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soulofapatrick · 8 months

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Letters to a Lover - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You find a pile of letters addressed to you on Joel’s desk, your curiosity gets the better of you and you take a peek to find them

Words: 1.5k

Warning: None, maybe a little angst

Notes: Had this one in drafts for a while

Y/N’s POV

Tommy’s set me to search Joel’s place, he’s been gone too long and we’re starting to get worried. His house is quiet, the only sound is my heart pounding in my chest like a caged bird. The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden hue over the settlement of Jackson. My steps are quiet, reverent, as if I’m treading on sacred ground. I’ve been close to Joel for a long time now, and although we’ve shared stories, laughter and moments of quiet understanding there’s always been an unspoken something lingering between us.

My gaze sweeps across the familiar setting, uneasy that Joel and Ellie aren’t here to welcome me into their home. The house hasn’t changed one bit: Ellie’s clothes strewn about the place; books and drawings and art supplies across all tables and Joel’s spare hunting rifles leant against the wall but they’re not there. Tommy’s concern hangs in the air like a heavy fog, and as I step further into the house, a mixture of emotions swirl through me.

My eyes finally settle on Joel’s table, it’s rustic and he built it groom scratch himself , but, that’s not what catches my attention. No, it’s the stack of what seem to be letters sticking out from one of the shelves, my name written in Joel’s messy scrawl. I’m standing by his desk in three quick strides, curiosity gnawing at my gut. I hesitate once they’re in my hands, fingers brushing over the indentations of my name. I have to know what he’s wanting me to know but then again… it’s Joel. Sweet, humble and reserved Joel. The paper feels delicate, as if it holds secrets that could change everything. My heart races as I contemplate whether to open them, whether to dive into the depths of Joel’s unspoken thoughts.

I place the letters back on the table except the top one and with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, I unfold it. The words appear before my eyes, elegant scrawl etched into the paper. As I read, my breath catches in my throat, and my heartbeat seems to synchronise with the rhythm of the words before me. They’re confessions. Confessions of his love towards me and how he feels like he can never tells me how he feels as I will never reciprocate. They’re confessions so genuine and pure, pouring forth from a heart that’s been hurt too many times to trust again. The ink on the page seems to vibrate with his emotions, and as I read more and more, my heart swells more and more. I finally know Joel reciprocates those feelings I’ve had towards him for years.

I’m falling into Joel’s old armchair, the strong scent of him surrounding me and his words seeping into my bones. The sun’s glow outside begins to mellow as time stretches and contracts, and I find myself lost in a world of emotions that I never imagined could exist between us. These letters are a journey, a map of his thoughts and feeling, and I can’t help but be moved by his sincerity and honesty.

As I reach the last letter, the air around me seems to shimmer with a newfound understanding. The truth that’s always been there, hovering just below the surface, is now laid bare before me. A quiet resolve settles within me, a sense of clarity that I’ve since long had. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath, letting his words settle within me. His final words in his last letter imprinted into my brain.

I love you with every fibre in my being. I have never loved anyone in the way I have loved you and it scares me half to death. You’re more than half my age and it feels so wrong but being around you feels oh so right. I’m not one for words but I could write letter after letter on how I feel for you. I know you will never see these but I want you to be mine, forever and ever.

The sun’s golden light has almost completely fades when the door creaks open, revealing Joel’s form in the doorway. He steps inside, honey eyes locking onto me with a mixture of surprise and something deeper reflected in them. After almost four years I know what that look is: love.

My heart beats a little faster, but I hold his gaze, a smile smile tugging at the corner of my lips at the sight of him. No matter how dirty and messy he is, he still looks hot as ever. His boots are caked in mud, jeans a little covered too, his plaid shirt is unbuttoned three down to reveal tanned and freckled skin beneath. His face is flushed, tan skin tinged red, his salt and pepper hair is tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it and his eyes… they sparkle a golden colour in the last of the light.

“Joel,” My voice comes out in a chokes whisper that has a crease forming between his brows until his eyes settle on the letters scattered across his desk and the one currently sat in my hand. He’s turning to leave when I say his name again, pulling myself up from his armchair, “Joel, look at me.”

Joel’s shoulders raise defensively and he takes half a step away from me before he’s letting out what sounds like all the air in his lungs, shoulders and head slumping in defeat. As soon as that weatherworn face is in my vision again I’m lurching forwards, letter falling from my grip, to hold him. He stiffens before melting into the hug, beard tickling my neck and breath hot against my collarbone, a soft and very embarrassed groan leaving his lips and it’s like that small sound breaks my resolve. Before I can help myself, I’m tangling a hand in his already messy hair and yanking, almost painfully, until his chapped lips are crashing against mine with some desperation.

The kiss, at first, is a tumultuous clash of emotions. It’s a mixture of longing and fear, passion and hesitation, all bundled together into a single moment of vulnerability. Our lips find each other with an urgency that belies the unspoken words between us. The taste of salt from tears mingles with the warmth of our mouths as we hold onto each other, desperate for some form of reassurance. Joel’s rough beard grazing my skin as our mouth move together, and his hand tentatively find their way around my waist. The initial stiffness in his body gradually gives way to a shared embrace, as if we’re both afraid to let go, as if this kiss is a lifeline that tethers us to a newfound reality.

When our lips finally part, Joel’s forehead rests against mine, and his breath is ragged, matching the rapid beat of our hearts. He whispers, his voice trembling with vulnerability, “I was scared to tell you… I thought… I’m too old for you to want me back.”

I brush my thumb gently over his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and smile softly, “You could never be anything less than amazing to me. Of course I want you back Joel, I thought the flirting…”

A soft giggle escapes my lips as Joel's incredulous question hangs in the air. "You've been flirting?" he asks, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and amusement.

I nod, a playful smile dancing on my lips. "Yes, Joel. Those little teases, the stolen glances, the way my heart raced when you were around... it was all because I couldn't help but be drawn to you.

Joel chuckles, a warm, genuine sound that fills the room and eases the last of the tension between us. "Well, in that case," he says, his voice filled with newfound confidence, "I guess I'll have to up my flirting game.”

And with that, he leans in, capturing my lips in another kiss. This time, it's softer, sweeter, and filled with the promise of something beautiful to come. Our laughter and love intermingle in that moment, and it feels like the beginning of a wonderful journey together. As we break the kiss, our smiles say more than words ever could. In each other's arms, we've found understanding and acceptance, and it's a treasure worth cherishing. The future may hold uncertainties, but right now, in this shared embrace, we know that whatever comes our way, we'll face it together.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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kit-and-wolfe · 2 months

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Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

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Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

#across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie fluff #hobie brown #astv hobie #spider punk #au spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel fanfic #hobie fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #gabriel o'hara

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 2 years

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Bes’laar

A DIN DJARIN X FEMALE READER DRABBLE

A/N: I know I have about 8 million wips just dangling in the wind right now but this scene popped into my head the moment I first saw this piece by @stealyourblorbos and it just demanded to be written. It’s very different than my usual style, but I had fun switching things up a little. Any and all feedback on this one is greatly appreciated!! (Bes’laar means music in mando’a.)

A/N 2: Jules, thank you for creating and sharing your incredible art with all of us. Your attention to detail and the way you capture so much life in your paintings is absolutely mind blowing. I tried to just be normal about this and leave a comment reblog but my brain said no so here we are. I hope you enjoy because this is all your fault 😉

Warnings: Naked Din Djarin. I repeat: Naked Din Djarin. Discussion of injuries/scars. This is actually quite tame

Word count: 1k

-- -- --

“That’s healing well.”

He snaps his head up from where he’s been bent over, toweling off. Your voice still startles him when it hits his ear directly. Not in a shrill or unpleasant way. He’s just used to it coming through the audio receptors in his helmet, the layers of it separated and analyzed, scanned for signs of deception or fear or heightened adrenaline. Not that she's ever lied to me. In truth, he has no idea what you look or sound like when you lie, helmet or no. It’s one of the things he admires most about you - one of the things that made him fall in love with you in the first place.

The sound of your voice startles him the same way sunlight does when he reaches for something and a sliver of skin is exposed on his wrist between his sleeve and glove. Or when he tilts his head at a certain angle and raindrops hit the slice of his neck that peeks over the cowl of his cape. It’s like something his ears have almost forgotten, like a half remembered song, like music he doesn’t know the words to but that feels familiar. The sound is softer this way, warmer than it is when he’s wearing the helmet. Especially now in the fogged up ‘fresher, condensation beading on the mirror, the metallic fixtures, the plates of his armor that are stacked up off to the side of the faucet. Especially now, when he’s wearing nothing but a few stray droplets of water and you’re wearing nothing but that slate gray and obsidian robe.

If there is shock etched into his expression when he sees you standing there, it's only at the realization that this is normal now. That he can show himself - all of himself - to you without hesitation or guilt or shame. That he can see you and hear you and feel you without barriers. Because we said forever. If there was shock on his face it’s gone now, replaced with adoration, devotion, hunger.

You step into the small space and he straightens up as you reach his side. The scent of your shampoo - or maybe it’s your lotion, he’s not sure, all he knows is that it’s intoxicating when it isn’t being filtered through his helmet - fills his nose as your fingertips come up to his left bicep, slipping over his still damp skin, following the shape of his freshest scar. His right hand finds your waist, thumb moving in an arch to bunch the silky fabric beneath it and he swallows hard.

“It is,” he agrees when he remembers that you’re talking about the gash on his arm that you’d sewn up just a week ago.

“Does it still hurt?” Your free hand comes up to his temple, fingernails combing through his hair and over his scalp, and he thinks he might implode as you drag them back behind the shell of his ear. His thumb sinks more deeply into your flesh. If it still hurt he wouldn’t know. Not while you were touching him. But it doesn’t. It hasn’t since she took care of it.

“No.” He shakes his head and your lips twitch into a small smile that tightens his chest. “No, I can hardly feel it.”

“Good.” You lean forward and drop your lips to the edge of the wound, where the neat row of sutures stops, and he lets out a forceful breath that he knows you feel on the nape of your neck from the way that the hair there pricks up.

At first he’d been worried about what your reaction to seeing the several scars he’d collected in his life would be. They’re …not pretty. Though a sparse handful of the oldest nicks and cuts that littered his body came when he was still being taught and trained by the Children of the Watch and therefore had been treated by hands other than his own, most of them had been inflicted much later in his life - when the Mandalorian had been alone.

That meant that he’d sometimes had to patch himself up with his off hand, or by using a mirror to see what he was doing, or while trying to pilot his ship away from enemy fire. That meant messy stitches that left jagged scars, and while he knew there were plenty in the galaxy who would be turned on by the way they criss-crossed his torso and limbs, he only cared what you thought when you saw them.

“Mind them? They mean that you lived, Din.” That was what you’d told him the first time you’d slept together, when he’d still needed to cover his face but could let you see the rest of him. “Every single one of these represents a time when… when you might not have made it. And then we never would have met.” You had kissed the most prominent one then, lips lingering over the raised skin. “So no, I don’t mind them. I love them.”

It had been early in your relationship but that was the moment that Din Djarin knew that if he was meant to be with anyone, he’d found that person.

I found her.

You lift your head and he finally brings his left hand to join the other at your waist. Toying with the tie that keeps your robe closed, he winds it around his pointer finger. “I was just finishing up in here. Drying off.” Another twirl gathers more of the sleek material and he tugs you closer, the sudden motion startling a surprised sound out of you. There it is again. His name leaves your lips as you place both palms flat on his chest. Like music.

He grins, ducking his head so that he can speak right into your ear. “It’s going to be a while before we stay somewhere with a bed this big again.” He pauses to listen to the way your breathing hitches when you catch his meaning. “We should put it to good use.”

-- -- --

thank you for reading! if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form attached to my masterlist. :)

tagging: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @pheedraws @beautifuldesastre @alraedesigns @valkblue @fific7 @commanderlola @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @hp-hogwartsexpress @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @xasement

#din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fic #mando x female reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanart #tattooed din #stealyourblorbos is T A L E N T E D .#fic inspired by art #this is my 1:15 am love letter to both Jules and Din

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minhosimthings · 6 months

Text

Hold me Without Hurting Me

Chapter 5: Marigold and Maladies

A/N: In which an old friend fills your life with flowers again, along a bumpy sided road.

Pairings: Ceo!Jay × Ceo!fem!reader, includes rest of Enhypen and certain other groups

Warnings: angst-fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to enemies to fake dating to enemies to lovers, Mentions of food and alcohol, swearing, nothing much but it's a bumpy story., Reader kinda has a breakdown in this cause she has a fear of thunderstorms

Story prompt: If I had a flower for every time I fell in love with you, I would walk in my garden forever. (This story is based on the language of flowers.)

SERIES MASTERLIST

Anemoia is a word which means to have nostalgia for a home. And that's how you felt right now, going through the streets of Washington DC. You never realised how beautiful Seattle actually was, before now. How could you though? Having spent all of your time in America stuck in your hotel room, not having a chance to escape, thanks to your workaholic mind. But as you looked out the window of the car you were riding in, you realised how serene it felt. You had read earlier from a Wikipedia page, that Seattle had been one of the fastest growing cities in all of America and you had expected it to be the normal grey city, filled with sweaty office workers will dull faces, and the usual cranky old people moving here and there. What you didn't expect to see however, were bright New York-esque signs, kids and adults skateboarding all over the streets, laughing as they tripped and fell down, bright farmer's markets, sports centres, from where you could hear the noises of balls bouncing, and most importantly, the numerous flower shops littering the streets, making them light up like the stars light up the night sky, with aster and marigold in every single corner.

"Admiring the view, my yarrow?" Jay spoke up, not looking up from the magazine he was reading, sitting next to you in the car. You frowned at him and didn't say anything, not wanting to cause a fight, which you knew you would lose. "Are you not talking to me now, babe?" Jay looked up at you and inched closer. "We're supposed to be a couple, Y/N. Act like it." He whispered into your ear, making sure the driver of the limo didn't hear anything. You froze up on your seat, feeling his husky voice near your ear, and his hot breath hit your skin like an avalanche. "I'm sorry babe." You immediately got into character, "Where are we going by the way?" Jay smiled at your question. "You'll see." He winked at you, making you internally gag. He had forced you to come out with him on a 'date', so as to make your relationship more believable, the reason being to tempt the paps. You figured that out from the very vague answer he gave which consisted of the words, 'news', 'paps' and 'lawyer'.

"Jay just tell me where we're going you know I'm impatient." You whined, crossing your arms, "I swear to God if you're taking me to an opera house-" "We're not going to an opera house." Jay stated, looking out the window. You took a second to admire his sharp jawline, as he raised his chin. "We're going to a museum. And before you interrupt-" he turned his head back to your opening mouth, "-yes we're going to The Seattle Art Museum." Your mouth dropped at his words. Going to an art museum in America was one of the major things on your bucket list. And going to The Seattle Art Museum, which consisted of some of the greatest American works of art?

"Oh wow." You said, yawning, "great place for a date Jay, very romantic." You tempted him, making your tone sarcastic. In reality you were over the moon to go to the museum, but you wanted to see whether Jay actually remembered anything from your teenage years. "Oh shut up." Jay said, checking his watch, "We all know you're obsessed with art history. You wouldn't stop talking about it when we were kids remember? The meaning of The Girl With The Pearl Earring is still etched in my brain Y/N." Your heart slightly jumped a bit at his sentence but you barely had time to say anything in return, as the car had stopped in front of a magnificent building, with a painting of a man in black on it.

Your car door opened, and you stepped out, still staring open mouthed at the building. Jay looked at you from behind, taking note of the fact that you didn't notice him opening the car door for you. "My lady." He extended his arm to you, which you took, while internally cringing. "Jay can we stick to one nickname please?" You asked, entering the gate of the museum and immediately being hit with the smell of perfume. "Why should I?" Jay laughed, "Cause your single ass can't handle all the love?" You rolled your eyes and went to the front counter, to pay for the tickets. "Two tickets please." You said to the smiling lady, clad in uniform, "And put it on this card." "Baby I'll pay this time." Jay slapped away your hand which was extending your credit card. The lady at the counter looked at your with curious eyes, as she slowly took Jay's black card, inserting it into card machine and handing you two blue coloured tickets with a robotised, 'enjoy your visit'.

"Jay I could have paid you know? I'm rich too." You scoffed as you entered the main hall. Jay didn't say anything instead choosing to stare at the map of the building which he had gotten at the front desk. "Should we head to the libraries first?" He squinted at the map. Struggling to keep your laughter in, you reached into your bag and pulled out something, giving it to Jay. "Here dumbass." You gave him the glasses, "Still haven't left the habit of leaving your glasses at home, Mr Four Eyes?" Jay blinked at you slowly and took the glasses, swiftly putting them on. "How the fuck did you get my glasses?" He quizzed you, once he out the map back into his pocket and climbed up the escalator. "Your assistant gave them to me, right before we left." You stated simply to which Jay replied with a simple 'Ah'.

"Woah Jay look!" You excitedly pointed towards a painting, and rushed towards it. The museum was fairly empty today, so no one saw you rushing up to a painting like a child going up to his mother. "Jay oh my god is this an original?" You read the marking below the painting, which read, 'Judgement of Paris'.

You stared up at the magnificent painting. Three naked people along with a knight and his squire stood in a gloomy scene, with a tiny cupid peaking in from the far left of the scene. Quite a chaotic painting, you thought, even though you had analysed this painting atleast more than a thousand times. "Isn't that by that man- what's his name." Jay came up to you, also looking at the painting. He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Lucas Chranach The Elder? That's his painting." You looked at him with widened eyes. "Since when do you know so much about paintings?" Jay shrugged his shoulders and instead moved on to the next painting, with you following behind, still looking intently at The Judgement Of Paris.

"Ma'am please save me this girl is so pretty what do I say." You were sitting on the rooftop of the museum, sipping some cool wine and enjoying the flowing breeze as Jay sat in front of you, immersed in a pamphlet of the museum. You tried not to stare at his adorable face, the way he scrunched his face up and read the information written on the green piece of paper. As if to provide a miracle, Jungwon had called you, panicking about talking to Jay's apparently amazing secretary, who he was currently eating ice cream with. "Jungwon calm down." You tried hard not to giggle, "Hand the phone to Jay's secretary once." Jay looked up at the sound of his name. "Hey Kayla, it's Kayla right?" You spoke into the phone with a smile on your face, which Jay couldn't help but adore (although he tried very hard). The way your eyes lit up at every word you said to Kayla, the way you mischievously giggled when you told her what Jungwon was allergic to, the way you absent-mindedly brushed your hair behind your ears, it was like April coming early.

"Expect your secretary to be absent for a few days Jay." You put the phone down and put on a proud face. "Is she going to date your secretary?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You shrugged your shoulders, with a little "Maybe!" "Good." Jay stated, looking at the skyline, "I've been telling her to take a break. She works too hard."

"Oh shit." You gasped out. The sky had been cloudy all day, but you never expected it to burst out this suddenly. "Come on." Jay got up from his seat, "let's get inside." The rain started pouring faster and harder as you rushed to the metal door, and tried to open it. "Fuck." You cursed under your breath, "Fuck Jay it's stuck." Jay bumped you aside gently and tried to open it, but his efforts went to vain. "Did-" he looked at you, "Did they lock it?" You glanced at the stuck doorknob. There had been no one on the rooftop except for you two, so it was a very plausible explanation for them to have locked it. "Maybe they-" "Mr Park! Miss Yang!" You heard a voice call out from the other side of the door. "Yes we're here!" Jay shouted back, putting his hand on the door. "Sir, Ma'am please hold on! The doorknob is stuck! We'll get you out in no time!"

"Great!" You threw your hand up, shouting your words so as to be heard under the pitter patterof the rain. "Now what do we- AH!" Thunder had just erupted across the atmosphere bringing with it, lightning which painted the sky with dandelions. "Oh shit." You mumbled under your breath, covering up your ears tightly, keeping the tears in your eyes. "Oh no no no this can't be happening." Heavy breaths started to engulf you, and you felt suffocated as your vision starting to blur. "Y/N?" Jay said, uneasily, "Y/N hey hey hey look at me. It's just thunder." He rubbed circled onto your back and whispered calming words into your ear as you tried hard to ignore the booming sound of the earth. "Jay-" "Yeah I'm here I'm here calm down shh."

Thankfully, before you could collapse onto the ground and melt into a puddle, you heard a clicking sound. The door had opened up to reveal two workers of the museum clad in black suits, quickly ushering you and Jay in, and handing you both towels. "Thank you." Jah thanked them absent-mindedly, his attention still on your shivering body. "Sir we apologise deeply for this." One of the workers bowed deeply. Jay brushed the apology aside however. "Forget about that. Where can we sit her down please?" He supported you onto him, and you accepted the favour, putting your weight onto his. "This way Sir."

"That was the worst thing I've done in my entire life." You sighed out, with Jay's jacket tightly wrapped around you. The rain was still pouring hard, and as you were halfway to your hotel, you noticed that all the flower shops were still open, the owners getting drenched in the rain, with tarpaulin covering their flowers. "Worse than breaking up with Ricky on graduation day?" Jay chuckled. You slapped his arm tightly and scoffed. "His ass couldn't handle this beautiful body." "So you did fuck him! Bitch, you told me you were a virgin!" Jay pointed a finger at you accusingly. "You actually believed that? Damn you're gullible." You snorted. "Oh we're here." Jay panted through a fit of laughter as you arrived at the hotel, to find Jungwon and Kayla waiting and looking very worried, and fiddling with their fingers.

"Miss Yang!" "Mr Park!" Both of them called out at the same time, running up to you and Jay, as you got out of the car and swiftly moved into the hotel, not wanting to get more wet. "Ma'am do you want to head up to your room or do you have any more discussions with Mr Park?" Jungwon meekly asked, trotting behind you. "Jay, darling, do you have anything else to say?" You asked Jay, throwing him off guard. He stared at you with a puzzling look, before quickly realising why, as he looked over your right shoulder. Camera men. News reporters. Hell even anchors were there. "No baby." He quickly came up to you, and wrapped his hand around your waist, "You should go up and rest babe, you're gonna catch a cold." You simply hummed and smiled and were about to go when- "Y/N kiss me." Jay whispered into your ear, making you freeze. Of course you wanted to sell the notion that you were actually dating Jay and this wasn't just some deal, but you didn't think that Jay would take it to the level of kissing each other in public.

Hesitant, you came forward and quickly pecked him on his lips, feeling the soft touch of them, which was rightly shown by the pinkness. You swore you could taste your own lipbalm. "See you tomorrow babe!" You shouted loudly as you went into the elevator, with a very confused Jungwon following you.

"Ma'am so you're dating Mr Park now." Jungwon asked shyly as you stepped out the bathroom in your robe. You sighed heavily and reached forward for your glass of wine. "Yep." You swirled the blood red contents in the glass around. "Unfortunately for me I am and this stupid first date just had to go wrong didn't it?" You leaned back on the sofa, "Jungwon I have the worst luck in the world." To your surprise Jungwon chuckled and leant back too. "Kayla told me she likes cat today. And I am literally allergic to cats. I don't think this entire dating thing is for me, Ma'am. And quite frankly I don't think it's for you either." You smiled widely and laughed out loud with Jungwon, both of you basking in the glory of non existent love lives, wondering only what Cupid would bring next.

#jay #enha jay #Enhypen jay #enha jay fic #enhypen jay fic #enha #Enhypen #jay fluff #jay angst #jay hirt comfort #park jay #enhypen park jongsoeng #enha fic #jay fic #park jay fic #jay fics #jay series #enhypen series #bye bye now

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aetherin21 · 2 years

Text

An Image of my last spring

Pairing: Getou Suguru x Reader

Genre: Angst with comfort, small fluff

Notes: Reader is a sorcerer turned office worker just like Nanami :) if I ever see mistakes here I'll change and fix it in my Ao3. This has been in my drafts for like 3 weeks I think and I just wanna post it now before I forget hahaha also this is inspired by Dr. Park's words of Suguru being Satoru's last spring of youth and the Promotional art of the Season 2 of JJK :)

5:35 PM

February 3, 2017

Shibuya Station

Soulless is the sound of steady tapping that echoes through the air while the floor gently vibrates to where I currently stood. Its constant rhythm encloses the area in its own little bubble, creating an ecosystem far beyond any person's reach.

At the corner of my eye, I could see the sight of rushing bodies reaching the depths of where I hid as I waited patiently for my train to arrive. Like a glorified aquarium, splashes of muddy white, blues, browns and black mixes in with the current school of people. It's not hard to miss their colorful forms as they slowly turn into a raging tide of their own. Their gradual awakening signals the beginning of the evening rush hour. And soon, without a doubt I'll be caught by that wave of meat.

With that thought, being unable to escape from its nauseating grip could make me kneel and pray to no one in particular. Dragging my vessel to its epicenter, fully engulfed by the unpleasant sensation of rubbing flesh and hot breath fanning through the tiny bumps of exposed skin; consumed by its awful flow. It's much easier to swallow the idea of being executed in a horrific fashion than to be judged by their so-called righteous mallet and scornful eyes. Forever condemned by its world court and abandoned with no other island besides my own. Is what I initially thought anyway.

"Maybe I should have done some overtime again…" I mumble to myself.

Deciding to Ignore the countdown of my impending doom, I exhaled the bitterness within me. Fiddling at the small screen I held. Distracting myself had become a ritual of mine, a sort of coping habit that developed through the decade that was so unkind. Letting myself submerge to another aether, not allowing a single thought or emotion leak through the cracks of my stone shell. Pumping the veins etched in me with calm adrenaline as if I am in a state of a passing nirvana.

Funnily enough, it reminds me of that film Rocky. Particularly that famous scene where the protagonist trained intensely while the song 'Eye Of The Tiger' plays in the background. Capturing the essence of his perseverance, strength and hardwork. Just like him, I'll be entering my own very montage except the loud music blasting through my ears will astral project my soul to another dimension as my body turns into a human sandwich. Very dramatic. I know but I would rather meet my end in style than to... Huh — Weird. That last line sounds awfully too familiar. Ringing unusual bells in the depths of my mind.

Did I used to say that? It feels out of character. Out of place. It's too cool and somewhat edgy for someone like me to say. Yet it tasted a little foreign and familiar at the same time. Scratching my chin in place of a brain, I could only conclude I might have gotten it from someone else. But where exactly?

Think, think, think…It can't be from my coworkers nor from my family. They're all too normal and boring to say something like that. I don't have many friends to begin with either so that’s out of the question.

With how tingly my tongue is, the answer seems to be at the edge already. Maybe it came from an action movie that I had watched before? It is rather cliche in format. If I repeat it, will it come out?

To meet my end in style. To meet my end in style. To meet my end in —

Chanting it like a spell, I summoned what lies beyond those lines. But all too quickly, the grinning image of a boy flashed before my eyes. Both falling and burning way too fast as it reached the ends of my fingertips. Only its ashes remain before I could even hold it in the palm of my hands.

The lighthouse that often watches over me, sensed my growing sorrow within. Casting a stream of yellows beyond the horizon, it guides my sight towards the answers I seek. I remember where that line came from.

Satoru, the annoying gigantic furby, used to play good cop and bad cop with another boy his size. Both of them were enamored by western films they constantly watch a lot. Sometimes they would often repeat every written dialogue like some new gag. Meticulously pushing every button they can to see what tickles our funny bones. It was annoying to deal with but also endearing nonetheless.

How could I forget something like that?

Looking at the station clock, its hands seemed to move painfully slow. Taking lifetimes to reach the five thirty-eight mark. On the other hand, the esteemed crowd from earlier had displaced themselves where they were supposed to be. Leaving me lost and jaded at a memory that had long since faded.

Truthfully, I no longer have the courage and strength to pick every bit and piece that used to be a part of me. I let it all wash away from the lonely shore and let it erase what used to be who I am. Yet from time to time, a photo would emerge and greet me as I stood in the infinite sands alone. Images of old crammy classrooms, buildings and statues mock me in silence as I had forgotten everything. Only to remind me once again of what I used to cherish and the foolish thinking of everything lasting forever. That and also the free rides the assigned windows give.

Now, it makes me wonder if it was ever like that to that estranged boy in those photographs? The commute, I mean. I am curious to know; Was he able to dodge the mangy currents of limbs easily? His height seems to suggest so. Towering so much at such a young age. It gives this sense that he was unreachable, untouchable and unattainable especially to someone like me. The aura he gives off as he perches above exudes mystery, intimidation and a strange selfish holiness. I imagine being that tall has a lot of privileges. To be able to see the world that no mortal could have. Or just easily avoid any unwanted circumstance if he wished to. It's unfair, really. Both him and Satoru.

But God does not play favorites. In some way or another, in any shape or form it will come for you. To balance the rules of this reality, judgment will strike at any possibility. Cutting down both the fair and the unfair, continuously hunting down anyone it deems to be worthy of such. From the station platform where I stood to the streets of Shibuya, the supermarkets from the residential district and any place it wishes; there was no way to hide from it. Just like the sea of meat that ogles its new victim. But I guess he already knew that. Right?

Ah, since we're on that topic. What kind of sandwich would everyone be anyway? I just think it's funny since I am going to be one in a few minutes. I think, for one, I am probably like those cheap konbini ones that sometimes dupe you with no filling. Leaving you disappointed as you take your first and last bite. Why that of all things? Guess I am too small to even fill up the space, too insignificant but still ends up getting squished by the bread.

Shoko would probably be like those freshly homemade ones. The type that rejuvenates the soul as they take a mouthful. The feeling of home that dawns on the crevice of their bones while gnawing on the crunchy lettuce and juicy tomatoes. And once the last bite takes place a sudden realization of life struck. They jolt back from their wake and once again walk to another reprieve. Ah, I miss her. I wonder if she still has that bad habit of smoking.

Satoru, on the other hand, would be those luxury ones that cost a fortune but leave you with a thought, 'That's it?' A wasteful value or some popular commodity that's hard to reach. Beautiful, intricate and praised all while the dreaded guilt binds the person in an awkward greed as they throw money away for just a simple taste. Sprinkle in gold and baby blue, they'll feel they mattered. Even though it's just a sandwich. Although, to carry such high prestige, one could only be proud for there is no replica that can copy such material. Thus becoming the greatest snack of all. I can't believe this guy is the same age as me.

But the question is, what about him? The dark haired boy that lingers behind the shadow of the one and only Gojo Satoru.

I suppose with his size and sense of morals, he would be one of those premium fast food chicken sandwiches. Where the bun can't hold him in place cause all the limbs will spill out from the sides along with its special sauce, creating such a goopy mess on your hands as you eat. But due to being the cheaper alternative than Satoru, hands are more eager to devour what it has to offer. Blinding and burning everyone who tasted his tender meat. Along with myself. Ha! It suits that boy, right? Right…

Giggling to myself, these silly little ideas brought genuine joy to my lips. The foreign warmth that spreads through my cheeks as my eyes form into crescent moons. I can't help but think, how long has it been?

Too busy investing in drawing crude pictures of human comparison to wheat delicacies, I had failed to notice the shadow of the looming casket over my very being. The cries of its brakes scratching at the conch of my ear ripped me from la la land all too suddenly. As if it was demanding my attention like a dog and their favorite toy. Except, instead of such an adorable view, it's replaced by a pristine, well kept wagon that regurgitates passengers from its belly. Of course, everyone around me had waited in anticipation for this moment. Too eager to leave this dreadful place and confine themselves in the better space of their home. Except for me.

With the same sentiment, I too readied myself as the last person left the metal doors. Lowering my gaze and refusing to meet any watchful eyes, I let my legs move in autopilot. After all, the thing that I have dreaded since the very beginning is coming to a climax. I could only pretend to be a criminal waiting for the noose and prostrating myself to an ever exaggerated ruin. But amidst such a forlorn play, a scent had caught my foot mid step.

Candies, cigarettes, incense, and sandalwood.

Such an odd combination painted the air like a wretched canvas and brought cold sweat onto my skin. The colors of red, blue, violet and yellow blurs around my vision while accompanied by a distinct joyous laughter, seemingly mocking me in my wake. The faint words of goodbyes and farewells also catches my attention as I suffer from gut retching nauseousness.

As if I knew whose voices they were.

I covered my face with my own two hands as a hint of bile threatened the edge of my throat. Knocking me into a hunching posture, heaving in sudden agony. The raunchy taste of sharp yet tangy acid covered my palette in a short amount of time that it had me in tears. It did not help that I could feel onlookers watch with both worry and annoyance at my blocking form towards their so-called freedom.

Forced to wave a feign OK, I unwillingly apologized for the mishap I had caused and stepped away momentarily from the line. Letting myself recuperate and expel the visceral sensation from my body with much cleaner air. Although, I can’t help a part of me be annoyed as well. Does this person not have etiquette at all?

Bugged by my consciousness, unable to let it go. I searched for the origin of such a revolting smell. Looking left to right not moving from my spot. Hoping to give a piece of my mind to their disturbing work of art. An artwork that for some reason I couldn't help but chase in strange yearning. But of course, with my luck, there was no one attached to its disembodied stench. The culprit had already fled the scene of the crime. Leaving me, the victim, vexed and perplexed.

But based on the contents of the stupid fragrance, that person probably had an ingenious idea to spray such a strong perfume to get rid of the cigarette and incense attached to their person. Still, regardless of reason, my head lingers in the direction to wherever it may have come from. Even foolishly imprinting it in my lungs like a masochist. After all, it's absurd for that boy to —

“Be here with you?”

April fools is still two months from now. I am not sure if I know anyone who celebrates such a childish event other than Satoru. I doubt he’ll come for me in advance either. Our relationship hasn't been the best in these god awful years. The last notable conversation we both had was around December.

Surely this is just a small bout of insanity. A figment of my wild imagination conjured from my exhaustion. After all, weeks of overtime can do wonders to the brain. It explains my sudden obsession with sandwich analogies and weird feelings of extreme melancholy. Or…Wait. Don’t tell me the strange smell came from a curse? Was I afflicted by it?

The more the people, the more negative emotions spill out. This platform is a perfect den to give birth to such abominable creatures. Especially with the amount of impoverished salarymen and women who often take this train, spilling their unwanted frustration and bitterness onto the floor tiles. That must be it.

Confronting the glass window of the train, I braced myself for the sudden encounter. Clutching my sling bag close, a small cursed tool can be found deep in its pockets. Carefully tucked away for emergencies just like this.

Thankfully, it's been drilled into my subconsciousness on procedures regarding random contacts: First, always confirm the target. Second, never forget to put a curtain. Third, exorcise it with caution. If worse comes to show, then there's the fourth option, run away and call for the real professionals. Whatever this creature is, even at my grade, I can handle it. Is what I believe.

Yet, it seems nothing can prepare me for the familiar silhouette staring back at me.

Slightly obscured by the reflection of sandwiched passengers, there he stood in his full glory. Hair tied up in a neat knot with only a few stubborn clumps falling above his eyes. Ears pierced by deep black gems that glimmer under the artificial lights. Soft lips, ever so curtly forming into a thin smile as his obsidian eyes contorted into a tender gaze. Seemingly admiring the reflection of the both of us finally beside each other. He didn’t change at all. Still the same as I remembered.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?”

Beep

I knew from the bottom of my heart that this isn’t an amalgamation of people’s negative emotions. As foolish as it sounds even with Ms. Tsukumo’s explanation about curses and sorcerers, I knew with one look this is mine. I am cursed and this is my haunted house. Because here you are with me. Alone. Together on this platform, purposely making me miss my train home.

“You never said goodbye.”

Humming a low playful tune, he linked his slender finger gently with the small of mine as the subtle wind blew over us. Just with that small gesture, the orchestra nestled within me didn’t know what sheet to read. Too confused about what to play in front of its single audience. So Instead, to appease the lone watcher, it chooses to perform all of it at once. Anger, joy, sadness and everything in between. What a laughable performance.

“I guess, I owe you an overdue apology.”

The drumstick hits the surface harder than it should, resonating through every crevice of my flesh with a loud bang. My head sharply turned to his direction, controlled by the awful strike. His nonchalant and unremorseful response baffled my consciousness. “Guess!? Am I a joke to you? Is that the only reason why you’re here? To give me pity?”

Ten years, that’s how long since I’ve last seen his face. And all he could do is mock me with his boyish smile while giggling at my sudden outburst. How cruel can he be?

Filled with distrust, my body flinched as I watched his hand delicately tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His eyes still filled with never ending adoration even as my body betrayed him. “So this is what you look like after ten years.” he said as he now traced my cheek, holding me in the palm of his hand as if time never separated us. "You haven't changed at all. Still very pretty."

I hate this. I hate the feeling of such soft bass melting my skin into nothing but putty. Smoothing the creases of my face as I plead for more. How even such a simple yet cliche string of words dulls my senses and becomes high just from its mere echoes. Furious, I wish I could be at this moment but furious I was not. “You're insufferable, you know that?”

Chasing foolishly his warmth, my head leaned into his touch. Too starved from his affection. All while the course of the symphony in my heart changes its tune to match the sudden drops of tears from my very own lashes. "And I hate you." I said to him bitterly.

Unfazed by those petty words, he only laughed again but this time more softly. “I know and you still love me for it.”

With a small step, the boy hovered his immense stature over me with ease. Casting a long shadow on my form as if it was a cage I can’t escape from. I already know what he’s about to do so I only stood patiently like a good girl, ready for him to consume.

“I miss you.” He prayed on my forehead. “I really miss you.” He whispered next, on top of my nose. “I really did.” He continued to edge at the corner of my lips, drinking my silent cries away. “And I still do now.” He said as he finally took my lips with his own.

There we mended and molded back to each other's heated embrace. Hands desperately closing the space till there was none as we spoke in a language we both knew how to communicate.

Ever so gentle that he is, his tongue asks for my permission as we move further than just a simple dance of mouth. The wet sensation that swipes at the entrance had me reeling through my core as I let him do as he pleases. Basking in the warmth of him, the boy smiled as he conquered me. He knew I was easily intoxicated, how easily I get addicted and he knew the power he has over me. A special privilege only he could have. A privilege of having me.

However I am not the only one. The way his hand desperately moves over from my front and on to my back, rubbing at whatever clothed flesh he can latch on too. Dying for more skinship. Even the way his breath hitch and moan vibrated through my being, I could tell he too is drunk from this public display of debauchery.

We were both hungry and that's the truth. But not in the sense of lust or desire but rather a deep yearning of forgiveness and loss of affection. Even our fervent moans turn to songs of devotion under the cathedral of us. My cries are the wine that cleanses his soul and his touch is the communion that renews my heart. Of course, such intensity always has an end. Too much and one could have drowned at the pits of insanity.

So the second our lungs sync in need of oxygen, we parted our ways. Yet both our eyes still linger where our lips were once connected. Shamelessly wanting more than just a kiss but too embarrassed to share another. Instead with a compromise, our foreheads remained pressed together in content.

“Wow, public indecency? Really? You’re better than this.” The boy scolded mischievously, voice dripping in sweet childish passion. Very romantic.

Rolling my eyes, I broke from the intimacy. Just to slap his shoulder in retaliation. Knowing full well what his sense of humor is like, I laughed at his stupidity. “You’re the one who started it!” But even so, my cheeks couldn’t help turn into cherries as we continued our banter just like old times.

“Ow! Now, you're hitting me? That’s assault!” He whined, deliberately rubbing the harsh contact for emphasis. “I don't remember you being this mean!” Even adding a sprinkle of a pout to top off his shenanigans. Not gonna lie, it was cute to look at. But I won't let myself be swayed by his charming looks. So with gritted teeth, I said whole heartedly in jest. “I wish I could hit you more, you dumbass!”

After hearing that the plastered smile on his face seemed to grow playfully. My words had lit a fire within him. Laying down the school bag he carried on the ground, he spread his arms and puffed his chest for me to see. Apprehensive by his actions, I took a small step back and waited for his next move. Unsure what his true motives are. “Alright. I’ll let you. If you kiss the wound after.” He said jokingly.

Ah, I forgot how horny teenagers were…

Exhaling between my palms, a part of me wished to scream in silent frustration but that would honor him a win in this childish endeavor. Rather turning the tides to my favor, what better way to do than just simply comply to his own whims.

Winding my arm as far back as I can, there I summoned all the strength this body could muster at the edge of my fists. Fair and square I punched him straight in the face. Landing a mark on his apples while his pair of peaches lay splat on the floor as a look of utter shock adorned his sharp features. Of course, never in a million years the boy would think I could pull such a punch. After all, that wasn’t my forte to begin with. Jokes on him though, that was me from before and not the me of now.

Before I could let him say a word, I crouched down to his level and left a tender kiss on his wound. Licking it for good measure. “Two could play that game.” I whispered, leaving a gentle blow to his now reddened ear.

Putting a small distance, I observed my precious win. His face all heated up like a boiling kettle. It was his turn to cover his face. Gaze unable to straighten, looking anywhere else but me. It's such a delicious sight seeing him come undone by just mere strength alone. “Wh– when did you learn how to hit like that?” Oh, was that a stutter?

A new sense of pride swells within as this is the first time I had an upper hand on him. Pursing my lips in feign innocence, I batted my lashes as cutely as I could. My head rested on the palm of my hand as a finger tapped in thought. “Who knows? It's been ten years since the last time we saw each other. A lot could happen.”

“That’s fair.” He sighed.

Rosy lips forming a thin line, he shuffled on the floor. Finding a more comfortable position sitting crisscrossed in front of me. Mimicking my earlier pose, his hand rested on his palm as well. Contemplating something within him as a tiny glint nestled its way to his marbles. Suddenly staring intensely at my figure, I blinked twice to decipher his actions. I presume it's another challenge? Or perhaps sulking under the weight of my victory?

Yet a minute has passed by and no signs of unusual movement can be seen. Only continuing his unwavering gaze at my form. Still, I won’t back down for the next fight. That is, until a loud horn and the sound of grinding wheels distract me from my spot.

The next train had rudely arrived and it announced itself proudly in front of us, lowering my guard completely. To the scheming boy, this was his perfect opportunity. It was natural after all, when one sees an opening one would attack mercilessly. And that’s what he did. Stealing a small peck from my lips and holding two peace signs in front of my face. My eyes could only dilate from his actions as the grin grew as large as the half moon. “Gotcha. I win!” he said proudly.

Too dumbfounded, I ended up bursting from laughter. Nodding my head I unanimously agreed to his victory and accepted my own defeat like a proper adult I am. “What do you want as a reward?” I asked, adoring his boyish facade that seemed to light up from something so trivial. “I’ve been giving a lot of kisses lately, I think it lost its value.”

Humming in thought, the boy turned his head towards the train. Inspecting the unusual empty shell as if searching his deep darkest desire in its exterior. The bangs that covered his eyes gently sway from his movements as the glowing light from the fluorescent light cascades his porcelain skin. Framing his youth in a portrait that won't last. “Tell me a story then.” He said, looking back at me with the answer he had found. My palms could only turn to puddles as I anticipated his next words, a strange nervousness washed over me.

“I want to hear everything that happened to you when we were apart.”

“Okay.”

Is what I said as his hands now intertwined with mine while we sat properly on the platform bench. Our surroundings have long been abandoned ever since I missed my last train. I am not sure how many more passed by but there was no next wave of crowd that came from the entrance and exits. The whole area felt like it was our own little domain. Our own little ecosystem.

“Where do you want me to start?” I asked timidly. Knowing where all this was going. I am not a fool. It had already gnawed at the back of my head since the scent of his wafted through the air.

“How about when you left the technical school?” he asked curiously.

“Alright.” I said.

The moment I opened my mouth, stories flowed into the space we occupied. Transforming the scenery into a dream-like state found in one of those shoujo mangas. Blabbering this and that, and that and this. The text bubbles were empty yet its meaningful conversations reside in its containers for only our ears to hear. As pages turned to the next, our expressions filled each panel with comical laughter, shock, anger and tears. Together we both laid each other bare as our bodies mimed the years of what could have been.

A part of me wishes this moment could last forever. But I knew that was impossible. God never plays favorites. All I could do is make the most of what was given. Savoring the comfort that is him. An image of my last spring.

So I paused my words mid sentence, my body moved closer to his. This time it's my turn to trap him in my own little cage. Kissing his lips with the same intensity as the scorching sun. Biting, marking and clawing my way through a never ending longing, wishing more than I should. As words that are never spoken but only lingering between us leaves my mouth, I pray to his exposed skin: cheeks, ears, neck, wrist and palms all my shameless I love yous.

With the wit of a hawk and sight of an owl, The boy had already noticed my silent fears dressed in growing affection. Manifesting them into words, he could only ask softly. “Tell me. Why won’t you say my name?”

Frozen in place, I searched through his eyes what he had just said. As it sinks in, my brows furrowed, hoping for him to not inquire further. Yet what reflected back was his own silent plea. You are so cruel, you know that.

“I know.” he leaned in to whisper while his sharp nose nestled under my jaw. Always the mind reader this guy. “But I want to hear it from your lips.”

With such a request, I bowed my head in utter humiliation. Unable to look him in the eye. My lips quiver as I silently confess my sins to him. “If I say it, I feel like you’re gonna disappear again.”

A faint touch raised my head to meet with him once more. The quiet desperation and the childish eagerness from earlier had disappeared. This time our kiss felt much slower and much sweeter. “Please look at me.” He begged.

Yet I still refuse.

As the stubborn man that he is, he continued haunting my lips. Tender touches became pleading ghosts and the blowing air cursed my trembling. “I need to hear it.”

I could only peek from my lashes while my mouth shivers from the eerie peck that landed ever so lightly. Constantly being tempted like this just to adhere to his whims, I couldn’t help counting each one as he tried to make me submit.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

And at the seventh kiss, he deepened it.

My mind instantly went blank with the constant edging and the sudden ferocity of the kiss. All sense of control washes away, unable to restrain myself any further. I moaned his name in finality. The twist, the turn and the tap of each syllable at the chambers of my mouth felt freeing. I couldn’t hold back the tears that ran through my skin. Bawling like a lost child in front him. But he only embraced me in his arms, gently rocking us back and forth as I repeatedly called him over and over again.

“Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.”

“I am still here.” he said, breaking the evil spell that tormented me for such a long time. Catching all the photographs scattered in the ocean. One by one giving them back to me. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Why did you leave me?”

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“Why only Shoko and Satoru? Why not me?”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

Questions after questions flowed, aching for answers that I already knew but I wish I could hear from his own lips too. Punching him over and over his chest, I can’t seem to hate him. All I can do is accept what he has given. You’re so selfish. So unfair.

Grabbing the next hit, he forced me to look him in the eye. The image that greeted me isn't the boy I once knew. Replaced by a man sculpted in righteous reverie, cloth cut from the edges of apathy. This man’s eyes are filled with never ending desires that seem to want to drown me in it. A strange thirst and hunger different from a beast, that no flesh and water can calm its currents.

This is a Suguru who I don’t know of. The Suguru I feared the most. The Suguru that I wish would turn back as I reached to him in my youth. But nonetheless the Suguru who I still ache for.

“I didn’t regret it. Only you.” he desperately professed as his fingers twitched at my skin. Seemingly wishing to touch more with the him of now and not the one from yesteryears. “I love you.” he said as he smiled from the bottom of his heart. “I still do and will continue to do so.”

“Suguru.” Was all I could say. Not knowing what else to confess.

I had been afraid to see the twenty-seven year old Geto Suguru till now. Too scared to confront the feelings that scattered on the lonely shore. Too scared that I would fall together with him too. I am too scared that my love is so deep that it will swallow everything in its path. But you’ve always known that, right? Of course you do. Cause you feel the same way too.

Rubbing my eyes, tears still continued to fall. My snot also boldly joined along my skin. Mixing in with the currents under my lashes. It's so embarrassing to cry like this in front of Suguru but I can’t help it. Everything is too overwhelming and all I want is to be pampered in his loving arms. “Once again, you’re so insufferable and I love you so much.”

Caressing my cheeks, he wiped my tears gently with his sleeves, even roughly getting rid of the sticky mucus that spilled out. He teased my whining. “You’ve only realized it now? You’re such a slow poke.”

Ten years ago, he knew I would follow him to the ends of the earth. He knew we’ll both crash and burn. He knew it will be till death do us part. “But I didn’t want that to happen.” He said. “That would be too cruel even for me.”

“You already are cruel, stupid.” Still sniffing away the sobs, I couldn’t help but retaliate the way I know how.

“Oh? Says the girl, who’ll literally die for me.”

“Says the guy who already did, Dumbass.”

Mouth forming into a thin line, Suguru sighed in defeat. “Touché.”

Giggling childishly, even at that age he’s still the Suguru I love. The way his handsome face stayed the same, only this time more mature. His same old earrings are still there hanging tightly too and so are his stubborn bangs. Even when clothed in those sacred robes, it's undeniable that he’s still him. “My tall and very adorable dumbass.”

“Your tall and very adorable dumbass.” He lovingly repeated back.

Really, this is such a mess of a reunion. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Beep

Jolting back from my seat, I woke up from the sound of train doors signaling its final call for passengers. Hurriedly, my body moved towards it. Hoping to finally leave this place. The smell of sandalwood that once surrounded me fades gently through the air along with the cold harsh winter. In the next month spring will come and the Sakura trees will finally bloom.

You really did meet your end in style. Fading like the last snow of winter.

Farewell my beloved Suguru, I love you and happy birthday.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #getou x you #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #geto suguru #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk angst #I love my baby girl so much that I write fics for him for the nth time #I should be writing a band au for Choso or F1 au for the whole jjk but urghhh #baby girl ur too much :(((

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floralcrematorium · 8 months

Note

1, 3, 16 with Arthur

Thanks for the ask!!

1. Do you relate to your favorite character?

Mmm I've got three of those so I will apply it to each of them

France: I'm a bit picky with food, but definitely not for the same reasons as Francis. I do value flavor over everything else, but if the Texture Is Bad (I have texture sensory issues I think??), I cannot eat it. I'm an artist (regrettably) and tend to be a perfectionist in regards to my craft. I can be a little obsessive towards literally anything, but I think that's the uhhhhh hyperfocus (I once played Minecraft for 27 hours straight, do not ask How it happened, I don't know). That's where the similarities end, though. I am ✧*̥˚ Ace and While Not Aro, I Do Not Know What Flirting Looks Like *̥˚✧

China: I've never written for Yao the way I have for Francis or Lukas so I don't have the best pin on Who He Is, but I hold a lot of admiration for him and he's the only one who's maintained their status as Favorite Character for me pre and post fandom hiatus. I wouldn't say I handle change the best, but I find ways to adapt to situations I'm thrown into. Being able to adapt and be flexible is how this man's been alive for 4,000 years, so we share that. Similarly as with Francis, we share cooking and art in common.

Norway: I refer to him as Lukas because unfortunately that's just. What's etched into my brain and it's what I'm attached to. Nor can seem a bit spacey due to how quiet he can be, and I'm spacey, but definitely not for the same reasons. When I write for Lukas, he's dramatic but in very subtle ways (sighing, inner thoughts), and it's been brought to my attention on more than one circumstance how much I sigh or that I'm just a Little Freak™. I mean this in the most affectionate way I possibly can, I want to throw him down the stairs.

3. Who are your favorite Hetalia writers?

At the current moment, I do not know!!! I feel like I haven't read enough to really pick favorites (I am really bad at starting new things and I have a laundry list of fics I've been meaning to start but. Haven't. INCLUDING YOURS!!!! I am looking at your A03 voraciously and waiting for the stars to align enough for me to have some darn focus.) I will say that I am absolutely obsessed with Take a Chance on Me by Hetart on A03. I gotta catch up on that. My favorite fic from pre-hiatus was Log of the End of the World on ff.net, but I haven't gone back to it since 2015 so I remember literally nothing other than I liked it at age 14 enough to still remember its name.

16. Assign Arthur a chillin outfit.

I know I said I'd draw, but in the most respectful way I am NOT drawing him specifically right now. His hair... oh I so very don't want to figure out how his hair works. Take this as an IOU specifically for you for me to draw Arthur One Day and accept this screenshot of a pinterest board I made specifically for this ask

I cannot see this man wearing anything other than sweaters, sweater vests, brown trousers specifically, and the loafers. Are those loafers? Beats me. Anyway. Man is forever banished to be color coded with green and brown for me. Realizing now I could've just opened the Sims 4 and screenshot how he looks in my game but alas, I am eepy

I think this man is the kind of person to hate loungewear/pajamas. He prefers to always be dressed because it helps him feel productive and look presentable. He's just like Francis in that he can't be casual, but in a crunchy old man sorta way.

He's wearing green plaid flannel pants to bed with any clean t-shirt he can find.

I would throw something punk together, but that's not my area of expertise in regards to alt fashion

Hetalia Asks

#floralcrematorium ask box

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lieblingspulli · 1 year

Text

Yearning For More: SKZ

W.c: 2.6k

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary: Just a little angsty drabble (if one could call it that) based on some lyrics:

Wanna give myself to you But can you promise me, you'll stay? Don't wanna be here on my own You know it's driving me insane

Let me tell you one thing for sure You're the only one I want more of 'Cause every time you strip away my pride Humble me down to my knees You're exactly what I need, you're exactly

A/N: I listened to For Days and Aphrodite by RINI. Love these songs, love the vibes. It’s giving very: sensual, lovesick, adoring my partner and living for them vibes. I love it, I think it fits Chan very well 😉 But on a serious note, I really think he’d appreciate the artful production of these songs, I wish I could tell him to listen to them. Enjoy!

Masterlist!

SKZ Masterlist

Song Recs:

For Days, RINI

Aphrodite, RINI

Something to Feel, RINI

A Starry Night in Apollo Bay, RINI

Chan had never felt so blind sided in his life. He was always so sure of his surroundings, of his situations. Chan always felt secure in his choices. He always felt confident in his relationships.

Chan was notorious for being the stable one in any of his friendships. He was the advice giver. He was the shoulder lender. He was the hug provider. Chan was the anchor in anyone’s stormy sea. Naturally, Chan prided himself in being such a source of comfort for others. He was happy to let others use him that way.

All of this was to say that Chan couldn’t imagine a world where someone didn’t need him. He got so used to all the people in his life who needed that special someone. He loved to be that person. But, this time it was different.

Usually, when someone tells him they need comfort, Chan gets the usual phrases: hey, can we talk? Or hey Chan, can you be there for me? Sometimes he gets something else, depending on the person. If it’s Felix, it’ll be a shy request for a movie night. If it’s Jisung, usually he asks for feedback on a song he feels deeply about. Leeknow has his own (kinda weird ways) of asking. So on and so forth. Everyone’s got a way of asking. Who is he to judge?

But you stupefied him. You disoriented him in every way possible. You never needed help. You never needed anything. Hell, he couldn’t even get you water without you complaining. You dazzled him like no other. Since when has he been attracted to such stubbornness?

For the past 6 months, you’ve been running laps in Chan’s mind. You sprint sometimes, not allowing him to sleep. You jog sometimes, always on the forefront of his mind, even when he’s eating cereal for breakfast. You leap sometimes, making him giddy when he’s with you. Chan is completely head over heels for someone who refuses his help in anything at all.

Chan knows he can’t quantify his worth with how much he helps people, but he can’t help it. It’s completely ingrained into his brain. You take that concept and completely slam dunk it into the nearest trash can. He knows you aren’t doing it to be rude, you’re an adult, capable of making your own decisions. He knows that. Does he listen to it? No. He still offers to help. To comfort you. It’s the only way he knows how to connect with people.

Ever since you bumped into him at a bingsu shop and gave him your number, you’ve been a constant on his mind. The sweetness of the bingsu you recommended to him is etched onto his tongue, forever associated with the silkiness of your voice. The tenor of your words, scratched into the walls of his head. Chan constantly texted you since that fateful day. On days where you didn’t work till your brain turned off, you went out and got food with him. Sometimes his other team members joined you, but the constant was always you and Chan. He loved it that way.

Ever since you started confiding in him about your worries and concerns in life, Chan had tried so hard to help you. He always listened, always gave you all his attention. Chan always offered you his help. Whether it was emotional or physical support, he always stressed that he was there for you. That would never ever change. But you never took his help.

But tonight. Oh, tonight. One too many drinks, too many strangers around, too much of everything. Chan was overwhelmed. He definitely knew his friends were. This stupid party was a terrible idea. The only reason he was here was because you said you would be there. He dragged Jisung, Seungmin and Changbin along, for his own sake. He had to literally bribe them to come. But he should have never come himself. Now he was confronted with this situation. All of it was too much.

The blue lights hurt his eyes. You tipped back the cup and drained its contents in a second, tops. Chan eyed you, worried about your ability to be standing. Was there smoke coming from somewhere? Honestly, Chan wasn’t too sure, he was a couple drinks in too.

Jisung came sauntering up to the pair.

“Yoooo, I think someone brought a smoke machine!” Jisung laughed and hooked his arm around Chan’s neck. Chan’s drink sloshed around in his cup. Chan felt bad but didn’t know why. He could see you speaking into the ear of someone next to you. The music boomed through the room and all he could hear was the bass.

“I noticed.” Chan said without a second thought. He continued to watch people walk around and dance. Jisung frowned at his tone.

“Hey, are you not having fun? Here, you can have my drink instead.” Jisung swapped out Chan’s drink with his. Chan didn’t really care. Jisung frowned, unsatisfied with how his solution didn’t work. He poked Chan’s cheek.

“Channn, what’s on your mind?” Jisung playfully smiled, trying to light up the mood. Chan spotted you taking a deep breath and starting to fidget a bit in your place. He just wanted to lean over and whisper anything to you. Really, anything would satisfy him. This whole situation was awkward. He couldn’t tell if the lights were moving or not.

Without answering Jisung, and clearly distracted, his friend gave up and walked back to Changbin who was riling up Seungmin to rap to the song playing in a large group of strangers.

Finally, Chan caught your eye. You tilted your eyebrow before looking into your now empty cup. Chan wordlessly offered you his. You shook your head. Damn. Not even a drink. Awkwardness ensued. You were never one to talk to fill the space anyways. Chan couldn’t even hear you talk to your friend, even though you were right next to him. He racked his brain, trying to figure out how to talk to you. The lights slowly transitioned to purple and the smoke thickened. Chan felt uneasy, but he passed it off as being tipsy.

Just as quick as you had tipped back a shot, one of your guy friends appeared in front of you. Chan was now terribly uneasy. His stomach churned.

“Heyyyy, Y/n! You made it!” Chan could hear his obnoxious voice, even over the bass boosted club music. Why was a house party playing club music?

You shouted back a response. Chan didn’t catch your words, the air filling with laughter from the beer table. He strained to listen.

All Chan could hear were glimpses of your conversation. Sometimes he caught words, other times the music died down enough to allow him to hear full sentences. You were talking about your love life. How laughable. He wanted to scream. The music changed to another song. Another wave of laughter and screaming. Probably beer pong.

“Yea, I just feel stagnant. No one wants me I guess.” You laughed out loud. Chan caught that part all right. He sipped his stale mixer in annoyance.

He heard your friend laugh at this. He watched the conversation play out and then he walked away. The feeling in his stomach stayed. Just as he was about to reach over to you and say something, you quickly started walking towards the door. He hesitated, not knowing whether he should follow and potentially be branded a creep or stay in his spot. He chose to do the former.

Following you through the maze of hallways to the front door made him dizzy. He didn’t remember if this is how it looked when he first got here. His mind was hazy, like the fog obscuring the view of his own feet.

As soon as Chan pushed open the front door, a gust of fresh air filled his nose and lungs. Oh god, he needed that. The maze of fog and drinks had made his mind foggy. Chan stepped to the side after letting a couple of girls into the house, trying to look for any sign of you. He only stopped when he saw a figure by the curb, right next to where the trash cans were out by the street. Could that be you? Something about the emptiness of the lawn told him it was.

Chan followed the direction of your figure before stopping some yards away, hesitating at the sound of sniffles. The sounds didn’t quite register in his mind until he realized truly that you were crying.

“Y/n?” He called out carefully. He didn’t want to startle you, as if you were a deer or something. The very concept made him cringe, but he kept that face internal. He called out for you again.

“Y/n? It’s me, Channie.” He called out a little louder this time. The sobs went silent. A couple seconds of silence.

“Leave me alone, Chan.”

Chan barely heard your whisper. He heard pain in your voice. Chan remembered the first time he heard that sweet voice of yours. It was nothing like that right now. That honey dripped voice he knew was now cold, and dripping with heart aching pain. Chan took a step closer to the shadows, not sure whether to sit. His mind was still running slower than usual.

You stayed hunched over your knees as he carefully sat down, closer to you to feel your comfort more than anything.

“I said go away.” Your voice was laced with venom this time.

“What happened?” Chan tried to meet your harsh words with kindness. He could never take offense to anything you said, especially when you were hurt.

“How many times do I have to say that I’m fine!” You lashed out. Chan’s heart wavered, but his heart started to beat faster with courage. He was determined to help you.

“I just wanna help you Y/n. Clearly you’re hurt.” Chan gazed at you with concern. He could see the tears smudging your eye makeup and the glitter sliding down your cheeks. All he wanted to do was wipe them off for you and say everything was gonna be okay. Chan was exercising all the restraint he could.

“All you wanna do is help other people. When are you gonna help yourself Chan.” You spit out. You gazed at him coldly, remembering the amount of times he ignored his own needs, not acknowledging its importance. It made you shiver, you always questioned why he was so giving. Why couldn’t he give to himself? Why did he let so many people depend on him? Wasn’t that just an invitation for vulnerability? Chan blinked at your spiteful comment, not sure where to take it.

“Y/n, I-”

“No Chan. You aren’t listening. I don’t need help. I don’t want help. I’m not a baby, like your little friends inside that house. I can do it myself.”

Chan could hear you choke out the last few words and stammered. He really wanted to reach out to you, do anything, but he felt held back maybe by the alcohol or by his own body.

“Y/n, I don’t think you need help.” He finally spit out. You chuckled and gave him a painful look. He continued.

“I don’t think you need anyone’s help, let alone mine. I want to help you though. Y/n, you are the fiercest person I know. You do anything you set your mind to, on your own too. But sometimes, people need to accept the help they don’t want. So please, Y/n, tell me what’s bothering you. I want to give myself to you. Please.” He pleaded and turned towards you. Your knees both touched. You choked out a sob and fiercely shook your head, denying the truth from yourself.

You weren’t ready to accept this help. You didn’t want it, especially after your so-called best friend told you nobody would date you. His words echoed in your mind, saying you weren’t good enough, that you focused way too much on yourself and that you were selfish.

“You can’t help me Chan. Nobody can and nobody cares anyway. Nobody wants me.” You sobbed, hunching further over your knees. Chan instantly hugged your hunched figure and whispered into your hair.

“Y/n, I don’t care what that guy said, but I can’t live without you. You torture my mind every single day, without a care in the world.” Chan rubbed your back. You continued to sob heavily. He continued.

“There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think that you are the most important person in my life. I revolve around you like the earth does to the sun. You’re my sun, Y/n. You are the brightest star in my galaxy.” Chan’s voice cracked, and he genuinely felt that he had tried to express his feelings as best as he could, but he continued anyway.

You choked out a laugh at his cheekiness, completely interrupting your moment of sadness. He laughed with you. You shivered, cold from the brisk evening air. He held you tighter.

“I really can’t live without you Y/n. I don’t know how else to show you that. I’ve been trying for months.” Chan mumbled into your hair. You leaned up and hugged him back, trying to comprehend the words he was saying.

“I yearn for more. I want more from this. I just-”

“Kiss me Chan.” You interrupted him abruptly.

“What?”

“I said, Kiss. Me. Chan.” You spelled it out for him. He blinked. You pulled him towards you.

The moment your lips met his, you melted into his arms. His kiss felt like home, like the long lost moment that you could never quite grasp. His lips were pillowy and soft, always asking for more. You gave him everything you had. Chan held you tight, as if you might float away any second. The kiss sealed the feelings he had been suffering from for so long. He always yearned for more, but could never grasp it. Your stubbornness to keep him away kept him from telling you just how he felt about you.

Now that you accepted his help, putting your pride aside, Chan gave every last ounce of energy he had towards telling you that he would always be there by your side. To hold. To kiss. To hug. He conveyed this in the movement of his lips, warming up your face. He wanted to scream to you that he’d always be there, one step behind, to push you further and hold you when you fell. You sighed, breaking apart from the one kiss that told you that maybe you were meant for someone after all. That someone was staring back at you, with all the love in the world being held in his eyes.

“You’re so stubborn, you know that right?” Chan giggled. You rolled your eyes.

“So tell me again, about you not living without me.” You grinned at him cheekily and he blushed, still in your embrace.

“Hey, I just wanted to help you.” He sighed. You kissed his lips softly, leading his lips to follow you.

“Okay, so help me then.” You whispered against his lips. Chan felt the fogginess of his mind dissolve. And so he would.

#SKZ #Straykids #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #Bang chan #Chan #chan x you #leeknow #changbin #hyunjin #jisung #felix #seungmin #jeongin #lovestay #you make straykids stay #Goodnight!

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