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aconflagrationofmyown · 11 months

Text

but then…Gigi

a future forward one shot, circa 1979

Snuggle me Tender

Trust me I laughed and cringed every bit as hard as you over that title but after the strain of pushing this mushiness out of my brain in under twelve hours I haven’t got any sensible titles left in me, ok?

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: next to none? complete fluff and no rancidity for once, just Big Daddy Elvis with a very young baby and a very young wife and tour life and mentions of his health concerns…so much baby talk which I do not apologize for, if you’ve never done it I suggest you do, it adds years to your life. To quote Alex Turner: “I’ve been feelin’ foolish, you should try it.”

Word count: 2,884 is my version of a blurb, ok?

Notes: this is dedicated to my baby Bri whose devastating prompts lead to this whole Gigi endeavor and whose sweetness lightens up my life

Blaring horns end the set with its iconic flourish, their brassy notes echoing in his ears as he exits. It was a good show, a lively audience and Ronnie kept the rhythm together this time and even the sound system was decent for such a packed out stadium. Elvis is satisfied as he takes his final farewell of the sea of glossy, enamored faces, the frenzied send off of their ovation thudding into his veins so thickly he thinks his pulse will jump straight outta his wrists.

He flicks his writs irritably and hooks his thumbs into his belt, hoisting it just that little bit from where his exertions made it creep down and down and ever down, keeping it where it’s not pinching him as he lets the boys hustle him off the stage and into the back hallways in a well worn maneuver. The clapping and roar of the crowd is still deafening and he’s still attuned to it, vibrating like a leaf and the shake, rattle and roll of it pounds along with his chest and more worrisome still is the way his vision flickers with it, like some damn techno scene. But it’s just the fluorescents, and this interminable hallway leading to his dressing room.

And to his girls.

He takes a deep breath and tries to begin the effort of steadying himself just a little before foisting himself on them. It’s easier, so much easier, with them here, but his blood pressure still skyrockets each time he performs and it doesn’t seem like there’s a pill or a regimen out there to prevent it. It might be the death of him one day and awhile back he might have flippantly hoped so.

Now he’s got his girls to live for

and he tries his hardest to moderate himself, to temper himself in between to be the man he wants so badly to learn he is, not just the icon he’s perceived to be. Every step takes him closer to the anecdote and he breathes easier, hiking his belt higher so he can really gulp in those belly expanding breaths and he feels Charlie patting his back, his boys murmuring in an affirmative babble that it was a good show.

Elvis knows it was. He doesn’t need them to tell him. There’s only one persons opinion he gives a shit about right now and she’s probably conked out asleep or at the tit. Both of which sound like damn good options to mimic, in Elvis’ opinion.

Little Miss Erin Love Presley.

She’s become his life and between her and Gigi and Yissa he is bombarded with the insistence that he is wanted to the point that he’s gradually had to assume that, well…that he is -wanted, that is.

He’s wanted. Not just needed.

And so he allows them to fret over his pulse and he agrees to less stimulants when possible and he endeavors to be a more cheerful bastard despite the persistent urge to bite heads off most days.

Ricky jogs ahead of him, opens the door that Sam’s been standing in front of and ushers Elvis inside hurriedly before closing the door behind him, leaving him alone with his little family. Nearly blinded by the change in lighting, Elvis staggers towards where he knows there's a couch in the gloomy dressing room Gigi so considerately dimmed for his sake.

“You were magnificent, daddy!” her soft praise registers more profoundly than all the applause out there and Elvis sinks into the couch utterly spent, yet entirely satisfied.

“Thanks darlin’.” He murmurs with his head tilted back, winded and a thousand miles away but he’s trying to come back down. His hand reaches out for her hip and the give of her soft flesh tethers him to earth.

Gigi doesn’t skip a beat before she’s bending down and unclamping the large buckle from his belly single-handedly with practiced ease, delighting in the relieved groan Elvis lets out as she removes the heavy ornament. She swings it away from him only to replace it with the soft weight of their baby girl.

“I’ll get your medicines, you hold tight.” Gigi soothes, her hand lovingly pushing his hair back from off his damp forehead before she bends to kiss it and he chases her wearily for a taste of her lips which she presses to his ardently before pulling away to go find his pills.

Baby girl is perched on his belly in her tiny sequined onesie, balancing like a Pilates teacher on a ball, her wobbly little neck doing its utmost to stay straight and fix him with her appealing stare. It’s devastatingly effective when paired with her pitifully frustrated little squeaks.

Elvis knows what Lovey wants and a few months ago he might’ve been appalled at the notion of it despite being an utter sap for his daughter. It had seemed too gross to subject her to the post-show sweat and musk that cling to him in moments like these. But like her mommy, the little girl wouldn’t take less than the deepest of intimacies and so he has learned that Lovey will continue her fussing until she feels the warmth of his skin beneath her.

The tiny wrist golden chain around her wrist jangles as she tries to pull herself up the ornate expanse of his jumpsuit front, clawing determinedly up the exquisite sundial motif towards the heaving expanse of his sweaty chest. ‘Return if found’ her bracelet reads and Elvis smirks at the notion of her being put down long enough by either of her parents to be misplaced.

“Hey cuddle bug, hey how’s it goin’, hmm?” he coos to her and finds his voice is fried and gravelly.

Without having to even reach he finds Gigi pressing a plastic cup into his hand that he ravenously accepts along with blood pressure regulators she presses into his palm, small and round and white. He throws them back with exhausted gusto and his baby nearly wobbles backwards in her arc to follow his movements with her big ole baby head.

They made a pretty baby, he and Gigi, how could they not? -but even the prettiest of babies have bowling balls for heads compared to the rest of their body and it still tickles Elvis immensely. He wheezes a laugh into the last of the water while catching her head with his other hand and crushes the cup with something bordering a burp and a groan.

Lovey’s bright little eyes expand just a fraction more at the vibrations against her belly. “ ‘scuse me, miss.” he teases, eyes still wavering blearily as he tries to focus on Gigi rummaging for something at the far end of the dim room. The water makes him feel at least partially alive again and he runs his hand beneath his nose to catch the sweat and what all that is collecting atop his lip.

Heaving in a big breath he feels his hands calm their shakes enough he looks down at Lovey’s valiant attempts to reach the apex of his unzipped suit, clammy baby hands snagging the hair on his belly and tugging. He’s gonna have bald patches down there at this rate, he’s told Gigi this and she just lathers more hippy oil on him and says he’ll be alright -so he guesses he will be.

“Look at you baby, so strong, yes you is, fightin’ gravity like a champ, got yo’self halfway up the sun, yes you has. Want daddy to help ya? Hmm? Yeah? You want a kiss, don’t ya? Me too, I want kisses from my bestest girl.”

He hooks his thumbs beneath the giving flesh of Lovey’s armpits and pulls the floppy length of her higher till she’s balanced on his broad chest, in between his gaping jumpsuit front, watching as she crows and grins the minute she feels his tacky skin beneath her palms. The swell of his belly keeps her high up and her little elbows dig into his soft chest, it’s a well worn ritual to spend her “belly time” on his chest, fascinated by her daddy’s face. It holds her interest more than any gaudy toy or tv show ever could.

Elvis pats her bottom gently with his ringed hand, careful not to pinch her delicate thighs as Lovey kicks and shudders in delight at getting her way. She’s a little masochist, his baby, she drools and coos even as she grips significant portions of his chest hair and tugs in glee as if it’s her own personal shag carpeting to aid her towards scooting up that last little bit needed for her to kiss him on the chin.

“Das it, das it almost there, gonna give daddy a kissy? Gonna gimme kissies? I wan’ ‘em so bad, yes I do!” Elvis pickers his lips and she strains every ounce of her little self to grab ahold of his sideburns. It’s all over then, Lovey is triumphant in her grip, a pack of wild horses can’t tear anythin’ that baby has once she’s grabbed ahold of it. With a gurgly little crow she scoots herself up till she’s able to devour his chin.

She’s quite coordinated when preening her angelic little face up to receive a kiss but upon dishing them out she goes about it like a starved man would a set of pork ribs, open mouthed and with the goal to slobber as much as possible on the recipient. Elvis can’t bear to turn her away ever and in his after-show state of permanent dampness he doesn’t even think twice as a sloppy, gummy and fervent baby adds to the sweat rolling down his throat.

“Fank you.” he murmurs, tilting his head to facilitate her attack, “Fank you so much, ooh, I love your kisses, ya know that? Favorite kisses in the world, yes ‘dey are! Better than any of those out there, Mhmm, way better. Yes, yes better gimmer another -aww thank ya!”

Gigi watches from the side as she finishes her breast pumping by the dimmed vanity as Elvis puckers his cherub lips and pecks at their baby’s matching glossy pink pair. In this moment with their bobbing heads and tender coos and the nearly identical soft forms of them both slouching in their matching jumpsuits -they could be twins. The thought makes her smile and right in this moment there’s a belonging she feels so strongly and richly that her eyes burn with it.

“I thought it went pretty well, mhmm, what’d ya think about the new song, hmm?” he always does this, consults Lovey’s side-of-stage perspective on his show and he swears to Gigi that her feedback is essential for the success of what has been a certainly well received comeback tour. “Yeah I thought so too, ‘could tinker with those background vocals but the bass was tight. Yeah, yeah man, I know, I told ‘em, but they don’t listen, no dey don’t! I know! I know I told ‘em! Can ya believe that, Lovey? Oh well.”

With each of his heavy breaths and remonstrances Elvis’ chest heaves and sends Lovey tilting further and further up to his face till she’s careening alarmingly into the crease of his neck, wedged between it and the couch back. The tip of her tiny body makes Elvis die laughing with a fit of those genuine, hiccuping laughs that their baby loves to mimic until they both end up dry coughing from their mirthful wheezes. He gets them both situated again, Lovey firmly back on the safe expanse of his tacky chest with his hands criss crossed over her tiny back. One of his hands can span the entire width of her little ribcage and folded over each other as his hands are now, they looks like a bejeweled turtle shell sheltering their Lovey’s delicate back.

Gigi packs up her kit and rummages through her sack for Elvis’ glasses before they’re needed for the camera-flash-lit trek back to the hotel.

Lovey lets out a vigorous yawn, suddenly utterly tuckered out from watching her daddy perform and waiting up to kiss him backstage. It catches Elvis’ attention and yet again he’s amazed by the fact he feels even remotely weary himself, like he’s able to tap into his girl’s calmer systems and regulate his own just a little to match them. Not so much a family as a trinity of souls so intertwined they’ve long since lost where one ends and the other begins.

“You sleepy, hmm?” Elvis hums to her and strokes over her head soothingly, “How bout we go back to that nice hotel then, we can eat somethin’ and yer mommy’ll call up Yissa to say goodnight. How’s that sound, hmm?”

Lovey rubs her face into his chest to emphasize how much she needs this sleep plan to be enacted speedily, the tired rub backfiring as his chest hairs tickle her sensitive little nose. Without fail it makes her sneeze violently and afterwards she’ll gaze up him dazedly as if asking for explanation as to her own bodily functions.

“Hutchooo, bwess you.” he thumbs at her sloberdy chin. “Dat was a big one, wasn’t it? Mhmm, daddy’s sorry he’s so fuzzy. Don’t got that problem when ya snugglin’ wif mommy, do ya? Nu-uh, smooth as marble, that pretty girl, ain’t she? Mhmm.” he ponders Gigi’s loveliness with a dreamy look of appreciation and his baby resignedly lays her head in the sweaty thatch of chest hair, wadding it away from her face with a tiny fist, Elvis stares over her head at Gigi who he knows has been playing at being busy to let him wind down.

They share a knowing little smile and Gigi shoves off from her perch on the vanity and clip clops over to him in her strappy heels, bending at the waist and offering him a lovely view down the neck of her dress as she gently fits his tinted glasses on his face. “There, all set.” she murmurs fondly while fiddling with his hair, dabbing at the mess of sweat and drool that the now sleeping baby has left in her wake.

Ricky cracks open the heavy metal door with great care but it’s not enough care to please Elvis who barks

“Gently, for God’s sake, there’s a baby sleepin’ in here!”

and Gigi smirks as she herself gets manhandled by her new husband to sit beside his bulky manspread, for no other reason perhaps than to keep her ass pointed away from Ricky. Gigi suspects that Elvis likes to bark at his traumatized entourage just because he enjoys getting to cite the baby’s needs. He has a baby again, and it’s turned him into more of a bear than a man on this tour. That thought makes Gigi sigh dreamily and she lays her head on Elvis’ shoulder and watches as Lovey’s sleeping breaths stay even and calm despite his outburst, utterly secure in her daddy’s love.

Gigi gets her thigh patted in recognition and she shudders as always from that promising touch, feeling how torn he is between winding down or thrumming off into the astral sphere. Only once they’re in the hotel and snug in the white sheets with Yissa on the phone will she know which way the night will go.

“Car’s all set.” Jerry quietly delivers the message that Ricky fled before he could finish delivering.

“Thanks man.” Elvis nods and after exchanging a look with Gigi asks her, “Ya ready, baby girl?”

“Yes.” she nods and gives him her arm as an aid to heft himself out of his burrow in the couch, his one arm still occupied cradling Lovey to his chest.

Gigi helps him drape his coat around his shoulders, flapping around him like one of his capes, allowing him to pull it over Lovey’s face in the ensuing glare of the photographer’s flashes as they speed down the hallways and into the parking lot, hand in hand.

Lovey is used to the racket, the screams and the pounding of an audience a natural backtrack to her young life. Nevertheless, Elvis moves gingerly, stays calculated in his movements lest he jostle her as he follows Gigi into the car, scooting into his seat as methodically as possible, his exhausted thighs quivering from this last ounce of endurance demanded of them. He succeeds though, Lovey still snoozing and drooling onto his chest by the time the Limo door shuts and they’re off in a streak of light and motion against the night sky.

He can feel Gigi slip her smaller hand into his own on the seat between them, tugging until he surfaces from his trance and turns his face towards her with a relieved sigh to find her always there beside him when he needs it.

“You alright, daddy?” she checks in with him and he watches as her features, so lovingly crafted by a generous God to make her appear young enough to be his baby much less have one herself, are gently lit by the occasional street lamp glowing into their speeding haven.

“Yeah darlin.” Elvis rumbles from deep in his chest, rubbing the back of his knuckles against her soft cheek, watching as Gigi leans into his affections as eagerly as that first night they met, “Never been better. I mean it, gonna need to make this the order of business. You and Lovey waitin’ for me, end of show -I could go on forever like this.”

TAGLIST: (drop a comment below if you’d like to be tagged in all installments for this universe)

@prompted-wordsmith

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starlitmark · 4 months

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Summary: You’ve been on hiatus with Jaemin for a while now. Your daughter was born just over five months ago, and you can’t help but miss your fans. Pairing: Jaemin x fem!reader Tropes: idol au, established relationship au, parent au Genre: fluff Warning: pregnancy (not yn), Taeyong’s a bit anxious, body image issues, mentions of breastfeeding, mentions of Taeil’s injury Word Count: 2,334 Note: I know that SAMLFY has been over for 2 years, bUT I MISS THEM!! Happy blog anniversary! The female unit songs are æspa songs <3 (this takes place between epilogue 2 and 3) thank you to @anyamaris and @wooahaeproductions for beta reading this!!

Before You Interact

“Czennie!” Johnny calls out, “Did you have fun?”

You hear the roars of your fans from backstage. You’ve been on hiatus since your fourth month of pregnancy. Jaemin, of course, went on hiatus with you. He said the thought of you just sitting around your home by yourself drove him wild, knowing he could be helping you out. The two of you have been on hiatus for a full year. While you love relaxing at home with your husband and daughter, you miss seeing your members more often than once a week. The exception, of course, is your brother and Mark, who come over nearly every day.

You feel Jaemin lean his head onto your shoulder. His eyes are fixated on your five-month-old. Hoyeon happily makes babbling noises as if she’s having a full conversation with her father. Jaemin chuckles and responds to her whenever she pauses. You look away from the duo for a moment to see Doyeon resting on a nearby couch. She’s exhausted, and honestly, you can’t blame her. She’s seven months pregnant and very ready to be done sharing her body. You remember when you were tired of sharing and just wanted to hold your little girl in your arms.

“You sure about this?” Taeyong asks softly.

“I’m sure. I’m not going to break at walking. Walking on the stage won’t induce my labor, I still have two more months; Sangha is safe, and so am I.” His fiancée chuckles, holding his hand in hers.

Taeyong turns his gaze toward you, Jaemin, and Hoyeon. His eyes twinkle when your daughter giggles at him.

“Are you two sure, too?”

You give him a soft smile, passing Hoyeon to Jaemin. Walking up to Taeyong, you give him a short hug and you can practically feel the nerves radiating off of him.

You pull away and give him that same soft but confident look. “We’ll be okay. We’ve posted a few photos with her and have security just in case. You’ve been so worried about us long before we had her. I promise everything will be okay.” You reassure.

Jaemin gets up and kisses your temple when he reaches you. He only adds small comments to help soothe Taeyong’s worries further. With Doyeon starting her final trimester, he’s become more worrisome than he was before. You know it’s all coming from a good place. You do wish he would relax a little bit, though.

Doyeon gets up and walks over to a stagehand. Your eyebrows furrow together not sure what she’s up to. Her left hand is resting on her belly. Her engagement ring glints in the lights of the room. The young man nods and walks away. When he returns, he has a handheld mic in his hand. Doyeon happily takes it from him. You swear Taeyong’s eyes go as wide as saucers. He doesn’t intervene, though. You both watch as she digs through her bag and finds a box you all know well. It’s her in-ears.

“What are you up to?” Taeyong finally asks.

“What does it look like?” Doyeon responds, fixing her in-ears. “The staff knows, the members don’t. I wanted to surprise them. I brought your in-ears, too, if you want them. Jaemin, y/n, I may or may not have asked your manager to grab yours, too.” She tells you as if she’s speaking about the weather.

Jaemin gives you a look. You know it well. He knows you’re about to join your older friend in her plan. You smile at him brightly and kiss Hoyeon’s cheek. Skipping toward your manager, you hold your hand out. He already knows what you’re asking for, and a moment later, your in-ears are in your hand. You hear the very familiar tune of one of the female unit songs. You know that Chenguang is covering Doyeon’s part while Juliette is covering yours. You’re happy for her. You know she doesn’t get many lines, so to have her covering your parts makes you happy on her behalf.

Doyeon nudges you and nods toward the stage entrance, “You ready to scare the shit out of Rose when we walk on that stage?”

“I hope so.”

“You don’t need to feed Hoyeon before we go on?”

You shake your head, “I fed her a little bit ago.”

“Let’s do this.” She says with determination.

A small bubble of anxiety grows inside you. You haven’t been on a stage in a year. Your body definitely isn’t what it was before your pregnancy. Looking back at your husband, you search for some reassurance. He gives you a small smile, takes Hoyeon’s chubby hand, and makes her motion to cheer you on. That’s enough to quell your anxiety. You fix your in-ears one last time and link arms with Doyeon. Your older friend gives you a sweet smile before the two of you start walking.

Once you arrive at the side of the stage, you stay hidden from the others. They’re currently performing Illusion. That’s a song neither you nor Doyeon are in any condition to perform. You went on hiatus a month after the album release, and Doyeon is far too pregnant to perform that choreography. Watching the girls perform only makes you want to jump right in and join them despite hardly remembering the choreo.

“I can feel the excitement radiating off of you.” Doyeon teases.

“I missed this.” You admit, “I’ve been off stage for too long.”

Doyeon scrunches her nose at you, “We both have. We were so used to the ‘go go go’ lifestyle that neither of us knew how to sit still for this long. I mean, look at me. I’m seven months pregnant and about to walk on stage.”

“You’re going to give Taeyong a heart attack, you know that?”

She giggles and nods, “We’re gonna wait for them to finish this up, and when it comes to our lines in ICU, we’ll walk out.”

You nod and watch as the rest of the members wrap up the song— your heart pounds in your chest. Your in-ears cancel out the sound of the audience; your member’s voices are clear in your ear along with the metronome as you hear Kaia belt out the last line. The lights fade out while they break out of formation to start walking around the stage for the second song. Yuki’s voice fills your ears as she starts singing the song’s first line. She’s crouched down, waving at fans as she sings. Kaia and Alice are playing around as they walk around the stage, also interacting with fans as they goof around. Chenguang, Rose, and Juliette are all wandering around, admiring the crowd as they wait for their turns to sing.

Your line grows closer, and you take a deep breath. You look over at Doyeon and see her reaching out for your hand and squeezing it tight before standing up. You start to sing before you and Doyeon are visible on the stage. Juliette jumps, not having expected to hear your voice. She whips around and sees you walking up to her with Doyeon in tow. Your member continues to sing as she walks toward you. She’s fighting back tears when she reaches out, and you take her hand. You sing your line with her. The others process what’s happened and rush over to the three of you. Chenguang practically throws herself into Doyeon’s arms as she lets her tears flow. Her lines are completely abandoned, and instead, Doyeon takes it up on herself to sing them. Yuki wraps her arm around your waist and walks around with you as she sings. Rose joins you and Yuki a moment later, wrapping her arm around your other side. Kaia and Alice stay by Doyeon. Your heavily pregnant friend likely doesn’t want to walk too much, and you can’t blame her. When the song wraps up, the eight of you meet up on the main stage and form a large group hug.

Again, the lights fade out. None of you move, though. Of course, the six members not on hiatus are in shock. Doyeon’s pregnancy hormones finally smacked her in the face, causing her to sob despite everyone else’s crying dwindling down to sniffles.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were–” Rose cuts off her own question.

“I had no part of this. It was all Doyeon. I found out right before walking onto this stage.” You chuckle.

The male members don’t take long to file on stage for the encore. Almost immediately, you get the air knocked out of you. Your twin brother practically body-slams you with a hug. He quietly asks if his niece is here; you nod subtly against his shoulder. You hear Johnny open up the encore song, Beautiful. You stay wrapped up in your brother’s arms. When you pull away, you feel a hand graze against your shoulders. You turn to see Mark smiling at you.

“Hey, stranger.” He jokes, “Having seen you in a bit.”

“You were at my house yesterday.” you chuckle.

“I mean on stage.” He adds.

You nod, “I missed this.”

You hear Doyeon singing just as beautifully as always despite the shortness of breath you know she’s been experiencing in the later months of her pregnancy. Starting to walk around, you meet the members on stage again, smiling brightly and playing around as you sing. You didn’t expect to hear Taeyong’s voice flood the speakers. You turn around and see him walking out, singing his verse of the song. He immediately gravitates toward his fiancée and bumps his head lightly against hers. You know that Jaemin likely won’t walk on stage. He wouldn’t leave Hoyeon with anyone, even your manager, for more than five minutes. As you watch the audience and your members, you feel yourself overcome with emotion. Small tears spring from your eyes, but you wipe them away.

The song ends, and Taeyong calls the twenty of you to the main stage. He practically screams out for czennies. He missed them just as much as you, Jaemin, and Doyeon did. He leads the group introduction, relieving Johnny of his temporary leader position for the time being.

“Czennie!” Taeyong yells again, “I missed you all so much. I know our members have been doing amazing with Doyeon, Jaemin, y/n, and me on hiatus. With Taeil’s injury added, our members did such an incredible job tonight.”

You smile, watching him smile brightly at the audience while holding Doyeon close to him. The other members start doing their ending ments, and you chuckle lightly when Alice teases you and Doyeon for scaring everyone in the midst of performing. You stay quiet and allow the members to speak. You do wish that Taeil could be here as well, but you’d much rather he rest and heal instead.

“My turn?” You question, “Well, hello, everyone! It’s been far too long!” You stop and hear the fans’ cheers for you. “I’ve been trying to keep you all updated a bit on my social media, but being a mom is definitely a full-time job.” You giggle, “I’ve missed you all so much, and I know-”

You get cut off by the sound of babbling over the speaker. Twenty heads snap to the side stage. Jaemin is walking up with Hoyeon. She has sound-cancelling headphones over her small head to ensure her hearing is safe. Somehow, your manager overprepares for the things that may never happen. In this case, you’re very thankful he overprepared. You take your daughter from Jaemin and kiss her little face. Jaemin smiles sweetly at the pair of you.

“Czennie,” You speak into the mic, “Welcome our first NCT baby!”

Knowing some people would abuse the information, you don’t say her name. None of the members meant to be on hiatus are done up for the concert. Jaemin is in a black T-shirt with a light jacket over it and a pair of ripped jeans. Still, he looks devastatingly handsome. Hoyeon’s eyes are wide as she takes in the rather overstimulating surroundings. Her eyes fixate on you, then Jaemin. Suddenly, though, your daughter squirms in your hold and reaches out behind you. She sees her uncle. Donghyuck happily reaches out to her and steals her from your arms.

The other members continue their ments as Hyuck busies himself, entertaining Hoyeon. Still, she squirms again, reaching out past him. Just behind him is an oblivious Jisung. He’s talking with fans quietly, but your daughter has her mind set on the youngest member. Xiaojun nudges Jisung and points toward your five-month-old. Awkwardly, Jisung takes her, fixing her headphones when they shift. She immediately tries to eat his mic, which is fixated in front of his mouth. The action results in a loud coo sounding through the arena. Yangyang busts out laughing when your baby interrupts Renjun’s ment.

Soon enough, Hoyeon turns her head around trying to find you again. You pull your phone just far enough out of your pocket to check the time. It’s time for her to be fed again. Jaemin glances over at you and has a silent conversation. He knows it’s time to go, too. You walk over to Jisung, who is still fighting to keep his clothes out of Hoyeon’s mouth, to retrieve your daughter. The youngest quickly passes her back to you. Taeyong seems to get the hint, and since all the members have done their closing ments, he leads the final bow. You carefully join, making sure to keep Hoyeon supported and safe. Both you and Jaemin step closer to the edge of the stage and wave to fans before exiting with the others.

It’s been a while since you’ve been on stage, but you know you’ll never tire of it. For now, though, you’ll focus on your little one. When the time comes, you’ll return to the stage and continue where you left off.

Networks: @kwritersworld @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

Tag List: @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris

#jaemin fanfic #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #nct fanfic #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct dream fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #jaemin x reader

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someone-elsa · 5 months

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(part 1 of 2)

🔙 Chapter beginning ⬅ Previous chapter • Next part ➡ 📝 About the story and characters

The whole chapter (with bigger pictures!) can be found on Blogger already ;) Check the Blogger post for a short recap too.

"Parenting is finally getting easier. The first six months were challenging, every day felt a thousand hours long. Now she's not crying that much and we can actually go to places and…"

River knew close to nothing about parenting but patiently listened to Sara's venting. She believed she owed her that after rejecting her as a romantic partner — even though River had said they would have not future together.

They had gone for a walk a few times and it had started to become a weekly routine. "And before you say I should ask for help," Sara said, "I have asked and Kody has helped a lot but ultimately, I'm alone. With Bayu of course, but you know what I mean."

"I… guess," River said. Sara seemed ready to change subjects so River asked: "What are your plans about school?" "I'll go back. I'm still not 100% certain if dentistry is my thing but I have no other ideas, so… Not until next year, though. I want Maya to be a little older before daycare."

"Understandable," River said even though she knew nothing about babies in daycare. Sara smirked. "Nice of you to listen to me babbling about parenting. I know it can't be your favourite subject but it sure is nice to vent. Maya isn't much of a conversational partner yet. Thank you."

"Hey I'm always interested in listening to my friends! Whatever the subject!" "In that case… I do have another thing on my mind."

Sara dug her phone out and opened the browser. "Check this out," she said after navigating to a certain news site. "Some theatre critic has visited The Bats's rehearsal."

River quickly scanned the article to find the worrying part. For two long paragraphs, the critic had wondered if hiring Harrison Stacks to direct the musical was a risk worth taking. Some of his work had been astounding flops. This was neither new nor worrisome for River; her father's reputation as a wild card was well-known. It was the next paragraph about the actors that had made Sara uneasy.

The leading actors (Bayu Wardhana and Jaylah Ortega) have impeccable chemistry, the article read. Watching them embrace each other and sing about love, I felt I was interrupting an actual couple getting ready for bed — if you know what I mean. It was so intense it was almost umcomfortable... I felt warm and fuzzy inside — and I don't mean in my heart! If the whole musical is like this, I'm going to see it multiple times!

"Hmmmm… Have you asked him about this?" "He says it's just a job. That Jaylah is just a colleague and that I should be proud of him being so good at his job. I mean, of course I am. And I know he is truly charming and charismatic, I wouldn't be here pushing a pram if he wasn't…" Sara sighed. "But… I don't know…"

River hadn't realised Sara cared about Bayu so much. She had thought they had only an arrangement to give Maya a stable family, not a true romantic relationship. Maybe that had been the case at the beginning but Sara was quick to fall in love. River wondered if Bayu was on the same page.

River wasn't sure of what to say. Her sister Brook was working in the production as the head makeup designer. When asked about the musical, Brook had fussed about how sweet Bayu was, always giving compliments, and how he was liked by everyone. And he was cute for someone so short (Brook's words!). River wasn't going to repeat her report. "Brook works on the production, remember? She would tell me if there's anything to know. She couldn't resist spilling the beans."

Sara sighed again. "I must have been overreacting. I'll try to focus on other things." River knew how hard it was to not think about something bothersome. In that morning, her hands had felt… different. Like she couldn't fully control them. She shuddered.

Sara's phone vibrated demandingly. "Ugh, it's mom. She has tried to call me many times already, I'll need to take this."

And immediately, Little Maya was awake. She wasn't happy about it. "Wah! Wah! WAAAAAAH!" Sara let out a hopeless sigh. "Could you hold her? This shouldn't take long."

River gulped. Her hands did still feel shaky but it wasn't something she felt like sharing. "I… I think I might have a cold coming. I shouldn't touch her…" Sara looked her suspiciously and River coughed. "Fine. Can you at least rock the pram and talk to her?" "…Sure."

"Yes, mom? You indeed hear Maya crying. No, a friend is looking after her. Well, she's trying her best." Sara walked further and River couldn't hear her over Maya's cries.

"There there, little one, look how beautiful and blue the sky is." But Maya wasn't interested in watching the sky.

"Hey now, I'll buy you ice cream," River tried and Maya's crying toned down a bit. "When you'll get older, of course. Your mum wouldn't probably appreciate me getting you ice cream now... Anyway, in the future, you'll get the biggest sundae, any flavour you want, with whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate sauce... A shiny tiny umbrella on it..."

She came up with a dozen more toppings and Maya fell asleep again. "Good one, River, no child can resist ice cream," River whispered to herself. "How does Sara do this all day every day? Mothers are really something."

Notes: I think I have wondered which language Kody and Sara talk with their mom in some previous chapter's notes but I can't remember to what conclusion I came (I should write stuff like this down...). Maybe Sim!Japanese because even though she was born in Sulani, she sort of detests the place. Thinks it's not classy enough for her 🙄

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sau sims story #ts4 storytelling #sims story #sims storytelling #sau chapters #something about us by someone elsa #simblr #ts4 simblr #sims 4 story #ts4 story #sau chapter 42

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 month

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Chapter 2: Nerdanel x Anairë

Let's get to my favourite ladies! The plot thickens...

Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog, Nerdanel x Anairë

Prompt: And they were roommates

Words: 2745

Warnings: Suspicion, grief, uncertainty.

Gothmog had spent the rest of the day in Mairon’s office, going over the new developments and trying hard to believe his old friend when he’d solemnly asseverated that he and his lover had had nothing to do with Fëanor’s tragic but far from regrettable demise.

The next day, the trusty henchman was exceedingly surprised to catch himself pacing around in front of Thuri’s run-down establishment impatiently—he had never been the kind to appear early at appointments and meetings, no matter how important, and he wondered what was happening to him.

As soon as he saw Eönwë appear, on foot, at the corner of the street, his heart gave a silly, little leap which shook him to his very core with paralysing foreboding of an impending disaster.

Eager to dispel that sudden soupçon of debilitating weakness, Gothmog practically launched himself at the handsome detective and started babbling before Eönwë could even greet him.

“Hi, oh…” Eönwë expostulated as he was whirled around where he stood and resolutely pulled back in the direction from which he had just come. “What’s up?”

“He was really assaulted thrice over?” Gothmog asked as they walked down the street in search of the other’s car as Eönwë adamantly insisted on taking turns driving so nobody had to front all the gas money.

Nodding, Eönwë fumbled in his pocket for his key fob—he felt terribly out of his depth, but he was too proud and stubborn to admit defeat. Not yet.

“Melkor didn’t do it,” his companion suddenly exclaimed with uncharacteristic vehemence. “I won’t deny that he loathed the man, but he would never have had the rigour or the dedication to mount such a ludicrous production. If it had been us, you would have found Fëanor torn to bits, probably with a calling card stuck between his splintered ribs.”

“If it had been Melkor,” Eönwë replied darkly. “We would never have found Fëanor at all.”

“True…”

“My boss is convinced that—”

“Fraternal jealousy,” Gothmog cackled. When the discreet, rhythmic crunching sound of Eönwë’s sturdy work boots abruptly stopped, he looked over his shoulder in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” he asked, astonished. “Manwë and Melkor grew up in the same house—I am not sure myself whether it was a foster situation or…Anyway, they didn’t get along too well.”

“That changes things,” Eönwë whispered, his head spinning and his stomach churning with something dangerously close to disgust. He had been used—he’d always trusted and believed his superior blindly, and now it looked as if Manwë had taken advantage of his obedience and diligence to carry out a reprehensively personal vendetta.

“Forget your boss…and mine, okay?” Walking around the car and prying the key from Eönwë’s stiff fingers, Gothmog made sure to block out everything besides his own face by shielding the shivering detective with his own bulky body. “You and I, we’ll get to the bottom of this, as we’ve agreed. Forget about them—they’re in their offices, plotting their dreadful intrigues, and we’re on our own. Let’s go see the ex-wife, shall we? We will, in time, find someone who hated that bastard enough to Rasputin him.”

Nodding dazedly, Eönwë let himself be pushed into the passenger seat of his own vehicle where he sat in miserable, speechless silence while Gothmog weaved through the slow-moving traffic with worrisome skill and blatant disrespect for the rules and laws of traffic.

By the time Gothmog peeled himself out from behind the steering wheel of Eönwë’s rickety sportscar again, the silence between them had shifted from tense and suspicious to almost comfortable.

“You let me do the talking this time,” Eönwë warned tersely.

To his surprise, Gothmog nodded placidly. “Sure will,” he laughed. “You have an air about you that gets people to open up and reveal more than they originally were ready to disclose. So yes, you butter them up with your adorable little face, and I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any treacherous twitches.”

“Adorable, huh?” Eönwë squeaked breathlessly and rubbed his hand across his cheek instinctively. He was unsure whether he wanted to be perceived as “cute” by so impressive and potentially dangerous a creature as Gothmog, but he couldn’t help being flattered by the earnest note of admiration in that deep, grumbling voice.

As he turned resolutely to the quaint bungalow, sitting smack dab in the middle of a sprawling garden, his heart sank as he realised that Gothmog probably thought that he was consciously playing a part to lull his suspects into a false sense of security.

How disappointed the streetwise, sharp-eyed ruffian would be when he found out that Eönwë had never had any choice in the matter.

It vexed and saddened him, but he had to admit that his semi-successful investigation would have already been doomed if it hadn’t been for his risky, shockingly selfish decision to let a complete stranger assist him.

“Knock, boss,” Gothmog chirped as he leaned against the artfully carved pillar holding up a beautiful awning and buried his nose in the fragrant herbs within a heavy pot, painted clumsily and messily by an unknown child, that was swinging gently in the breeze.

His improbable helper was, Eönwë realised, someone who was profoundly in love with life, despite his initially hostile and frightening appearance.

“Are you fond of basil?” he asked Gothmog as they waited for the door to open.

“Is that what it is? I don’t know…it just smells really nice,” Gothmog replied with an embarrassed chuckle.

“It’s delicious on fresh pasta—if you want, I can make some for you, once we’ve cleared up this…” Before he could qualify the gruesome crime with a few undoubtedly callous and disrespectful words, though, the old, lacquered door creaked loudly.

The woman standing on the threshold, however, was not the tall, broad-shouldered sculptress they had expected and sought out. Eönwë cleared his throat nervously.

Long-legged and slim, this lady seemed to be carved from the finest, polished ebony money could buy, and her flashing eyes drilled into them mercilessly.

“I suppose this is about Fëanor,” she declared more than asked in a voice so low and sultry that Eönwë instinctively tumbled back a step, colliding with Gothmog’s broad chest.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Is…”

“Nerdanel? She’s inside—we were waiting for you,” the woman said and turned around calmly, confident that they’d follow her like ducklings if they wanted to get answers to their questions.

“Who are you?” Eönwë asked quickly, remembering who and what he was and why he had driven all the way out of the crowded city to talk to the reclusive artist they’d not yet met. “And what are you doing here?

“Oh, how rude of me,” the woman chuckled melodiously. “I am Anairë, Nerdanel’s good friend. I believe you’ve had the honour of meeting my ex-husband?”

“Spicy,” Gothmog commented under his breath and promptly earned another withering stare from Eönwë.

Behind Anairë’s slender, straight back, Gothmog drew quotation marks into the air while mouthing the word “friend” dramatically and rolling his eyes.

“You and I are friends…of sorts…are we not?” Eönwë hissed back, evidently thinking that he was making a very good point.

“Oh, I wish we were that kind of friends, my dove,” Gothmog guffawed loudly.

In spite of his joking mood, he dutifully observed their silent guide and didn’t miss the way she drew up her shoulders defensively at his crude jest. Bull’s-eye!

“Nerdë? The police—and some strange ne’er-do-well—is here to ask you about…”

As they entered a spacious living room that seemed to house enough potted plants to rival a botanical garden, Eönwë and Gothmog finally got to see the woman who had loved and left Fëanor, the Great and Powerful.

At the time of their engagement and subsequent nuptials, the tabloids had not tired of pointing out how unimpressive Nerdanel’s looks were after all the models and actresses her future husband had been seen courting before her.

Seeing the woman in the flesh now, the two intrepid investigators had to disagree with such callous defamations. Nerdanel was positively queenly in her quiet, composed grief, as she sat—straight as an arrow—on her sofa as on a throne.

“I have not seen or spoken to ‘Náro in over two weeks,” she declared before Eönwë could express his condolences or ask his first question. “He has been much the same as ever, I am afraid to admit. Driven, paranoid, and rude.”

She gave a little wry chuckle. “He was not the kind of man to make friends easily, nor was he able to avoid making enemies.”

Eönwë frowned. “His brother said the exact opposite.”

“Which one?” Anairë cut in. “My ex-husband? He’s a fool, kind-hearted and optimistic, but a fool, nevertheless. He’s always loved his half-brother desperately, not to say obsessively, and he could never imagine that anyone would feel any differently about his shining childhood hero.”

“There is another brother,” Gothmog murmured discreetly. “One nobody wants to talk about.”

Frowning at that disruptive aside, Eönwë shook his head infinitesimally. “He’s of no consequence—he’s…not like them.”

Gothmog shrugged in a way that clearly expressed that he disagreed. “You never know about all the things those who are called inconsequential once too often are capable.”

“I am surprised to find you here,” Eönwë then addressed Anairë as courteously as possible, given the circumstances. He was growing increasingly irritated with this investigation—for some unfathomable reason, nobody was where he expected them to be, and all their statements directly, blatantly contradicted what he had foreseen to be their stance.

“After our divorces,” Anairë explained smoothly without missing a beat, “we’ve decided to room together to escape the loneliness of being middle-aged women whose children have flown the coop and whose husbands have grown into unrecognisable strangers over the years.”

“Too quick to be the truth,” Gothmog warned Eönwë. “She’s practised this speech—I suspect she’s had to deliver it many times.”

“How do you know?” Eönwë asked, suspicious.

“Thuri is a good friend of mine,” Gothmog answered candidly. “She has a well-rehearsed declaration like that one ready as well. I’ve helped her prepare it…Do not believe everything people tell you! They might have been entertaining a more than strictly amicable relationship since before their marriages went belly-up.”

“So, you had no problems with your ex-husband? He’s quite a wealthy man…he was, I mean…” Eönwë turned his attention back to Nerdanel who cocked her head pensively.

“I have never needed nor even wanted Fëanor’s money,” she spat passionately. “I do very well on my own, thank you very much. If it’s the estate and the accounts you’re interested in, I’d refer you to my son. Moryo—Caranthir for you—might be able to tell you more about those.”

Instinctively, Eönwë turned to Gothmog. He was convinced that such a massive, frightening mountain of muscle had collected, extorted, or stolen large sums before, and thus he trusted that his unofficial partner in this case would know when someone was not being truthful when it came to their financial situation.

“She is very famous,” Gothmog declared cheerily. “I believe her—she seems to be the artsy type who lives on fresh air, wet clay, and bright colours. Moreover, if it’s her kid who holds the purse strings, I am sure that he wouldn’t let his mother live in squalor and misery, don’t you agree?”

“Where are your sons?” Eönwë asked and promptly blushed as he remembered that he’d already found one of them. He was not sure whether he wanted to tell the bereaved woman that he’d found Maglor in his uncle’s house under very questionable circumstances, though, so he bit his tongue.

At once, both women’s faces froze into painfully polite masks.

“They are away,” Nerdanel informed them coolly. “As I said, you can ask Caranthir about my ex-husband's finances, and I will let you know as soon as the others are back.”

“Are all of them out of town?” Like a bird of prey sensing a mouse’s rapid heartbeat in the opaque midnight darkness, Gothmog plunged onto that tiny slip-up.

“Not Caranthir,” Anairë replied, self-possessed and unmistakably unwelcoming. “Maglor should be around, and my own son Turgon doesn’t leave outside of the school holidays because of his daughter. I expect you’ve already spoken to Curufin?”

Humbled by her forbidding tone and merciless gaze, Eönwë deflated. “My boss…He must have done that."

With a trembling sigh, he looked around the room in search of any other clues.

“Looking for something specific?” Anairë asked mockingly, shifting on her endless legs to stand between Nerdanel—still seated motionlessly—and the unwelcome intruders.

“I am merely doing my job,” Eönwë said softly. “I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, but—if you had no reason to want him dead—I am sure you’d want to be helpful in finding out who murdered the father of your children.”

“Let him be, ‘Nairë,” Nerdanel said in a deep, hollow voice. “He’s just a kid—and he’s not wrong.”

Looking upon Eönwë’s miserable face, Anairë’s stern mien finally mellowed a little; she was a mother herself, and she sensed that the young detective was merely trying to do his best.

“I have no reason to desire Fëanor’s death,” she answered the implied but unspoken question. “I have his wife, I don’t need his money, and thus, there is nought his death would give me that I could not have conquered on my own while he was alive.”

“Ha!” Gothmog cheered under his breath, making her roll her eyes in amusement.

“If I may be so bold,” she purred. “You two seem a curious pair as well. If I were in your shoes, I’d think twice before judging another person for bending the rules of what society deems appropriate ever so slightly. Wouldn’t you agree?”

At once, both the unlikely partners started to protest, which made Nerdanel smile earnestly for the first time since they had set foot in her little realm.

“I wish you the best of luck,” the sculptress said in her low, trembling voice that was thick and heavy with tears she was too proud to shed. “Fëanor was an abysmal husband at times, but I truly did not wish for this to happen. Any way I—or my sons—can be useful to your inquiries…”

Bowing in instinctive reverence, Eönwë gave her his sweetest smile as he took his leave.

“Good luck to you too,” Gothmog grinned. “I doubt that you’d really enjoy it if we were to unravel the tight ball of lies and deceptions you’ve spun, but I can appreciate your impeccable manners.”

As Nerdanel looked up at him pensively, a shrewd light came into her eyes.

“You of all people should know to what lengths people are willing to go to defend and protect those they love,” she whispered, pointedly keeping her calm, piercing gaze on his flabbergasted face.

“Even if they’re guilty?” he asked, recognising how superb these two women were under the thin veneer of good breeding and comfortable middle-age.

They exchanged a knowing look.

“Especially then,” Anairë replied in her lover’s—for there was no doubt about that in Gothmog’s mind—stead.

In a subconscious imitation of Eönwë’s honestly deferent gesture, Gothmog bowed as well.

“Well played,” he praised with a wry chuckle. “The game is far from over, though.”

“We’ll see,” Nerdanel smiled.

“You know where to find us,” Anairë added. She was the very picture of sedate, sophisticated grace now as she stood behind the proud redhead and rested a long-fingered, possessive hand on that broad, muscular shoulder. “If you ever needed more insights.”

“Wicked women,” Gothmog laughed as he stepped outside to join an impatiently pacing Eönwë. “I am well afraid we’ve found our match in them.”

Sniggering nervously, Eönwë agreed. “I’d hoped you might have better chances at getting something important out of them…”

“Women are not my area of expertise,” Gothmog admitted unashamedly. “Also, if Fëanor and his silly half-brother couldn’t break them, I doubt that we’d manage to unearth anything they aren’t willing to feed us on a silver platter. Beware, all their gifts are poisoned, and we’d do well in remembering that.”

Tapping his fist lightly against the roof of Eönwë’s battered car, he grinned. “I would very much like a lift if you don’t mind. I have some work to do still…” “Do you want to come tomorrow to interview the banker?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

So, @tolkienpinupcalendar here's another pairing!

Lots of love from me!

-> Masterlist

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #Masterlist #NSFT #NSFT rarepair bingo #rare pairs #Chapter 1 #Eönwë x Gothmog #Firebird #Eönwë #Gothmog #Nerdanel x Anairë #Nerdanel #Anairë #And they were roommates

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monstas1ut2 · 2 years

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<3 Shu gets his juicy revenge

| Pair(s) : Shu Sakamaki, black fem reader

| Warnings : Fem reader, black reader, squirting, Shu calls you his little melody, Shu loves how you sound with his music, fingering, risk, teasing, Shu thinking about humiliating Reiji

| Wc : 1.3k

| A/n : I am in need of ideas for Diabolik lovers scenes/imagines/fics.. so please tell me. <3

“Ow.. fuck..”

Glancing up in slight urgency, there was no doubt that those ocean eyes were on edge. The color being darkened than usual, and the aura of harsh tension beckoning you to be more on alert. Although no words mustered from you, you showed your emotion by caressing the new bruise. The darker toned bruise was quite obvious around your wrist, tainting it from the rest of the brown color.

Wanting to complain about how badly it stung, or how it felt like your wrist was broken, you couldn’t. Usually, the thoughts that spiraled in your mind were always spilled. Today, it was different though, he didn’t seem like he was in the mood.

The faint noises of soft classic music coming out of the earbud, was pulled from his right ear. The bud swaying a bit before stopping at his chest, all while, the other stayed put in his ear. The blonde deciding that the music would create harmony with the sounds you were about to release.

The worrisome things that pummeled your mind was making your stomach twirl. Anyone could tell what this was leading towards. The soft duvet that was underneath your butt making you more worried than anything.

“Shu, we can’t do this-..” you whispered out, those pretty, glossy lips of yours almost trembling. Everything about you just seemed oh so doll like, your long black eyelashes fluttering with a plea. Shu could care less though, not only are you his property, but he knows in his heart that his own brother has fallen for you. And That just made it all more fun.

“Why not.”

“Because, this is his room, he can come back any fuckin’ minute and I’m dead foolin’ around witchu’..” You babbled out, just barely getting the words out, all while the soft thump was heard. The jeans that covered your legs were peeled from your skin, the cold air warning you to stop this man from causing chaos.

“not while I’m around..” Shu spoke with that deep, but rich and soft voice. Those half lidded eyes of his watching as you kept your legs closed.

This man had his way of edging you on, so there was no doubt that your blood was boiling from his voice. It’s just always so seductive and sex filled. Watching his lips curve slightly into a cocky smirk when he knew he’d won you over. Either way though, if he hadn’t, you’d still have to endure it all.

“Face it, does the thought of me fucking you… in my brother’s room make you.. hot?” Leaning towards your gorgeous face, you could see every single intention Shu had, in his eyes. Swallowing the nerves, your legs slowly opened again. The soft, f/c fabric covering your slit was barely enough anymore. The smell of your sex giving the vampire a full high.

“That’s my little melody…” Shu whispered with that same lazy smirk, hooking his long index finger underneath the fabric before he’d pulled it slightly to the side. Those puffy brown lips were basically calling his name over and over again.

Slightly biting down on your bottom lip, there was much anxiousness from wanting to feel his fingers caress you right there. Staring down at your aching pussy that began to leak more from exposure. Though, Shu wasn’t going to make it that easy for you, his blue eyes showing much more mischief.

“You’re a naughty woman… Thought you said you didn’t want to do this before..” Shu brought up, his slender fingers gently moving to press against that wet slit of yours. It felt so undeniably good, and somehow someway, it felt even better doing this in a room you weren’t supposed to be in. Slowly aching to move your full, thick hips against his fingers.

“I’m not the one that put me in here, you did..” you slightly whined, lips parted a tiny bit from the soft whispers of touch. A tiny hum leaving his throat as he slipped one of his fingers inside. The pink walls suddenly pulsing around just his one finger. “Yeah.. because I can.” Shu spoke with the lack of fear, it just wasn’t there, nor would it ever be.

This was none other than a grudge filled counterattack. Shu might’ve said a few statements to crush Reiji’s ego, though Reiji said a lot more. This, however did not put a dent in Shu’s ego. This is because Shu is the type of male to do more than speak utter nonsense. He loves crushing Reiji’s spirit physically, but he lacks energy. In result, Shu doesn’t go the ‘Ayato and Subaru’ route of damaging things or smashing walls. Shu does something more .. petty to get under his skin.

Boundaries.

It’s no secret that Reiji has many pet peeves, the main one being cleanliness and decency. So, the second Reiji became petty and uttered the worst combination of words ever, Shu became spiteful. He might’ve looked like he ignored every single thing that passed Reiji’s lips, but he didn’t. Once that button was pushed, Shu basically ripped it and threw it right back in his face.

“Ah~.. Right there-.. right there…”

Gripping tightly around Shu’s two fingers, your soft painted toes curled in an instant. Trying to keep your precious voice down, you softly reached up and gently touched the back of the blonde’s neck. Those soft fingers almost stung him, your nails tickling him just a bit. Shu knew exactly why Reiji wanted you, it wasn’t just about the blood.

There was just nobody who could compare to you. Gently pushing him down towards you, Shu obliged and pressed his lips against yours. A burst of strawberry flavor bouncing around his tastebuds. It was absolutely sweet, the want to kiss you more never leaving. The sweet sounds of smacking making you almost purr with more lust for him.

The pool of wetness inside of you beginning to weep. Your puffy pussy making those squishy sounds from Shu picking up the pace with his fingers. The wet glistening puddle soaking into the covers below you. And that’s what Shu wanted, he wanted you to make a complete mess of yourself and everything else.

Clenching the sheets that you never thought you’d touch, your eyes squeezed shut for just a split second. The clenching also occurring down south, where shu’s fingers were drowning and now stuck inside of you. A slow smirk appearing on his face once again before softly curling his fingers upwards. That sudden motion making you jolt in shock. It really did feel as if you were electrocuted. Trying to keep the worst of your sounds in, the need to cum on his fingers enhanced.

“Don’t be troublesome… cum on my fingers like a good girl.”

The vampire would never admit, but maybe a slight drop of drool went down the side from his mouth. This could be from how sweet and scrumptious you smelt, or just from how weak you looked. Shu knows how strong you mentally are, nobody could bring you down. But, Shu knows all he has to do is push your little buttons and he has you in this mental chokehold.

A burst of wetness exiting you, the puddling sounds only getting louder from Shu giving your special spot so much attention.. his hand drenched in your juices as he had that satisfied look on his face. In his mind, he wanted Reiji to taste what he couldn’t get… make Reiji look pathetic by shoving his face in the wet spot on his covers…

Oh man revenge tasted so sweet.

That’s all he wanted, pulling his fingers away from your soaking cunt. Slowly licking them with no shame, because you tasted like pure honey. Something Reiji could never experience head on.

He could only experience it from his drenched bedsheets.

#black reader #poc reader #smut #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers scenarios #lemons #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik lovers x reader #Diabolik lovers x black reader #Diabolik lovers x poc reader #shu sakamaki

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opttagoyeo · 8 months

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SUDDEN NH IDEA!

Nerd Naruto x Nerd Hinata

Popular Naruto x Nerd Hinata

Office Worker Naruto x Doctor Hinata

He used to be a cute, cute nerd.

He used to hang out with them a lot.

He used to loved the books she recommend to him.

They used to talk a lot.

But now he's the Popular guy, and even an ounce of his attention can't be directed onto her.

Suddenly, her Naruto-kun changed into this, into the man she doesn't recognize.

He used to be so cute, and adorable and.. and.. handsome.

***

"Hinata. You called to me, yeah? Wassup."

*she frowned immediately, where on earth does he learned to speak like that? it was rather embarrassing for him to please people just because he became popular*

"I.. need to talk to you, about something important. "

*his chiseled face turned into a frown*

" And what is it, that you even brought me to the utmost corner of this.. err library? Sounds boring to me—"

*he cannot continue his words for he felt her glare burning him into ashes, he just coughed.*

" Naruto. "

" -kun? Didn't you used to call me Naruto-kun with your cute voice, yeah? What's stopping you, Hi-na-ta? "

*his words ranged to her ear and she almost crumpled the letter on her hands, at first, she thought that Naruto's change was for the better but then, it turned him into this montrosity she's quite not fond of. It ticked her, and she definitely missed the old Naruto-kun.*

*she cleared her throat before carefully glaring to him*

" I'm here solely because you used to be one of my close friend.. and I—"

*his scoffed bounced off against the wall a little too loud, she tried to warned him but he just rolled his eyes*

" What? Used to? Hinata, aren't we still friends?"

*he then laughed*

" Y-yes.. though not as the same as we were before. "

"... " *he didn't replied back anything but his face are saying everything there to be said*

" Erm... as I was saying. You're a friend of mine, and I thought it's important for you to actually know that after this year's graduation, I will go straight to abroad for college. "

*the clock ticked by before realization hit Naruto's gut, widening his ocean eyes*

" What?! "

" S-silence, Naruto! "

*he grumbled as he crossed his arms against his chest, flexing his muscles against the tight shirt he's wearing*

" So you're actually going to abroad, this year? Wow, talk about being in a richa—"

*before he can continue his random babbling, hinata immediately pushed the letter onto him*

"Before I leave, I'm giving this letter to you."

*his gaze fell upon the letter, sealed, with white color. his lips turned into a smirk*

*he leaned back against his chair and stare to her pearly orbs*

"My, my, my! Are you serious? You're not gonna, like, confess to me or something inside this letter right?"

*hinata almost flinched.. almost. but not because naruto 100% right, it's because of his tone which she doesn't like. it's full of mockery and hidden disgust. as if he's used to rejecting girls that worships him.*

"Don't read that letter before I leave. At least read it after I went to abroad. That's my last wish, for you. "

*he stilled, what the fuck is in this letter that makes hinata this secretive? it's just a fucking letter?!!!*

"Now, now, you're making me incredibly serious. I feel like I can't hold back myself and just want to rip it out and.. and—"

" And read it? Please, Naruto-kun. Please read it after I went to abroad, okay? That's the only thing I want from you."

*damn it, he cursed internally. he may reject everyone and don't care about people's wishes. but this is hinata we're talking about. he might be damned if he didn't listen to her, especially when she looks like that, doe-eyed and worried face. fuck it*

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. I won't, happy now?"

*her lips upturned and gave him a timid smile, not the one that reaches her cheeks. but atleast her eyes aren't as worrisome as before. naruto's tiny bit self missed the sunshine-y smile she always gave to him.. he cannot help but reminisce.*

"Thank you."

"I'll get going then. Goodbye, Naruto."

*phew. she's done. she's finally done*

*she left the library with a heavy heart but nonetheless happy how the situation turned up better than she had expected it to be*

10 years later >>>

"Patient Uzumaki?"

*the nurse asked in the hallway, a tall man raised his hands gently before standing up on his all glory.*

"This way, please."

*the two of then entered another room that leads to another dull, hallway with nothing to see other than the slick designed windows on his right that emphasizes the blue sky outside.*

*they came into a halt when they got into a large door, beside it was a intricated bronze plate attached directly to the wall. naruto squinted his eyes, is it.. Hyuuga?*

*a deja vu washed over him when he read that*

"Mister?"

"A-ah!"

*he scrambled to walk when he realized that the nurse was patiently waiting for him to enter the door, which is now opened thanks to her.*

"Sorry."

*the nurse just subtly nods as an answer and naruto cannot help but grimaced to himself*

"Doc, you're patient is here."

*she gently informed against an opaque sliding door, that made naruto think that it was his doctor's office, well, obviously.*

"Please, enter."

*an authoriative voice from the inside affirmed, making naruto suddenly flinched. although he cannot help but to think that the voice is somewhat familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere*

*the nurse opened the sliding door and entered, Naruto did the same before he closed the door behind him*

"Doc, he's here. I'll leave you two, then."

"Thank you, Mikiwa."

*she bowed before turning her heels and walking pass him as she left the room*

"Please, sit."

*the doctor left him with no choice but to obey, his nervousness getting the best of him. his gaze fell upon his knees, his hands on them clutching the fabric of his pants. fiddling them as to reduce the anxiety blooming over him*

"Uzumaki, Naruto.. san?"

"Ah.. yes. T-that's me!!"

*due to the sudden voice, his gaze immediately turn upwards to a pair of pearly orbs directed to him and the familiar midnight hair accentuanting a beautiful familiar face*

*he feel his stomach drop*

"H-hinata?!"

>>> Hinata's drunk >>>

*naruto isn't quite sure how this changed brought to his relationship between hinata but now he's infront of the drunk doctor, sitting infront of her. seeing her on her drunk glory.*

*he can't deny that she looked incredibly adorable but he bite down the thought immediately before he can relish the feeling*

*suddenly, hinata removed the eyeglasses she's currently wearing*

"Naruto-kun~, lean over, here~, okay??"

*her slurred voice pleaded*

*and who is he to disobey it?*

*she immediately puts the eyeglasses onto his, yet delicately even at her current state*

"Wah~"

*she smiled softly to her masterpiece*

"Don't move, ne, Naruto-kun~"

*he gulped nervously, isn't it done? what could she be possibly do in that state huh?*

*his whole world freezes when he felt her hands gently on his hair, before she messily patted it to her desired form*

"Wh-what the hell, Hinata!"

"Shh!~ Aym, busyy~ Hihi!"

*he sighed loudly, he cannot imagine for the love of god that he would be facing this drunk woman and experience this right now. if you told him this would happen, two hours ago, he would've laugh at you on how ridiculous you sound*

* when she's done, she immediately removed her hands on his hair, and damn it, naruto cannot help but miss her hands tangled up on his hair already*

*she sit again across to him*

*her eyes crinkled into a delight smile, her hands under her chin, cupping them and now, she almost shine against the dark of the night. or maybe it's him imagining things again*

"I like it!~"

*she excitedly beamed*

"What do you mean you like---"

*suddenly, she's looming over him, her small hands cupping his cheeks, and then.. and then*

*her lips touched his*

*after she kissed him, she returned to her sit*

*his cheeks burned, the soft taste of hers lingering against his lips*

"Ah.."

*then all of a sudden, she just passed out cold. her head against the table, but before hinata's head hit the wooden table, naruto aided to her by laying out his hands..to support her fall*

>>> A day later >>>

*It's unfair*

"...Like.."

*at the background, shikamaru's voice is busy handling affairs and appointments for his one of a kind boss.*

"Then..I like that, Yuzuru-san."

*he finished talking with the man behind the phone*

*" I like it~"*

*hinata's voice last night boomed against his mind, naruto wants to just work silently but it's not helping that hinata's voice is still lingering, pushing itself on his mind*

*what is she implying by that?*

*does she like his face? or his eyeglasses she gave? or was it his messy hair?*

*he doesn't know which one?!!!*

"Stop, saying like!! "

*he shouted angrily, enough to make the other people flinch in fright.. even shikamaru*

*a grumbling shikamaru arched his eyebrows*

*a silent question, "what the fuck?" looming over shikamaru*

"This is driving me insane, she.. SHE'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!! "

>>>TBC>>>

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ambercast · 8 months

Text

(in response to this post by/with @endlessreruns)

tw: death, depictions of grief, suicidal ideation

Roman wasn't sure what he was going to say when he saw Lucy. Maybe he should have been thinking about it on the rest of the walk towards the commune, but in reality it was almost like his mind had suddenly went blank. Devoid of any thoughts whatsoever. He got to the commune, not even bothering with the few members that called after him as he made his way up to the door, and then inside to look for her. Still not saying a word to anyone or giving them any type of acknowledgement if they were saying something.

There was a bit of a commotion that caught Lucy’s attention. They’d been working on a donkey for Bram with the new tool Lincoln had given her. She looked up as Roman entered the room, someone calling after him that he wasn’t supposed to be there. He hadn’t snuck in. That was strange. The look on his face was also strange.

Standing quickly, she moved to shut the door. They couldn’t lock it, but it was something. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, moving around him to stand in front of him, looking up into his face.

"it's - " he started, looking at her and swallowing, before he began to pace back and forth some. "it's-" the word came again, followed by silence as he reached up to scratch behind his head "fuck. Fuck!"

This was even more worrisome. Lucy watched him pace for a moment before reaching to take his hand. Pulling him over to the bed, they set him down on the edge of it, sitting down beside him. She didn’t say anything else, allowing him to take his time. Obviously something was very wrong, but they didn’t want to push him.

His pacing stopped only when she took his hand and brought him over to sit on the edge of the bed. He hated that she was doing this for him, when he knew that what he had come to say was going to hurt them. He stared down at his hands, maybe it would be easier if he wasn't looking at her.

It still took a few minutes before he spoke, "I was - I was on my way here and I found him."

Lucy watched his face, not understanding what happened or what he meant by that. Found who? What happened? She told herself not to push. They moved to take his hand again, lacing their fingers together.

He stared at her hand, before his face traveled back up to hers. Roman's eyes giving away more than his words had. "I'm -" he started before just giving a shake of the head and pulling his hand from hers in order to wrap his arms around her and pull her into a hug without another word.

Roman’s eyes and the hug had Lucy’s mind racing. Who had he found? What happened? Was someone hurt? Dead?

They pulled away from the hug, staring at his face. “Who?”

"Don't make me say it, Lu"

“Most of my friends use he. I don’t know who you’re talking about. If one of my friends is hurt . . .” Lucy was babbling a bit in Spanish now, gripping Roman’s arms tightly.

"It's not one of your friends, Lucy" he inhaled, shaking his head. Lincoln hadn't been Lucy's friend. Not really. Not in the way that the people Roman had seen Lucy talk to and be around at events had been. Their relationship had been different. More familial. More paternal on Lincoln's end.

It took a moment before Lucy realized who he meant. Lincoln was a “he” who wasn’t one of her friends. The color drained from their face, and they stood quickly. “Where is he?” she demanded.

"The forest." That's where he had been last he knew at least. There was the possibility that he'd been moved by now, but he doubted it.

Lucy turned and opened the door to head out. determined to see for herself. It couldn’t be true. Lincoln was probably just injured or something. He couldn’t be dead. He was their father, in every way that counted. She couldn’t lose another family member.

Roman saw her head towards the door and stood to follow her. "I told one of the rangers that was out on patrol. He might not be there anymore"

That was fine. She’d go to the funeral home. Lucy didn’t look at him or speak, simply walked with determination toward the funeral home and cemetery, hands curled into fists at their sides, nails digging into palms. Maybe he was fine and he wouldn’t be there. Maybe he’d be back at his shop, perfectly healthy and alive and it was all a misunderstanding.

Roman wasn't sure if he should ask if they wanted him there or not, but there was a part of him telling him to keep going with her. That she was going to need him.

It was a tense walk down to the funeral home, and as they arrived the paramedics were wheeling the body toward the back entrance. Lucy sped up in order to catch them, flinging herself onto the gurney before anyone could stop her. Someone grabbed their shoulders to pull her away, but she practically climbed on top of the thing, grabbing the zipper of the body back and ripping it open.

He was pale. Cold. His eyes were closed, almost as though he were asleep. Lucy grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, trying to wake him up. More hands grabbed at her, trying to pull her away, but she struggled against them, still shaking Lincoln’s shoulders over and over again. A small sound escaped her, like an animal in pain, a cross between a whimper and a cry, as she struggled and shook and tried to wake him. He couldn’t be dead. This couldn’t be real. He had to wake up. He had to.

"Just give her a fucking moment!" Roman shouted as he saw them trying to pull her away again. His hand was on the pocket knife in his pocket, ready to pull it out and threaten them if they didn't back off.

At Roman’s shout they backed away, leaving Lucy on top of the gurney. He wasn’t waking up. Slowly, her frantic shaking slowed and then stopped. He was gone. He was gone. Just like they all were gone.

She started to climb into the body bag, and as the paramedics jumped forward to try and stop her, she did her best to fight them off. She had to go with him.

Roman saw them jump forward and in one quick move the knife was out and open, blade pointed outwards. "Back the fuck off" he growled.

“She can’t be in there,” one of the paramedics said, holding his hands up as he saw the knife.

Lucy took the opportunity to finally wiggle into the body bag, resting her head on Lincoln’s shoulder and biting her lip. He was so still and cold. They started to try and zip the body bag up again from the inside.

"Lucy" Roman said, glancing back in her direction. "you can't stay in there"

Lucy didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to leave Lincoln. He was cold and he shouldn’t be alone. At least her family had gone together. Lincoln was all alone.

The paramedic gave Roman a pleading look, not wanting to get his captain involved if he didn’t have to.

Roman lowered the knife, but still kept it out, as he moved to turn fully towards the gurney. "You want to go with him don't you?" he asked

Lucy hadn’t managed to get it closed completely, and at Roman’s voice they paused, eyes burning as they nodded silently. The Weirdlings had each other. Cat had the commune. Roman had Saffron. Lincoln had no one. She had to go with him. He was everything and so much more. Her father. Her savior. Her mentor. Her best friend.

"would that be what he'd want for you?" he asked, moving to slowly unzip the bag some, though not all the way. "would he want you to die because he did?"

Lucy didn’t like that question. Obviously Lincoln didn’t want her to die. It’d broken his heart when he’d found her in his workshop. But . . . he wasn’t here to save her now. He was gone, and Lucy felt a gaping hole in their chest that just seemed to be getting bigger with every minute, threatening to swallow them whole.

Slowly, they shook their head but didn’t move from Lincoln’s chest.

"I'll make them give you five minutes, but then you have to come out" his voice was soft as he spoke, "please promise you'll come out. For me"

For a moment Lucy was tempted to refuse. She’d known Lincoln for nearly a decade. She’d known Roman for practically five minutes. But that thought didn’t last long. It was a selfish thought. Lucy didn’t like being selfish.

Slowly, she nodded. Five minutes.

"okay" he nodded before turning back towards the paramedics. "you're going to give her five minutes. If any of you even think about grabbing her I will stab you. Don't think I'm fucking joking"

The paramedic lifted his hands and took a step back, allowing the five minutes.

Lucy curled her fingers into Lincoln’s shirt, closing her eyes and pretending to be dead with him, just like she did with her family. Where she could see them all like they were, and they were all together, and she wasn’t alone. The tears came slowly and then all at once, and they muffled their sobs against Lincoln’s chest, wishing he’d hold her. But his arms didn’t move, and there was no reassuring heartbeat.

Roman kept his place in-between the paramedic and Lucy, his knife raised again out towards the paramedic, in a stance to strike if he so much as thought of getting close.

The five minutes passed and as much as Roman wanted to give them more time the five minutes was what had been agreed on and if he gave her another five then he'd just give her another and another. "Lu. Lu we have to go"

Lucy made herself stop crying. It was something they’d gotten good at over the years. Slowly, she sat up and crawled off the gurney. She paused, leaning up on her toes to give Lincoln’s forehead a small kiss. They watched, then, as the paramedic moved forward again and rolled the gurney into the funeral parlor.

Lucy stood and watched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, knowing what would happen next. His body would be prepared and then there’d be a memorial. Then he’d join the many others in the cemetery.

Their feet felt like lead. Maybe they would just stand here until it was all said and done, no matter how long it took.

Roman just watched her, and then the paramedic as they rolled the gurney and Lincoln's body inside. He closed the knife and slid it back into his pocket.

After a few more minutes he reached out to touch their shoulder. "We should go."

Lucy didn’t move. They were returning to the earth, their feet buried into the ground, just like Lincoln would be buried.

Roman moved in front of them, holding her face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry it was him. If I could bring him back for you I would."

Lucy could feel her eyes filling with tears again. She couldn’t quite look Roman in the eye, rare for her. It was nice to hear he felt that way, but it also told her he felt guilty, which wasn’t good. Slowly, she dropped her head forward to press her forehead into his shoulder.

"you can stay with me if you want. For a little while" he offered, knowing she might not want to be at the commune for now.

Lucy didn’t know where she wanted to go. Everything was a haze and she could barely think, let alone make any decisions. She continued to stand there, forehead pressed against his shoulder still.

He stood there with her for a moment or two longer, before he wrapped his arm around her. "come on" he said quietly, as he began to walk, guiding her with him as he started back towards his place.

#lucy:threads #lucy:roman #death tw #grief tw #suicidal ideation tw

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twinclownsoflotuspiers · 2 years

Text

He knew it was a dream.

And yet, watching Jiang Cheng walk backwards with the vast open sky and a cliff that dropped off sheerly behind him felt all too real. Jiang Cheng looked at him all the while he walked, clear grey eyes that used to be so fierce now lifeless and empty.

Jiang Cheng, no. Stop walking, please.

Wei Wuxian couldn't get out the words no matter how much he tried. He could only watch in fear and agony.

Jiang Cheng...

His shidi fell.

Wei Wuxian woke up.

Heart pounding violently and skin covered in cold sweat, he didn't think twice before jumping out of bed - uncaring of the fact that Lan Zhan had woken up and now called to him in concern.

"I have to get to Yunmeng," he heard himself babbling. "I have to get to Yunmeng."

"We will go tomorrow," Lan Zhan assured him.

Jiang Cheng seemed fine, if a little distant. He'd frowned slightly at their unexpected visit but nevertheless received them courteously. He'd kept away from them after that, letting the Jiang disciples take care of them in his stead.

Lan Zhan had looked at him then as if to say "He's okay, you've been having nightmares."

Yet something still continued to bother Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng's eyes were wrong. He'd seen that look before. And it convinced Wei Wuxian that he couldn't stop worrying yet.

......

Wei Wuxian, let go.

Over my dead body!

Jiang Cheng still fell. His eyes strangely held relief.

Wei Wuxian woke up.

This time when he sneaked off to Yunmeng, he didn't wake Lan Zhan up.

.......

Jiang Cheng frowned as always when he appeared at Lotus Pier's doorstep but he didn't refuse him. He just lowered his eyes and let him enter.

This was wrong.

Wei Wuxian wanted Jiang Cheng to scream at him. It was better than looking at those unfamiliar dead eyes.

............

I'm sorry...I should go.

No! Jiang Cheng, stay!

......

"Why do you keep visiting me, Wei-gongzi?" Jiang Cheng couldn't help but finally ask. "If there's something you need, then just say it."

Hearing that address stung. Yet Wei Wuxian couldn't really say anything against it.

"I don't need anything," he answered. "I just wanted to see how you've been doing."

At that, Jiang Cheng's expression turned guarded. He looked away, refusing to answer.

"My well-being is none of your concern."

Perhaps Wei Wuxian was the one who couldn't let go.

.....

Jiang Cheng's body lay broken on the ground, limbs twisted in strange angles and blood flowing in rivulets marring his beautiful face. His lifeless grey eyes lay wide open & despite not breathing, his lips moved.

Are you relieved to see me go?

Wei Wuxian woke up.

.....

He kept visiting Yunmeng.

Lan Zhan gave up trying to stop him.

Jiang Cheng never turned him away. And yet...he seemed so out of reach.

The dreams never stopped.

Wei Wuxian watched his shidi die over and over again.

......

Wei Wuxian, let go.

I won't. I don't want to.

.......

Maybe his fear and unstable mental health showed. Maybe he WAS being worrisome.

Either way, after enduring a few more weeks, Lan Zhan put down his foot and refused to let Wei Wuxian leave.

Wei Wuxian understood. He knew he was losing himself again. But he still felt fury.

It was after a few days of being locked up, Wei Wuxian received a letter from Jiang Cheng.

It was one of the familiar official scrolls that Yunmeng Jiang used. Yet on opening, the scroll contained only haphazard scribbles that were then blotted out. Like Jiang Cheng had tried to share something and then couldn't. Painstakingly Wei Wuxian could only make out a vague "Thank you for coming to visit me."

On the bottom of the document though, the page was clean and contained one line in familiar hand, now shaky.

"I'm sorry."

Wei Wuxian broke down every door and enchantment with the same form of cultivation he'd promised never to use again and ran.

On instinct he went to the cliff he'd seen countless times in his dreams. He didn't know how the timing lined up so uncannily.

"Jiang Cheng!" He roared.

The figure on the precipice turned.

"Jiang Cheng, don't! Come back!"

He took a step back instead and plummeted. Heart in his mouth, Wei Wuxian reached out to grab hold of the other's hand.

Jiang Cheng looked up at him without a word. His eyes were resigned. It was worse than lifelessness.

"Wei Wuxian, let go"

"Shut up!"

"Let me go," Jiang Cheng pleaded. He never pleaded. "Please."

"I will not!"

Why? Why did his shidi want to die? Wei Wuxian couldn't understand it. He refused to understand it. (He could understand it. He refused to accept it.)

Jiang Cheng raised his other hand. Wei Wuxian felt sudden hope. Right after, he felt a sudden sharp pain on his hand that had been holding onto the other.

Jiang Cheng fell. There was relief in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian screamed himself hoarse.

......

Wei Wuxian woke up.

He staggered to the small basin in the corner of his dark dinghy room and leaned over it, watching his reflection.

Sunken bloodshot eyes. Sunken cheeks. He looked like a ghoul. Shakily he washed his face.

He then walked to his "study" and then drew another number on the wall. He'd watched Jiang Cheng die a hundred times.

Perhaps he was going mad.

Nevertheless, Wei Wuxian sat down in front of the documents of his newest research & made a few changes. Then he held up a blade & nicked his arm.

"One more time."

-End-

#chengxian #xiancheng #i am back with another archival post #i apologize #but mindfuckery is good shit #and I enjoy killing jc a little too much #i have happier chengxian fics i swear!#open to interpretation #wngxn have a fucky breakup here #coz wwx has basically gone mad #im sorry wngxn

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