after that you merge it so it gets a bit of the underpainting color? Or is it another way to do it? I get the idea on traditional painting but I can't get it right on digital for some reason T___T

hi! thank you for the kind words and continuous support!! 😭

to achieve the best results with underpaintings, i would suggest a semi-transparent brush and slowly build up color from there! like so:

before anything else, when painting digitally, it's good to remember this: pigments mix naturally in almost all traditional mediums! but this doesn't happen as nicely on digital because instead of pigments mixing, the colors simply overlap one another. this is one of the reasons why it's easy for digital paintings to lose vibrancy and look muddy.

so you will have to manually pick colors to retain its vibrancy while you build up your colors while rendering. a quick way to alleviate this is to eyedrop the middle point of the two colors and ramp up the saturation and hue

but this also has its own fallbacks as you might lose color value (also important to make your paintings retain vibrancy) if you're not careful! doing it this way is frequently inaccurate as well, so use sparingly! i encourage you to try and manually pick the in-between color instead as it also helps you practice your color intuition.

i'm telling you this because you will most likely run into this problem of your colors gradually looking blander as you keep layering your colors over the other if you don't adjust them as you go.

as for my process itself, what i tend to do is lay down my local colors in the bare minimum, just so i get a general sense of what they are in my paintings. this way the underpainting still seeps through more naturally. look at this, this is pretty much the "flat color" i laid down

after this i lay down a rough sense of the shadows i want, merge it into a new layer and start rendering from there. i personally try not to overrender it because like i said earlier, the more i layer the colors the muddier it gets and i don't want to cover up the range of colors i've made by eyedropping.

hopefully, you get the idea!

#asks #hikkarins #art help

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mylovesstuffs · 4 days ago

Text

even hell had a heart || lucifer!joshua

outline. you prayed every night not to fall in love with the wrong person, until—he showed up. he says your name like a forbidden prayer. “even your god can’t hate me more than i hate myself for wanting you.” you don’t kiss; just stare, and that feels holier than sin. /// svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology

genre: supernatural au, religious/dark fantasy au, romance, slow burn, angst with emotional intimacy, psychological drama, forbidden love

pairing: lucifer!joshua × human fem!reader

content: bittersweet/hopeful ending, lucid-dreamscape/metaphysical elements, gothic spiritual tone, religious symbolism and imagery, prayers as narrative devices, longing and restraint, shadowed pasts and emotional healing, watching-from-afar/guardian dynamics, intimacy without physicality, dream visits and blurred reality, sanctuary as symbolism, mutual yearning and unspoken love, strong mother-daughter bond, confessionals and breakdowns, subtle faith crisis, psychological tension with metaphysical layering, suppressed desire, restraint over romance, near-kisses, forehead touches, temple kisses, somewhat possession imagery, protective lucifer trope, intimate physical closeness, reader finding comfort in the “wrong” being, shadow vs light metaphor used emotionally and spiritually

warnings: religious themes and christian symbolism, spiritual trauma/conflict, possession-like states (chanting, pressure, trance), mentions of past emotional and physical trauma (implied sexual trauma, abandonment), psychological horror imagery (dream sequences, altar bleeding, glowing eyes), mentions of self-doubt, crisis of faith, emotional breakdowns, mild sensuality (no smut but heavy emotional tension and intimacy), mentions of mental health (breakdowns, hallucination/delusion implications), light swearing/cussing, fire, blood, and dark imagery, angels vs lucifer conflict, reader's isolation and vulnerability, reader’s faith being shaken and questioned

a/n: this is the first installment of my series svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology! i think i re-edited it to check for my usual silly mistakes… but honestly? i don’t remember anymore 😭 so let’s just call it partially proofread [because i truly don’t know if i finished or not]. i actually finished writing this a while ago, but then completely forgot about it and didn’t get the time to schedule this or the next parts properly. so here i am—posting it directly... please forgive any dumb typos or weird phrasing. i promise the next installments will be properly proof read [will try my best]—this is just my “i-did-my-best-but-my-brain-forgot” edition. hope you’ll still enjoy it despite everything!

Happy 10th Anniversary, SEVENTEEN! even though i’ve only been a carat for 7 months, it feels like i’ve known you forever. in this short time, you've become such a big part of my life—your music, your passion, and your bond with each other have brought me comfort and happiness in ways I can’t explain. thank you for giving your all for the past decade. thank you for being the light in so many people’s lives, including mine.

word count: 7,033 words

taglist: @i-am-confused-about-life @supi-wupi @shirebusking @ateez-atiny380 @jrinbb @thepoopdokyeomtouched @purploozi @reiofsuns2001 @xuhaosgirl @markoplolo @livelaughloveseventeen @dcrlingyou @chanranghaeys @https-seishu @mrsjohnnysuh @iknowimanicon [oranged marked blogs can't be tagged :(]

It all began on a day so ordinary, no one could have guessed how quickly everything would change.

The sky wore its usual color that neither blessed nor cursed the earth beneath it, merely watched, indifferent. You had just left the chapel, your palms still damp from prayer, from pleading with something higher than yourself to protect you from falling in love with the wrong person, again. Your footsteps echoed across the worn cobblestones as if the world were hollow, waiting to be filled with something that would either save you or break you, and when you saw him standing at the edge of the alley, half-shadow and half-light, everything inside you paused—breathed in too deep—then forgot how to breathe out.

A man, looking too good to be true, stood there like he had stepped out of someone else's legend, but ended up in your story, looking right back at you. It wasn't even a glance, or a curious flick of the eyes. He looked at you as if he was reading you line by line, like each breath you took was a word in a sentence he already knew by heart. The air shifted, slightly heavier, as if it, too, recognized him.

He didn’t smile right away; that came later. That devastating softness, the lift of lips that belonged on a saint but bled like a sinner's. At that moment, he only looked, as if he already knew you, as if he had seen your soul laid bare on an altar, trembling under the weight of its own guilt, and for reasons that would never make sense, your first thought wasn’t fear. It was familiarity. The echo of a hymn you once heard in a dream, sung in a language your body remembered but your mouth could never speak.

Your throat was dry, and you weren’t sure why. You took a step back, or maybe forward, you couldn’t tell anymore. And still, he said nothing, but just watched with his unwavering gaze fixed on you.

You swallowed. “Do I… know you?”

His head tilted slightly, just by a fraction, like he was listening for something only he could hear. A lie you hadn’t told yet? Then, finally, he spoke. “Your name,” he said quietly, as if it were too holy for the noise of the world, “it’s…” he stopped. You waited for him to continue and not leave in this space of suspense, but he looked at you like he was afraid of finishing the sentence. “It’s yours,” he said, finally. “But it sounds like mine when I say it.”

“What?”

He didn’t have to repeat it, and he didn't. The way he said your name, it didn't sound like just a sound. It was a remembering. It was sorrow and longing tangled into syllables that felt like a prophecy gone wrong. He only just said your name, it shouldn't be a big deal, but it was a big deal because it sounded like a confession. Like he wasn’t supposed to know it, like it had been carved into the walls of his ruin a long time ago and he had spent centuries pretending he had forgotten it.

You felt something curl in your chest. It felt very tight and ancient. “I never told you my name,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t have to.” He said it again, “yn,” like a prayer he wasn’t allowed to say out loud. He took a step closer, “I thought I forgot it.”

Your voice was a breath now. “And?”

“And I was wrong.”

Something about the way he said it made your fingers curl into fists, like your body was preparing for a storm it had already survived once. “Who are you?” you questioned again, but he didn’t answer that.

Instead, he asked, “Do you remember me?”

Silence stretched between you while you tried to think of something to say. You feel defeated even though you have no reason to be.“I—” you hesitated. The shape of the answer was in your chest, not your mouth.

And then that soul-fracturing smile finally resurfaced again. You didn’t know you’d been waiting for it. “I knew it,” he whispered. “You don’t know why yet… but you will.”

Your breath hitched that you didn't even realize you’d been holding it. Something inside you stirred like a shadow shifting beneath a locked door. You didn’t know this man, and yet, everything about him felt like déjà vu whispered into your bones. His presence was a verse you'd underlined in some forgotten scripture. You just couldn’t remember where. “You’re scaring me,” you said quietly, but your voice didn’t tremble the way it should have.

“I don’t mean to.” His eyes softened. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

He hesitated as a storm passed through his expression, it was grief, maybe, or regret, or something older than either. “I was someone who loved you.”

Your lips parted. “Loved?”

He met your gaze. “Still do,” and he said it like it was a curse, like loving you had cost him lifetimes.

You took a step back, instinctively, but something tethered you there. Some invisible thread humming between you both that didn’t ask for belief. It simply was.

“I don’t—how?” You searched his face, desperately, for answers. “How can you say that? We’ve never met.”

He gave a slow, bitter smile. “Haven’t we?”

The wind picked up, brushing past you like it, too, carried memory in its folds. “You’re lying,” you said, “or I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe both,” he replied. “Maybe neither.”

Your hands were trembling now, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something else; you just couldn’t name it. You looked away, trying to steady yourself from whatever creepy shit he was spewing.

He took one cautious step closer. “I waited. I waited longer than I knew was possible. And when I stopped waiting… I started forgetting. Not you though—but what we were.”

You looked up at him again, your voice brittle. “Then why now? Why remember me now?”

He paused before saying, “because you called me back.”

A silence fell between you again, which was thick, reverent. Your chest felt too tight, your thoughts too loud. “I didn’t call anyone,” you said, but it sounded unsure even to your own ears.

“Maybe not with words,” he responded, “but something in you remembered. Some part of you… still aches for me.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

A pause again as he looked at you like that was the final heartbreak. “Then let me earn it back.”

And in that moment, time tilted, something opened inside you, around you. Like the memory of something sacred being reawakened. Your footsteps faltered once, twice, and before instinct took over, you turned on your heel and ran.

The hem of your coat fluttered behind you, your breath catching in uneven gasps. Gravel crunched beneath hurried steps, and the distant glow of the main road flickered. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you glanced back over your shoulder, eyes scanning the path behind you to see it, empty. He’s not following you. You don't know if that makes it better or worse.

Your fingers, trembling and cold, flagged down the first cab you saw. The car jerked to a stop beside the curb. You threw open the door, nearly stumbling in as you rush inside.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“17th street, Park Road C,” you muttered, giving the address in a voice that didn't sound like your own.

The door slammed shut, and the cab lurched forward. Streetlights blurred past like holy candles left out in the rain. With fingers still shaking, you pulled out your phone and called your mom. She answered on the second ring.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was lined with surprise, then worry as you greeted her with a trembling voice. “Is everything alright?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you managed to speak out, “I’m coming over,” you said quickly. “I—I just need to be home. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“What happened?” she asked, her tone was turning sharp and maternal. “Your voice—are you crying?”

“No, I’m not,” you lied. “Just… I need to see you.”

You hang up before she could ask more, and the ride was quiet. Your mind was not.

Every time you close your eyes, you see him. The way he looked at you; like he knew your sins by name, like he forgave them anyway.

By the time the cab stopped in front of your mother’s house, you threw cash at the driver with fumbling fingers and left without waiting for change—you, who would argue over ten cents, but right now, none of that mattered.

She’s already at the door when you arrived, concern written all over her face. Her eyes took in your disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the way your chest rose like you’ve run from the devil himself.

“Oh, my baby,” she breathed.

You fell into her arms, and she immediately drew you inside. She didn't even ask—just took a towel from the kitchen, gently patting the sweat on your forehead, your cheeks. Her hands were cool, calloused from years of care. Her touch was the closest thing to sanctuary you’ve known.

Once you're seated on the old floral couch, she kneeled in front of you, still holding your hand. “Tell me,” she urged with motherly love and caution. “What happened?”

And you listen to her urge as you always do. You tell her about the chapel, about the man who looked at you like a psalm remembered, about the way he said your name like it had been carved into him, about the fear, the familiarity. The strangeness of it all.

She listened in silence, then, wordlessly, she stood, pulled out her Bible from the cabinet and sat beside you. She opened to Psalm 91, the same passage she used to read when you were afraid of thunder. “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty…” Her voice was steady, and each verse a balm poured over your shaking soul. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…”

You closed your eyes, your head rested against her shoulder. You wanted to believe the words, wanted them to fill the empty place inside you that opened the moment he looked at you. And yet… How did he know your name? You keep telling yourself it’s a coincidence. Some cruel trick of the universe, but the tightness in your chest refuses to ease.

The whole day, it lingered like the aftertaste of smoke in a holy place.

By evening, you asked her, “Can I stay here tonight?” Your voice broke on the last word.

Your mother, alarmed, cupped your face. “Of course. You never have to ask. But… what’s happening to you, sweet girl?” Her eyes searched yours. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You shook your head, unable to explain.

Later, you retreated to your childhood room. Everything’s smaller now, dustier. The wallpaper faded, the bed too short, but the air smelled of lavender and old memories.

You begin your nightly ritual.

Knees to the floor, rosary between your fingers, beads sliding like rain through trembling hands. Bible open in your lap, the spine falling naturally to Isaiah 43.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." You whisper prayers through clenched teeth, through breaths that shake and falter.

You mouth verses between silent screams. Words crash into the hollowness inside you like waves against cathedral stone. You don’t ask for peace; you ask for forgetting. You open your eyes, and he’s there.

Standing by the edge of your bed like he never left the chapel; as though time itself had bent backward to let him in.

You freeze, trembling from the marrow outward, the chill crawling up your spine like a ghost pressing its lips to your nape. The blood drains from your face, your ribs forget how to expand, as the rosary drops from your hand.

You gasp, voice strangled with fear, stumbling back as your knees knock against the side of your bed. “You—how did you get in here?” Your fingers tremble as you reach blindly behind you, grabbing the Bible you had just been praying over moments ago. You grip it tight against your chest, its cover warm, as though your desperation had set it alight.

Heart hammering, you inch backward toward the window, hand groping for the latch, the scream clawing its way up your throat like a creature trying to be born. But then, something presses against you.

It wasn't a hand, or even air. An unseen weight pins your lungs. It isn't painful, but it's like there's an invisible palm over your mouth and another over your soul, and you can’t scream. Or move—which makes it worse. Because you’re a physics professor, for God's sake. You understand energy, pressure, forces, mass. But this is not science; this is blasphemy made manifest.

Your lips part to cry out, to mutter a Psalm, but instead, a voice you don’t recognize escapes your mouth, thy light hath no hold on He who knew it first…

Your eyes widen in horror. The words fall from your lips like black honey. Ancient, terrible, but beautiful. You try again, though the arch be sealed, I know thy name, oh First-Forgotten… Again, and again.

Every time you open your mouth, this chant, this liturgy from some who-knows-what age, pours from you. You begin to hyperventilate as your knees buckle. He takes a step forward.

His eyes… glow. Not metaphorically or symbolically. They glow. Red. No—deep, like the core of the earth. Anger so old it forgot what it was angry at; the color of damnation wept into velvet.

Your throat tightens, and you really, really think you’re going to pass out, what the hell is this? Oh God, am I dying? Is this a dream? This is not happening—this is not—this is not—you keep on spiralling inside of your head. But the man in front, no, not a man—just watches you with something devastating in his expression; it didn't look like cruelty, not even satisfaction. Sorrow it was.

“You called me,” he says softly, voice like smoke, making it sound like it used to be a hymn but came from heaven with him.

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, not sure if it's fear or faith that brought you down. You're still clutching the Bible like a lifeline and whispering prayers, but they melt into more of that cursed chant. You try to scream again, to call your mother, but your voice falters. Only silence comes, not even a whimper. Then suddenly, the pressure lifts. You inhale so sharply your lungs scream, and you look up at him, voice trembling, “Who… who are you?” You again crawl backward, the Bible shaking in your hands.

He tilts his head slightly, and for the first time, his expression shifts just faintly. A crack in the mask, something like nostalgia, like regret. “A shadow,” he says, “of what I once believed I could be.” His voice carries the weight of centuries, of battles lost, of names erased.

You hear wind in it, fire. Angels sobbing into the void. He takes one last look at you, and the light in the room flickers. You blink—and he’s gone.

The moment he disappears, your body collapses into a heap. You gasp for air as if it were your first breath in years. Your mother rushes into the room, footsteps urgent.

The moment you see her, the dam breaks in you. You crawl to her like a child, tears hot and fast as you wrap your arms around her waist, clutching her like the earth after a long fall. She holds you, shocked, and concerned. She crouches and cradles your face in her hands.

“Sweetheart, what—what happened? Tell me. What’s going on?”

But you can’t speak, so you only cry. She leads you to your bed, sitting beside you, pulling you into her arms like she did when you were small and afraid of the dark. She wipes the sweat from your brow with the hem of her sleeve, humming softly, her voice cracking seeing her daughter like this. Then she begins to tell you stories of childhood things. About the first time you prayed, how you’d cry if a bird fell from a tree, how you once said you wanted to marry the sky because it never seemed to lie. She holds you like you're her baby again; but you’re not. You’re a woman broken by something no priest ever prepared you for.

And as your eyes finally drift closed from exhaustion, and sore heart, you begin to wonder if you’re losing your mind. Because when you finally fall asleep…you dream of him.

At first, it’s alright, you are in a field of dusk which seemed colorless, shapeless. The air is thick and warm, humming with a strange music that you don’t hear with your ears, but your soul. Above you, the sky is full of stars, but they’re not still. They’re falling one by one, but it isn't even shooting stars. Each one descends with a long, echoing scream, a light extinguished mid-cry. You cover your ears, but it doesn’t stop the sound from crawling into your head.

When your eyes move around, you see, in the center of the field: an altar. Old stone, ancient, and cracked, but it bleeds. Blood, thick and glistening, seeps from its edges, trailing down like vines. You feel the earth pulse beneath your bare feet. You take a step forward, and the stars fall faster.

“This place is sacred, and yet, it suffers.”

You turn around to see the owner of the voice, and he’s there standing at the edge of your bed—but it’s not your bed anymore. You’re still in the dream, and the field has wrapped around you like a memory. He stands in shadow, half-light playing against his face. His eyes glow again, dim now, but the sorrow in them is still unmistakable.

“Why are you here?” you whisper, or maybe you don’t, maybe it’s only a thought, you’ve forgotten how to speak in dreams.

“To see,” he says, “if you still kneel.”

You do, but not because of him, because the weight of the dream, the altar, the stars—all of it presses down on you, compels you to your knees. You feel small, fragile, and very mortal, and yet part of something divine.

You look down and your hands are suddenly stained red. You know it's not your blood. “You were never meant to carry this,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But you keep praying like it’ll disappear. Like it isn’t written into you.”

You look up at him. You want to scream at him, you want to cry, want to reach out. “Why are you haunting me?”

He kneels, finally, before you, “because once,” he whispers, so close now you can feel the chill of his fall, “I believed in the light. I saw you.”

The stars crash louder, the altar shudders, the earth splits—and you fall. Falling into black. Into memory, and fear. Into the scent of fire and old books, of sanctuaries burnt and prayers unanswered. You scream, and wake up.

You're gasping, drenched in sweat. The room is dark, and your mother is not found to be in your room anymore, but the Bible still rests on your nightstand. And at the foot of your bed, a single white feather, charred at the edge.

He never meant to get close, meant to feel. It started with your voice; your whispered prayers in empty chapels, your trembling Amens in the dark, your quiet pleading to a God who never answered. He watched from the shadows at first, not behind walls, but behind time, just far enough to not be real, just close enough to ache.

You reminded him of something he’d spent eternity trying to forget. Grace. Not the kind sung about in hymns, but that bled, that knelt even when it didn’t have to, that forgave even when it was breaking. She still believes, he’d murmur into the silence of his exile. What a dangerous thing.

He told himself it was curiosity. When you wept in the stairwell at work, unseen by the world, you weren’t unseen by him. When your hands shook, lighting the Sabbath candle, and you prayed for strength with trembling lips—he watched from the other side of the veil. When you clutched your Bible like a weapon, knuckles pale and face wet from nightmare, he was already there, in the corner of your room.

Your pain mirrored something he thought he no longer possessed, a heart. And somewhere along the line, he stopped counting your sins, and started memorizing your smiles.

He sits now, cross-legged in the middle of a decayed cathedral, wings long burned to bone,

his hand holding the white feather from your bed. "Why her?" a voice hisses from the shadows.

He doesn’t flinch. "Because," he says, eyes half-lidded, "she prays like it’ll save her from me. And I keep hoping it might save me." He appears only when you break, not to offer solace, but to see if he still can’t stop himself from touching your name in the air. "She makes me soft in the places I’ve sealed with ash."

But it’s getting harder to stay away, because one night soon, you will kneel in prayer and say, please don’t let me fall, and he will answer without thinking, "Then stop calling for me, little light. Because every time you do, I come closer. And I am not your salvation. I am the thing your salvation warns you about."

He still stays, because even Hell, in the hollow left by Heaven, had a heart once. And its last beat might just be you.

By the time you realize what you were seeing, it was too late to pretend you hadn’t. He was there again, standing on the chapel stairs.

You froze mid-step, breath catching in your throat. The late afternoon sun bled amber through the high cathedral windows behind him, but casting no shadows across his figure.

Staying still for a minute, looking at each other across the space, you dared to walk toward him. You stopped halfway, cautious, trembling, as if speaking to him might undo the very air around you.

“Why me?” you asked, voice thin and dry.

He turned his head slightly, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips. “Because you still kneel,” he murmured, eyes not leaving yours. “And I missed how that felt.”

You inhaled sharply, heart galloping in your chest. Frustrated, you looked around—half-hoping someone else might see him. Half-hoping you were just imagining it all again. You don’t even know him… but you know you should fear him.

There hasn't been a single day since that night in your childhood room that you haven't felt that sliver of fear lodged beneath your ribs. And now, seeing him again, tangible in the light of day, the fear twisted into more dangerous: fascination.

You swallowed, “Why are you so obsessed with kneeling? It’s not like I’m kneeling to you, I kneel to God.”

His smile darkened into something else, you take it as wicked, slow, and unbearably calm. He took a step closer with no shadow clinging to his boots like living things. “Do you think it matters who you mean to kneel to?” he says, “when the ground already belongs to me?”

His voice slid through you like warm oil over cold steel; seductive in sound, terrifying in weight.

“It’s not sin I tempt you with,” he remarked. “It’s understanding. I see you, entirely. And you’re still not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

Your breath hitched. His eyes flickered red, a molten glow blooming in their depths. You stumbled back, remembering all over again why you were supposed to fear him. “Wh-who are you?” you stammered. “Do you have a name? What… what are you?”

He stepped into a beam of stained-glass light, and for a moment, you could see the ancient exhaustion lining his face; the weight of centuries etched beneath flawless skin. “They called me Lucifer,” he said softly. “But you can call me Joshua, if it makes you feel safer.”

It didn’t. You blinked. The name itself felt like a trick. “You’re… a devil?” you whispered. “What the hell is a devil doing…” you trail off realising the situation you're in and that you shouldn't be talking like this right now. “What do you want with me?”

“I didn’t choose to fall for you,” he said. “But your prayers—they reach places they shouldn’t. You ask not to fall for the wrong person. And I… I shouldn’t hear that. But I do.” Your hands trembled, the air grew too thick. Your knees weakened. “What if the wrong one falls?” he added, voice nearly a breath. “And your beloved God just... lets it happen?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You backed away instinctively, stumbling through the chapel doors and collapsing at the altar, desperately searching for sanctuary, but even here, it felt compromised—tainted by his presence still lingering on your skin. You were scared, but not of damnation. You were scared because your faith wasn’t cracking from lust; it was breaking from the longing to be seen.

In days passed, he became your paradox. Your tormentor and your comfort. You felt him in flickering candle flames, in reflections that didn’t match your movements. On rooftops at night, watching, not interfering… most of the time.

A car swerved one night and missed you by inches. You knew it would’ve hit you, but it didn’t, because something, to be more specific —someone, stopped it.

At your weakest, when your hands shook too violently to lock your door or strike a match,

a warm whisper brushed your ear: that's enough, you did it.

You never told anyone explicitly; they’d lock you away in an asylum if you did. And besides, who would believe something so foolish, something that they can't make sense of?

You broke down in the confessional one rainy evening. You couldn’t explain why, just sobbed, endlessly, hands twisted in your lap, eyes clenched shut. You didn’t notice something passing through the wall. Didn’t feel the pew shift under someone else's weight.

Until his warm, impossibly warm hands wiped the tears from your cheek. His palm still radiated heat like a dying star. The scent of fire lingered, smoky. “You remind me of a time before,” he whispered.

“Before what?” you choked.

“Before I was only what they feared. Even Hell had a heart once.”

He wasn’t trying to drag you down, he was hoping, desperately, that you might reach back.

You let him stay a little longer in your room. You told him about your life, about your nights studying under dim lamps, about scraping your way through a system that wasn’t built for naive people, about the exhaustion, the loneliness, the little victories.He listened to your rambling unblinking. You could tell he already knew, but he let you say it anyway.

“You make me question everything I’ve ever believed,” your fingers brushed a physics journal lying beside your pillow.“The laws of motion. Time. Reality. God.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I’m just a new variable,” he offered.

You exhaled shakily; not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

He reached out, fingertip just barely grazing your wrist. “Or maybe you’ve finally opened it.”

You looked at him, something tender stirring where only fear had lived before. He wasn’t just a nightmare with red eyes anymore. He was—broken. Human, in a way that terrified you more than horns and hellfire ever could. “Why do you come to me?” you asked.

His gaze flickered to the floor as if the question pained him. “Because you pray for peace,” he whispered slowly, “and I hope you find it. Before I ruin it.”

Your fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the back of his hand, so warm it bordered on scorching. He didn’t flinch, and neither did you, and before you knew what it meant, your forehead rested against his—your first true touch. It was innocent, reverent even. You could hear nothing but the clock ticking on your nightstand and your own heartbeat skipping like a frightened thing. He stayed there, unmoving, as though if he dared shift even slightly, he might break something sacred between you.

He fell for you in that silence; not because you feared him, or even because you saw him. But because you still knelt, still prayed, even when the world burned around you.

He was Lucifer. But around you, he was a shadow with soft eyes, full of restraint that cracked at the edges. “I can’t touch you without burning,” he let you know, voice tight.

“And yet you still try,” you whispered back, your hand trembling as you laid it on his cheek. You could feel it—the molten resistance under his skin, the air around him warped slightly like heat on pavement. You could see it in his eyes too, the agony of holding back, of containing a force that once defied the Almighty.

His forehead remained pressed to yours, until you leaned back slightly. He reached to keep you close, hands hovering at your shoulders, not daring to grasp. “Are you still scared of me?” he asked.

You swallowed. “Yes… but it’s not the fear of what you are—it’s fear of what this could mean. But it’s better. It’s better than the time I didn’t know you. Better than that first day on the chapel.”

He closed his eyes. “You always remind me of a time. You remind me of a time I felt grace.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you prayed, silently and internally. The words tangled with your breath as you pleaded for peace, for understanding, for something beyond this impossible intimacy. He stayed perfectly still, listening; not to your voice, but to your prayer. He wasn’t trying to damn you.

He began to visit you in dreams, but not with sin. With silence, and seeing.

And your prayers turned confused—full of contradictions, of longing for someone you weren’t meant to long for. He wanted redemption, but the closer he got to grace, the more violently Hell responded.

You had noticed it first in the mirrors, your own reflection watching you too long. The sound of wings, but not his—fluttering behind your ears when you knelt. The angels didn’t comfort you—they judged. That was cold, bright, cruel. They didn’t understand why you still let him near, and when they came, it wasn’t with harps or halos; it was with wrath.

The ground cracked under them, with wind and holy fire erupting in your bedroom. Your rosary shattered on the floor as they advanced. That’s when he stepped forward.

He didn’t flee, but stood between you and the divine, hand raised not in violence but in defiance. “I won’t let you harm her,” he growled, and the room trembled at his voice.

His fire didn’t scorch you, it instead shielded you arching over your body like a barrier, his wings unfurling in a storm of black smoke and crimson light.

Later, when the angels vanished with seared feathers and scornful eyes, you collapsed. “God never loved me like you do,” you choked.

He didn’t reply, but he looked ruined. He sat on the edge of your bed. “You don’t understand what you’re saying,” he murmured. “You’re asking to walk beside something that even heaven cast out.”

“And you,” you whispered, reaching for his burning hand again, “are asking me to walk away before you break me.”

His eyes flickered red, then human, then red again. “Yes.”

But you shook your head. “I would rather walk through fire beside someone who sees me than kneel in a church that ignores my ache.”

He stilled, making the universe held its breath, and in that stillness, he looked at you as though you were made of light he was never meant to touch. As though he could finally understand why angels fell: not for rebellion.

You were the temptation, and yet, you were tempted by him. The irony burned; you were falling—not into hell, but for it.

Joshua stood at the edge, between damnation and redemption, and neither path looked holier than the way your eyes held his.

He moved closer, until there was no air between your breaths. Until his presence became heat, and that heat became longing. “You pray not to fall in love with the wrong person,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “And your God… not only didn’t answer—but made the wrong entity fall for you.”

His words struck deep. It wasn't with mockery, but a bitter kind of awe, as if even he couldn’t believe it. You looked him in the eye and reasoned, “At least it’s a wrong entity… and not a wrong human. For that, I do thank Him.”

That broke something in him, and in you. He touched your face slowly, hesitant, reverent. A hand that had once ended worlds now trembling to touch your cheek. His thumb brushed your lower lip, as if asking for permission he had never dared to take, and still, you didn’t pull away. You tilted your head into it; permission.

He exhales, ragged and stunned, like the contact burned him, and maybe it did. You don’t speak when his fingers trace the line of your throat. You just breathe as he studies your reaction like a man terrified of ruining what little good remains in his hands. “This is wrong,” he whispers. “You know that, don’t you?”

“But so was everything that hurt me before you,”

"You were never meant to be touched by fire like me."

“Then why,” you ask, your voice barely a thread, “does it feel like warmth for the first time?”

He leans in closer than close, and your lips don’t quite meet, but the air between you sizzles with the proximity. His breath is hot against your mouth, and when you close your eyes, you feel him flinch as if trying not to touch you, yet.

He’s trembling—not from lust, but from the sheer restraint of it. “I could destroy you,” he says against your lips. “Easily.”

You press forward, just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Then destroy me gently.”

And that undoes him. “Say it again,” he demands.

“Say what?”

“That you thank your God… for sending the wrong entity.” You smile, half-shattered and half-defiant. Something wild flickers in his eyes, something ancient and starving.

He lifts your hand and presses it to his bare chest. "Feel that?" he murmurs. His heart, thudding against your palm, which felt erratic and alive. "That’s for you. You, the one thing in this world I can't touch without burning, and still, like you said—I keep reaching." You are fully clothed, and yet you’ve never felt so bare beneath someone’s touch. And still, there is reverence. Always reverence. He touches you like a priest at the altar, like you are a sacrament he is forbidden to hold but worships anyway. “I never wept for heaven,” he confesses. “But you—you make me weep.”

You cling to him like an answer you weren’t supposed to find, and that was when the darkness crept in. It wasn't from him, but from the echoes of your past.

His breath hitched. “Don’t let me ruin you,” he rasped.

“Maybe I’m already ruined,” you said softly. “Or maybe you’re what kept me alive.” Your voice cracked at the edge of truth.

You remembered the nights you couldn’t breathe. The silence that swallowed you whole when no one came. The sharpness of words meant to raise you, but instead left bruises. You remembered the cutting cold of abandonment, the nights someone touched you when they shouldn’t have, the ache of a body that didn't feel like yours anymore, and the prayers you muttered into your pillow, prayers for sleep, for peace, for escape.

The world didn’t break you all at once. It did so slowly, cruelly, as if daring you to notice, and when the world forgot you, he didn’t.

You didn’t realize how you got back to breathing properly, how you started lighting candles instead of hiding from the dark, until you traced it all back—to him. To the nights he just sat there invisibly, to the moments his gaze, heavy and broken, told you you weren’t invisible, to the way he listened, even when you didn’t speak.

He never told you to forgive the world, he never asked you to stay. He simply healed. And it was that, that stitched you back together.

It was him. He was the answer your prayers were too broken to phrase. You gasp, not from fear but from remembering, and he sees it. He pulls back, alarmed, the heat in his eyes replaced with concern.

“You okay?” he asks while his eyes searching for discomfort or fear, and then forehead to yours again, grounding you.

Tears on your lashes now, you nod. “You brought me back,” you reply. “I didn’t realize it… but you did.” He presses a kiss to your temple, then your closed eyelids, like comfort; like home. But then he stiffens.

You feel the shift, and the warning. “I need you to walk away,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. “Right now. Before I break you for real. I’m close… too close. And I can’t—”

Before, there were moments when he almost reached for you, when his hand would hover an inch from yours, trembling like the air between you were on fire, like touching you might scorch him but not touching you might kill him slower; and there were moments where you swore you saw tears, not fire, behind his eyes.

He never kissed you, never let you fall. Never let himself fall either. And that was the tragedy, pretending the view was enough. But God, if staring could be a sin, you were both damned tenfold.

You tried to walk away before he even asked for it, days and months ago. You blocked his number, even though he never called. You stopped looking in shadows, stopped waiting for something you wouldn’t get even though you wanted, started keeping your rosary closer, like faith could be armor thick enough to keep his memory out—but mid-prayer, your hands would shake, trembling open in the air, and your heart, traitorous and tender, would whisper his name before your lips could finish the verse, and you hated yourself for it. And then, then you’d lift your head and there he would be, sitting quietly, as if he had never stopped watching, as if you belonged to a story that wouldn’t let itself end.

I told myself I wouldn’t come back, he said back then, his voice was barely there, but your God… He still listens to me when I ask not to love you anymore. He just won’t answer.

And that’s when you broke finally and violently—you screamed at him, threw the nearest book, told him he ruined you, told him you hated him for making you feel like this, for making you question everything you thought was sacred, for pushing you into a place where nothing felt safe, not even your own faith.

He just looked at you like he’s been waiting for this; for the rage, for the ache, for the truth—and he looked at you like you’re his religion he doesn’t believe he deserves but still kneels toward. I hate me too, he said, and it’s not an excuse or a plea, it’s a confession.

He doesn’t say he loves you. You don’t say you love him. Because that’s not the kind of story this is.

Maybe in another world, if the devil had a heart and heaven wasn’t so far out of reach, maybe you would’ve been his salvation, and he would’ve been your first prayer, and you, his last chance at being saved.

Even your God can’t hate me more than I hate myself for wanting you, he told you once, not under the safety of night, but in the unforgiving clarity of day, when sins cast long shadows and truth had nowhere to hide. He said it with that maddening calm, like a man already condemned, no longer pleading for heaven, but still aching for a taste of light before the final fall.

You didn’t touch him then, not for a long time. But you stood too close, and shared silence the way others shared skin. He hovered, always, his hand never quite reaching yours, as if even that would be too much; a blasphemy neither of you could bear. And somehow, that restraint, that impossible ache wrapped in reverence, felt holier than the kiss you never dared to steal.

You tried to tell yourself that he was the test. The devil’s whisper clothed in tenderness. That his eyes, red not with fire but with sorrow, were the markings of your downfall. But what kind of demon stood between you and temptation, not pushing you forward, but holding you back, whispering, you don’t deserve this kind of ruin, even as his own heart splintered beneath the weight of wanting you?

Because he did want you. And you—shaking, stubborn, shrouded in your prayers and your guilt and your half-sung hymns—you wanted him back.

You began to learn the small things first: that he didn’t like loud noises, that he found church bells both agonizing and beautiful, that he sometimes stared at stained glass for hours, chasing memories he couldn’t hold on to. He flinched at kindness, laughed like it surprised him. He didn’t sleep, instead, he watched; you, mostly—and when he thought you weren’t looking, he wept without tears.

He had a heart, you realized. That was the cruelest part. Even hell had a heart, and it beat for you.

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gaypirate420 · 2 years ago

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Stars // Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x gn!reader.

Summary: You're bored in class and doodle on Jasper's arm.

Fluff. Jasper's Battle Scars.

A yawn scaped your lips as you stared down at your teacher as she gives a lecture that is not registering on your mind at all. She's talking something about the history of Forks, you don't care, she's boring and it's making you sleepy.

You stared down at your notes, empty except for today's date, your eyes travel to your right to find Jasper actually paying attention and writing down what he finds useful.

"Isn't that a bit useless?" You whisper to him, Jasper's eyes meet yours and he smirks, he raised an eyebrow.

"Writing down notes for history, I mean, I don't think you need notes, you where there." You explained, whispering very low the last part, Jasper lean over closer to you.

"I don't, but you need them, darlin'." He whispered back with a small smile. You smiled and felt your cheeks warming up after hearing the nickname. Your hand went up to his messy hair and brush it down with your fingers, he smiled at your action and let you be.

He quickly stealed a kiss off your cheek and kept paying attention to the class as if nothing happened while you felt your cheeks burning.

Jasper saw how your attention went to anything but the class, you took your pencil case that's full of scrunched up post its and colorful pens and started doodling on your notebook.

Jasper doesn't mind helping you, he gets to spend more time with you and you get a handsome vampire tutor to explain you what you missed over and over if necessary and never gets angry.

The vampire looks back at the teacher, as he hears your pen moving all around the page.

He feels you lifting the sleeves of his sweater and cursing under your breath when you found his dress shirt.

"So many layers, can't even get cold." You murmur teasinly, if it wasn't from his increased hearing he would miss little things like this. Jasper smirks and continues to write before he feels the pen against his marble skin.

He stayed still for a second, his eyes moved to look at you.

You can't see them, his scars, not all of them. But the ones you do seem to be treated with extreme care as you started doodling on his pale arm.

They don't itch, they don't hurt, but, for him, it felt so nice, so important.

Jasper felt flustered, almost like his dead hearth skipped a beat at the sight of the tender scene.

You drew stars, it felt right. You smiled widely as you keep adding more and more, along with little hearts and even a flower on his forearm.

"Do you like your tattoos?" You whispered with the cutest smile he's ever seen. Jasper nodded.

"You're very talented, pumpkin." He could feel your heart skipping and of course your emotions going wild. He smiles as your happiness rub off on him.

"Now you do mine." You offered your pen to him, Jasper looked back at the teacher who spoke nonsense by now, he could make the teacher look like fool on another day for now he smiles and picks up the pen.

His icy cold fingers gently grabbed your arm, bringing it closer to him, you felt a shiver down your body at the sensation.

Your felt the tingly sensation of the pen against your arms, making you giggle silently.

Jasper drew flowers, some skulls that matched your wristband and of course, stars. Your eyes admired him, his blonde hair falling on his face and his furrowed eyebrows showing the absolute dedication to this task.

"There, sugar." He spoke gently, you looked at your arm and grabbed his hand. You saw his wrist and with your free hand you passed two of your bracelets from your wrist to his.

Jasper smiled again, it's odd for him to doing that so many times on so little time, he's getting giddy in the best way possible.

"Now we match." You spoke with an excited whisper. Jasper nodded, your eyes went wide with an idea.

"We should wear matching outfits one day." You smiled wider at the thought. The vampire nodded in agreement.

"That's a great idea, dear." His golden eyes looked at you before he leaned and kissed your lips.

"Mister Hale." The teacher called his name and he pulled away from you, your cheeks were burning again and you looked at the floor in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Miss." Jasper spoke with a victorious smirk as the teacher's frown disappears and turns into a smile, and of course the rest of the class magically turning their heads from you and Jasper.

"Don't worry about it." The teacher spoke with a following chuckle before returning to give her lecture. You giggle softly and shaked your head in mocking disapproval.

Jasper steals another quick peek on your lips before focusing back to writing notes for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Little fluffy one shot for y'all, I'm working on the requests do not worry. Hope you like it!

#jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock hale #jasper whitlock #jasper hale #jasper whitlock x reader #x male reader #jasper hale x y/n #jasper hale x male reader #effervescent #the twilight saga

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hypotenussy · 2 months ago

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I love trying to explain away plotholes/cartoon logic with actual answers that make sense in canon. The Mystery Shack layout makes no sense because the Shack is like a house of leaves situation where it is alive and loves its family and changes the layout based on whatever is required at the moment and part of the Weirdness is that nobody notices this unless they've been with the house for a really long time (Stan knows and just shrugs it off and doesn't mention it, Ford knows there is SOMETHING weird about the house but he can't pin it down and it drives him fucking insane). Idk how to fix the hot mess that is the gravity falls timeline though, I just know that I REFUSE to believe the grunkles are 58.

the Shack being sentient also adds an extra layer of fun to AUs where Bill starts living there because it just REALLY hates him in particular. He keeps tripping over loose floorboards he didn't know were there. The stairs are slightly steeper for him and him only. He keeps getting lost on the way to the bathroom. Once he gets phone privileges his internet is uniquely terrible. He is the only one who has these problems.

#gravity falls #gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls AU #<- sorta? to me it's canon compliant but i think some people would consider it an au and i also mentioned the bill redemption au so eh

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hamliet · 10 months ago

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Excited for your thoughts on the bnha ending

Also I’ll be honest I dropped this like 200 chs ago and I’ve just kept up through your metas because I was so disillusioned with the manga 🥲 I even sold my copies

it's a bit bittersweet to see bnha handled this way. sometimes i think we'll get a promising continuation from the author which is major cope for me T.T

fix its are otw but damn it doesn't mend that it ended this way rn

Diff asks, answering together.

Not saying too much because there's not much to be said besides that a friend who wrote a meta who won't post it (to all our detriment!) said it best last week: this story is cowardly. It's afraid to say or do anything because it wants to make everyone happy and realized it can't, so now it just wants to make no one upset, but everyone's upset.

I feel sad for Horikoshi. His recent interviews are quite depressing, and he seems burned out and done with his own manga in a way that makes Gege look enthusiastic about JJK.

Like, he doesn't confirm Touya dead or alive--which frankly I will take--but leaves it up to the reader to decide. Is the doctor's word final, or is Touya crying a symbol of healing since he previously couldn't? I know which one I choose to believe, but this way people can choose to fit the manga into their personal beliefs. He's trying to say nothing to avoid rocking the boat. And that's just sad, especially when we consider what likely contributed to that.

Which is to say, on a purely story level, the story has no power. There's being open to other perspectives and then there's not having a message. This is sadly the latter. It's a mess. Deku "heroes save" doesn't save, but he's still heroic, but that line isn't demolished or destroyed. AFO may be dead, but he won in the end because what he used to taunt Deku came true. Deku's character is nothing more than a vehicle--no struggle, no emotional climax, no principles. The ships are not even confirmed because the story can't even commit to the obvious Ochaco/Deku (which I dislike even!) for fear of angering other loud shippers. Society is the problem, but also the answer. The hero system is the problem, but also the answer. It's not a paradox because it doesn't explain the layers at play here. It's just noodles that have cooked far too long and turned into a congealed mess.

The only message I can take from it is "yay authoritarianism" which I'm going to hope Horikoshi is saying accidentally (and most likely is). It's as meaningless as GoT season 8, and TROS, and that's not good company to be in.

#ask hamliet #bnha critical mha critical #mha 430 #bnha 430

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emilyyyts · 9 months ago

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Chapter 17 foreshadowing/why I think Fushiguro Megumi might be in love with Itadori Yuuji

I've never understood the reason why Gege will add that line of Todo (i mean the special mention of the "it can be a guy")

The idea could've been perfectly understood even if the line wasn't added, but Gege purposefully sat on their desk and decided to draw this panel and add that specific line.

This means opening the possibility of Megumi liking guys, right?

I might be overthinking this, but text and dialogs are super important in mangas. Practically everything that it's said has (or should have) a purpose .

Dialogue scenes move the story forward, for instance, by giving important information about the characters, their relationships, the milieu, and the evolving events; they can also build suspense and reorientate the narrative.

So why then adding this?

We've seen several times that Fushiguro often thought of Itadori as a kind person—even since the beginning.

(It's literally Itadori being described)

If we go back some chapters, we can easily notice this is how Itadori is first introduced in the Manga: as a compassionate person, a good person with the intent of helping others.

In fact, Compassion its a highlighted feature Itadori has always showed through the entire series.

Even at Sukuna's final moment, he shows himself compassionate offering help to him.

Many had thought Itadori fits that description of Megumi, and now I'll explain why I think this is a possibility.

We know the relationship between them its centric in the story —it practically started because Megumi decided he wanted to save Yuuji.

We've see them caring for each other over and over again, many decisions they take are influenced by the thought of benefiting/trying to help the other.

And then we got Itadori really trying hard for an entire arc to save Fushiguro, and when the opportunity comes, he tells him it's okay if he doesn't want to live anymore, but at the same time addmiting he will miss him if he goes.

This scales to the point its practically the love they hold for each other that helps to completely defeat Sukuna

I would also like to add this panel and why I think Fushiguro was projecting himself with the desire of his sister being with someone like Itadori.

The line is Fushiguro stating he wanted his sister —a person we know he LOVES and thinks very highly of— to be with someone as good as Itadori.

He thinks very highly of the two of them.

Theyre both good persons so they deserve each other?

Therefore, he projects himself that way:

He might think it's Tsumiki who deserves to be with Yuuji because she was good, and Yuuji is good too, so logically they deserve each other, right?

He loves Yuuji, but he might not be worth his love because it was him who introduced Yuuji into the jujutsu world (a painful life full of lost and worries).

But maybe someone else might be worth, maybe his sister.

This is how he imagine a perfect peaceful life, he's trasmitng and projecting his desires.

It's not her who wants to be with Yuuji. It's you.

So gathering all the pieces together gives us the big picture, and Megumi's words might feel more like a foreshadowing of their relationship rather than simple words for introducing Todo in the Manga (tho it works in both ways). The response Megumi gives open the possibility for such feelings between the two of them.

So basically, everything we saw to this point that involves the two of them has been development and profundization in their relationship for this last punchline we got of Megumi realizing that he wants to keep trying because its worth living out of love

After all, love IS a centric theme in the story. It's mentioned several times along the series. Gojo describes it as the worst curse, Itadori thinks Sukuna acts that way because of the lack of it. And if we add this new layer, Megumi thinks its woth living out of it.

Ultimately, what's going on between them is inherently love— aside if it's or not romantic

I can't fully explain my ideas cause i can't put them in orden, sorry :/

This is just my opinion btw 🤷‍♀️ also there's only 3 chapters left so I might end up as a big fucking clown 🤡 literally anything could happen but we'll see

Anyway, tell me your thoughts on this 👇

#jujustu kaisen #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #itafushi #itadori x fushiguro #jjk spoilers #jjk manga #or is just me overthinking #jjk #as long as Yuji doesn't end up with a 0 chemistry out of nowhere wife and two kids #cause what he has with Megumi is just beautiful #and if they dont end up together it'd be a completely waste #sir they're in love

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ninupi · 4 months ago

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could i request a manjiro fic or headcanon for akaashi!reader with the childhood best friends trope? yk, that they meet thanks to shinichiro and takeomi. i love your work! ♥️

best friends | s. mikey

₊˚⊹♡ tags; fem!reader, reader is kinda mean to Mikey, she's lowk a tsundere, she's also crybaby so if you don't like then don't read! imo its justified tho idk, she's ALSO a bit embarrassing, reader gets a bit insecure with the way she acts, she's got layers to her LMAO yeah just lmk if anything else

₊˚⊹♡ wc; 2,200+

₊˚⊹♡ a/n; this came out a lot more angsty then I intended LOL sorry about that

1998

You and Emma watched from a distance while her brother and your brother started play fighting. You noticed Emma shaking her head with a sigh. "Boys are so stupid… c'mon y/n." You let her drag you away, but your eyes stayed on the two boys until you couldn't see them anymore.

"Haru is stupid. I think Mikey is cool, though." Your words make Emma stop in her tracks and give you a disgusted look. "Ew!! What are you talking about?" She drops your hand, waiting for you to explain, but you just stare at her, speechless, not believing you said that out loud to her.

"Y/n do you like my brother?" she questions with that same disgusted tone from before, you quickly shake your head reaching for her hand again. She quickly pulls away not believing you and runs back in the direction of the two boys.

"Mikey!!! Y/n likes you!!" you quickly run after her trying to stop her from saying anything to the boy "Emma shut up!!! That's not true I don't like him!!"

2008

You're walking to Emma's house after school while she rambles about how Draken still hasn't asked her out but your thoughts are on a different blonde. "Are you listening y/n?" you turn to Emma who has a small pout on her lips.

You give her a sweet smile "Not at all, no" you laugh as her jaw drops and she softly whacks you on the arm "I'm sick of you talking about Draken! I'm just going to tell him to ask you out already" you groan throwing your head back to look at the sky.

"No you can't do that!" She panics grabbing onto your arm as a plea "And why not?" you shake her hold off running up ahead a bit and begin walking backwards "B-because then he'll just feel forced and it'll be like he didn't really want too!"

You roll your eyes at her ridiculous thinking while turning around "Emma are you dumb or are you stupid?" you can't help the grin on your face at her gasp but quickly start running when you hear her start to chase after you "I'm not dumb! Or stupid!"

"Yeah your not, but Draken is! Seriously I'm just going to tell him to ask you out!" You call out to the girl behind you "You do that and I'll tell Mikey you like him!" This immediately makes you stop running to face the girl behind you who bumps into you not expecting you to stop.

"I don't like Mikey, would you drop that?" you grumble gently pushing the girl off you "Oh come on y/n, why are you lying?" you give her a disgusted look before continuing in the direction of her house "Y/n~" she whines grabbing onto your arm.

It's been 10 years since you've 'liked' Mikey, and in your opinion a kiddy crush doesn't count "I was like 7 Emma, I don't like him anymore. I'm not you" you saying hinting at her life long crush on her brothers best friend.

He cheeks softly flush before she sighs "I know your lying, I just don't know why...I don't care if you like my brother anymore!" you give her an odd look "Seriously why do you think I like him still? That was like 10 years ago!" you can't help but laugh at the absurd assumption.

She gives you a look before a teasing smile forms on her face "You know we have a lot of sleepovers right?" your eyebrows furrow waiting for her to further explain "Did you know you talk in your sleep y/n?" This reveal makes your ears heat up.

"What are you talking about?" you question while you guys finally get to her house "You know," she shrugs opening the gate while walking in "No, I don't know!" you question urgently wanting to know what she's talking about.

"I like to talk about Draken while I'm awake, but you love to talk about Mikey while you're asleep." She giggles opening the front door stepping inside "Stop lying that's not funny, I don't sleep talk!" you insist hoping she's lying to get you to reveal the truth.

"You do sleep talk" You quickly turn after taking your shoes off to see Mikey eating a taiyaki giving you a blank look "I told you" Emma nudges while walking further into her house "You didn't know you slept talk?" Mikey questions with a full mouth giving you a confused look.

You stare at him a bit wide eyed while Emma smirks from behind him "N-no I had no idea I slept talk..." you mutter trying to walk past him but he only follows "That's so funny, I'm always talking to you when your sleeping" he laughs causing you to turn towards him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" you interrogate him hoping you've only exposed your secret to Emma. "I mean its the only time you actually talk to me and aren't mean to me" he explains looking at you up and down motioning towards your hostile attitude towards him.

"I'm not mean to you" you mutter turning away from him hoping to get away from the conversation "You're a lot nicer when you're sleeping" You can hear the pout in his voice and when you turn towards him he has an unreadable look on his face.

After leaving Mikey in the hallway alone you and Emma headed to her room to complete your homework, then you insisted on staying in there to hide away from Mikey. But after a few hours Shinichiro had called the two of you out to go eat dinner.

Once you entered the kitchen you noticed that your bother and some of his other friends had shown up while you two (mostly just you) were hiding away in Emma's room. "How long have you been here?" Haru gives you a suspicious look while pointing at you.

"She came right after school, you know she didn't know she slept talk?" you slightly jump at Mikey appearing from behind you "Would you shut up about that?" you bark at him only to back away when he gives you a 'told you so' look about your conversation earlier.

"She's always slept talk, it's freaky" you quickly reach over the table to yank on Haru's long hair "You're freaky!" he glares at you planning to do the same to you "Hey! No fighting, please!" you turn to Shinichiro who has a desperate look on his face and quietly mutter an apology.

"It's funny, we're always talking to you when you're sleeping" Baji laughs causing everyone to softly laugh "It's not funny, why do you guys even do that?" you groan at this embarrassing conversation "Because you'll tell us anything when your asleep!" Takemitchi adds causing you to glare at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" you notice his smile immediately drop at your tone "Nothin- you always tell me how much you love me" Mikey casually says taking a bite of his food while everyone stares at him shocked.

You immediately stand up from the table feeling overwhelmed at all the eyes on you "Wait y/n- not now Emma" you brush her hand off you, heading towards the front door quickly slipping your shoes on walking outside.

Exactly how long has Mikey known about your crush on him? How long has everyone known about your crush on him? You thought you were doing a good job at hiding it just to find out you babble about it while you're asleep apparently. The thought makes you want to cry, it's so humiliating.

Everyone; Emma, Haru, Baji, Mikey himself knew about your crush and chose not to say anything to you. You guess that was his way of rejecting you just now, telling you he knew this entire time but didn't pursue anything. But how could you blame him?

Like he said earlier, you're always mean to him, it's not like you meant to be mean to him. Well...you did but only because you didn't want him thinking you liked him. Looking back on it now, it was stupid, Emma's always sweet with Draken and he loves her too.

Maybe you should've just been like Emma and been to sweet to Mikey, then maybe he'd actually return your feeling. All these what ifs make your head hurt and your eyes sting with tears, not wanting to cry you look up the dark sky hoping it'll stop your tears from falling.

Instead it just makes your tears fall after down your cheeks while you groan in annoyance 'this is nobody's fault besides my own' you think to yourself while bringing your hands up to your cheeks to dry them. "Why are you crying?"

You quickly turn to see Mikey with a confused but also somewhat sad look on his face "I'm not crying" you mutter turning away from him to quickly dry your tears. You can hear him slowly shuffling towards you "You're a shit liar" he whispers when he finally stands next to you.

You softly glare at him wanting to cry all over again seeing his face "What do you want Mikey?" you sigh with no bite in your tone which surprises him a bit. "I wanna know why you're crying," he says again with more emphasis as if he can't piece together the reason for your tears.

'I'm crying because you don't like me back' you cringe to yourself deciding not to say that outloud and save yourself further embarrassment "Mikey..." you sigh not wanting to explain and hoping he's just being dense "What? Seriously I want you to tell me why your crying" he says a bit agitated.

You furrow your brows at his tone now, does he just want you to say it out loud? Is he trying to get payback for your attitude for the last few years "You're being mean Mikey..." you mutter before you can stop yourself and you can't help the tears that sting your eyes once again.

He takes a defensive step back "Mean? How the hell am I being mean? I'm trying to help you!" you take a step closer to him "You're being mean! You know why I'm crying!" you point an accusatory finger at him.

"I don't know why you're crying! That's why I'm asking!" he argues throwing his arms to the side, you look at his face for any sign of him lying but all you see is confusion and annoyance "God you're so stupid" you mutter "Ok fine" he bites turning away heading back towards the house.

"Wait Mikey" you sigh realizing your words came out harsher then you intended "Mikey I'm sorry, come back!" you call out as he ignores you "Mikey please!" you can't help the small sob that leaves your lips as he gets further away.

Hearing your small cries makes Mikey stop in his tracks and turn towards you "I'm sorry, please come back" you're no longer trying to hide your tears, just hoping he'll give you another chance and come back to talk.

You watch as his face goes from a deep scowl to a frown and he slowly makes his way back to you "What's wrong? Seriously, why are you crying?" he genuinely questions unsure of the reason for all these tears "I'm sorry Mikey" you repeat over and over again.

"It's fine you call me stupid all the time- No I'm sorry Mikey. For all of that, for always calling you stupid, for always telling you to shut up, always being mean! I'm sorry..." you sob reaching for his hands and holding them close to your heart.

When he pulls his hands away it makes you want to cry even harder but before you can he quickly pulls you into an awkward hug. "What are you talking about? I don't actually care about that, that's just how you are, I'm used to it." he mutters squeezing you a bit tighter.

"I'm crying because you don't like me" you mutter getting over your embarrassment and just hoping to go back to how things were "Of course I like you y/n- No Mikey, like me-love me how I love you" you sigh wrapping your arms around him enjoying the embrace for the time being.

Mikeys silence makes your heart hurt but you only close your eyes and hug him tighter "I do love you stupid, I thought you knew that..." you try to pull away from the hug but he keeps a tight grip on you "You never hug me, let me enjoy this" he sighs taking a deep breath.

"But Mikey y-you love me? Why haven't you said anything?" you urge wanting to see his face "I seriously thought you knew, I always tell you when you're sleeping" You want to punch him in the stomach at his obvious tone.

'I'm sleeping though, how the hell would I know!?" you question softly jabbing at his stomach causing him to laugh softly "You always say it back! I just thought you were too embarrassed to say it when your fully awake" he explains grabbing your hands to stop them from touching his ticklish sides.

You think back to see if you even remember whispering it in your sleep but nothing comes up. Except the few times you've had dreams where Mikeys there, then it hits you, you two always exchange 'I love you's' in those 'dreams'.

You groan in embarrassment at the revelation trying to hide your face in Mikeys embrace "What happened? Finally remembering how you tell me you love me in your sleep" he grins trying to get a good look at your face "Mikey shut up!" you whine rushing his face away making him laugh loudly.

#ninupi #writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #fem reader #tokyo rev x reader #mikey sano #mikey x reader #mikey x you #mikey x y/n #manjiro sano #sano manjiro #sano mikey x reader #sano mikey manjiro #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x you #tokyo manji gang #tokyo revengers sano manjiro

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