#I need to write some heart-wrenching fluff to make up for this…

[junopersonified]

Control! Your! Self! - James Wilson

Summary: House knows you (a frathouse’s sweetheart and his favourite patient) have been hooking up with Wilson, despite Wilson’s constant denying. But, he just knows a way to make his friend crack—your sororities fundraiser.

Includes: Readers Nickname is Aelia, (Reader is 28ish), FratSweetheart!Reader, FWB, Nearly Getting Caught, Workplace Sex, Car Wash, Wilson Gets Flustered, Hilson (If You Squint), House Sorts of Gets Off Watching Wilson Get Off? Wilson Pops a Boner!

The bi-weekly checkups (that were scheduled to end months ago) with House since your knee surgery, always ended up with you in James Wilson’s office, the blinds pulled tightly shut and a hefty armchair pressed up against the door.

Wilson’s warm and veiny hands caressed the smooth crescent of your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips whilst his bucked into yours painfully (but pleasurably) slow as you sat on his desk.

Your connected lips stifled each of your desperate moans, having to keep quiet as Wilson’s doctors and interns walked past his office, unbeware of the Head of Oncology’s absence.

Gosh was it hard.

Ankles crossed around his waist, you’re gripping the hair at the back of Wilson’s neck, fingers coiling around the chocolate waves. You tug every so often, eliciting a hearty guttural groan from the man above you, setting your skin on fire.

Forcing his cock all the way inside of you, tightening your hold around his body, Wilson lets out a deep whine, letting his head drop to rest between your bare collarbones.

“You’ve got to give me some sort of warning… what if House were to walk by and hear that?” Wilson hisses, his index finger tracing below your belly button, it tickled.

“You’re always bringing up House, I’d rather you didn’t with your dick inside me.” You giggled, pecking his lips and shuffling your body closer to the desks edge.

Pressing down on your abdomen, Wilson can feel himself in your stomach, rearranging your insides. His balls tighten, knowing you can take all of him inside your heavenly tight pussy.

“He’s ever-consuming…” he whined as you bite a sensitive spot on his neck, lapping your tongue over it to soothe the bruise, “… just like your pussy, my god.”

Ogling down at where your hips lay flush, Wilson feels tears tickling at his waterline, the sight of your walls inviting his length in never gets old.

The desk begins to rattle, Wilson’s impending orgasm creeping up at him at the sight of you under him.

Your fingers rub at your clit in circles, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and your gorgeous eyes curtained through closed lids—you felt like you were ascending.

Like ecstasy was coursing through your veins, your supplier being Wilson’s raw and passionate thrusts.

“Fuck, James. I’m so close…” trembled past your parted lips, heavy breathes brushing against his bushy eyebrows that are pulled together in deep concentration.

Looking into your eyes, Wilson nods his head frantically, “Good girl, come undone for me.” He ordered and you did.

Your orgasm came in red hot, causing you to shudder and clench around Wilson—who was so close too.

He groaned like he was in psychical pain as you rolled your hips onto his, to be honest he was in pain, he needed the sweet relief of coming soon.

Lifting your hips up as pure bliss came over you like a thick blanket, sweat beads painting your hairline, your toes clenched and your spine tingled as you finally came down from your high.

“Such a gorgeous girl, I’m so lucky.” Wilson said, cradling your face in his large palms, thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek.

“Fucking me so good I might just make you mine.” your fucked our mind spoke for you, gazing at the doctor under hooded lids.

“Yeah?” Your pussy seemed to tighten again (somehow) and Wilson’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he mumbled incoherent nonsense.

“Mhmm, take you back to the frat house, show you off to the boys.” Wilson whimpered as pre-cum drizzled inside of you. “They’ll be so jealous, they all want me but I’m devoted to you, only.

“Imagine House’s face when he walks in on us in your apartment, looking so innocent sat on your lap watching ‘Tivo’, not realising you’re balls deep in me.”

Your dirtiest fantasies tip Wilson over the age, he cums staring into your eyes. His eyes gloss over with pure pleasure, his lazy eye (that you absolutely adore) turns in slightly when he moans.

As his hips jerk, balls pressing against your ass trying to shove his cock as deep as possible, you smile at each other through the haze of your orgasms.

Pulling out, a mix of both of your fluids seep out onto the desk, “Look at that, got me cumming so hard, baby.” You purred.

“And a lot, I think you might need to get checked out.” He tutted, spreading your folds, ogling at your soppy pussy.

If you had been any less sensitive, his mouth would’ve been lapping at your wetness immediately; that was too cruel though, he’d barely touched you and you were already twitching,

“Really, that much? You know any good gyno’s?”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Wilson nodded, “I’d say I’m pretty seasoned in that area, you could always come to me. You might need daily check-up, sweetie.”

Laughing, you slapped his hands away from your core, “But I thought you were an oncologist?”

“Who says a man can’t do both?” Grinning, he softly kissed your neck up to your jawline.

Scooping the mixture with your finger, you commanded Wilson to open up. Sticking your finger down his throat, Wilson suckles on your flesh before pulling off with a pop!

“You’re good, too good. Where’d you study?” You tease, leaning on your forearms against some of Wilson’s papers whilst he cleaned your wetness up with a towel (that he’d brought from home, knowing you had an appointment with House that day).

“I’m a Doctor, Aelia, I know all about anatomy.” He shrugged with a toothy grin, chucking the towel into an empty drawer.

Pulling his boxers over his hips and buttoning his slacks up (biting his tongue when the fabric brushed harshly against his worn out cock), he sat back in his leather chair, patting his thighs.

Eagerly dropping yourself into his lap after shuffling your tight shorts back on, you pressed a tender kiss to his Adam’s apple and then his cheek.

“I’m also a married man, twice divorced. I know how to please a woman.”

“You sure do, Peepaw.” Gasping, Wilson tickled your sides, ripping an almighty giggle from your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain Head of Diagnostics, hobbled by. After trying to escape from Cuddy who was adamant on forcing clinic hours on the doctor.

He also was going to steal Wilson’s lunch, ergo why he stopped right outside.

House’s ears perked up at the sound of sweet giggles. Sure, Wilson had a nice laugh, but it was never that high-pitched.

And then, when he tried to burst in but was blocked by a heavy force pushing against the door, he knew something was up.

Eyes wide, you watched in shock as the handle to Wilson’s office rattled furiously. Facing the oncologist, he squeezed your hips and lifted you up onto your feet.

Passing you your little handbag and sweater you arrived in, he motioned towards the large windows adjacent to his desk.

Furrowing your eyebrows you shook your head rapidly, there was no way you were jumping out of that into the bushes below—you had dignity!

Tilting his head tentatively, Wilson clasped his hands together in a begging motion. “One minute House, the doorknobs going to fall off if you shake it any harder!”

“Another knobs going to be removed if you don’t let me in here, now!” House shouted, banging his fists on the wooden door.

Sighing deeply, running a shaky hand through his hair, Wilson rushed over to you and directed you towards the open window. He hushed you as you began to retaliate.

“Please just do it, I’ll stop by later and make it up to you.” Wilson promised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the back of his finger along your cheek.

“You fucking better James Wilson. I’ll tell one of the frat boys to let you in.” Straddling the window ledge, Wilson gave you a pitied look and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Leaving him with a linger peck on the lips, you slid out of his office and landed on the soft grass—thank God he was situated on the bottom floor.

Otherwise you’d have no more legs for him to make weak.

Slicking his frizzy hair down, Wilson pushed the chair away from the door, allowing House to barge in like it was his own office.

He didn’t say a word as he leant on his cane, narrowing his eyes, scanning the room for anything suspicious. He stopped when he reached the open window, the blinds fluttered in the Summer breeze, almost too much.

“Somethings fishy here…” House decides, plopping into Wilson’s chair and rifling through a draw pulling out a plastic container—his lunch.

Hiding his chuckle behind a cough, Wilson picked up the messy files that he was reading before you had strutted in. Legs for miles on full display, nipples perked that pierced through the hoodie—safe to say, he had gotten a little distracted.

“I’m not entirely sure Aelia would be too pleased with that statement…” he mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”, “Nothing.”

“No, I mean what is that?” House’s nose scrunches up, not in disgust, but in confusion.

Jutting his bottom lip out, too confused, Wilson turns and is greeted to a discarded blue lace bra, hanging off a picture frame. Oh.

That must’ve been hanging there since your entrance. Flung off and forgotten about in the midst of a passionate make out session, before Wilson received a soul sucking blowjob that left his teeth chattering.

Heart dropping to his stomach, Wilson reaches out to snatch at the bra, shoving it down his trousers, “There are the sneaky things.”

“Have you started wearing ladies lingerie, Wilson? Was that part of the special dessert you were making me, tonight?”

Running a stress hand over his face, Wilson had to think fast, “No, those are my wife’s. Well they were until they went missing. Don’t know how they’ve ended up… there…”

“Can’t of been your wife’s, wayyy too big to be hers.” Wilson glares at House, whose face scrunched up in a devious beam.

Dropping the smile immediately, House began to poke at a cupboard with his cane.

“Aelia, I know you’re in there, come out. You’re busted.”

Scratching his head awkwardly, Wilson stuck his bottom lip up and shrugged, “She’s not in there, I haven’t seen her since her last checkup.”

Huffing, House shook his head and rolled his eyes sassily—like a deranged teenage girl—tutting at his best friend’s serious expression as he opened the cupboard door.

“I can assure you. Why would she be in my cupboard anyway?”

“Because, my dear friend… I have eyes and ears. You’re hooking up with my patient!” chewing on his lip, Wilson placed his hands on his hips and whispered.

“You’re right…”

Eyes widening, lips curling upwards ever so slightly, House’s voice dropped an octave, “You are?”

“No.” Wilson deadpanned, shuffling through his files and placing them neatly on his desk, grabbing a pen to sign off some patients further-going treatment.

“That’s it.” House banged his stick on the carpeted floor (for dramatic effect), Wilson raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to weasel it out of you.”

Pulling a rumpled flyer out of his blazer pocket, slamming it down in front of Wilson on the desk. Grumbling (because he now actually had work to do), Wilson unenthusiastically pickled the paper up, pinching the corners with his thumb and index finger.

“Sorority Fundraiser?” Wilson questioned, flicking the leaflet over, he was greeted with a group photo of a nearby sorority.

His eyes immediately gravitated to you, you were so much prettier than the others, a large cheesy smile gracing your features, sticking your tongue out cheekily, long hair cascading down your back as you leant your head against a friend’s.

The throbbing in his trousers he was so familiar with that day returned too, scoping your outfit; a bralette with tiny denim shorts.

“No… House, please.” Wilson pleaded, folding the leaflet over and shoving it into a drawer (the one with the sticky towel hidden in) for later use. “How’d you even get this, because I know Aelia wouldn’t invite you to this.”

“‘Course not, that’s like inviting your uncle to your strip show. I nabbed it off the Aussie Ken-doll, Aelia had slipped it to him before her check-up.”

Heat stirred in Wilson’s belly at the revelation, he was fired up with jealousy; why would you invite Chase and not him?

He must’ve been speaking his thoughts aloud as House tsked. “Maybe she needs someone less pre-historic?”

Chomping into (what was Wilson’s lunch) the bell-pepper with spicy rice and cherry tomatoes, House crunched onto a tomato, purposefully sending seeds flying all over Wilson’s clean shirt

Pulling into the car-park outside the sorority house, a crowd of girls circled House’s beaten down Dodge Dynasty.

Their tits squished together and pushed up through their tight bra’s, skin partially covered in soapy bubbles that overflowed from nearby buckets.

Hair tied back with multi-coloured scrunchies, lips pouty as they seductively rinsed sponges off over their collarbones—it was like a scene straight out of a 80’s porno.

Wilson had never seen his best friend’s grin so wide as a college student knocked on the window, House’s fingers trembled, placing a crisp 20 dollar bill in the girl’s palm.

“Girls look! It’s that hot doctor.” A close friend of yours, Estella; a bubbly girl whose wild curls matched her personality; shrieked from across the parking lot.

Pointing a manicured finger in Wilson’s direction, House swivelled to face the oncologist incredulously, who was slowly sinking further into the passenger seat, hands pressed firmly over his eyes.

“My, my would you look at that! You’re like a ol’ regular around here, you perv.” House nudged Wilson’s side.

Resting his forearm on the windowsill, House whispered something to one of your sorority sisters, handing them another 20 bucks before they hurried off towards another car.

“W-what did you do? 40 bucks, House that’s insane!” Wilson babbled, loosening his tie from around his neck that seemed to be suffocating him.

Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, House leaned back in his seat, slowly raising his sunglasses over his eyes.

“Paid a little extra for a select cleaner, and what’s the harm? It’s for the greater good of society.”

“I’m not sure practically prostituting these sorority girls for your sick entertainment is for the ‘greater good’, House.” Wilson scoffed.

“Hah, don’t lie. You’ll love it!”

That’s when you come skipping over, sporting a string bikini, tied loosely in bows at your hip, and… god does Wilson hate when House is right.

“Woah…” House voices Wilson’s thoughts, eyes trained on you as wiggle your hips in excitement at Tina (who was now wafting herself with the 2 20 dollar bills), beaming at the hot doctor’s special request.

Winking at your friends, they all wiggle their eyebrows towards each other, going back to cleaning the other cars to keep the other men waiting patiently with their tongues hanging out entertained.

Wrapping your finger against Wilson’s window, chewing on your bottom lip to hide your knowing smile, he smiled back weakly.

“Well morning, James.” You giggle after House rolled the window down, leaning into the car and purposefully pushing your tits together into the doctors face.

He can House stifle a snort beside him, “Ah! Aelia, fancy see you here.”

“Likewise, doctor and… other doctor.” You wave at House who waves back, body shuddering with laughter at Wilson, who was not-so discreetly averting his gaze from your breasts to your face every micro-second.

“We’re just in great need of a thorough wash, nice and soapy.” House drawls.

Quirking an eyebrow at Wilson, his face is steaming hot and you can tell he’s mortified. He’s sweating through his t-shirt and sporting a growing bulge in his trousers, something you’re now all so familiar with.

“I see, anything for my favourite doctors.”

As you move with purpose over to a discarded bucket of water and soap, Wilson slams the window switch and groans at House’s laughter.

“I get this is a whole thing to stitch me up, but this is plain humiliating, House!” He seethes, chest rising and falling dramatically as he catches a glimpse of you.

Leaning over to pick a sponge up, giving him a perfect outline of your sodden bikini bottoms, he lets out a shaky breathe.

“See, this is what happens when you don’t tell your old man things.” House shrugs, “I could get used to this you know.”

He adds, leaning against his hands, leaning into the drivers seat, watching his favourite client begin to scrub at the bonnet of his car.

Wilson grits his teeth in frustration, but his jaw falls slack when you make eye contact. When you tilt your head tentatively at him, flicking your braids sending them cascading over your shoulder, careful not to graze them with the soapy water, Wilson knows he’s a goner.

Pulling his right leg to his chest, he tries to hide his impossibly hard erection from his best friend, who stares at him like he’s insane.

“What are you doing?” House questions, fussing with Wilson’s knee to push it back down but he’s met with a whole body’s worth of force.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Wilson responds, squinting as he tries to find your blurry figure through the windshield, now covered in soapy water that you’d thrown onto the car.

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what?” Wilson sighs deeply, carefully palming himself through his trousers, praying House can’t see his desperate actions.

“That’s you two are… hooking up, having sexual intercourse, riding the flagpole? Fucking, shagging, doing the devil’s tango, indulging in a bit of hanky panky—“

“God, alright! Jesus House.” Wilson covers his ears with his hands, face scrunching up in disgust at his friend’s words, “We’re hooking up.”

Placing his foot back down on the mat, exposing his covered erection, House whistled lowly and scoffs. “My goodness, you hiding one of my canes down there?”

Groaning, tugging at the roots of his hair, Wilson pleads, “Not now, what am I supposed to do?”

“I say just rub one out here, no one will notice. It’ll match in with the soap Aelias using anyway.” House shrugs, the outside world would never know considering the car was covered in a thick layer of bubbles.

“Anyways, I’d dig it.”

I wrote the entire end of this in one go and Tumblr didn’t save it, so it’s extremely rushed I apologise 😭

[caramelkoo]

before we shatter — jjk [one]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 6k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature content, fluff, so much angst, smut, talks of infertility, clit sucking, fingering, Jungkook worships her, dirty talk, doggy style, reader is in so much pain i love her sm, fall vibes <33, gift giving as a love language, pussy slapping with his d, big dick energy, jungkook is desperate. that's about it please mention if i missed anything.

read part two here

a/n : based on this ask so thank you anon for coming forward and giving me a chance to write this. i also wanna mention that im no doctor so please forgive me if i didn't do the topic of infertility justice. the second part gives more clarity in their case so please be kind to wait. enjoy and im v v grateful for you. you're so loved.

When you were a child, barely five, an orange butterfly came flying outside your front door. Your mom told you about it since she saw it first causing your entire face to instantly light up like the fourth of july.

An inexplicable joy filled your whole body making your day ten times better, not that you were having a bad one. A five year old can’t have a bad day whatsoever.

After you were done chasing it around, secretly hoping that it would land on your nose just the way they show on television, you had to let it go and head back inside. 

Oddly enough the next morning you saw it again, this time it was not flapping its wings like it had last night, instead it was sitting on the window beside the door. Quiet and still. 

You, ever so curious, had to ask your mom about it. “It might find comfort there,” she said. 

Up until you met your boyfriend you had spent the majority of your time wondering where your comfort place is, what is that one place where you can just be yourself and not pretend to be some stoic woman. A place which lets you cry whenever you want but also replaces those tears with wide smiles and loud giggles. 

Turns out, it’s your boyfriend’s arms. 

It’s true. Jungkook with his kind, sparkly bambi eyes and bunny smile stole your damn heart a few years ago and is not willing to give it back. Although you can’t complain, in a world where people can’t seem to find the one for themselves, the angels up there granted you a guy every inch a gentleman. Safe to say it’s not one like one of those titular relationships you've come across. 

He’s your solace, a roof where you can safely just about exist. 

He heals you.

Dating an Idol comes with several perks, the biggest one of those being dealing with the huge amount of selective criticism. You feel hurt, of course, but when you’re with Jungkook, they are nothing but words behind a pixel. A pain that only lasts momentarily. 

This pain though, is not as mundane. This one is making your stomach twist in apprehension. You’ve lost the count of how many deep breaths you’ve taken.

“I’m afraid this is a case of infertility miss _____” the doctor says, earning your attention.

You’re not able to form a word, however that does nothing to stop your subconscious mind from screaming, I knew it.

Being stupid enough to think you were well prepared to hear her say this, you mustered up the courage to enter the four walled white space which, at that time, didn’t feel as narrow as it does now. It’s almost as if it’s closing up on you.

Only after you sat before the woman in white coat and bad news, did you realize how gut wrenching this actually feels.

You face her with a weak smile, one that doesn’t actually reach your eyes, “Are- are you sure you’re not mistaken?” 

Dr. Ana leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. The move itself tells you more than you need to. “Miss _____, I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with this but I suggest you try. I would also like to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you can always go with adoption. The options are endless.” 

Your throat feels awfully dry and you gulp. “Thank you uh, can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Anything”

“If you happen to cross paths with Jungkook, please don’t mention anything about this to him.” 

Dr. Ana flashes you a kind smile, “Of course not ____. It’s your personal matter. I wouldn’t dare.” 

“Thanks a lot.” 

With one last nod you excuse yourself from her office. Your phone buzzes inside your pocket and you take it out, seeing Jungkook’s number stare up at you. 

“Hey” 

“Hey, my love. Are you busy?” His voice nearly brings tears to your eyes. It also brings up a question. Will he act the same towards you after you tell him where you are and what you just heard? Will his voice be filled with the same amount of excitement and affection for you? 

“No, honey. I’m actually at my sister’s place. She was craving some alone time with her husband and asked me to babysit Coco”

You can visualise him awing already. Jungkook has grown attached to your sister’s daughter a little too much. His bond with Coco is just so bright it makes you wonder if they happened to be an actual father and daughter duo in the past life. They’re both full of beans and it’s a delight to see them both together. 

He chimes, “Ah my little Coco bean. Is she near? Let me hear my angel.” 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to come up with any transitory excuse that doesn’t make you run for the hills. “She’s sleeping right now. Made me work for it but I managed to settle her down” 

Jungkook moans from the other side of the line and you mentally curse yourself. Not only are you lying through your teeth but also using your innocent niece as a pawn. From the day you began dating Jungkook, you’ve not looked at any other man. For the first time now, you have this nagging feeling as though you’re cheating on him. 

“Well, alright next time then. When are you coming back home?” 

“As soon as they do. Do you miss me already?” I tease.

“Pfft me and miss you? Impossible” 

You gasp, the audacity of this boy. “How rude!!”

Your goofy boyfriend dares to chuckle, “I carry you with me everywhere I go, love. It’s hard to miss someone who’s this close to you every time of the day.” 

It doesn’t take you long to grasp what he is referring to. The heart shaped bracelet rests proudly on his wrists and the man had refused to take it off ever since you gifted it to him. A sense of longing already creeps up in your heart, twisting it until you run out of breath. 

Your chest expands as you fill it with much needed air, “Listen, honey I’ll give you a call soon yeah? I think Coco has woken up and I must go check if she needs something,” you fake a chuckle, “You know how she gets when she’s irritated” 

“Oh yes of course. Promise to give me a call soon?” 

This time the smile on your face is genuine, “I promise” 

“Give Coco a kiss for me. I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

There’s a heavy weight on your chest as soon as you hang up the call. Maybe it has always been there. So, for a couple of minutes you just stand there in the hallway of the hospital taking in the sterile smell and worrisome patients, praying that the highest power up there gives you one last chance so you could try and fix what’s been ruined.

The commotion around you does nothing to overtake the voices in your head and sadness fires through you as you feel like you’re burning your boats. Despite all of that, you pray for one last time, this time for again being strong enough to let go. 

Let go of your happiness.

Let go of your salvation.

Let go of your comfort.

Let go of Jungkook.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You click the door shut behind you, hanging the coat on the rack. You’re not even done turning around when a muscular arm wraps around your abdomen and you’re pulled back against a taut chest. 

“I missed you” his voice is muffled against your jumper.

You run your palms over Jungkook’s forearm, stopping to interlace your fingers with his.The way his hands fit with yours is adorable to you as if they were made to do so. The bracelet on his wrist is cool against your skin and you smile. “You know what’s funny? This guy I talked to earlier said it’s impossible for him to miss me” 

He rests his chin on top of your shoulders, cheeks warm against yours. He has grown out a stubble which makes him look manlier for some reason and you can’t stop caressing it with your fingers whenever you cup his face.

“You’re talking to other guys?” If you hadn’t known Jungkook better than himself, you would have missed the pout of his lips when he said that. 

You turn your face and place a sloppy kiss on his cheekbones, “Only my favourite guy in the whole world.” 

He breaks out in a toothy grin and holds your gaze. “You’re my favourite girl too but I think you already know that.” 

You nod but the pang of guilt is still lingering in your heart. “Still love hearing it.” 

Jungkook releases you from his embrace and walks back, rounding the kitchen counter until he’s holding up a large bowl. “Ready for our fall ritual?” 

Jungkook and you have been using your mum’s recipe to bake chocolate chip cookies every fall and while you enjoy baking with him, the thing that you take the most pleasure from is his face when he munches on the first cookie.

It’s one of your favorite sights ever. It takes quite a bit of effort to bake them but hell if you wouldn’t do it all over again just to see him close his eyes and moan like it is the best thing since sliced bread. 

You join him behind the counter and look around. From the way the batter has already been prepared you suppose he’s been at it for a while. There are some chocochips in a small bowl across from you with some cranberries next to them because he knows you like them in your cookies. 

“You don’t ever forget about the cranberries, do you?” 

“Nope. They’re your favourite plus if you eat well, I can eat you well– ouch,” he jumps, “What was that for?” 

You offer him a glare which does nothing to stop the smile threatening to break out of your lips, “Behave” 

His face inches closer to yours, “Now honey don’t be acting like I didn’t give you the best orgasm this morning” 

Oh well, how can you forget about that? Ninety nine percent of the time you love waking up in his arms while he’s the big spoon but there’s that one percent where he wakes you up with his head between your legs, sometimes with his face under your shirt sucking on your nipples. Indissoluble passion within him. His ability to satisfy you with his mouth alone needs to be studied because god if you don’t crave more and more. 

You blink, once twice thrice, “You’re incorrigible” 

He lets out a cackle at your flustered face as you wonder when you will stop blushing like a fool around him. It’s been years and he still makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Jungkook leans back and straightens up. He plucks the apron from the counter before coming up behind you. “Hold your hair up for me” He demands. 

You grab a fistful of your hair and lift them up as he settles it on your neck before tying the knot at your back. With one last kiss on the back of your neck he joins you. 

“How long has it been since you began making this?” 

“Not long ago. Thought I’d wait for you to come back home and then continue”

You watch him add the chocochips into the dough. His tattoos are barely visible behind the cozy sweater he’s wearing. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, Jungkook with his perfect physique and gorgeous face looks good in everything, more so naked, but nothing triggers your cuteness aggression more than him wearing a fluffy knitted sweater, believe it or not. One which you knitted at that.

He pulls your attention away pausing your little drooling session, “How’s Coco bean doing?” 

A sudden urge of getting close to him creeps up and you sneak between the counter and him, hugging him as you nuzzle your face in his chest. He smells like cinnamon. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before resting his chin there. 

“You smell so good” 

“Thanks and she’s as chaotic as ever. Nailea bought the cutest pair of pyjamas for her,” you look up at him,  “She looked like a loaf of bread when they made her wear it.” 

“No way. Should we buy her another one of those?” he pulls back, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

“You’re gonna spoil her” 

“Damn right I will and if you call this spoiling, wait till I get one of those made by me.” 

There it is. 

If Jungkook wasn’t so fond of children, would it have been easier for you to cope? You do realize that you’re a stone’s throw away from losing him for once and for all. In the old days you heard somewhere that it takes a strong man to save to save himself and a great man to save another.

You want to be that brave person who saves him from lifelong loathing and regret towards you.

This turning point in your life gives you two options, one where you can hang by a thread and bite your tongue while you continue your life with him, another where you set him free. The latter one wins and you, however, lose. 

“Hey you went silent there. You okay?” He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbones so gently you try not to cry. 

You nod and flash him a smile. Or at least you try to smile and detach yourself from him. “Perfect. Let’s get those cookies baking shall we?” 

Jungkook keeps looking at you with an expression which tells you he’s trying to search for something, but you try not to give anything away. Yet.

He gives you a look, his eyes sparkling under the low light in the room,

“Wait here for a second i’ll be right back” 

“Where are you goi-”

“Just a second. Don’t move” His voice trails off as he goes further into the bedroom. A minute later when he comes back, there’s nothing different about him except the sneaky smile on his face. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist as he sits you on the counter. Your hands instantly clutch his shoulders for support. 

“What is happening, baby?” You mumble, clearly in a fog. 

He says nothing as he gets down on his knees. Taking a hold of your right leg, he places it on his thigh. You swallow.

He looks up, clashing his eyes with yours, “You ask too many questions, do you know that?” 

Seconds later he’s taking something out of his jogger pocket and a cool sensation brushes your skin. You peek down, curiosity finally killing the cat as you see a silver anklet adorned by a pink stone in the middle of it embraced around your ankles. 

His name is a whisper on your lips, “Jungkook”  

He gets up, facing you as he stands. But not before pecking the anklet as well as your skin. His face which earlier was eerie, now entirely soft. 

“Mom sent this for you.” 

You don’t hold back tears this time, letting them run free. You glance at the jewellery again as it shines under the light of the kitchen lamp. The pink stone glares at you as if it knows you’re not worthy of such a valuable item. 

“It’s beautiful”

He gently wipes the tears away,

“It’s just the beginning, love. I’m not gonna stop until I see a band wrapped around your finger. I feel too lonely being the only one there.” 

You playfully smack him on the chest, a giggle slipping free. With a tired shake of your head you admit, “This is overwhelming” 

“What is?” he asks,

“All of this,” you keep your gaze on him, sniffing as you continue,“Your little acts of service, your love, your presence and now this gift. I feel like I’m taking too much not giving enough” 

Your throat feels too tight, as if someone is just cutting off your air supply when you should be feeling free in his arms. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows tense as he reaches for you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear he tries to reassure you, “Don’t say that. I hate when you question your worth,” he pecks the back of your hands, “These hands feed me, hold me when I need them to, give me warmth, gentle touches”,

His lips find both of your eyes next as you close them, feeling his soft lips on them,

“These eyes tear up with happiness every time you listen to me in the studio”,

Your ears follow next, “These ears tolerate my snoring”,

Then your lips, “And this mouth, my favourite, whispers ‘i love you’ to me every morning, leaves kisses on my skin, screams my name and most importantly, forms the loveliest smile when I make you happy.” His eyes are oh so gentle as he says this. 

You’re about to respond when his phone buzzes on the counter next to you. Your heart stops. Fuck is it Dr. Ana?

To your surprise, it’s Jimin’s number on the screen.

“Pick it up, honey. It might be important.” 

His thumb presses on the red button as he declines the call, “I’ll talk to him later. My girlfriend comes first.” 

Neither of you say a word as the room gets filled with a comfortable silence. The cookies are long forgotten, your eyes doing all the talking. Even if you try your hardest you’re not sure you can say anything which is remotely justifiable of what he just said to you.

Jungkook is so much more than meets the eye, he’s vulnerable, he’s empathetic, he’s loving. His eyes shine the brightest when he’s happy about something and you’re so full of contempt about the fact that eventually you will be the one to snatch away that shine. This hornet’s nest is going to ruin me, ruin him. 

“I wanna kiss you so bad” He whispers, leaning closer but you stop him with your palms on his chest.

“Wait, I-I want to talk about something” 

His voice is downright pleading when he says, “Later baby. I’m fucking gonna die if I don’t take that mouth right now. Please?” his breath touches your bare lips. 

Feeling a flutter in your chest you nod and he leans towards you, hand cupping your lower jaw as he touches his lips to yours. Softly at first, then his pace quickens. Your hands grab his sweater as you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. His moan echoes followed by your own as you both lose yourselves in each other. You let go of every menacing thought and just focus on the taste of his lips. 

He pulls back slightly, taking a deep breath as he fills his chest with air. Those beautiful lips are pink and swollen from the heated kiss you just shared with him. Getting rid of the sweater, he tosses it aside as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Without wasting any time he begins nibbling at your neck, slightly biting onto it as your hands run over his back. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. Not to toot your own horn but you have the most gorgeous boyfriend and you’re not ashamed to show him off. 

His lips ghost over your nipples from over your high neck top and you groan.

“Jungkook, please” 

He pulls back with a smug look on his face, “Please what ____?” 

“Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad.” 

“Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?” 

At this point your body is thrumming with anticipation and desire as you watch him move his hands closer to the waistband of your pants. His hands pause when they meet the lace material, his pupils dilate. 

He smiles, “It’s the one I gifted you. Were you hoping for this huh?” 

Your lips stretch into a smile. You hadn’t particularly hoped for this, no, because your relationship with him is not just based on physical pleasures. You guys have sex of course, but it’s not the prominent part of the bond you share. It’s more than that. The lace lingerie set was gifted to you by Jungkook on a random day. It was one of those quote unquote just because gifts. 

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a quick kiss. 

He grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you there for a moment before leaning back and looking straight into your eyes. “I think you should lose it or else I’ll ruin it” 

You gasp, swatting him on the bicep. “Don’t you dare. It’s my favourite pair”  

Without preamble he picks you off the counter making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both are so close it takes your breath away. Chest to chest, groin to groin, face to face with lips inches away from each other’s as you share a breath. 

He walks into your shared bedroom as you clash your lips against his, pulling his lower one between yours, earning a groan out of him. You both are downright feral, letting your hands run over every area of each other’s body. Jungkook’s hands grabbing your ass, yours pulling on his hair lightly before trailing down his chest, pausing on his pecs. 

When you reach your bedroom, he sits himself down with you on top of his lap. Your hips move forward and you hiss as your still jean clad pussy brushes his cock. He’s so hard you wonder if he’s close to coming already. 

Rough hands scrape over your back, hips, down your thigh before they finally settle on either side of your waist, gipping them tightly but also with a hint of gentleness. One thing you admire about your man is that he doesn’t treat you like a fragile woman, he knows you’re strong and you’ll not break if he’s rough with you. 

Jungkook pulls back from your lips.“Fuck honey, you’re such a goddess. Look at this body. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine” 

You shake your head, totally under his spell. “I’m the lucky one here, baby. You have no idea how lucky I am.” 

His hand brushes over your ass before he dips it inside your pants, reaching your already soaked pussy as he pushes a finger inside you. This earns a whimper from you as you tip your head back. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, ____. Want me to show you how lucky I am?” He takes the finger out before pumping it back again. You moan as his other hand gips the nape of your neck and he brings his mouth to your neck, biting on it. 

“Oh my god” you cry, seeing him suck the finger clean and face forming an expression filled with the deepest level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes. 

Setting his eyes back on you, he sighs, “This isn’t my first time tasting you, honey. But it gets better every fucking time and I find myself craving you an unhealthy amount, you know that? Do you know how crazy I am for you? Could eat you out everyday and wouldn’t need anything else to feel full.” His words send a shiver down your spine. “You’re my favorite meal.” 

He pushes three fingers back inside with a slight force and you let out a scream, arching your back. He takes one nipple into his mouth and gives it a long suck, letting it go with a loud pop. 

“Oh yes, just like that. Suck it again, baby” You beg and he does exactly that as he takes the other sensitive bud into his mouth. 

You’re not sure if you have been this vocal about your needs with anyone before him. Not that you dated a lot, for a person who’s a hopeless romantic to the core you’ve always found yourself waiting for the right one. Additionally, you believed your body to be as sacred as a temple. Surely there had to be a guy somewhere who would treat it as such.

Then, enters Jungkook who not only was out of your league metaphorically but literally. He lived miles away from your place so there was not a chance you could have let anything take place between the both of you. But as they always say, the heart wants what it wants. To put it briefly, there was chemistry, a connection you didn’t want to lose.

Strong fingers pump into you. In and out, in and out. “You’re so wet. What do you say? Should I lick you clean?” 

“Yes, ah oh my goodness that’s sooo good” you toss your head back, slowly grinding against his hands. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifts you off his lap and tosses you back on the bed. Keeping his eyes still locked with yours he gets rid of his jogger, letting his cock spring free.

It bobs and you lick your lips, already wanting to take it into your mouth but you know for a fact that he wouldn’t let you do that, not because he doesn’t want you to but because he wants to give you the highest amount of pleasure first. As he always does. 

Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh as gives his cock a pull, his eyes running over your whole body. Up and down then back at your face again. You’re still not fully bare in front of him while he’s standing there, all in his glory. 

“Lose the pants” he commands. 

You immediately slide out of them and toss them on the floor somewhere. He grabs you by the hips, jerking you to the edge of the bed as he sinks down on his knees. Spreading your legs wider he releases a breath. Warmth touches your wet pussy and you prop yourself up by the elbows to look at him. 

You need to look at him if you want to stay sane, have to feel him with you here. Shivers run through you even by the thought of not being able to feel him and this ever again. This might as well be your last day on this god awful planet from the way the ache in your chest keeps on increasing. It makes a home there, not letting you entirely forget about the eventualities. 

“God you’re dripping, honey” 

“For you” you admit.

Hot and wet kisses are left to the inside of your thigh and your hands find the back of his head as you grip it lightly. 

His head lifts up, his eyes finding yours, “Don’t hold back,____. Grip it as tightly as you want to. I don’t want any hesitations because when I fuck you, I’m not going to be holding back. You hear me?” 

A desperate moan leaves you, and he rewards you by kissing your pussy. Keeping his eyes on you, he doesn’t give you a chance to whine out your needs before his tongue is licking a single line up your clit.

He moans and gently tugs on your clit. “Such a perfect cunt” 

You push his head against your pussy and rock forward, chasing your orgasm. 

“Feels so good, feels so perfect, baby” you murmur.

Just when you’re starting to feel the climax incoming, when Jungkook suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you, so he’s lying down and you’re on top. Then, he grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated kiss. 

He pulls back, “Sit on my face, my queen” 

Your eyes widen and you hesitate, but you don’t want to. You wanna let go, knowing you’re lucky enough to get something like this in this lifetime, so you give in. He hoists you up by the hips, positions you over his face and pulls you down. His warm breath feels like a soft whisper against your pussy. 

You cry out in pleasure as soon as his tongue dives deep inside you, squeezing your tits in your hands. Grinding against his face, you close your eyes and just… feel. Feel the heat, feel the emotions, feel the intimacy, feel the ache in your chest.

A thought crosses your head and you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, something selfish. Touching him like this and getting consumed by him feels like you’re doing nothing but ruining him. 

He sucks on your clit with sheer eagerness and desire, pulling you further down so you’re putting your weight on his face. Concern perks up and you look down, trying not to crush him but it seems like he couldn’t care less. 

“Let go, honey. Just focus on my mouth.” 

Let go. God, how bad you hate those words. They feel like acid in your ears. 

“Keep going, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stop” you cry out. 

Soon enough you’re aching your back, cunt pulsing against his lips as you come. He swallows every single drop as if he’d die if he doesn’t and leaves you in awe. You slump, letting your body relax.

Much to your amusement, he doesn’t give you enough time to relax before he’s turning you over until you’re on your knees. Hot passionate kisses are placed on your sweaty back, pulling a gasp from you. 

“What a fucking sight. I wish you could see how stunning you look right now and it’s all because of me, isn’t it? This glistening back, this wet cunt,” he strokes a finger down your pussy, “It’s all because of me and you dare to call yourself lucky?” 

You catch a sight of him stroking himself over your shoulders and your breath quickens. 

His abs are glistening with sweat and his chin still has your cum on it. 

He smirks, “Like what you see, honey” 

“You’re beautiful” 

His eyes soften, letting his hands drop from his angry and already leaking with precum cock, he grabs either side of your hips and lines himself against your needy pussy. You let your head drop on the mattress and clench your fist, preparing yourself for him. He gives your cunt a slight slap with his cock before filling you in, groaning as he goes deeper.

You moan, “Fuck baby. That’s so deep.” 

“You’re so warm, honey. You feel like home” he thrusts again. 

His hands grip yours, and he covers your body with his own, still thrusting inside with rough movements. His chest feels warm and safe against your back as it fills you with a deep sense of safety, protection and love.

You match every thrust of his with your own, moving your hips backwards. Your tits are getting equal attention from him as he pinches the two sensitive buds between his fingers. 

You both chase your high with you screaming out his name and him whispering yours like a prayer. He gives in one last thrust before he’s coming inside you, his teeth biting on your shoulder. You’re following him soon as you grip the bed sheet tighter in your fist, moaning as you come. 

Before you collapse, he pulls you upright and lets his cock slide out of you. His fingers push his cum inside your throbbing cunt, making your stomach twist in pain.

You murmur. “I love you” 

His lips stretch into one of those lazy smiles you love so much. “I love you too, my precious girl. Now, do you wanna sleep or go make those cookies?” a sloppy kiss is pressed on your forehead. 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull him on top of you, “Should we save those for later? I really wanna cuddle” 

He presses a soft kiss on the tip of your button nose, “Sure. Let me clean you up first. You don’t have to move an inch, just relax.” 

Minutes later he’s coming back with a bottle of water and a bowl of marshmallows. You bite back a chuckle when you look at his face. There’s such a deep crease between his eyebrows you’d think he’s trying to win a game of uno or something. 

But it’s short lived when he places the items on the nightstand and gazes at you, his eyes having the same funny look they had earlier in the kitchen.You try to summon your most unbothered and good natured grin but it doesn’t do shit to stop the electricity from running through your blood. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, biting your lip.

An uncertain laugh slips out of him, “I don’t know. I’m- God, I really don’t know but I have this weird feeling that something is not right.” He begins cleaning you up but you can’t shake the feeling of nervousness and anxiety away. 

You know for a fact that he’s right. Something is not right, in fact nothing is right. 

He peeks at you from between your legs, “Hey, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” 

The air whooshes out of your lungs. Should you come clean? Is it the right time? 

You huff a tight laugh. “It’s nothing actually. Can we talk about it later?” 

When he’s done cleaning you up he places a small kiss on both your knees and stands up. Offering you a nod, he says, “Whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere” 

Yet. He’s not going anywhere yet. 

You grin, “I wouldn’t let you” 

He lets a laugh slip out as he walks inside the bathroom. Then, he comes back, settles himself beside you and brings you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His feet find yours as he touches the anklet with them. 

“Let’s sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promises. 

Morning comes quickly as the sun casts its glow on your sleepy yet excited eyes. Holding out a hand, you try searching for your boyfriend next to you, but a slight sting arises in your heart when he’s not there. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight. 

Although, you hoped you did not wake up, you hoped death consumed you in your sleep because the person across from you is a total stranger. A stranger whose eyes are misty and mouth is pulled down in deep frown, a sunflower bouquet in one hand and the other one holding a blue file so tightly you can see his knuckles turning white.

Jungkook holds out the file to you, “How long were you planning to hide this from me,____?” 

For the first time in your life, you hate your name. You hate how bitter it sounds coming from his mouth like this.It has always been “____, you’re my everything,” “I love you,____”, “_____, you mean the world to me”.

Acid bubbles in your stomach at his words, and you can’t help but sob. You wonder if the butterfly was preparing you for this day. If she could talk, what would she have said to you? 

The words that leave him next might as well be daggers in your chest, "Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?"

@fluttershy-vanilla @theyysam37 love you pookies. enjoy <3

[ladybyakuya]

are we still friends? + (ren kaji, hayate suo, umemiye hajime, sakura haruka)

cws. | gn!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, sorta character study, fluff, angst, comfort. | redirect to blog navigation.

syn. | How do they react to confession when the feelings are mutual?

notes. | Will there be part two? who knows? but for now please have these. I forgot how to write smut so I'm writing fluff. 

☆ Ren Kaji: Ren does not like talking or listening so he pretends that he can not hear and with his headphones on it's easier to convince but when you specifically ask him to take it off so that you could talk it annoys him. He rarely takes his headphones off since it was a gift from someone. So all he does is to take the lollipop out of his mouth and say, "You can talk. I am not listening to anything," It really irritates you but you do not wish to act on it right now. He has started to grow a little too comfortable with your presence around him and maybe. . .just maybe it's time to create a ripple in his stagnant heart. At the rooftop of the school, where gentle breeze and sunlight prevails you say you like him and watch his eyes go bigger. He takes off his headphones with utmost haste demanding, "Say that again," but now it is your turn to annoy him. All your comebacks are full of: "no." , "Did you not listen when i said once?" , "This is why i told you to take your headphones off," and so on. You are so engrossed in conversing with him that you fail to notice his swift motion of leaning and planting a kiss on your cheek. Your lips cease to move for a while yet it is ever so quick and swift that it happens within a blink of your eyes. "Okay, I'll say it for you then," Ren says. Gulping and continuing, "Y/n likes Ren Kaji. and I like you too." in one breath and just vanishes out of your sight. The next few days he is spotted sleeping at unusual times because he has spent sleepless nights regretting why he did not take his headphones off.

★ Hayate Suo: Suo has known for a while that you like him. Well, he is not too sure but he always had a pretty good idea when it comes to emotions. He has probably known even before you that you could harbor feelings for him so when he hears the rumors from other students he does not react much except with some snarky comments to shut those rumors with his sickly sweet saccharine smile. But hearing it from you, at some secluded place near the bike stand of the school is certainly is out of the syllabus for him. At first, he does not know what to say, what to do, or how to react but when your eyes slowly look up to meet him the first thing he thinks if you did it because of rumors or some sort of dare. If so, then both are wrong. He thinks confession should come when it's time not when it is influenced by others. So, all he says is: "I know." eyes blinking a little too much, unable to consider you as his focal point. " I've known for a while." And then, he asks for some time to think about it which is unexpected because from what you have heard he has rejected every other proposal that came his way. You came prepared to be rejected when you decided to confess but this goes out of the syllabus for you too. So, you end up thinking if this is his new way of tormenting people who like him but he really needs time to properly think because he thought there is no way he thought you would like him back. He does not want to hurt you. That goes against his morals. He could feel his cheeks being warm, ears too, palms tucked behind his back cold, and rapid heart rate. "So, this is how it feels to be confessed."

☆ Umemiya Hajime: Being an older brother to everyone has never been a bother until he developed a gut wrenching crush on you or that is how he would like to put it. Not only that, you have developed quite a friendship with Kotoha ever since you started helping her out in her resturant. You are probabaly same age as her which makes things a little more complicated. Was it not enough that you might be under the impression that Kotoha is his girlfriend? Like most other people; But thanks to Sakura for clearing that confusion up. Still. . .still he feels his heart twist whenever he visits the resturant. All he does is to silently watch you. He could have easily creeped you out if you had not developed a crush on him. When Umemiya's visits became you became a little bold, like talking to him, asking about his day, exchanging numbers but never have been alone with him. He always comes with his band of boys. It denifitely nice to hear him laugh, talk and sometimes steal sneaky glances but it does not help with the wave of emotions he makes you feel. So, one day when the door bell chimed and as usual you said, "Welcome" looking in the direction of entrance ceasing your chores all you could do is stare for a moment since the customer is none other than Umemiya Hajime and he is all alone. So, you repeat again, "Welcome Umemiya-san." tearing your gaze away from him. "Kotoha is busy. Should I let her know that - he cuts you off with," i'm not here for her today." sipping water ever so slowly from the glass you just served on the coaster. Is he nuts? is he really doing this? Right now? why is he not freaking out? or maybe he is, internally, just like you. "I'm here for you today." And, when he confirms you turn around to get a proper look. 

"I see," you say.

"You didn't answer my call so i had to come here," Umemiya remarks. 

"so, you are here to scold me?" Umemiya's heart drops in some bottomless pit. He did not mean it to come out this harshly. He is just tensed, especilly after how you texted last night : "I like you Umemiya-san." 

"did you check your phone after last night?" and to that you just nod. You do not want to and who honestly would after confessing to the brightest star. You are so out of league from him. Umemiya smiles. "I see," he speak softly. He gets up and then he is about to leave but just before exting the door he says, "Please, check you phone."

★ Sakura Haruka: Sakura has a habit of talking, and going on and on about it unless someone interrupts. If possible, he would talk in one breath. So, when you say that you like him he dismisses it as a joke. "quit kidding. Nobody likes me. y'know that. . ." And there goes your probably hundred-and-fifth confession. He never takes it seriously no matter how serious you try to be Sakura manages to bungle up your intentions so quick yet you can not seem to blame him. If anything he is too honest, so often he comes as rude and obnoxious but his intentions are so pure that sometimes it makes you think can a person be this stupid? But this time when you confessed you thought this would go in the usual direction; him dismissing it as a joke but this time when he looks at you he is faced with something new, something he is not good at handling. "you. . . are you crying?" And it dawns on you how heavy your heart has become with his oblivious nature. all those "I like you-s." never reached his heart, only his head. You quickly wipe away your tears and try to cover it up with the most brilliant lie ever to exist. "It's just dirt." given his oblivious nature he is supposed to buy but he is asking questions again. "You. . . all these time. . . were serious?" Yes, you absolute dimwit. You can not even nod to confirm his thinking. You swallow hard trembling lips parting to speak and you are met with his chest with his arms wrapped around you. " I-I ... was told that if you like someone...you can hug them... y'know when they ...say they ...like you," he starts to stammer and it creates a swarm of laughter arises from your stomach. "Whoever told you that must know a lot about dating," you say having a fair idea who it might be.

[reidsbabyhoney]

second chances | s.r.

the one where Spence regrets everything that’s happened in the past six months.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.3k a/n: this took forever to write because every time i tried writing it i absolutely hated how it came out. i’m hoping i gave them the ending they deserved and that you all love it! also please let me know if there's any warnings I should add.

pt.1 masterlist spencer reid masterlist

The entire car ride home was a blur, and you mean that literally. The tears that coated your eyes never seemed to stop even after you arrived back home. The dull hum of the engine couldn't seem to drown out the noise-deafening pounding in your chest.

You couldn't help but replay every moment from tonight on a loop, the gut wrenching realization that Spencer moved on so quickly, so easily. It felt as if your entire world had been tilted on its axis and you were left to live in a reality that didn't make any sense.

Maya. You hadn't been able to look at her without a sharp pang of jealousy making its way though your chest. The way she spoke to Spencer, so casually, so possessively like you were going to take her from him at any second. But in reality that's what she did to you.

You told yourself that you were fine, that you had enough time to move on and get over that relationship, but its clear you were lying to yourself. Every moment you were in his presence were the few moments of bliss where you could pretend everything with him was normal.

You had loved him. You still did. The harsh truth of that might've hurt worse than tonight's events.

Once you finally arrived home you didn't bother to go inside right away. Turning off the car you sit staring at the dashboard, trying to ground yourself in something, anything but the whirlwind of emotions going on in your mind right now.

As your about to open the door, your phone buzzes in the passenger seat. Picking it up you see it's a message from Penelope.

From: Penny

Are you okay, sweetheart? If you need anything I'm just a phone call away. Please don't let his stupidity ruin your night, we all know how much of an amazing person you are!

A small smile painted its way across your features, though drained and not very genuine.

You quickly texted her back letting her know you were okay and just needed some time to process everything. With that you finally got out of the car making your way inside, preparing for another sleepless night.

-

You had taken the day off. Well technically you didn't request it, it was given to you by Hotch. The team had just gotten back from a long gruesome case and he decided that everyone needed some time to decompress.

It had been a couple weeks since 'The Incident' as Emily has so kindly labeled it. Since then the unkind thoughts hadn't left your mind.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch barely able to focus on the movies playing on the TV. Your mind was a storm of thoughts that blossomed from that night, though not into flowers, more so like weeds that didn't want to fully be pulled from the ground.

You replayed every word he said that night. Every glance, subtle expression. There was no warmth in his tone, nothing that suggested the gentle, awkward genius who had found solace in your presence.

You knew it hurt, but what hurt more was the realization that Spencer wasn't the only thing you lost that night. You were mourning the loss of what had been,  what could've been.

-

The next morning, you showed up at the office. The decision half-hearted, debating on requesting for another day out of the crowded space. You're not sure what you were expecting, for something to just change overnight, or if you needed to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

You walked in to see the team gathered around the bullpen. Derek was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly to JJ, while Penelope was chattering away in her usual high-energy manner. They all seemed fine, but you knew they could feel your emotions. You had always worn them on your sleeve, and the team was nothing if not perceptive.

And Spencer? He was nowhere to be found.

Your heart dropped, but you quickly masked the disappointment with a neutral expression. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him right now, not with everything else going on.

As you slid into your chair, you could feel their eyes on you every now and then, but none of them dared to speak up. It was only when the elevator doors opened that you saw Spencer walking toward the bullpen. His usual awkward stride was missing, replaced by something… hesitant. His eyes briefly met yours, but instead of the usual spark of familiarity, there was something different. Something strained.

He was carrying a large coffee cup in his hand, but it seemed like he was just holding it for the sake of holding it.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that had been present in his eyes. You barely met his gaze, your stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him.

“Spence,” you said, offering a forced smile. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, but you couldn’t let yourself show it.

“I, uh, can we talk?” he asked, his words tumbling out in that way that was so quintessentially Spencer.

Your gaze flickered around the room, but you didn’t want to make a scene. “Now’s not the best time.”

He nodded, but you could see the disappointment in his face. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and heading to his own desk. You didn’t watch him go, how could you?

-

Hours passed, and the tension between you and Spencer lingered like a heavy fog. Every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away.

You were exhausted. Your mind was scattered. And when you finally gathered the courage to step away from your desk to grab a coffee, it was then that Spencer decided to approach you.

“y/n,” he called out gently, his voice softer now, less urgent.

You paused mid-step, not sure how to respond. His presence was overwhelming, and even though you wanted to retreat, you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

Turning around slowly, you nodded. “Spencer.”

“Can we talk?” he asked again, this time with more sincerity in his voice.

You studied him carefully, unsure whether you could trust yourself to keep calm. “Do we really need to? I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have. At least not yet.” He paused, looking down at his feet. “Please.”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, and for the first time since that night, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. You didn’t know what had changed, but you knew it was something important. You had loved Spencer for so long, and maybe it was time to let him explain himself.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s talk.”

-

The conference room door clicked shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you felt like you were trapped. The silence was thick, oppressive. Spencer stood by the window, facing away from you, his shoulders tense, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt impossibly wide, like an ocean stretching between two distant shores.

You wanted to scream. To demand answers. To ask why. But you couldn’t, because the truth was, you were too scared of what might come next. The flood of emotions coursing through you felt like too much to bear. And the pain? The pain was undying.

Finally, Spencer spoke, but his voice was soft, almost trembling. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his words breaking the stillness in the room, but they did little to ease the ache in your chest.

He turned slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’m so sorry. For the way I ended things... for pushing you away.”

His gaze finally met yours, but there was no spark there, no warmth. Just an empty, hollow ache, the same one you felt. The distance between you both was palpable.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was giving you space to breathe… to move on. To get away from the chaos that’s always been a part of my life.”

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. Protecting you? Was that what this was? Did he think he was being noble by choosing to shut you out?

“You pushed me away, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the rawness of everything you were holding in. “I didn’t ask for space. I didn’t ask for you to shut me out. I was here… I've always been here.” The anger, the hurt, it all poured out of you, and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “I just needed you to be honest with me. To tell me the truth, not hide behind your fears.”

His face faltered at your words, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble under the weight of your pain. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking as if he hadn’t even meant to say it. “I was scared that if I kept you close, I would ruin everything. That I’d hurt you more. I thought if I pulled away, you’d be better off without me. But all I’ve done is hurt you even more.”

The truth of his words hit you like a wave, but it didn’t bring relief. Instead, it left you feeling raw, exposed. How could he think that? How could he think leaving was the solution? You had been through so much together. But the thought of him choosing to walk away, of him choosing her, it crushed you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Spencer,” you whispered, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Your heart was breaking, the weight of everything that had happened too much to carry anymore.

“You didn’t just break my heart… you broke me. I was waiting for you. I thought... I thought we could work through this. But you didn’t give me a chance. And now you’re asking me to just… what? To just forget?”

Spencer’s face crumpled as if your words were a physical blow, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He was broken too, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable, scared even. “I don’t want you to forget,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I’m not the one who left you… that I’m the one who’s ready to fight for us.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, Spencer. I don’t know if I can trust you after everything.”

He stepped forward, his hands trembling as they reached out toward you. “Please,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve spent every second of the last six months thinking about how much I screwed up, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, erratic, unsure whether it was breaking or yearning for something—anything that might bring you peace. You knew Spencer had made mistakes, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. You had kept yourself at a distance too, not because you wanted to, but because you were terrified of what this might mean. Of what letting him back in might cost you.

“I’m scared, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll leave again. That you’ll hurt me again.”

He closed the distance between you, standing just inches away now. You could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his face was etched with guilt and regret. He reached for your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him. You let him hold you, as fragile as it felt, as broken as you both were in that moment.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. I’ll fight for you. For us. I’ll fight for as long as it takes.”

The raw honesty in his voice, his words full of pain, of hope. It made something inside you snap. The walls you had built around your heart were crumbling, piece by piece. You didn’t know if you could ever go back to the way things were, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something better.

“I’m not asking for things to be perfect,” Spencer continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the small touch making your pulse race. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze then, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, but this time they weren’t just born from hurt. There was something else there. Something like hope. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to see where this goes. If you really mean it.”

His face softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “I do,” he whispered, his hand still gently holding yours. “I mean it. More than anything.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you let yourself hold on, just for a moment. You weren’t sure where this would lead, or if you could ever truly forget the pain. But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone. And maybe that was enough.

-

It was one of those quiet mornings that felt like a small slice of heaven. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow through the windows, and the only sound in the apartment was the rhythmic hum of the coffee maker.

The air was still cool from the night before, but the warmth of the morning sun slowly crept in, filling the room with a gentle golden light.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, your bare feet tucked under you, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Your hair was messy from sleep, but you didn’t mind.

You had gotten used to waking up next to Spencer every morning, and the sight of him, still half-asleep, a little rumpled, and incredibly endearing, was one of the small things you’d grown to cherish.

Spencer was at the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flipped through a pile of paperwork. The clutter of his case files and textbooks was a normal part of your life now, but the way he had rearranged things over the past few months, more neatly than ever before, was a quiet testament to how much he had changed. He wasn’t perfect, but he was working on it. He was trying, and that was all that mattered.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked up from your coffee, meeting his soft brown eyes. He was still wearing his sleep-filled smile, the one that only appeared after a good night’s sleep, when he wasn’t overthinking or buried under a pile of cases.

“I was wondering… would you mind helping me with something later?” His voice was tentative, but there was something else there now, something more confident. He wasn’t afraid to ask for help anymore.

You’d noticed that shift in him over the past few months, the way he wasn’t afraid to lean on you, to let you in when before he would have kept his distance. It had taken time, but now, when he needed you, he knew how to reach for you without hesitation.

“Of course,” you said with a smile, your heart swelling at how far you’d come since that difficult conversation. “What do you need help with?”

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, glancing down at the paperwork. His fingers hovered over the pile, as though unsure how to ask. “I’m working on this case… and I just need to go over the details. I know you’ve got that… special way of seeing things,” he said with a playful grin, using the affectionate nickname you’d earned after countless cases where your instincts had been spot on. “You’re better at spotting the details than I am.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, playfully teasing. “Oh, so now I’m the expert, huh? I thought you were the genius here.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he shook his head, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from you. He didn’t even try to hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. “You are the expert,” he said softly. “And I’m just the guy who gets to learn from you every day.”

The words lingered between you, warm and comfortable. You reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his hand in a simple, affectionate gesture. A small smile played on your lips as you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back. There was no fear of losing each other, no worry that the cracks would reopen. Everything—every single piece of you—had found a place next to him, and for once, it felt right.

“I’ll help you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just like I always do.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet sense of gratitude. You knew, deep down, that he wasn’t just thankful for your help with the case. He was thankful for everything—for your patience, for your trust, for the fact that despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings, you were still here. You had come through the storm together, stronger than before, and you could feel it in every touch, in every glance. There was an unspoken understanding between you now. A promise that no matter what came your way, you would face it as a team.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice low, “I never thought I’d have something like this. Something so... real. So comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued your earlier months together. “I think we’ve finally figured out how to make it work,” you said, your voice steady and full of warmth. “No more pushing each other away. No more running. Just… us.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze softening as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. “I’m not running anymore,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice bringing a warmth to your chest. “I’m staying. For good.”

There was no need for more words. You leaned across the table, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and full of meaning. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desperation, but one of quiet comfort. One of trust and affection. One that said we’re here, and that was enough.

As you pulled away, you saw the same sense of contentment reflected in his eyes, a peacefulness that had taken months to build but was finally here. You didn’t need anything else, because with Spencer, you had everything you’d ever wanted.

The coffee and case files were long forgotten as the two of you sat there, simply enjoying each other’s company. There was no rush to get to the day, no lingering doubt or fear. Just the warmth of his presence beside you, and the certainty that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together.

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

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[churipu]

Idk if u take requests rn, but if you do, could you write fluffy moments with jjk men (pls include toji, i rlly wanna see him w fluff because there is like none) you fav would be cuddling, but you do whatever you want <3 Also, don't stress yourself when writing i, and please take breaks <33

JJK MEN + FLUFFY MOMENTS (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

featuring. toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, nanami kento x reader

warnings. jjk men being softies

note. i just read the most heart wrenching nanami fic, i think i'm not okay at all </3 but hi anon, thank you for requesting this — this is exactly what i needed after reading angst. i apologize if it took a long time to get this out omg, i hope you like it.

and guys, omg???? 700+ followers? i genuinely never expected my works to be recognized by so much, and meeting new writers here and there, making friends, makes me so happy (i'm not crying) i love u all so so so so much, u guys rock, ily all <;33

TOJI FUSHIGURO

hated talking about the future, but ever since he met you — he rambles about it.

toji has always thought his future was nothing interesting, he kills people for a living, gets money off of it and he gambles. that's about it, so what was there to think about in the future?

meeting you was the firsts to a lot of things in his life.

toji grew up in a loveless household full of anger, and lust for power. which is why he is who he is today. distant, aloof, detached. people tell him he'd be nothing without his strength and face, there is no denying that toji fushiguro has a face card. he knows that.

so when he first met you, all he expected was like every other day. people caring about his face, and only that — and he'd play along although he's had enough of it, but no; you didn't care about all that.

face, money, strength. none of that.

he vaguely remembered the first time you spoke to him: "hey, mind helping me grab that box of cereal?" and he expected you to hit on him after, but you left it at that, muttering out a thanks and then leaving him in the aisle alone.

then for some reason he meets you again, the very next month. asking him the exact same thing, asking for help to take the cereal box which happened to be on the very top of the shelf. god knows why, both you and him just made it a routine every month after that. no communications about meeting and all. you both kind of just, met right in the cereal aisle on one particular day in the month, and then leave.

on the fifth month, he finally asks for your number.

"toji, is that your way of asking me out? because if it is, i'm disappointed."

"maybe."

and then you both kind of just sealed it; you're dating. nothing much changed, every month both you and him still go to the cereal aisle — he still helps you with grabbing the box from the shelf. the only difference was that now the two of you leave together.

toji hates talking about his future. but with you? he could go on for a whole day. he rambles about what he thinks and what he wants in the future with you.

"i wan' to get married. i wan' to marry you," did it caught you by surprise? yes. yes it did, "i wan' to have a family with you, a nice little family. i wan' to have a son so i could throw him around — but a girl is okay too, i can protect her from boys, i'll love them both equally. but i don't think i'll be a good dad to them. i'm scared they won't like me."

"toji, what? where did that come from?"

his back was pressed to your chest as you both lay down on the bed, one of your leg draped over his torso and he has his hand on your plush thigh, squeezing it every once in a while.

"i don't know. just a thought, i never talked about my future with anyone before," his body vibrated as he grunted, leaning his head back a bit, "i just don't think i'll be a good father, y'know?" he squeezed your thigh.

"why do you think so?" you asked him, placing your chin on the crown of his head.

"i just think so."

"stop thinking then," you chuckles, draping an arm around his neck, caressing his throat so softly it made the male shudder under your touch — but he didn't mind, he took comfort under your skin.

"can't." his voice was not stern or bold, it was soft and serene. he laced his fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles gently, "i can't believe 'm saying this, but 'm worried about my future. 'm a little scared."

just the fact he was admitting that he's scared about something was mind boggling, because the toji fushiguro? who kills people? was admitting that he was actually terrified of something, which wasn't even the strongest sorcerer. it's his future.

you were silent, letting him talk because when else would he be able to be like this?

"'m terrified. 'm scared i won't make you happy. what if i don't make you happy? what if my kids hate me?" so many questions that you don't even have the answer to, but you placed your hand over his lips, shutting him up.

toji grumbled, he swiped his tongue over your palm.

"ew!" you laugh, wiping your hand on his shirt, "but why're you suddenly talking about this all? which videos have you been watching again?"

"nothing, can't i think about my own future with you?" he shuffles, turning to face you, prepping an arm under his head as he stares down at you. not in the condescending way — he stared at you with so much desperation for love, he slowly blinks, the glint in his eyes never changing.

"why out of the blue?"

"jus' because."

you poked his cheek, "liar."

he sighs, latching his hand onto your hips, pulling you close. he buries his head into your shoulder in content, "jus' worried about it, i never think about my future in the past. but now — with you, i jus' worry about it because i didn't think i'd make it 'till now."

you chuckled, rubbing the back of his head lightly, "you remember that one time in the park when you see that little boy crying over spilled ice cream?"

he hums softly.

"and you bought him another ice cream, but asked me to be the one to give it to him because you were scared you'd scare him off instead?" you ask him, your fingers tangling with his hair lightly.

"yeah."

"you'll be fine, toji." you tell him.

"y'think so?" he retorts back, squirming a bit.

"i know so."

GOJO SATORU

he has to know about everything that you like, he needs to know why you like them. every. single. thing.

gojo chased after you. you were one tough cookie, he likes a chase. he's so used to people fawning over his looks that when you didn't — he just has to know your name.

the curiosity to know your name ended up pulling him in a spiral of this little thing called "love". gojo swore it was just curiosity, but everyone else besides him thinks otherwise, he promised himself and people around that he didn't like you, he was just, well, curious.

but curiosity doesn't look like that. gojo finds himself asking people about what type of boys you like, and when he finds out about it — he tries his best to be your type. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite flower is, and when he finds out about it, he's out there sending big bouquets of it to you. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite genre of music is, and when he finds out, he listens to them so he could talk about it with you. he promised he was just curious.

gojo tries finding out what your favorite series or movie is, and when he finds out, he watches them all intently so he could talk about them with you and hate on characters together with you. and he still promises that he was just curious.

he was just curious, he kept telling that to himself. so why does it bother him when you were out with another guy? another guy that's not him. not gojo satoru.

gojo asks you about who it was, and when you tell him it's nobody important, he gets upset about it.

"why are you so upset?"

"i'm just..curious."

"it's none of your business."

he left it at that. his whole week was ruined, he couldn't stop thinking about it. about you. and then he finally realizes, he wasn't curious — he was in love. so there he was, in front of your door at two in the morning.

"what?"

"who was that guy?"

"gojo, you're still onto that?" you ask him, tired, "i said it's none of your business. you're here at two just to ask me about that?"

"it's my business because i'm in love with you, damn it!"

gojo was half grateful when you told him it was your distant cousin, but half embarrassed as well. all's well ends well. he gets you in the end, and he doesn't have to worry about anything else — nothing in the world matters to him but you.

"baby, what do you recommend?" was one of the most spoken phrases he has delivered to you.

in restaurants, dessert bars, convenience store, movie theaters, anything you could recommend him, he'd ask for it.

"why do you always ask? don't you have your own preference, satoru? i'm not even sure if you'll like my recommendations though," he smiles at you, tracing small circled on the back of your hand.

"i want to know about everything that you like, and why you like them. i want to know everything about you," you look at him and smiled, honestly, what did we ever do to deserve him?

"why?"

"because i love you." yeah, he wasn't just curious. he's in love. and deep.

NANAMI KENTO

he always orders food that you like, and shares some with you — even if you didn't ask for it.

nanami never expected to be in relationships. in fact, relationships was the last thing in his mind — but when he met you, he just kind of felt attracted. he seeks for your comfort whenever he's tired, and when you weren't there, nanami just sort of drowns in himself until he could see you or hear your voice.

at the beginning of your relationship, nanami was never the one to initiate things because he wasn't an experienced male in relationships. you ask him and he just sort of do it without any other complaints.

but as time goes on, he get the hang of it. what he should do and what he shouldn't — it's adorable, he's started doing things that he never thought he would do in his life, but here he was sitting by your side; peeling apples for you because you wanted them.

"kento, eat some. it's going to be finished by the time you finish peeling every one of them," you joked, your legs on top of his thighs.

nanami hums softly, "it's okay. as long as you like it."

nanami doesn't realize the weigh of his sweet words sometimes, he does it and asks himself to why you were reacting like that. sweet talk is his vocabulary. he says it with no worries, telling you things you've always wanted to hear but never say.

but one thing that always stuck to him and you from the first time you got close up to now was: nanami always orders things that you like. you never understood the reason behind it, and when you tried asking him about it, he just tells you he was craving it.

it didn't seem odd at first — but as time goes on, his whole taste was just an exact copy of yours.

if you get something different than your usual menu, nanami will get your usual menu because he knows damn well that you're going to end up wanting them. although you don't tell him when the food comes, nanami makes it his job to share with you. and that's really sweet of him.

but when you get your usual menu, nanami orders something with elements that you like in them and shares them with you even without you asking for a bite. and not only that, he didn't share a spoonful — he shared a lot.

"ken, you don't have to share with me. i have my own food." you tell him, despite your heart tugging you to just let him share because you were too shy to say that you wanted a bite.

"it's alright sweetheart. i'm a little full." he lies. he ends up snacking on something on midnight, and it's now a routine.

so in exchange for that, you always make it your job to stock up foods ranging from small snacks like biscuits, chips, up to instant or pre-heated food. even cutting up fruits so nanami could snack on it, and he caught on to it pretty quick.

but he didn't complain, he likes it when you do it.

"ken, i cut out some mangoes and dragon fruit. you can eat them if you're hungry."

"thank you y/n."

mutual wins.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[maeedrg]

Happy birthday, Satoru

Birthday Boy Gojo x Reader

ᯓ★

Synopsis : in which you surprise Satoru for his birthday, and he realizes how this day is not as bad as he thought, and how much you mean to him.

Words count : 3k

Warnings : tooth rooting fluff, friends to lovers, slight angst, it takes place before the canon events of the manga but years after Suguru deflected.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : I just had to write a fic for his birthday… At first I had no idea what to do, but yesterday it suddenly came to my mind ! Enjoy babes <3

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December 7. It was Gojo’s Birthday, and you were the only one to remember it right now. Maybe through the day people would indeed remember, obviously, after all. But you wanted to be the first. You took pride in it. Midnight, and barely one minute passed. You knew that Satoru was still in his office downstairs, working on files that the stupid higher ups gave him. Again. An amount of endless paperwork, actually. For once, Satoru still being busy with work at such an unholy hour was perfect for your plan.

You take your phone, dial his number, and call him, excited. Yet you try to keep it hidden, to not be betrayed by your tone of voice. You couldn’t get caught. After some seconds, he answers and you sigh with relief.

“Y/n ? Calling me so late, do you need anything ? Got into trouble ?” teases Satoru, tired way of speaking, and you can hear the shuffle of paper behind him at the same time.

“Hmm, yes. It’s very very important. Can you come on the rooftop of the school ? Like… now,” you fake a worried and slightly panicked voice. Well, you were indeed worried just by knowing Satoru must be beyond exhausted at this hour of the night, or day. Even though he would never admit it. He was like that.

“Wow, wait- It’s that important ? Is it a curse ? I don’t feel anything off, though,” he raises his head, keeping his phone against his ear and looking around, squinting his eyes to see anything with his cursed technique. Yeah, nothing. 

“No, not a curse. But it’s urgent, come,” you try to hurry him, biting your lower lip as you pace around the ground of the rooftop, wind making you shiver in this cold weather.

“Here I’m thinking that you are about to confess to me,” Satoru jokes, and you were sure a stupid smirk was on his lips. You roll your eyes, unable to stop smiling at his teasing.

“Satoru, I’m being serious here,” you huff, squeezing your phone tighter against your cheek as you stare at what you prepared, getting impatient. You didn’t deny him, though. That’s what he was thinking, and that makes him grin.

“Me too. I wouldn’t mind some gut wrenching love confession. But alright. I needed a break from all these stupid papers, anyway. I’ll be here soon,” he chuckles, before clearing his throat. You say bye, and turn off your phone. Nervosity directly makes your heart hammer in your chest, growing even more agitated. You just couldn’t wait.

You stand, in front of your little surprise, taking it in your hands and looking up at the starry sky. You take a deep breath, and then Satoru teleports in front of you. The moment you see him popping -long used to his random way of appearing out of nowhere- you extend a big strawberry cake with dozens of candles in front of you.

“Happy birthday !” you exclaim, huge fat smile on your face, eyes half lidded of joy, the flames of the candles slowly moving in the cool air of the night.

Satoru freezes in front of you, partying his lips and being left speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. With one hand, he pulls down his blindfold, revealing his eyes wide open. You could see the chock in his blue orbs, he clearly didn’t expect that. He lets out a somewhat nervous laugh, eying down the cake, and then you. A smile stretches his lips.

“Y/n, what-... what is that ? MY birthday ?” he asks, stepping closer, and licks his lips staring down at the tasty looking cake, then at your pretty face. He couldn’t believe his own eyes, and his heart swells at the thought of you doing this for him. How sweet. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday. We’re past midnight, so it’s officially your day ! December 7, Sir,” you chuckle, a bit exasperated at the idea that he could fail to remember his own anniversary. Even though it wouldn’t surprise you. Satoru bites his lower lip, and passes his hand over his clearly beyond exhausted face.

“Shit, I did. I was so caught up with work these days, I barely noticed we already were in December,” he starts to explain himself, nervously laughing at how stupid he felt. He raises back his head, and meets your gentle stare. You extend the cake again.

“It’s alright, Satoru. I didn’t forget. So blow your candles,” you insist in a softer voice, and Satoru felt like he died a little at the ‘I didn’t forget’ that you said. He stays silent for some seconds, which was very long coming from someone like him that always was yapping every moment of the day. He takes a deep breath, inhales it, and then steps closer.

“Make a wish first”, you whisper, and he locks his orbs with yours, smiling, before closing his eyes. He looked so pretty, you thought, the orange lights of the flames dancing on his pale skin. When he opens them back, you wonder what he wished for deep in his heart, and he blows his candles. The flames disappear into the night, the smoke lingering in the air.

“What was your wish ?” you can’t stop but ask. He grins, patting your head as he tilt his faces to the side.

“Uh-uh, can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true,” he refuses, winking at you. You grew even more curious, but didn’t insist. Satoru really wanted his wish to come true, after all. A wish that meant a lot to him. 

“That’s right. Now let’s get you a slice, birthday boy !” you exclaim happily, maybe even more excited than he was himself.

You turn around, in front of the table that you managed to bring on the rooftop, which was a hassle, and all the other stuff that you needed. Leds illuminate the table, and you take a knife and hum as you cut the cake. Satoru stays speechless again, and he notices small gifts at the feet of the table. No way. His smiles get even more softer, and his eyes stare right back at your form.

“Here you go ! I went to buy it at your favorite bakestry earlier during the day. I swear, I was eying it down all afternoon and evening… It looks so tasty,” you explain, and he takes the little plate and spoon you gave him as you turn around to prepare your own slice.

“Thanks, y/n,” he says, a bit more seriously than usual. But as you turn again towards him, he harbors back his usual goofy smile as if nothing happened. 

“You’re welcome.”

You both take a bite, and sigh at how tasty it was. The cake was definitely worth the wait, and Satoru beams of happiness as he nods and hums.

“I just ascended to heaven,” he jokes cheerfully, munching and almost devouring the whole slice. You laugh slightly, and he looks back at you with a smirk.

“You can have more. The cake is all yours, actually,” you muse.

“Well, I’m sharing it with you, so it’s not all mine…” he corrects, showing with his chin the slice you are eating. You huff, rolling your eyes.

“Obviously, I bought it !”

“Nah, it’s just me being generous right now,” he retorts jokingly, and you finish your slice as you shake your head. You both put back the plates on the table, and Gojo walks towards it, looking around with curiosity.

“You really did all this, for me ? I mean, I know I’m amazing, and that you just love me so much, I’m Gojo Satoru after all,” he starts in a fake overly prideful way that makes you squint your eyes, leaning against the railing of the rooftop, “but I didn’t expect all… the effort,” he finishes more calmly, looking back at you as you smile tenderly.

“Of course. You told me that your birthday was just another regular day for you, another year older. You never made a big deal out of it. So, I decided it wouldn’t ! It’s a special day, and it’s yours. It’s a reminder that I’m grateful that you were born, and that I was able to meet you and become your friend. I’m happy that you’re here, on earth, with me. I’m happy to celebrate this day. I’m happy to have you in my life, and I’m happy to see you grow older a little more,” you explain, looking at the buildings of the school under you, and further away, the lights of the city of Tokyo deep in the darkness of the night. 

You didn’t know Satoru for that long, actually. Barely more than a year, meeting him last september. You studied in another city during your teenage years, and became a sorcerer for another part of your life somewhere else. You moved not so long ago to Tokyo, meeting the Great Gojo Satoru that quickly became more than a coworker. Way more than you both originally thought. 

He didn’t talk much about his past, everytime it was vaguely, but he always showed how he felt disconnected to his birthday. For him, it was the day he came to earth, how the second he was born the burden of the world was already on his shoulders. The boring day people of other clans would wish him a happy birthday, without actually caring about him, and instead directly remind him of his position. The day he couldn’t even celebrate with his own parents, from which he got separated early in youth. The day he wished never happened. The day he felt so lonely, more than he let people think. The day he once liked to celebrate in the past, when it was with Geto Suguru, but it was long forgotten. The day he now was too busy to even think about. The day he even forgot himself, because who cares, anyway, if not even his own person.

In the quietness of his non answer, you decide to continue, feeling like the mood shifted.

“I even prepared you gifts ! It actually took me time to pick them, since you kinda already own everything you want…” you spat, turning and squatting down to grab one of the gifts. You chuckle to yourself and stand back up, only to be met with Satoru looking right back at you, with an expression you never saw him have before.

Tears. Tears were at the corner of his beautiful eyes that were wide open in shock at your earlier words. He was unmoving, wind making his hair swing left and right gently. You gasp, not expecting that at all. Because it was the first time you saw Gojo Satoru cry. 

“Satoru ? Are you okay-” you start to say concerned, but then he turns off his infinity, and suddenly grabs you, making the gift fall at your feet. Thankfully, it didn’t break. But you have no time to think about such things, that his strong arms wrap around your body and cradles you close against his warm chest. His face is deep buried in your neck, and you swear you just heard him sniff. 

“That means so much to me, y/n. I didn’t even know it would mean anything, actually,” his voice is almost struggling to sort out the words of his throat, strained. He tightens his grip around you as if he was afraid to let go, and you can’t help but hug him back as strongly as you can.

“I’m glad, Satoru,” you whisper softly, and he kisses your neck affectionately. You shiver at the touch. Or maybe it's because his lips are warm, in duality with the coldness of outside.

“I don’t know if it’s better than the love confession I imagined,” he tries to joke to lighten the mood, voice muffled in your shoulder. You let out a laugh, nudging him.

“Well, birthday boy, anything you want for your day. But first, take your gifts,” you look up at him, and he lifts his head from your shoulder to stare at your eyes for a few seconds, not answering. You both stay like that in a short lingering moment, eyes staring back at each other.

“Ah yes, the gifts. I’m excited,” a big smile forms on his lips. You step back, and take on the floor the first gift. You give it to him, and he almost squeals at how overly delighted he was. He was a grown ass adult, but looked like a little boy right now. It made your heart melt just by doing this comparison in your mind.

“What can it be, what can it be…” he chants, looking at the box and then back at you as he slowly unwrapped it. Then, once he is finished, he is met with a limited edition figurine of a character of Digimon that you managed to find after some research, someone selling it back on a website. His eyes open wide, gleaming with surprise and adoration.

“No fucking way ! Are you serious right now ?! No way ! What ?!” he exclaims loudly, as if all energy got summoned back into his body and he opens his mouth wide, turning the box around to look at the figurine. 

“Like it ?” you laugh, crossing your arms behind your back and looking at him lifting the gift towards the sky. He looks back at you.

“If I love it ? Y/n, if I could, I would be marrying you on the damn spot right now,” he says half seriously, half joking, or maybe he wasn’t joking at all. He kisses the box, and then he snakes his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him, and he kisses your cheek loudly in a big exaggerated smooch. You laugh, happy of his reaction and feeling relieved that he liked it that much.

“It’s my dear baby now,” he sighs as he looks at it, then back at you, smirking.

“Take good care of it,” you nod, and he hums as he puts the box on the table, “oh yes I will,” he adds.

“I have another gift,” you cheer, squatting back down to grab the second object. 

“You are spoiling me, I feel like your sugar baby,” Satory says, and you raise an eyebrow at his joke.

“You are the rich one here. That would be more financially accurate if you were the sugar daddy in this relationship,” you correct, and he rolls his eyes, pouting childishly.

“I’m your sugar baby in spirit, then,” he corrects as you extend the smaller box.

“Yeah, that would be. But this one is not a big deal, it’s more like a little bonus,” you explain, and then he smiles as he takes it in his hands. He slowly unwraps it, more carefully, and he discovers a cd with on the transparent box some sweet words with a doddle that you wrote and drew on it.

“You always say how you like my music tastes, and insist on listening to songs with me, so I made a playlist especially on a cd just for you. Most of the songs remind me of you, actually. Listen when you have time,” you describe, and he holds it in his hands as a soft smile forms on his face. 

“How can you be so sweet ? Seriously…,” he sighs, laughing nervously as he rubs his face and looks back at you. “Thank you, Y/n. Really, I mean it. Thank you,” he oh so gently says. He puts back down on the table the cd, and you stand again in front of the railing, looking at the city farther away.

“You’re welcome. But it’s only normal, Satoru,” you give him a smile as you answer, and he leans against the railing too, but instead it’s his back against it. He stares at the moon.

“You make it special. I’m not used to what you call normal”, he lets out a somewhat nervous chuckle, some uneasiness in his voice.

“But, birthdays should be like that,” you whisper, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“I don’t know. I went to more funerals than anniversaries. And celebrating my birthday is not really… a thing. I don’t have the time to care about it,” Satoru shrugs, nonchalantly, as if it really didn’t matter the slightest and that his indifference wasn’t a big deal.

“I do care,” this time you turn your head to look at him. He stares back at you, and then smiles as he slides his arm before you on the railing, and then brings you closer.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, kissing your hair, “you made me care about it, right now,” he continues, and you lift your face to be at the same eye level as him.

“Mission accomplished successfully, then.” You wink at Satoru, and he nods, letting out a laugh at the same time as you.

“Very successful, actually.”

He looks at your eyes, and you notice how his twinkle from the light of the stars up your head. He brings his hand on your cheek, and softly caresses your cold skin, thumb gently rubbing your lower lip.

“I was serious when I said that it meant so much to me, you know ? You really made me feel vulnerable here,” he whispers, and you feel your heart flutter. You melt a little at his touch.

“Did I ?” you know you did, after all you saw the tears on his eyes, even though Satoru normally never cries. But you didn’t mention it.

“Hmm hmm,” he hums, the corner of his mouth lifting up. He leans slightly towards you, only a breath away.

“You said anything I want for my day ?” he continues, tilting his face slightly, his voice just a murmur and vibrating against your skin. His lips brushes for a second against yours.

“Anything,” you confirm. He narrows his eyes happily, and you knew what he meant.

You softly lift yourself on your tiptoes, slide your arms around his neck and then under the starry sky and magnificent moon, you gently press your lips against his in a tender kiss. They mold on yours, and Satoru lets out a breath of relief when he finally, finally feels your mouth against his. It’s like an apocalypse, heart beating fast in unison and feelings overwhelming. His hands cradle you closer, one around your waist squeezing you tighter. Satoru thought that your kiss was the best gift he could have, to be honest. It was so much sweeter than the strawberry cake, and he already craved more.

Then, as you part slightly away, breath mingled and lips still brushing together, you whisper : 

“Happy Birthday, Satoru.”

THE END

[comfortless]

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

[court-jobi]

Aquarium Date

Pairing: Hawks x reader (gn!reader)

Words: 3.1k

Rating: G~

Warnings: fluff hours, y'all. Mentions of PTSD but nothing deep, dark, mysterious. Just taking care of my sweet, sweet flyboy

Summary:

You've been introducing little spots around the city to Keigo, slowly reintroducing him to the public per his increasing interest. As much as he prided himself on coming up with the best date ideas, you flip the script and come up with a surprise for him today: high time the prince of the skies gets to experience an aquarium for the first time~

A/N: Here's the long-awaited poll result!! it's been a minute, but I've been polishing up some drafts and finally have a breather to begin posting them! (Also started seeing someone which oddly enough cuts into my writing time, oops) But thank you all so much for reading; I've loved reading all the comments and tags!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Quilted mornings greet Keigo's weekends now. Every Saturday, he sleeps to his heart's content- or at least until he rolls over with an indulgent stretch to find you already sitting up, nursing some coffee.

This morning, you return your mug back to the side table the moment you catch that telltale creak of his voice trying to wake itself up. It’s a careful move not to spill, but you're also bubbling in anticipation of what's coming next:

Without fail, Keigo will crack open his eyes, fuss against the light, moan how you've moved too far away, and *army-crawls* on his tummy until he can drape an arm across you again. To watch his shoulders work as he moves is still a handsome sight… even without his wings.

As he tries to sneak in a bit more shuteye, you stroke Keigo lightly, wherever you can reach. It's mostly his hair that calls out for your hand’s touch, though as you lay some light scritches down between his shoulder blades, Keigo rustles more. When you stop, he jolts his shoulder up in a nudge.

'More, please.'

"Good morning, GoldenEye~" you greet him.

Laying a groggy kiss to nowhere in particular (just an absent press of the lips on your midsection where he could reach), Keigo trills lazily but with a smile on his face. A wakeful state rests behind still-closed eyes; he talks before willing them open,

"Gmornin', bay’bird.."

Kei's morning voice should come with a warning– if you had no bills to pay or the human need to eat and drink, you'd never leave this bed with him in it like this.

He wrenches a little pout, a scrunch of his shut eyelids, "nnngh.. -wha’ times’it?"

To answer Keigo's drowsy twists and turns under the covers, you pull up the confirmation email on your phone with bidden excitement,

"Right about time for you to start getting yourself ready, babe," you greet softly, "we've got somewhere to be today."

An accented eye finally chances a peek up at you, "-where?"

"It's a surprise~ I'm taking you out. Up for a little adventure?"

"Adventure, huh?" Keigo cracks a smile with teasing interest, groaning into your side as he stretches yet again, "MMMMFH-hhhh.. now what's my baby got in mind f’me, huh?"

You've been introducing little spots around the city to him, slowly reintroducing him to the public per his increasing interest. You were nervous at first, but by Keigo's healthier mental balance between work and play now, you follow his lead and try to make outings fun for him.

Online, you'd come across a locals-only ticketing deal that was too good to pass up and thought to treat him to an excursion he'd likely never gotten to do in grade school... Since when would assassin training allow for field trips like most nine-year-olds get to go on?

Without giving anything away, you merely gave Keigo a small kiss on his forehead and left him confused while you urged him to get up once again. A frisky swat on his butt atop mountains of covers got him into action soon enough, chasing after you with roguish excitement.

“Guess it’s a bit late to ask if I should have changed into a wetsuit?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in the enclosures without permission, Kei. Hero or not!~”

“Cmon, you can’t swim with them?”

“Some folks do, but they get paid to do that! The rest of us get to watch how it’s done.”

“Sheesh, where’s the fun in that?” 

Giggling at his ridiculous notion, you find your darling’s interest in the building's flashy backlit signage  holds more depth, like he’s reading every word for the first time.

"Y'know, I always passed this place," Keigo emerges from the car, with a set gaze at the fish captured mid-breach, "but never went inside. Couldn't risk the wings getting too wet while on the job, y'know?"

"Thought as much," you rejoin him, pocketing your keys into your coat and all but biting your lip in excitement. "Wanna see?"

"Lead the way, pretty thing~"

So the two of you entered Kyushu's newly renovated aquarium center. It's renown as one of the loveliest in the world with a seven story high observation deck, prized for its integral underground facilities with access directly to the waterways through man-made tunnels and bayfront access. Quirk specialists who bear similar biology to nature's most wonderous aquatic life find their ‘home away from home’ here at the conjoining lab complex, and aid in conservation efforts alongside the scientists.

But out of all the inner workings listed on plaques and donor standees lining the walls of the lobby, Keigo fixates on one feature above all others the minute he steps in the door-

"They have PENGUINS?!"

You mute your giggles, cringing at his unintended echo through the ceramic walls and floors.

Merely nodding, your hush guides him to not make such an outburst again, taking ahold of his bicep and threading your arm through to keep him close.

"Surprise!" You whisper adoringly.

You feel the equivalent of a parent’s pride on Christmas morning, watching Keigo take in a sight like this as if he weren't twenty-plus years older than you were when you first came to visit one.

Unafraid and completely enraptured by the dark halls and den of water ahead, Keigo is stepping out strong with your hand in his, forgetting altogether that this is a paid attraction and he can't just spurt ahead of his own two feet.

A hard habit to break, going too fast for his own good… but your linking of fingers in his softens the sting of having to wait to show your tickets first.

Inside changes Keigo's demeanor entirely. From giddy interest comes a deep, profound quiet he was still very much capable of. You took the lead, enlightening him to all sorts of creatures which -you'd come to learn today-  he'd never seen before:

Shrimp were little marvels Keigo had only ever seen sauced up and on a skewer, so to watch them mosey about in their natural state brought a funny tweak of regret to his lips. Jellyfish were the 'roadkill of the beach’, to him. Never before had he seen how big they could get or how beautifully they migrated out in the open ocean. Fish with spikes, eels that glow, creatures with tails longer than their entire bodies, whipping around their cratered homes all set under interchanging lights… it all rendered Keigo nearly speechless.

So speechless, he didn't pay a single mind to a few nearby kids who were whispering to their moms if the man over by your side ‘is who they think it is’... 

You'd catch their eyes, mocking a little hush of the lips and sending a wink to their guardians- an unspoken word between you promised to let everyone just explore at their own peace and pace. 

These are the beautiful times you are gifted to spend together; now more than ever. While you wish under every star in the sky that Keigo Takami’s newfound free time was not at the expense of his hero work, you are grateful for the perks his rehabilitation period offers you now. In this time of healing, your relationship has flourished; not unlike the sea life around you.

Much like the aquatic life you walk by from enclosure to enclosure, the far-off vision of these sights in the wild remind you that so many beautiful things can exist under the surface of turbulent waves. From the skies, ‘Hawks’ in his larger-than-life glory became drawn to you just over a year ago: rooted to the ground as you were. Now grounded himself, It’s here that -once again- you amaze him with a new perspective, this time sharing marvels with him that exist far under both your feet, under the sea. By his awestruck reactions, you’re proud that you can enlighten him to something he’s never experienced. So many times, you’re so sure that he’s seen it all… but you still manage to surprise him. 

As he rightfully deserves. You’d give Keigo the world if you could.

Though for now, his complete joy seems to stem from checking out the baby penguins, half covered in the fuzz of their infant downy feathers. For a split second, your chest pangs when he makes an offhand comment about how they’re just like him, flightless. But Kei settles any subtle concern you hold, because his laughter is far to giddy for you to worry that he’s self conscious. 

Had you not known what horrors and traumas he’s gone through with his quirk, you’d think this is the funniest sight to see a grown man revert to child-like excitement. But now, it means so much more to see him so happy and carefree.

It’s not that you’re desensitized to such creatures, mind you! While you’d been taking candid photos of Keigo for your own private collection, a couple birds suddenly squawked an internal debate, demanding the attention of you both. It’s clear a race had been cast, because the penguins then slid right onto their bellies to a quick, friendly speedrun to the bottom of the slicked, icy slide into the water. When one emerged from the pool ‘laughing’, Keigo wheezed and started a cheeky round of applause for all bystanders to join in on.

Birds of a feather, you assume, and they love a good race– whether in the air or not, I guess!

"Can we-- maybe go back again?” Keigo paused before you could veer off to one of the last passageways before the end of the museum, “Wanted to see something again ‘fore we get to far ahead."

So you backtrack through the exhibits, and return to ‘The Great Room’.

At his lead, you're back at the tank the resident whale shark calls home, but you're caught off guard by where he chooses to settle– watching Keigo walk right up by the glass- not quite a foot away. In the middle of the feature wall, sitting down criss-crossed, the man you’ve loved in and out of the spotlight makes himself the whale shark's newest neighbor, smack dab on the floor.

Five-year-old Keigo has arrived, and your heart could break at the sight.

Looking over his shoulder for you, he's got a boyish look on his face that's a little hard to read. By his posture, he's relaxed as ever, but a hidden story sits behind his eyes like a mist. His scar pales into the rest of his cheek under all these watery refractions of light, to the point where you forget for a moment it's there.

At his pat on the ground, you mirror his seating arrangement and join him. No one else is in the room at this moment, but even if it were jam packed with chiding eyes around you both, you'd never refuse him.

Keigo looks back up through the glass when you curl up next to him- staring off everywhere and nowhere at once. For once, a lost look across his face doesn't make him look haunted. He's just overcome.

"I feel... small."

"Small?" you ask.

"Mhm. But in a good way," he follows the third lap of a long, spotted fish, surrounded by the tiniest minnows in a cloud around it. "It's different when you're down low, when you've always seen things from up top."

The perspective he holds has been completely inverted. You worried this was a hurt he likely carried around unspoken: not being able to fly. 

"They probably think waves are like the sky to them," Keigo looks up to where he sees the residual bubbles of all the wildlife rising to the surface. The light and the overlook banisters above casting their shadows highlights the tiny pockets of air, “n’to think like that card back there said, you can’t even see the surface when you’re on the bottom of the actual ocean floor. This is– just incredible.”

You’re glad to see him so happy, to have given him something new to discover. 

Keigo is quiet for a while, until he grows softer still in his normally unwavering voice. Seems now he’s not just found his ‘inside voice’, but the one he keeps special just for you. 

“Yknow that feeling where you gotta scratch your eye, but no matter how many times you try, the itch is still there?”

You follow, with a hum.

“That’s how it feels sometimes.” Keigo doesn’t look at you, but you can read his wistfulness through the first panes of glass in front of him. “I don’t necessarily think of it every minute of every day… but man. When it itches, it really itches. And nothing settles it.”

You rarely bring the war up on your own– reminding Keigo of such fresh events would be cruel, you thought. You only respond with your thoughts whenever he asks for them in a formal, work-related capacity, but you know it’s affected him in every way regardless of how quickly he appeared to bounce back. It’s also a sensation you’d never have an equivalent to share with him. In terms of support, you often weren’t always sure what to say to console him on the days he appeared the most down; it’s not that you could ever truly relate.

Robbed of his quirk– robbed of the air. To feel as weightless as the creatures in the water, unbound by gravity.

“But these guys–” Keigo looks up again with a smirk, “--they don’t even gotta worry about things like blinking. And anytime they get caught by some seaweed or something- look how the others take care of ‘em. Look how happy they are.”

You seek out the pod of fish he’s been tracking. Expert eyes, he’s still lightyears ahead on you with his eagle eyes. They are far away now, murky due to distance from the foreground… 

…it’s not about the fish anymore. 

It’s about his healing. Finding his place in the world. Keigo feels like a fish out of water, now– even in his new role as President of the Hero Public Safety Commission, but he’s confessing a key part of his journey now: the after, and how it’s maybe not so far away as you expected. 

It took Keigo a while to sleep shirtless around you, after everything. It was physically hard to do so, first of all… but more than practically, the act of baring himself in any way was tender in more ways than that of newly supple skin. He’d grown used to his entire torso being wrapped up for so long… his true emotions concealed and lying deeper still. 

Even longer, he spent a month wearing constant compression -like a tight fitting bodyglove or even a too-small hoodie- as it was more comfortable than strutting around bare-chested as he once did. Healing was more of a never-ending action plan, rather than a passive point of rest like most would picture. There were therapies and tinctures and salves and appointments that all guided a former hero like him back into a state of truly feeling better and treated as a normal member of society- civilian. 

That title, still so strange to him. Alien. Another reason he’d wanted to keep layers on while he accepts his own skin. Over midafternoon tea one day, Keigo had grumbled on a grim day that he’d worried he’d never be considered ‘normal’, even if he completely healed; that some wounds were too deep and he’d never be seen as anything other than a hero- even a failed one.

However, the page turned one day- Keigo coming to you quickly after getting out of a shower to snuggle up to your figure washing the dishes. The telltale warmth of his chest hit the back of your shoulders, same as the arms which wrapped around you snug and close. Kisses along your neck served to try and distract you from your tasks, but the bigger surprise remained how vulnerable he stood behind you: he was shirtless once again.

The thought made you smile, your darling love finally embracing you in a fully relaxed state... Content, happy- or at the very least assured enough to turn you around, begging softly for some more kisses in that saucy way, and sheepishly requesting a backrub 'like you used to'. 

Maybe it was healing for you as well, getting the chance to cover Keigo in restorative love. It's always been a source of pride for you, and served to give you connection in ways the rest of the world didn't see– a place to put your care and attention in new ways for the man who gives his all to everyone else.

He's still so beautiful, like this. He's got spark to his chatty tongue again, a lift to his cheeks, and lingers for your every touch, melting on the spot even without a single feather to hint at how he feels. He doesn't need them; his eyes do all the talking for him.

You'd always care for the hero inside him- those instincts will never die, truly. Hawks' brilliance lives through his natural leadership and street-savvy command as head of the HPSC… But to nurture the sleepy, tired boy who is still finding his feet on the ground, who works every day to make the world a better place than the one he was brought into, and who missed out on so much… he’s your top priority.

You sink onto his shoulder, met by his craning atop yours. Though the reflection of the glass, Keigo doesn’t look at you, but bears the most content smile while resting with you, sneaking your hand and twisting the pretty rings adorned on it. He’d gifted you most of these, anyhow. 

"They're sure not in any rush,” Keigo coos after the floating, drifting life ahead of him. 

The swarms of sea life, ebb and flow of plant life, and the simulated tides created all washes over you two in quiet beauty. The way each group of fish move in their own current is the most relaxing sight and -yes- drifts along at an unhurried pace.

You hum your agreement.

"Slowing down's not such a bad thing, huh."

"No, not at all."

Eventually distracted by your own lazy watching, you check on Keigo again as he’d turned his head to kiss your temple while still entranced by the aquarium. In a soft voice, he asks with a pining whisper,

“How long we got in here, sweet’eart?”

“I think it closes at four today~” you share, but make the mental note to upgrade your passes to the annual membership before you leave…

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE MOON HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot

main masterlist | read on ao3 | part 2 pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: you meet javier in a café during your sabbatical. you see the man that no one does ― the one who is broken, defeated, crushed by his time as a DEA agent. so you make it your purpose to shine some light on his life, one pumpkin spice latte at a time. -or- the story of how you two fall head over heels for each other c: a/n: hiya! been wanting to write for javi p for a while, but was afraid to take the plunge because it's been a hot minute since i last watched narcos. anyways, this fic is for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge which i found really inspiring, thank you for hosting this sweet challenge! first time taking part in a challenge too, whoop whoop! as always, all interactions welcome, would love to hear your thoughts. take care! <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). post season 3 of narcos, possibly slightly off-canon? idk. fluff, loads of it! angst, comfort. mentions of ptsd, panic attacks and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. trip to the pumpkin patch to cheer our sweet javi up. reader's pov only (v unlike me). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 6.8k (this was gonna be a short drabble... smh) divider by @saradika-graphics

Friday, 18th September 1998

“What can I get for you today, gorgeous?” was your go-to sentence with every client.

Even when your own personal demons stalked you at night, you made your best effort to get out of bed every day and come to work. Working in a café was not in your plans for this year, but a heart-shattering breakup had rocked your world so bad, you needed out.

So, you took a sabbatical from your job in finance, hugged your parents and waved goodbye to your friends. It would only be for one year ― hopefully enough to get your life together and reorganise your priorities.

That was why you moved to Laredo two months ago, to have a fresh start with a blank slate ― where no one knew you and you knew no one. A month into your new life, you realised you needed to do something or otherwise you would go crazy. So you took a waiting job at one of the local cafés. You were just paid the minimum wage, but you had enough savings to live comfortably for a year without any issues.

It was only mid-September ― technically still summer. However, the unusually cold weather made it look otherwise. Fall had appeared sooner this year, and you couldn’t be happier about it. You loved autumn ― its duller hues, the crispy air, the browning leaves, the cozy sweaters, burying yourself under blankets on the couch while channel surfing. It was, by far, your favourite season.

“A pumpkin spice latte, please.” The masculine voice that spoke back to you was plain, deflated ― it lacked… something, but you were not able to pinpoint what exactly.

Your eyes moved from your notebook to the man in front of you, sat at the one of the most isolated tables. A few strands of wavy, brown hair fell across his forehead, the ends caressing the metal frame of the yellow-tinted, aviator sunglasses that shielded his eyes. ‘Brown too,’ you thought. ‘Sad and brown.’

Even if he was not looking at you, you could simply tell. His demeanour, his posture, the way he averted his eyes ― the man spoke of sadness and hurt, of something dark and gut-wrenching you could not even fathom.

And he was alone ― it was obvious he was not waiting on anyone.

“Anything else?” You asked, your throat suddenly dry.

He shook his head no without a word. His hands were placed on top of the table, his fingers intertwined while his thumbs circled each other. It was a restrained yet impatient gesture, as if he could not wait to be left alone.

“Could I interest you in a slice of pumpkin cake? It’s got cream cheese frosting. Shouldn’t say it myself because I baked it, but it’s delicious, I promise.” You tried to tempt him; a soft smile directed at him. “If you don’t like it, it’s on the house.”

The curvature of your lips wavered when his eyes slowly drifted up towards you and locked on yours. They definitely had a sorrowful tint to them ― as if he had seen too much, been witness to too many unspeakable things. His eyes were a window to a crushed soul, that much you could perceive.

His lips formed a flat line as he looked away and through the window to his right.

“Why not then…” His reply was not rude but charged with something unsettling. Something that made you swallow hard.

But you were still smiling back at him. Maybe the guy was having a rough day, a rough week or a rough month. A rough lifetime? Showing him kindness was not going to change his view on the world around him, but if it helped, even a tiny bit, you would smile until the corners of your mouth hurt.

“Alrighty, shouldn’t be long!” You scribbled the command on your notebook, the tip of your tongue unconsciously sticking out between your teeth as you did.

You walked back to behind the counter and when you turned around, you saw the man watching your every move. But as soon as he felt caught, he bowed his head down and looked for something in one of his shirt’s pockets. Soon after that, he lighted a cigarette.

Slightly confused, you faced the coffee maker and looked at the recipe card for the pumpkin spice latte. As you started preparing it, one of your colleagues walked past you.

“Pssst, Alejandra!” You called her in a whisper.

The girl looked around her, unsure if someone had said her name or if it was her imagination playing games.

“Over here”, you waved at her and Alejandra happily trotted towards you.

“Yeah? What’s up? Do you need a hand with that?” She offered her help, as she always did. You were grateful to have such good coworkers in your shift. It was a contrasting experience in comparison to your finance job.

“No, I think I’m okay. Got a question of different nature though,” you ventured pressing your lips together. “The guy over there, sat in the corner…” Alejandra turned her head around to look and stuck her head out, going on her tiptoes and everything. “Hey! Be a bit less obvious, dammit!” You panicked, shaking her forearm as she giggled.

“What about him?” She asked with a cocked brow.

“Who is he? Not seen him before ‘round here.” You tried to sound as casual as possible, but Alejandra’s raised eyebrow told you she was seeing through your bullshit.

“Chucho’s son. Javier.”

“Chucho who?” It seemed like everyone knew everyone in this town, except for you.

“Chucho Peña, he owns a farm on the outskirts of town. That’s his son Javier. He worked for the DEA and has moved back in with his old man a couple of weeks ago. Rumour has it he was fired. Apparently, he was caught doing drugs on the job, can you believe it?” Alejandra didn’t hold back on the gossip. “The same drugs he was confiscating from the narcos, taking them all for himself. Some say he was even selling them back to them and making good profit.”

You knew to take rumours with a very big pinch of salt. Sure, there was corruption in the DEA as in any other governmental organisation, but he did not seem to be that kind of guy. Not that you knew him, anyway.

“Not even his childhood friends are speaking to him now, so if I were you, I’d keep my distance.” She warned you in a hush. “He’s trouble, that dude.”

That broke your heart a little. Javier looked lonely enough ― learning that he was truly on his own resonated loud with you. Being branded a misfit by his own community had to be a hard pill to swallow.

“Mhmm. Sure thing”, was your only reply. Alejandra tilted her head to one side, studying your blank expression. “I was just curious, that’s it.”

“If you say so. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Her veiled counsel hung above your head as you resumed the task of preparing his coffee.

Five minutes later you were done and walking back to where Javier was patiently waiting. As you approached his table, a guy pushed back his chair to stand up and hit you hard. You lost your balance, almost tripping with the legs of the chair. Your right hip slammed against the edge of an empty chair and prevented you from falling ― you managed to save the coffee, but the plate with the cake slice slid off your fingers and shattered against the floor.

“Hey! Watch it!”

For a second you thought it was the gentleman reprimanding you, but you quickly recognised the voice ― Javier had stood up, fast as thunder, and his index finger was accusatorily pointing to the man who had mindlessly pushed his chair back.

Before the situation escalated, you straightened out your back and planted a hand on Javier’s forearm to stop him from tackling the guy.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing. I wasn’t looking, it’s my bad.” You quickly tried to diffuse the situation, tension building up between the two men.

“No, it’s not.” Javier replied between gritted teeth. “This asshole should have seen you walking by.”

Your eyes widened as they flew from one man’s face to the other’s. Javier’s outburst was not welcomed by the other guy, who was clenching his fists at his sides. You put the surviving coffee down on a table nearby and placed yourself in the middle of both men, arms extended.

“No need to take this so seriously, it was just a bit of cake, and I’m not hurt.” You said looking at Javier with imploring eyes. You did not need this kind of trouble.

‘He’s trouble’, Alejandra had said. Should you listen?

“Please, accept my apologies.”

“I ain’t paying you shit now, treating one of your regular clients like this.” The man barked back, fuming.

Javier took a step forward and his chest pressed against the palm of your hand. You did not expect to feel his warm skin under yours ― a few unbuttoned buttons on his shirt gave you a peek of his hairy chest.

He clenched his jaw so hard you could see his muscles straining.

“Of course, of course. I’ll pay for it, it’s not a problem.”

Huffing and puffing, the man signalled to his companion and they both walked out the door, mumbling something you couldn’t hear but could imagine.

Slowly you turned to face Javier, whose eyes burnt like gasoline. You didn’t know if he was trouble, but he was definitely danger.

“It’s alright, relax. I’m sorry about the cake, I’ll get you another one. It’s on me, I kinda forced you to buy it.” You offered, thinking he was still mad, while you knelt down to clean the mess with some tissues you had grabbed from the table besides you.

“I’ll pay for it. For both slices.” He replied succinctly, squatting down by your side to help you out.

“You don’t need to”, you quickly said, watching him on the corner of your eye.

His expression softened a bit, and his lips turned into a grimace.

“I do. I think I made things worse for you.” You thought the same but didn’t dare to voice your opinion.

You were customer-facing and could hear your manager in your mind saying ‘The customer is always right. Treat ‘em like royalty’. Bullshit that, really, but was part of the job.

Once the mess was cleared, you gave Javier his coffee and ran back to the counter to cut another slice for him. This time, as you sauntered towards him, you were aware of your surroundings. Luckily, there were no more inconveniences, and the cake slice made it safe and sound to Javier’s table.

“Thanks. And sorry again.” He apologised, his tone throaty with truth. He really meant it.

“Don’t worry about it, honestly.” You grinned at him as you gently squeezed his shoulder without thinking. Javier’s eyes quickly darted down at the touch ― you could swear he flinched. “Oh― S-sorry”, you stammered, pulling your hand back to break contact.

Javier just hmphed and turned his attention to his drink and food.

With your brows knitting together, you made your way back to the counter. From time to time, you would check on him from a distance while serving other patrons. ‘Just making sure he likes it’, you told yourself every time.

After half an hour, Javier got up and walked towards the register.

“How was it?” You asked with a gleaming smile.

“It was good.” Surprisingly, you were slightly disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. “Really good”, he added a second later, as if he had picked up on your disillusionment.

The smile came back to your mouth.

“Well, I’m glad.” You said while you typed in his order to produce the bill. “It’s $9.42.”

“How much was the… gentleman’s” he spat out the word, “bill? I want to cover it too.”

That offer took you completely off guard, and you started shaking your hands and head at the same time.

“No, no, no. It’s okay, I’ll pay for it. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I insist. Please.” He punctuated every word. “How much was it?”

“Uh, mhmm…” You didn’t want him to take the blow. Maybe he had made the situation worse, but at the end of the day, it was the other guy’s fault, not his. “Are you sure?”

He simply nodded.

“It was $25.37. So the total would be… $34.79.” You composed a pitiful face ― it was a lot of money for a coffee and a cake slice.

Javier handed you a $50 note and then said, “Keep the change.”

With your mouth agape with surprise and not really understanding his generosity, you looked down and extended your hand almost unwillingly.

“But this is a lot…” You started to complain. However, when you looked up at him, you only saw his back.

Javier was already walking out of the café before you could say anything else.

Friday, 25th September 1998

Exactly a week later at ten past five in the afternoon, Javier Peña entered the café you worked at. Your brows furrowed, trying to recall last Friday. Had he gotten there at the same time too? He sat at the same table, same chair as well. The man was a creature of habit, a wild one at that.

Sooner rather than later, you were in front of him, notebook and pencil on hand, with a cheery smile.

“What can I get for you today, gorgeous?” You asked, hoping he would catch the joke ― you also followed a routine.

The joke went over his head. He looked less taciturn than a week before, albeit he still had this aura around him screaming to be left alone. Javier leaned back on his chair and this time, he did make eye contact, unlike last.

A slight yet noticeable change.

“A pumpkin spice latte, please.” This time round, his voice was a bit livelier although still crude.

“Anything else?” Your smile turned crooked as your eyes locked on his.

You saw a sparkle in them, a brightness that flickered under the fluorescent lights of the café. A hint of mischief, you thought too. He definitely had seen the joke now.

“Do you still have pumpkin cake? The one with cream cheese frosting?” He went off script, which made your grin grow bigger.

A creature of habit, but adaptable.

You nodded, writing the order down ― your tongue peeking through your teeth in full concentration.

“Freshly baked, I did it this morning.”

“If it’s half as good as last week’s, I might have to start coming over every Friday then.” A lopsided grin fought its way to his lips, although it didn’t stay there for long.

That brief gesture had transformed his expression, softening the hard edges of his jaw and smoothing out the wrinkles around his covered eyes. You noticed he still had his aviator glasses on, even though it was cloudy outside.

You were not prepared for his compliment, so you just tittered.

“If that’s the case, I’ll make sure to bake one every Friday as to not disappoint you”, you replied jokingly, albeit you truly considered it.

The shadow of a grimace danced on Javier’s mouth. The beginning of another smile, perhaps. Could you be so lucky that he would gift you with two grins in a row? That would be unheard of.

It wasn’t like you were watching him, but you were. Just a few glances here and there though, nothing too obvious. You did not believe in such things, but it seemed like his demons were following him wherever he went. Whatever darkness accompanied him, had a tight grip on him. You wondered what had happened to Javier to give off such an uneasy feeling.

The man was the epitome of wariness ― always looking above his shoulders, his hand tightly latching on to the buckle of his belt. Javier Peña looked like a man who always had a foot in the door, ready to run at the slightest inconvenience. And just because of that, you should be chary, keeping your distance. But it was exactly that, his raw loneliness, what pulled you into his orbit.

You were a fixer, and Javier was broken.

You were a puzzler, and Javier was a puzzle someone had tossed aside ― all the little pieces spread in disarray, unclassified, waiting to be put back together.

Question was, could he be fixed or was he shattered beyond repair?

Friday, 2nd October 1998

“Let me guess. One pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake?”

Javier’s sunglasses reflected the light off the ceiling, his eyes catching a sliver of it. His fingers drummed against the table, his pearly white teeth peeking through the brief smile his lips composed just for you.

“It’s almost like you already know me”, he jested, flattening the palm of his hand against the table and sliding it off until his fingers wrapped around the edge.

That simple motion had you in a trance for a second, your mind blank.

“I do know a few things about you.” It slipped off your tongue before you could refrain yourself.

Once you realised what you had just said, your eyes slightly widened, and you unconsciously chewed your bottom lip.

“Do you?” Javier tilted his head to one side, his kempt moustache wrinkling with curiosity.

You nodded slowly and he cocked a brow, enticing you to continue.

“I’ve noticed you like a routine, always showing up at the same time, ordering the same thing, sitting on the same table, the same chair. And I know you love fall, because why would you be ordering a pumpkin spice latte every Friday since mid-September? With two sugar cubes. And when you attack the cake, you first eat the frosting, then the rest. That’s weird.”

You could have left it there so you wouldn’t sound like a stalker, but once you started talking, you could not stop.

“I know you feel like something, or someone, is following you. I know you always keep an eye on the door, making sure the exit is clear. I know you never turn your back to it either ― and that’s probably why you are, many a times, reaching for a gun in your belt that is no longer there. I know that you are lonely, but that loneliness is self-imposed. I know you don’t like being touched.”

You had definitely paid Javier Peña too much attention. Your last words did not really sink in until Javier’s amused expression transformed into knitting brows and a fine line for lips.

Had you gone too far in your analysis? Why would you say all those things to a complete stranger? When your slip of tongue dawned on you, you covered your mouth, embarrassed of yourself.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to… I just― I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why―” Your words came out in a slurred rush, incoherent and unfinished sentences got stuck to the back of your throat through all that stammering.

He leaned back, his arm loosely draped around the empty chair to his right, near the window. Javier then clicked his tongue.

“Well, I had it coming. I did ask, didn’t I?” His reaction surprised you ― you really thought he was going to up and leave because of your insolence.

You let go a sigh of relief, followed by a nervous chuckle as you hugged the notebook close to your chest.

“Was I… too far off?” You ventured, biting down your bottom lip again. Maybe you shouldn’t push your luck.

Javier took a long minute to respond, his eyes scanning every square inch on your face, as if he was trying to assess whether he could confide in you or not. You found yourself hoping he did.

“No, not really.” He conceded, “I do love fall.”

That hint of mischief you saw a week ago twinkled in his eyes again. Under that sombre and stay-away-from-me bearing, there was another Javier. One who could be mischievous and fun. One that you had been itching to know since he first set foot on the café.

This time was your turn to slant your head to one side, crinkling your lips as you attempted to discern if you were wrong about the rest. Was he playing with you?

“And the rest?” You pushed out of curiosity, knowing full well you shouldn’t take such liberty.

Javier shrugged, his shoulders almost touching his ears. Was he trying to hide a smile?

“I do have one more thing to add to my order.” The change of subject told you he did not trust you that much.

A pinch of disappointment settled in your chest. But you knew you shouldn’t feel this way, you didn’t really know him. For all you knew, he could be a serial killer on the lookout for his next victim and being a DEA agent was just a cover.

“Oh, yes, sorry. What else would you like?” You concocted a smile, but this time it felt forced ― too tense on the corners of your mouth.

Your sight was fixed on your notepad, not daring to glance down at him again. If you had, you would have seen his look of confusion. But you didn’t.

“Another pumpkin spice latte.”

You could not hide your surprise, so inevitably you asked, “Are you waiting for someone today?”

As soon as that question abandoned your mouth, you wished it back, mortified at your audacity. It was none of your business. And you didn’t care. Of course you didn’t.

“Yeah, you. You finish your shift in” he looked at his wristwatch, “fifteen minutes, right?”

You were left gobsmacked. Of all the things you had imagined he would say, that would not be an option at all.

“Uh― Ah, y-yeah?”

“See, you’re not the only one who is observant ‘round here. I do know pumpkin spice latte is your favourite drink too.” Javier explained so matter-of-factly, it would have been impossible to correct him. And he was right, anyway. “So, what do you say?”

You had not really given him an answer and he was obviously waiting.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.” You repeated yourself, a wide smile smoothing out your lips, your cheeks slightly blushed. “I’d like that.”

Friday, 30th October 1998

Every Friday for the last four weeks had been exactly the same, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

Come ten past five, Javier would walk in through the door and sit down on the same table after his therapy session just a few blocks away. You would happily trot towards him, notebook on hand ― just a pleasantry, considering you knew his order by heart: two pumpkin spice lattes, one slice of pumpkin cake, two spoons. In fact, you had it written down before you reached him.

And then, every Friday, he would wait for the clock to mark half past five, coffee almost untouched and the cake slice still pristine on the plate. You would tell your teammates that you would be closing down and that they were free to go. You would rush through your tasks to get everything done before the clock read forty past five. A minute later the “Closed” sign would be hanging on the front door.

And then you would sit down with Javier, both lazily sipping away at your coffees and nibbling at the cake, while you shared your hopes, your fears, your ambitions, your struggles, your likes and dislikes, your pasts. His heavily charged with trauma and anguish, yours full of heartbreak and regrets.

You had learnt all about his time in Colombia ― the rise of the Medellin cartel, the fall of Pablo Escobar, the peak of the Cali cartel and the corruption deeply embedded in the Colombian government. And how it all shaped who he was now, how it all shattered him and his view of the world. All the things he had seen that still haunted him to this day, and how badly he wanted it all to go away. How gruesomely tortured he was by it all.

He had split himself open in front of you over the course of the last month, pouring his soul out while trying to detangle the mess his mind was in. And you could not help but feel for him, cry for and with him. His words had reached further down inside you than you were really aware of.

And while he was getting professional help for his PTSD, you liked to think that your long, deep conversations helped him interiorise part of the trauma, come to terms with it as much as he could. He had not said it out loud, not really thanked you either, but he didn’t need to ― you just knew.

You could not have refrained yourself from loving him even if you had tried. Over the course of the last few weeks, you had fallen for him with every detail you discovered about him. But your friendship had developed so quickly and so profoundly, you were afraid of ruining it. Ruining the only real connection you had felt in a long time.

It felt like the moment for love confessions was long gone ― it had slipped through your fingers without you even realising. And now it was too late to change it. Perhaps it was better this way ― you treasured Javier’s friendship more than anything else. You would not bargain with it, not if it meant there was a teeny tiny chance of losing him. You were not a gambler, not with the people you loved.

“I think you should pick up a camera again, see how it feels. Ignore what your parents have always told you for a moment. You don’t have to make a decision now, or ever, really.” Javier encouraged you, his palm flat against the surface, extended towards you, resting halfway through the table.

How badly you wanted to reach for him, to caress the back of his hand with your fingertips. But you didn’t.

“You’re right. It’s all I always wanted to do for a living. My job in finance, it was just their idea, really. They kept telling me that I’d die penniless on the side of a road if I chose photography as my career path.” You sighed, the spice of your coffee filling your sense of smell as you tipped the cup to your lips. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” You asked, an idea forming in your mind.

“No, I was just gonna help my dad on the farm.” Javier replied, a certain interest tinging his voice as he tilted his head ― his chocolate eyes holding your gaze as if it was a staring contest.

You had never met him outside the café, but you were friends. Surely there was nothing weird about meeting up with him tomorrow.

“Well, I was just thinkin’. Brought my camera and equipment when I moved. Tomorrow’s Halloween, could go to the pumpkin patch outside of town to take some pictures. I love taking pictures on fall, the colours are just beautiful. Would you want to join me?” A shy smile hovered over your lips, your heart slightly racing.

Javier’s eyes lingered on your face for an eternal second before he sipped at his coffee. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked ― you knew he didn’t feel comfortable with open spaces, not yet. He had told you about his panic attacks when he returned home and found himself in the open, exposed.

Suddenly, you felt so damn insensitive.

“Sorry, I know y―”

“I’d like that”, he cut you off before you could take the offer back.

Inevitably, your heart swelled, warmth pouring all over your body with his acceptance.

Saturday, 31st October 1998

The car’s door slammed behind you after you rummaged through the backseat to get your backpack. It was full to the brim, as you had taken a few of your lenses, a tripod, a flash you were positive you wouldn’t need, and a few other bits and bobs.

“Sorry!” You apologised as your head buried between your shoulders.

God forbid you made a dent on Javier’s sparkling new Toyota Camry. Well, you didn’t know if it was new, but the car was impeccable inside and out. You were relieved he had offered to pick you up, otherwise he would definitely have judged you for the state your car was in.

“‘S alright.” He muttered, but on the corner of your eye you saw him smoothing out his hand around the edge of the door, ensuring you had not damaged it. “What are you carrying there anyway? Looks like you’re goin’ campin’, pequeña (little one).”

You snickered, Javier by your side in the blink of an eye. So close you could almost feel the warmth he irradiated, even in the crispy, spooky air.

“Oh, ‘s nothing, just a few things here and there that I hope to use later. Might need your help though.” You looked at him askance, measuring his reaction to your petition.

“My help? Mhmm.” He mumbled, almost laconic.

“It’s not too bad. And your aviator sunglasses will come in handy.” You laughed at the confused expression in front of you. “I’m not spoiling it.”

Javier’s lopsided smile made a brief appearance, but it suddenly vanished.

A backfiring noise from an exhaust pipe a few yards away made him flinch, his whole body visibly tautened ― his posture went rigid, his eyes frantically searching his surroundings while his right hand flew to his belt in a vain attempt to grip a gun that wasn’t there.

And then you saw the panic building up in his shielded irises. Even through the yellow tint you watched them darken, so opaque his pupils were indistinguishable from the brown. You could swear he had stopped breathing too, because his chest had not budged one inch.

Quickly you realised what was happening ― the sound from the car nearby had triggered Javier, bringing him back to one of his nightmares. His fight-or-flight response was taking over him, his mind suddenly replaying his time back in Colombia.

When you wrapped your firm hand around his wrist, you could feel his wild pulse under your fingertips ― his heart was beating so hard, it seemed like it was looking for the way out of his torso.

“Javier,” you called his name, giving him a gentle squeeze. He did not respond. “Javi”, you raised your voice over the cacophony on the background, your fingers tighter around his wrist, jerking him close to you.

Slowly he turned to look at you, long eyelashes fluttering, and it took him a moment to gradually come out of his daze.

With your free hand you rubbed his left shoulder, the first time you had been this nigh.

“Hey, Javi, are you okay?” You whispered, his eyes slowly drifting down to your mouth, as he was trying to read your lips rather than listening to your words. “It’s okay, you’re back home. You’re safe. You’re here with me, in a pumpkin patch just outside of Laredo. You’re safe, Javi.” You reassured him in a low voice, the abbreviated version of his name falling from your lips like honey.

You hadn’t realised how scared you were for him until he finally breathed. So did you. Your heart was pounding. Then he nodded, and you thought you saw a sliver of embarrassment in his eyes.

You wanted to comfort him so bad, tell him it was fine to be vulnerable ― but words escaped you, your chest heavy with affliction. The only thing you could do was wrapping your arms around his neck and bring him in for a hug. It only took him a second to swathe your waist, his face partially buried in the crook of your neck.

A shivering sensation down your spine gave you goosebumps. It felt so good having him this close.

“I’m fine.” He hummed eventually, as you both took an unwilling step back.

“I’m sorry. Truly. If you think this is a bad idea, we can just go back.”

He shook his head no.

“No, it’s alright. Gotta push through it at some point. Rather do it with you than alone.” Your heart melted at his words, almost swooning for him.

A soft smile spread across your lips, palming his forearm again. You could not have enough of his touch, of how his skin felt under yours.

“But if at any point it gets to be too much, you’ll let me know. Promise?”

You stuck your pinky out in front of him, asking him to pinky promise he would.

He returned your smile with a devastating one of his own.

“Promise”, was his reply as his pinky wrapped around yours.

Then you both erupted in laughter.

For the next two hours you walked the whole patch together, taking as many pictures as your camera rolls would allow you. Luckily you brought more than one ― knowing yourself too well, you had brought three rolls.

“Hey, Javi! The golden hour is approachin’!”, you shouted at him, amplifying the volume of your voice by placing one hand on the side of your mouth.

Javier’s head poked out in between a humongous pile of an assortment of pumpkins. He went around it to be by your side in a couple of long strides.

“Is this where my aviator glasses come in handy?” He asked with a smidgen of inquisitiveness.

“Spot on. Come, follow me.” You curled your fingers to emphasize your words and you started walking towards a field further ahead.

It was isolated, the yellow grass up to knee height. There were some dead trees around, black branches peppered around the floor. Reaching towards your back, you untied the tripod from the side and set it up, taking your time, while Javi was right behind you.

“So you’re taking pictures of an empty field?” He asked, befuddled.

You just giggled as you knelt and settled your backpack down on the floor. Unzipped it and jumbled stuff around until you found what you were looking for. Snapping your tongue with delight, you pulled out two white bedsheets and a sunglasses case.

“Ha! Here they are!” You enthusiastically presented the objects to a confused Javi, his hands scrunching one of the bedsheets as you handed it to him.

“I don’t get it. You want me to make a bed out in the wilderness or somethin’?”

Shaking your head no, you laughed at his perplexity.

“No, you silly. We’re going to put them over our heads so we look like ghosts, like so.” And then you proceeded to demonstrate, covering yourself with the bedsheet.

Almost blindly, you took your sunglasses out of their case and placed them on the bridge of your nose and over the bedsheet.

“Voilà!” You extended your arms, showcasing your masterpiece to Javier.

You could barely see him through the linen, but his laughter reached your ears. You couldn’t help but smile wide as you grabbed one of the sides and pulled it up to uncover your face.

“I want you to do the same. I’ll set a timer on the camera, and we run over there.” You pointed to a space between some fallen trunks. “And then we just do some silly poses.”

“…Okay?” The hesitation in his voice was faked, because you could see a grin pinching the corners of his mouth.

“Trust me, it’ll look great. I’m a visionnaire!” You said with confidence as you turned around and set the timer. “Go, come on, run!”

You both sprinted to the specific spot you had directed your camera at, and quickly covered yourselves with the bedsheets. Laughing out loud, you both put the sunglasses over your faces and started posing while the camera clicked away at timed intervals.

Back to back with arms folded; one sitting down on the trunk while the other stood up behind; both hiding behind some dead trees with your heads sticking out; just staying still and very straight looking at the lens.

Even Javi got into it by the end, suggesting a few poses of his own occurrence.

You both were having so much fun, cackling so loud, you had tears pouring over your waterlines. You even bent at your waist, hands against your knees, while you tried to catch a breath. Javi was by your side chortling like a kid without a worry in the world.

You pulled the sheet off you and Javi followed suit. You could tell he also had teared up and that tugged at your heart.

“I wish we could see them now, but we’ll have to wait until I develop them.”

You stepped forward to get to the camera, but you tripped with the bedsheet. Clumsy as always, you waved your arms in a vain attempt to regain balance, and failed ― the grass on the ground hurrying towards your face, or, well― quite the opposite.

When you thought you were going to hit the floor, Javi’s broad hand clasped around your elbow and pushed you up, until your chest flushed with his. His mouth was so close to yours, his lips agape and so inviting, you licked your bottom one as you gauged the situation.

“You okay, pequeña?” His voice was just a hush in the confines of your mind.

Unable to speak due to his proximity, you just nodded as your eyes locked on his. This time there were no sunglasses covering his beautiful orbs ― giving you the opportunity to look into the abyss. His abyss. One you had been wanting to jump into for as long as you had known him.

His free hand rested on the small of your back, pressing you into him while his lips were dangerously close to yours. You could smell the hints of tobacco, the old spice, the sandalwood, all of it hijacking your senses.

Something passed between you two. Something that had been there for a while now; something you had not allowed yourself to see.

Too scared to ruin the friendship you so much cherished. Too frightened to have your heart broken again. Too afraid to make a move and be rejected.

But you didn’t need to.

Javier did.

In slow motion, he bowed his head down until his soft, warm lips ghosted yours. A light caress that made your heart jump a beat. And then he pressed them sweetly against your parted mouth, his tongue testing the waters between your teeth as you let him in.

Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him fondly, tenderly, with all the love you had been stockpiling for a while. With his hands now on your hips, his thumbs gently rubbed the skin under your tee shirt, while your fingers raked through his hair.

And then, in the background, a clicking sound, then a flash. The kiss came to an end, not without Javi leaving a few chaste pecks on your lips before your mouths untangled.

You pressed your right cheek on his chest, eyeing the camera, and chuckled.

“It’s been taking pictures the whole time.” You told him, looking up at him with your chin against his sternum.

“Good. I’d like to have a memento of this moment, pequeña”, Javi cooed as he leaned back down to press another kiss.

“That makes two of us.” You purred, smiling into his mouth before his tongue sought yours again.

The distant howl of a wolf breached the haziness of the kiss and interrupted you. Only then, you realised that the sun had set down a while ago, and a red moon dominated the sky. The atmosphere was rather eerie, almost spooky.

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.” You quoted a sentence you had read once. “So maybe the moon has howled, and not a wolf?” That was your attempt at staying here, in your perfect, tiny bubble, a little bit longer.

Javi smiled, brushing his lips against yours.

“I rather not find out. Let’s head back, pequeña.”

He grabbed your hand, your fingers laced together, and pulled you towards the camera, him walking one step ahead of you.

One last click captured the final moment as you both sauntered towards it, hands intertwined, and Javi looking over his shoulder right at you.

[604to647]

Fics that Live in My Mind, Rent Free (Pedro's Version) - Part 1

Happy NYE! 🥳🥳

I read so many wonderful, hot, gut-wrenching, unforgettable, inspiring Pedro Pascal character fanfics... and I haven't been reblogging them 🫣 (it's me, hi, I'm the problem it's me). Don't hate me please - reblogging gives me so much anxiety, and I'm not even sure I could articulate why if I tried - and I see a lot of the discussion/discourse/posts re: reblogging and I truly understand all perspectives although it just seems to elevate my nerves about even more.

However, I understand the impact and moreover, I want to do it for the writers that bring me so much joy and inspiration, so I endeavour to try. I want to make it clear that this is a personal hang up of mine, and I have 100% absolutely no comments on how anyone else engages here; reblog/comment/like or don’t per your own preferences and you have nothing but love from me 😘

So it will be a 2024 personal goal of mine to be less shy about reblogging, but while I work up my courage/practice, I wanted to go back and compile a list of some of my fave Pedro boy fics; I think of each and every one of these fics often and have revisited them all (i.e. Exactly the fics I should have reblogged when I read them). I went deep in my likes so some of these fics are quite old; you may have already read them all! If you have or haven’t, I hope you love them as much as I do!

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian, GOAT)

Boxer!Din AU by @djarinsbeskar (Boxer and his masseuse, who relaxes him in more ways than one. I've mentioned before that this is the first Modern Din AU I ever read and it's cemented itself as one of the best. Making Safest with You Din an ex-boxer is my humble homage.)

Freu(Din)an Slip by @saradika (Is there space porn in the SW universe? Yes.)

Bare by @charnelhouse (part of an AU between Din and bounty hunter!reader; other favourite instalments include Come and Conquer and Din's Ex)

A Bond to My Soul by @whiskeynwriting (King!Din and reader, with a battle just outside the doors)

Mine also by @whiskeynwriting (Jealous Din, no need to say more)

Beloved series by @groguspicklejar (Din falls in love with Cyare; mind the tags - the writing is rich and the emotions deep)

Courting by @writerlyhabits (another Mandalorian tries to court you and Din's having none of that)

Hold me down by @starlightmornings (Din as your weighted blanket)

Be Mine by @spacecowboyhotch (Glove kink)

Save a Speeder, Ride a Mando by @sprout-fics (I love fics where Din is jealous of Cobb)

Helping Hand and Did you miss me? by @mellowswriting (Din smut and fluff; they're in love, okay?)

Fix you by @roguetonorth (Comforting Din)

Rough Day by @no-droids (I think everyone knows about this fic; Sweet Girl!Reader holds a special place in my heart)

Take me to Church by @frannyzooey (Western AU; seriously one of the hottest and most romantic series I've ever read. I cried several times 🥹)

Flowers & Sex by @221bshrlocked (Din and innocent!Reader)

Show me by @moralesispunk (A bounty gets mouthy)

Patience by @oscarseyebrow (Starts with cockwarming)

Close Quarters by @absurdthirst (One bed/bunk)

Reunion by @heybluechild (Breaking in the N1)

Significant by @softlyspector (Din calls Reader "Riduur"; I love, love, love Mando fics with lots of Mando'a; so much care is always taken by the writers to translate and weave the words into the story)

Din takes out his frustrations by @ourautumn86

Javier Pena (Narcos)

Burn for Me by @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis (Reader teases Javi; it backfires)

Use me by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Javi is frustrated)

Needy by @wheresarizona (Reader is going to be late for work 🤭)

Reader brings Javi dinner at work by @forthetears

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Bad Girl by @seventeenpins (The first in a hot stepdad!Joel Miller series)

The Boss' Bunny by @talaok (The first in a series about QZ criminal boss Joel and his insatiable bunny)

Help! I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter (Oof! Father-in-law!Joel Miller and his OF daughter-in-law; 2 in the series so far)

Stripped by @thot-of-khonshu (Mr. Miller goes to a strip club)

Stay in Bed series by @psychedelic-ink (Neighbour Joel, pre-outbreak)

A Man Like Him by @valerinaswriting (No one should question Joel's abilities)

Mine by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Reader wears Joel's shirt on accident)

You Are My Cinema by @itgetsdark-x (Camgirl!Reader)

An Afternoon with Your Dad's Best Friend by @elvinaa (I mean, it's in title 🤭; I actually always secretly wish for a sequel to this one)

Come and get your love by @sunflowersteves (Sunshine!Reader)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

Kinktober 2022 - Erotic Photos by @moralesispunk (Reader gifts Frankie a Polaroid camera)

Thirds by @haylzcyon (Reader visits new boyfriend Frankie at work)

Grass is Greener by @haylzcyon (Frankie mows the lawn)

Kinktober 2022 - Overstimulation by @flightlessangelwings-updates (This was my introduction to pussy eating king Frankie)

Cabin in the woods by @guess-my-next-obsession (The cabin is spooky but Frankie is there to take care of Reader)

Double Feature (and all of the Box Set Universe) by @frannyzooey (Frankie and Reader love movies)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Little Red's Shadow by @littlemisspascal (Werewolf!Pero 🥹)

In my dreams by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Princess falls for a mercenary)

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion, all 48 seconds)

A Sight for Sore Eyes and Sir by @ozarkthedog (Semi-public sex)

Anything you say can and will be held against you by @jksprincess10 (Workplace rivals)

An Important Appointment by @boliv-jenta (Sex worker!Reader)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

A present by @radiowallet (Lingerie prompt; Cat writes some of the best Marcus Moreno fics on here imho. This one is my personal fave)

First Date by @absurdthirst (Workplace FWB)

The Date by @wardenparker (Professor!Marcus but also Marcus on a motorcycle)

Part 2 of list

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

FANFIC POLL TIME!

Descriptions (because i NEED to explain things haha-):

CHOOSE WISELY

Of Bridges Built & Burned: Based off this clowning between me and @moodyseal

BUCKLE UP THIS GETS WILD READ THE LINK ABOVE FOR A MORE DETAILED EXPLANATION

TD;LR- Commodus and Apollo get to both scream about their relationship (because it's usually only Commodus who does that), Commodus goes off to sulk/stew over it while Apollo completes his trials, then post-ToA they meet again and have a Much Needed Talk

...and *sobs* go separate ways... *ugly sobbing* DON'T MIND ME-

you know you love the ship when you write them breaking up in the most heart-wrenching scenario possible.

but shh...i have another idea to do with this but that's for another time😈

The Art of War: I've been DYING to do SOMETHING with Apollo (Favorite Son™) and Ares (Failure Son™) and I have 3 whole scenes in different points of time now!!!

First is when Apollo's young and new on Olympus. He's been shoved onto Ares for the time being because in Ancient Greece, boys were raised by their fathers and girls by their mothers, and when the father was unavailable, it was the eldest brother's job to watch his younger brothers.

Second scene is during/post Ares's kidnapping by the giants! Some Apollo angst, Zeus being the best dad ever (not), and Ares not having a good time.

Third and finally, is a little conversation post-ToA between them :3

The Sun's Rise: At last! Out of the vault! The moment we've been waiting for! Starring our boy Apollo, Prometheus being Prometheus, and a guest star you all should know by now :3

Hyapollo Multific: YEAH YOU HEARD IT. FIVE CHAPTERS OF HYAPOLLO, WITH SIDE DISHES OF APRICITY, HYARICITY, AND ONE-SIDED ZEPHYRUS PINNING FOR HYAPOLLO. COME GET UR FLUFF-DRAMA-ANGST FEST

@hyac1nthus i know you'd want to see this >:3

Koios ToA: What the hell was Koios doing during ToA? This fic will play like a snapshot of what our favorite titan was up too. Questions will be asked, answers will be found, and oh boy Phoebe and Koios are gonna have a bit o' long-overdue marital strife.

Drunk Twins: literally what is says on the label. the twins get drunk and the Hunt has to call in the mama wolf for backup lmao

The Conspiracy of Rachel Elizabeth Dare: based on this post by @hogoflight and expanded upon here by me! Rachel Dare is a conundrum to her friends, and they put their detective hats on to solve the case!

ToA BuzzFeed Unsolved: The Queer Capers of Lester Papadopoulos and Meg McCaffrey: BUZZFEED TIME! We need ToA buzzfeed fics so here I am making one :3

Apollo V Orion fight (with a side-dish of Jupiter & Commodus): Exactly what it says on the label lmao I had three oneshot ideas and then I went "COMBINE THEM!!" so here is a oneshot with three different things in it making a cohesive story :3

A Radiant Light: Did I make up an entire backstory for one background character? Yes. Is that character Phoebe the Hunter? Also yes.

how to get your daughter to divorce your brother and marry your nephew: a guide by demeter: funny fic about Demeter trying to get Meg, Nico, and Will to help her convince Persephone to divorce Hades and marry Apollo. Based off one of my headcanons haha

👀 lookin' forward to a lot of these, hehe!

Tag list: @txny-dragon @solahflare @fuzzystudios @apollosothertwin @peishathebookity @reuben-7991 @allylyrac @the-summersun

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Hiiii I’m the anon who sent the ask about whether I could send a request even tho it might take a while so I don’t forget!

I always have ideas for fanfics but I cannot write for the life of me 😭 so if you don’t wanna write this it’s all good :)

so I had an idea where it’s a non-apocalyptic world & the reader/character is famous? like they’re a singer & they just started dating negan & he hears the songs they wrote about him & it’s just fluffy? again you don’t have to write this it’s just an idea I had 🥺🫶🏻

sorry this took so long!! thank you sm for your patience <333 also my friend helped me with the actual lyrics in this which I am so grateful for because I don't have a musical bone in my body

pairing: Negan x singer!Reader

tags: alternate universe, established relationship, fluff, modern AU, famous AU, love songs, Negan needing to mention his dick in every convo lol

word count: 1.7k

It’s still early in the evening and yet there’s snores coming from the other room.

Negan sits on the sofa, legs stretched out. He was waiting for the melodic sounds of your piano to waft out of the room but after a few minutes, all that has emerged from your study are soft snores.

He debates going in and disturbing your solitude. While Negan knows you wouldn’t mind his company, he likes to give you your own time to indulge in music. 

Music has always been a big part of who you are and it’s something Negan has supported from the beginning.

He understands that for you, music is like your personal diary, a sanctuary where you pour out all of your emotions and transform them into a heart-wrenching ballad or the catchiest pop song he’s ever heard. 

With another snore drifting out from your study, Negan sighs and gets up. 

As of recent, you’ve been consumed by a wave of newfound inspiration, tirelessly working on numerous songs. It’s as if lightning has struck, igniting a sudden surge of motivation and encouraging you to put your heart and soul into your work.

Piano keys, the strumming of guitars and your voice has filled Negan’s ears as you put finishing touches on song after song. 

Even though he's been eager to hear a sneak peek, you've chosen to keep the new songs private until they're complete. Nevertheless, Negan has already tried to convince you otherwise. He can’t help it, as soon as he knows you’re crafting some new song, he wants to know everything about it.

But you’ve always remained steadfast and not let him have a sneak peek, even when he gives you those puppy dog eyes.

Creeping into your study, Negan’s eyes immediately go to your figure. Slumped over your desk with loose papers everywhere, you greet him with another snore. Negan smiles at the sight, immediately deciding that you need 100% relaxation for the rest of the night.

He weaves his way through the room, making sure not to step on the fallen guitar picks that have found a home on the fuzzy carpet. The walls of the room are lined with empty cases of instruments, music stands that have been pushed aside and Negan’s favourite armchair.

It’s what he always sits on whenever you invite him in to listen to what you’ve been working on. Although there are some more steamy memories too that truly cement it as being his favourite leather armchair.

Negan approaches your desk silently, careful not to disturb your peaceful sleep. Your laptop hums with life, displaying what he assumes must be a compilation of beats that are on the verge of being made into a cohesive rhythm. Making sure everything is saved, he shuts down the laptop for the night.

“Baby,” he nudges you carefully “you keep sleeping like that and you’ll be complaining ‘bout a bad back in no time”.

You respond with a soft grunt, your fatigue winning as you stay asleep.

Negan chuckles, finding your determination to nap utterly adorable. He takes a casual look around your desk, skimming over the various musical notes jotted down that he can't make heads or tails of, until he spots something else.

Lyrics.

Small fragments of verses, written out on scrap pieces of paper and sticky notes. His eyes impulsively scan what he can see, yearning for that sneak peek you’ve denied him.  

Moving carefully, he picks up one of the sticky notes and reads it.

“In every moment, I feel the spark. You’re the love that lights the dark”.

Negan has seen you weave song about your past experiences and the people in your life, but never has he thought that he might become the subject of your next ballad.

He glances down at your sleeping form as if you’ll pick up on his questioning look. Not fully believing it, Negan grabs another sticky note.

“A leather jacket, stories untold… with that smirk, you take control”.

As it is written, so it shall be. A smirk graces Negan's face as he looks down at the paper, slowly nodding to himself. Jackpot. 

You’re finally writing a goddamn song about him!

Negan doesn’t want to say it’s about time but he’s definitely been thinking about you serenading him with his own song for a while now. He blames his ego for that fantasy.

“Oh darlin’, you writing this for me?” He asks with a grin. Negan lets the sticky notes fall back to the desk and he wraps his arms around you, his chest against your hunched back and embracing you in a hug you don’t even know you’re in.

Feeling his arms around you, you slowly begin to come to. Your eyes flutter open, instantly feeling comfortable. 

“Negan?” You mumble groggily, your brain still waking up.

He hums, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek “Your world just light up?”.

“Wh-what?” a confused pout forms on your face as you move your head to look at him.

Nuzzling in by you, he reluctantly pulls back just enough so he can gesture to the first set of lyrics. “I mean, I am the love that lights up the dark, right?” he grins.

Your tired confusion suddenly shifts to panicked realisation, instantly straightening up. “Negan! Did you— No!“ you babble on hurriedly, your eyes darting to the notes on your desk “You can’t read those!”.

“Oh sweetheart, I think it’s too late for that,” he kisses your head before standing upright “and for the record, I am honoured to be your muse”.

You roll your eyes, knowing that you can’t be annoyed when you’re the one leaving bits of your next song scattered across your messy desk.

“I never said you were my muse” you point out.

Negan thinks for a moment, slyly looking for another scribble of lyrics. “Every word is his weapon, every laugh’s a tease, but in his dangerous charm is where I find my release” he reads out another excerpt, spotting it marked with musical notations.

“Hey!” You quickly try to cover the entirety of the desk, your arms spreading out over as many sheets as possible. You pout up at him, your bottom lip jutting out.

“What? I like it, it’s a good thing” he assures you, kissing your pout away “about time you let them damn fanboys know I’m your one and only. Maybe now they’ll fuck off and stop bombarding your DM’s”.

With a scoff, you warily stand and try to clear your desk. Gathering all the papers into a somewhat neat pile, you defend “Those are my fans you’re talking about!”

With a smug smirk, Negan lays a single finger on top of the stack of notes “And it’s me you’re singing about, so they can kick rocks”. 

You feign annoyance but it’s clear just how much this means to him. If you’re being honest, you weren’t sure how he’d react to a song about him. 

Despite Negan always being supportive, you weren’t sure if that extended to a pure love song all about him. A part of you was scared he would think it’s cringe or too much, but the look on his face says the opposite of that.

Maybe it’s your exhaustion but it’s as if Negan radiates a soft glow, reflecting the pride he feels. Those damned eyes, a perfect swirl of hazel hues makes you melt.

“Hmph… suppose you have a point” you let him take the win, giving him another kiss. 

“I always do,” he replies, leaning into your kiss “now, how’s about we have a nice relaxing night of being couch potatoes. Sound good to you or do you want to go back to snoring on your desk?”.

You can’t help but huff, denying his claim as you stretch your tired limbs. "I do not snore!" you protest, defensive humour lacing your tone. 

Negan wraps an arm around your waist, in case you’re unsteady on your feet considering you just woke up .

“How would you know? You’re asleep when you do it” he replies, helping you step over things within the messy study.

“But I don't…” you trail off, yawning.

He lets out a light laugh at the timing of your yawn. “What? Don’t sleep or snore?” Negan teases “it’s alright, darlin’… snoring is like singing in your sleep, it’s your musicality! Damn, I guess that’s means you’ve been giving me a private concert for the past twenty minutes”. 

It’s tempting to resist his claims but you give in to the small smile that tugs at your lips. No matter what, Negan has a way of turning every aspect of you into an endearing quality, constantly finding ways to appreciate even your most mundane traits. It’s a talent, truly.

Relenting, you lean against Negan, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace as you both move towards the door.

“Y’know, I could always help with the song too” he offers, making you laugh in an instant. 

“You? Co-write a song?” You question, turning off the light and wandering back through your home, Negan still side by side with you. 

“Yeah, I was thinking something like…” he thinks for a moment, mentally arranging the words in his head before saying “when my guy sees me, he gets hard as a brick, but how can I be mad, when he’s got that big dick”.

He gives you a grin, utterly proud of his lyrics.

You giggle, expecting no less from him as you drag Negan on to the couch with you. “Oh wow, I didn’t realise I was dating a poet” you praise.

“What can I say, doll,” Negan nuzzles in beside you “you’re not the only one full of surprises”.

With a wink, Negan gives you one last kiss before you both get comfy on the couch together, ready for a night of relaxation.

[starvity]

hi! i love your writing, im so shocked to find someone with the same ults as me ^ i was hoping you could maybe write a protective gunwook scenario? the idea of him always thinking he needs to protect you from others (even when he is a little scared himself,) is rlly heart wrenching.

like !;!!,!,! imagine him pulling you behind him slightly with a serious voice but you can feel him shaking a bit. 🥹 hes too precious rlly we dont deserve him.

— ☆ follow your steps

gn!reader x zb1 gunwook

genre: angst, student!au, fluff?, gunwook and you as the popular class presidents // warnings: bullying, blood, violence, jealousy

author’s note: i was originally going for a happy ending because angst makes me feel so bad but no i like to make us (yes, myself included...) suffer today :D (you'll be fine) also omg ult twins!!!! you’ve got insane taste btw hehe <3 (★ω★)/ [requested♡]

gunwook and you were two of the most popular students in the entire school. you two being the two class presidents, you can often be seen together to work on projects or just share ideas on future plans to improve your lifestyle. it had started with a pure academic motive. meeting up after classes at the library to talk about the recent complains from the students and how you could find a solution to those. after a few weeks though, you found it less and less of a burden to stay late at school and, if you dare to say, you were excited to do your duty as a model student simply and solely to spend some time with gunwook.

and the other students were quick to catch up that maybe you two had become much closer than expected and let's say people were not very happy about it. you were aware of how popular you were just by counting how many love letters would be squished in your locker on valentine's day and how many students would wait for gunwook to clean the classroom until sometimes 5 or 6 to hand them a cheap snack and hearing a few words from him, a simple hello and thank you. and you hated how that popularity made all your relationships feel fake and forced. but when you were with gunwook, everything felt so light and casual. for the very first time, you felt like you didn't need to keep a facade and felt like you could finally be yourself.

gunwook was already waiting for you at the quiet and empty library as he had finished his classes earlier than you. he took the chance to grab a drink for both of you, thinking that it could maybe cheer you up after this long day. gunwook noticed that you still hadn't arrived after 20 minutes and assumed that you were probably talking to your teacher or helping your friends with their assignments like you usually do. therefore, he starts working, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose, almost sliding off. his chin was placed on the palm of his hand, his index occasionally taping his upper lip and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. almost 45 minutes since your class ended and you still were nowhere to be seen. the boy starts to get worried and he goes looking for you, considering that a walk around the school would also empty his mind a bit.

"i already told you we are just friends, nothing else" you state firmly, glaring at the group of students circling you. the girl in front of you, who seemed to be the "leader" of the crowd steps on your foot, lasers shooting through her eyes. you wince in pain but keep your composure and replies calmly "have you maybe considered that your terrible attitude might be the reason gunwook doesn't want to have anything to do with you, with all of you guys? he wouldn't even befriend and even less date any of you guys." you suddenly feel a boy grab your hair from your right while another person twists your arm from your left. despite the pain you keep your head up, smirking at her while some blood from the punches received earlier was staining your lips "and what if we were more than that?" her eyes turn dark and you know you're about to receive either a slap or a punch, or worse, in the next 5 seconds.

but those 5 seconds were enough for gunwook to find you and quickly stand between you two. he takes a glance at you from over his shoulder and his heart aches seeing the state they left you in. he orders them to leave you alone with a shaky voice but the only response is a couple of chuckles. all of a sudden, the crowd takes a few steps ahead, slowly closing the gap between you. gunwook takes your hand in his, he was trembling and he could barely murmur a sorry with the tears building in his eyes. and the boy had never felt so much shame and disappointment in himself before this moment when he understood that he won't be able to protect you this time.

[serenaoffaerun]

Tenacity - Chapter 3 of the "Consequences" series

It's finally here!! Thank you all for your patience. Because of the physical letter writing I drew for Tav and Gale's back-and-forth, this took much longer than I anticipated. Plus, the story just kind of...ran away with itself... This chapter comes in at a word count over 8,000 and I don't know how that happened LOL.

Big thanks again to @alpydk who started off this series with what was supposed to be a one-off angst story, and allowed me to write my own sequel chapters to finish the story my own way. (Alphydk's chapter 2 can be found here.) As my first long-form writing in over a decade, it's been a fun challenge to take two characters I love so much and get them out of a position I wouldn't have put them in in the first place. 💜

Without making you all endure any more of my "propensity towards verbosity," I present chapter 3: Tenacity (complete with hand-written letters!)

Summary: After agreeing to try to re-establish their friendship/relationship by writing letters back and forth, Tav and Gale set out on their journey of communicating, listening, and healing. You better believe they're both going to hold on for dear life.

Word Count: 8,289 (I'm not sorry.)

CW: References to depression, alcoholism

Tags: GalexTav, angst/fluff, pre-established (albeit rocky) relationship, future smut? (no spoilers...), brief mention of infertility (in a positive way??), depresso espresso, communication, healing, Tara's getting ALL the tuna.

[I'm sure I left some out, I'll come back and add to it once I get this on AO3 - coming soon!!]

Screenshot: Taken from my own gameplay. Please do not re-post as your own.

NOTE: For those who don't want to read Tav's mediocre (but improving) handwriting or Gale's flowy cursive, the text version is printed below each letter (including doodle descriptions!)

9/2 4:45PM Pacific - EDIT FOR MORE NOTES:

My underlines went away when I copy/pasta'd from GoogleDocs, and now I realize that you can't underline because of links, so they're bolded and italicized instead.

REGARDING BHAALSPAWN INFERTILITY - this is NOT canon to BG3/DnD/Forgotten Realms. I totally made this up to fit my literary needs. 😉

Alpydk's chapter 1: Consequences

Chapter 2: Acquiescence

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav assessed herself before she even opened her eyes. Between the wine and the crying, she was probably the most dehydrated person in all of Faerûn. The pounding headache she was used to. She'd made blackout curtains for a reason, after all. But the soul-wrenching nausea, that was new.

Being blissfully infertile, she knew there was no risk of pregnancy. One of her permanent "gifts" as Bhaal's former Chosen was the ability to be as promiscuous as she pleased without fear of pregnancy in order to weasel her way into the hearts, minds, and pants of any of her previous victims. Not that she'd needed that ability since the Nautiloid, or especially her subsequent severing from said god. But this was no ordinary nausea anyway. It was coming from somewhere much more complex.

Among the growing list of sensations Tav noticed from her downward-facing zombie position on the couch, she found two long-lost friends: the physical feeling of being simultaneously sated but also achingly empty in her core, and...hope. Surprisingly enough, she realized it was the latter that brought on the nausea.

Crippling anxiety, overwhelming depression, stabbing guilt, these are feelings she was familiar with and knew how to handle: with denial and alcohol. Just ball it up and shove it in the "future ulcer" pocket by the stomach and cover it up with a bottle of wine or two.

Hope, on the other hand, is a fickle bitch. It introduces the possibility of a better future. The idea that things could get better. Then comes the uncertainty.

‘Desirable things in life are never guaranteed,’ she told herself. ‘You can always lose them. Don't get TOO comfortable! You might still have to live the rest of your life without the man you truly believe is your soulmate.’

Tav had NEVER believed in the idea of a ‘soulmate’ before. That was even more laughable than ‘love at first sight.’ But she’d come to believe it now.

‘And you fucked it up, didn't you? You let yourself have the worst lapse in judgment, then you doubled down on it by screaming and being a hurtful wretch. You did this. You did this and you don’t deserve forgiveness, you don’t deserve mercy. No one else will ever fill the hole in your heart, so you’re going to die alone and unloved. That’s what you deserve.’  

The words from the voice in her head kept playing on a loop for the last six months and they wouldn’t shut up. Drowning them out with wine and sleep had become her modus operandi. There’d been nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for. It was the way things were going to be, she’d accepted it. Especially in the last few months after Waterdeep. She couldn’t have her heart broken again if she didn’t expect anything.

But now, new words were taking up space in her brain. His words.

‘…there was a time that we’d also brought out the best in each other, once. I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

‘Fuck.’ Those words had stolen her breath. Given her reason to think that there was a chance. That maybe he would give her the mercy she knew she didn’t deserve. Gale was just that kind of man.

If that were truly the case, though, why did he shut her out so quickly in the first place without getting to even talk about things. Why did he go straight to the biting comments and yelling instead of showing any kind of signs of forgiveness being a possibility.

‘Because you ripped out his heart that was already broken and threw it on the ground with all the remains of any self-confidence he had left after Mystra, you inconsiderate, unfaithful monster. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.’

These were the new conversations Tav now had running back and forth in her head and that’s where the source of the nausea was seated. In the unknown future where happiness still existed. Along the path that could go to life-long depression and loneliness or a blissful existence with the man who completed her, and she wouldn’t know which way she’d end up traveling until she got there. It was terrifying.

‘I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

Face still mashed in the couch pillow, she balled up her fist and slammed it down into the cushion. Depression wasn’t going to win today. Or any other day, for that matter, at least not like it had been. She would not allow herself to be swept up in the waves of self-loathing and doubt to the point of being non-functional. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath and sat up, eyes still closed. There was a warmth on her face that she knew would be the late-morning sun coming in through the living room window. As she cracked her eyes open, she winced as the light seared into her brain and fired off pain signals. Slowly, she stood up, walked across the room, and felt around for the blackout curtains.

Medicine. Shower. Food. In that order.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Looking around the room later that day, Tav felt pretty proud of herself. Once she got herself cleaned, fed, and a bit more clear-headed, she opened the curtains again and opened all the windows. Her little depression hole needed a good airing out.

Starting with all the trash, she got rid of the wine bottles, the old food, even the bin filled with dirt and burned clothing. After washing off surfaces and sweeping floors, she put all the books back on the shelf, keeping a box full of scrolls and a quill pulled out on her desk. One sandwich and two sinks full of dishes later, it was nearing night time, but she had one more task ahead of her: the letter.

She’d been chewing over words in her head all day, but she still had no idea where to start. How do you even begin a letter like this? ‘Hi, Gale’? ‘Dear Gale,’? ‘Esteemed Professor Dekarios,’? If the greeting was this difficult, how would she even move on to the rest of the letter? She knew for damn sure that she wasn’t quite ready to be fully emotionally vulnerable, especially with him (even though he’s the only one she should ideally be emotionally vulnerable with…).

‘Welp, might as well just start,’ she said to herself as she sighed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hi Gale,  [in the top right hand corner was a little swirly doodle with some flowers and leaves. Next to it was written ‘I don’t have fancy paper, so I tried to do something cute?]

I’m having trouble starting this letter, so I figured maybe just admitting that is as good of a place as any. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what you want to hear, I don’t know what will help or what will just hurt… Here’s what I do know:

-          I’m sorry. [there are tear stains on the paper here]

-          There’s no excuse for what I did.

-          I don’t even know if I know the reason for what I did.

-          I don’t feel like I deserve your patience, your forgiveness, your mercy, anything, really. Your anger is totally justifiable.

-          I don’t know who I was that night or in the months following.

Except, I do. I’d reverted back to the person abomination I walked away from. The hateful, murderous, evil, wretched thing I said I’d never be again. Yet, I can’t claim that I wasn’t in my right mind at the time either. I never lost consciousness. I was aware of the decisions I was making. I just don’t understand why I made them in the first place, other than I’d lost hope. I’d stopped trusting you. I’d assumed you were going to leave me and go back to Mystra or pursue godhood where you’d no longer be…you. [Next to this is a small sketch of a broken heart.]

Here's what else I know:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

[Below this was another item that was heavily crossed out, but you can make out the words ‘I still’.]

(this letter is a mess, I’m sorry. I’m just…flustered)

[On the right side of the paper, there was a list of four items outlined in a rectangle, above which was written ‘Good things’ – a question mark had followed this, but it was crossed out with an X. The four items are:]

-          I took a shower today.

-          I cleaned my house for the first time in weeks today.

-          I’m going to stop drinking for a while.

-          I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.

It’s not ‘the letter of a lifetime,’ but it’s a start. I hope you’re well and that your students aren’t giving you too much of a hassle. Can’t be as bad as slaying a whole camp of goblins, right? [Here there was a small doodle of a goblin head, X’s for eyes and tongue sticking out, laying in a pool of blood next to a sword.]

I look forward to hearing from you. Take care of yourself, please.

-Tav

P.S. I’m working on my handwriting. I’m sorry if any of this is illegible. Not really a subject that was covered in “Bhaalspawn University.”

[At the bottom of the letter was drawn a curvy vine with leaves, flowers, and flower buds.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale swallowed thickly as he held the letter in his trembling hands.

‘She did it. She actually wrote, and it wasn’t full of anger and insults. It was a real, honest-to-the-gods attempt at talking.’

His eyes shimmered as he re-read two lines over and over again:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

His heart ached as he pondered the fact that she thought so little of herself. It made him remember his inner monologue after the debacle with Mystra and the orb. All Gale told himself for a year was that he’d made mistakes so huge that no one should have to ever bear the burden of his presence again. Anyone who showed any affection towards him, platonic or otherwise, was a fool who was wasting their time. They’d just end up being let down by this depressed shadow of a former Archmage. Knowing that Tav was the one now who truly felt she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness or mercy brought tears to his eyes.

He felt a bit lighter, however, at the implication that she even cared whether or not she was worthy of him. Not only cared, but was taking bolder steps forward. She’d apologized, she’d wished him well, she’s taking care of herself… Then it dawned on him that she’d gotten so low that a task as mundane as taking a shower was to be celebrated on a list of positive things.

Oh, did he remember that pit of despair well. He’d spent a year down at the bottom of it. Cut off from all outside contact, forgetting (or refusing) to eat, going days, even a week or more without bathing because he didn’t have anyone to see anyway. No point in expending the energy.

Now, however, Gale was at least teaching. That had kept him going. Even if he didn’t interact with many people outside of Blackstaff Academy, he was still getting dressed, going to a place with other people, and teaching Faerûn’s youth to harness and control the Weave.

But what of Tav? How often was she seeing others? It seems she had relocated after all. The return address is listed in Daggerford, a town not far south of Waterdeep full of retired adventurers, artisans, craftsmen, and farmers. A relatively quiet place compared to Baldur’s Gate, but still a city with plenty of opportunities. (And only a three-, maybe four-day travel from Gale. That would explain how easily she ended up in Waterdeep in the marketplace on that cold, rainy day…).

He remembered her telling everyone how much of a hero she’d been at the reunion party. What happened to her adventuring? Would she even be home enough for their letter-writing to be consistent? She’d made no mention of her activities, that was something he’d want to follow up on. As much as it would have previously brought him satisfaction to see her put in her place for everything she’d said, cut off from others and alone, now it just caused an ache in his chest.

The threads of his bitterness and rage had already begun unraveling. He’d been letting the truth sink in since the reunion: Tav had acted reckless and lashed out because she was scared. Scared of losing him. The thought of him abandoning her for Mystra or for godhood drove her to seek pleasure in someone else. Yet he hadn’t bothered to get to the root of the problem at the time. All he knew was that he had his heart broken. He had been betrayed. He had been ‘abandoned.’

He sighed heavily as the pangs of grief and remorse started to take hold. What a fool he’d been. A self-centered, arrogant, quick-tempered fool. But he shook those thoughts out of his head. This wasn’t the time to keep dwelling on what he had or hadn’t done in the past. Where the ball of anger had resided in his chest, just as roiling and hungry as the Netherese orb had been, he felt the tension had begun to break apart. There was still much healing to do, but now there was a little room for the patience and understanding he’d wished he’d displayed before.

He re-read the letter again, chuckling lightly at her doodles and scratches. Her handwriting had much improved, she gave herself too little credit. It was good to see she still had her silly sense of humor as well. She hadn’t been completely robbed of her beautiful qualities.

Draining the last sip of wine in his cup, he arose from his spot on the balcony and walked inside to sit at his desk. One thing nagged at him before he could start writing his response, though. Underneath the bottom list where she said she didn’t deserve him, she’d written something and then furiously scratched it out. He thought he might know what it said, but didn’t want to get carried away if he was wrong. Holding the letter carefully in front of the lit candle on his desk, he stared at the scratches, trying to piece together the words underneath. His breath caught when his eyes brought them together:

‘I still’

I still… Still what? I still hear the voice of the Dark Urge? I still won’t forgive you?

No. Given the context of what was said and the direction they were going, it had to mean only one thing. He would only allow himself to think it was one thing.

‘I still love you.’

Hoping with everything he had that it was true, he took another deep breath and pulled out a scroll from his desk drawer. It was his turn now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Tav, [In small writing to the right of the greeting, it says (my ‘fancy paper’ is at the academy) with a winking face doodle.]

Sometimes I think I’d prefer a good goblin massacre to a room full of hormonal teenage wizards learning to control a firebolt spell, but each day is a new adventure, after all! [After this sentence, Gale had doodled a flame, his head/hair with wisps of smoke, and in small writing with an arrow pointing to the drawings, (I tried).]

Thank you for your thoughts, and especially for your apology. I can’t in good conscience say that everything is forgotten, but I fully believe we are on the right path forward.

I would also like to apologize, because you deserve it. You are so much more deserving than you think you are of kindness, understanding and, yes, when I am able, forgiveness. I understand, likely better than anyone else you might know, how strongly self-loathing can take hold.

Which is why I want to tell you that I’m proud of you. I don’t know what you’ve been up to in recent months. I heard you telling the others about some adventuring opportunities, but I gather from your letter that self-care had gone by the wayside. I’m proud and happy to hear that you’re starting to focus on yourself. Yes, I agree with you: showering, cleaning, limiting alcohol intake, and even being tired enough to go to bed are all good things. I hope you continue being kind to yourself.

Admittedly, I’d fallen into a similar rut. While I get plenty of social interaction at the academy, my extra-curricular life has been…non-existent. I come home to my tower, I usually remember to eat, I grade papers, stay up entirely too late researching, and then attempt to get enough sleep to repeat that schedule ad nauseum. The cleanliness of my home, and myself, had been sorely neglected. But as you are focusing on self-improvement, I shall endeavor to do likewise.

Speaking of self-improvement, that’s where the letter-writing idea came from. Rather, through Tara’s efforts to help me during my year of isolation. She’d suggested I do some journalling to write out my thoughts and emotions regarding Mystra. Not only to get them to stop rolling around in my head, but to be able to articulate them. It did help, quite immeasurably, in fact. That’s why I’m so thankful you’ve agreed to this in the first place. I feel like it will serve us well. [A filled-in purple heart was drawn here.]

Actually, I can’t tell you how many letters I started writing to you in the last six months. I really did try. It just always felt…wrong, somehow. Like it wasn’t the right time, or my words weren’t sincere, or they’d fall on deaf ears. But I’m so glad we’re ‘talking’ now. I’ve missed you, Tav… [A filled-in but broken purple heart was drawn here.]

Tell me what you’ve been up to! Tell me your thoughts. Tell me any and everything you want to. I’ll be waiting to take it all in.

Yours,

Gale

[To the left on the bottom, Gale had drawn an open book with an ink pot and a quill. In the middle on the bottom, Tara had been drawn, wings outstretched, lying down, eyes closed, with a small note: (Tara’s sleeping on my desk and she’s adorable!). On the right under his signature, Gale drew a wand with sparkling stars and a curved line of weave making a flourish.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Gale – [Here, she had drawn a wand with stars similar to the one he’d put by his name in his letter]

Thank you for saying that you’ve wanted to talk this whole time. That makes me feel so much better. I never put quill to parchment, but I started countless letters in my head. Like you said, it just never felt right. [After this, Tav drew a scroll, an ink pot, and a quill.]

This does feel like the right path at the right time, but to be honest, Gale…I’m scared. I’m scared to put everything on the table again. With how much I got we got hurt last time we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable with each other, I can’t go through that again. Nor do I want you to go through it again. [Tav had drawn two filled in broken hearts after this paragraph.]

It humbles me to think you feel I’m deserving of good things. Truly. I don’t feel like I am, so I suppose it’s good that someone in this world does. Your encouragement in taking care of myself is unexpected, but ultimately not surprising. That’s just who you are. I’m thankful to hear that you’re taking it upon yourself to improve as well. [Here, Tav had drawn some grapes and cheese on a plate, and to the right of it, a broom and dust pan.]

I fully understand, however, that you can’t forgive me, at least not yet. (I wouldn’t forgive me either.) Hopefully I can begin to earn it over time. I’m not going to sit here and defend my actions with trying to find solace in Mizora’s…experience. It wasn’t even fulfilling, if it makes you feel any better. (It won’t, I know you). It was just tricks of the mind and a devil’s words of promises for things I didn’t even desire. (Perhaps the ‘old me’ would have.) I regretted it immediately, yet it has marked me forever.

But I know that how it left me afterwards is not the point. The point is why I let myself go along with it in the first place. I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last months, especially since the reunion. Let me preface this by saying that I am not shifting the blame. I still made the decision to give in. However, after days and weeks of your near-obsession with the Crown of Karsus, I could see that look in your eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking about the power it could offer. Power that we know all too well would only corrupt you and change you. Then, your meeting with Mystra, introducing her back into your life with her deal to get rid of the orb for the crown… I could feel you slipping away from me.

[On the left side by the words Crown of Karsus, Tav had drawn the crown with a big ‘X’ through it. Near where Mystra is mentioned, she drew a scared ‘Mystra,’ identified as ‘witch bitch,’ being threatened by Tav with a dagger.’]

What I should have done was keep talking to you, seeking reassurance. I should have spat in Mizora’s face and told her to get the fuck out. [In this area, Tav drew herself spitting in Mizora’s face.] I should have sought solace in your embrace, in your words, in your love… But one thing I need you to understand: I was brought up my whole life to be let down. Every success came with a defeat. Every win came with a loss. Every gift came with a sacrifice. You were the most important gift I will ever have in this world or the next. I was positive I was going to lose it, so…I don’t know. I think maybe I wanted to push it from myself first before it was taken outside of my control? Mizora approaching me with her “offer”… She knew exactly what she was doing: giving me an “out” that she knew I would take because I was at my most vulnerable.

For all my accolades being a “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” and savior to many, I clearly didn’t have the strength to stand up to her temptations. I let her use the fact that I have major trust issues to weasel her way into my deepest fears and exploit them. I didn’t have a chance. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but I hope it at least explains them.

I’m running out of parchment. You asked what I’ve been up to. If it’s of any comfort, things are going well enough. I’m eating mostly regularly, I’m keeping up with the chores, and I’m even starting to finally organize some garden space in the yard. I’m trying to spend some time outside every day, and I’ve replaced the wine with various teas. They’re small steps, but they’re steps.

I don’t know if I’ve gotten us closer to any kind of resolution, but hopefully my words can fill in some of the gaps. I look forward to hearing your response.

Thank you, by the way, for giving me something to look forward to again.

I’ve missed you too. Very much so.

Humbly yours,

Tav

[At the bottom left of the page, she drew a cup of tea]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dearest Tav, [to the right of the greeting, it says in smaller writing (I apologize for the condition of this letter. It was rather difficult to write.) The letter is littered with smudges where tears had fallen and letter had been re-written over them.]

As I wrote my last letter and have been pondering your response, it weighs on me just how grave a mistake I also made. The blame for our downfall does not fully rest with you. (Let me finish…)

Feeling like you’re not worthy, like you made too big of a mistake to recover from; you know how familiar I am with those thoughts. Looking back, this means I should have been the one who was there for you the most. Yet I wasn’t. I was the furthest one away.

I agree with you that my anger was justified. I’d felt like I’d been told I wasn’t enough for you, which is exactly what I feared from the beginning. In my mind, you had openly told the entire world that Gale Dekarios, fallen Archmage of Waterdeep, scorned by Mystra herself, could not, in fact, make you or anyone else happy. You had to go find your pleasure elsewhere.

Where my mistake lies is in never stopping to think how much you had to have been hurting in order to find solace in Mizora in the first place. I don’t think I even gave you the chance to confirm you hadn’t been possessed, quite frankly. It’s no wonder your defenses went up immediately. My reaction, while potentially understandable, was absolutely awful.

I am so sorry that I never gave you a chance to talk things through before letting my hurt and rage take over. What I should have done was walk away and screamed into the void instead of at you before hearing any kind of explanation. I suppose I figured there would never be one good enough. Never did I think until recently that I could have possibly had something to do with you feeling pushed in that direction. I should have been more reassuring. I should have given you no reason to doubt my love for you and my dedication to you.

The possibilities that came with the crown had taken over my waking thoughts, and even infiltrated my dreams. Providing an eternal life without conflicts for both you and I sounded like the perfect solution, and I became hyper-focused. You had tried telling me that you were scared, that you didn’t want me to lose my humanity. I just still thought I was smarter and had this whole grand plan all figured out and you would realize it eventually.

[Before the next paragraph is drawn an infinity symbol, a heart nestled into the loops on either side.]

But I didn’t do enough to put your mind at ease. I didn’t help you understand that I wouldn’t have actually left had it come down to choosing between you and the crown. I never, never would have left you, Tav. As I shouted rather rudely before, I only ever truly wanted you. I assumed you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I didn’t spend any time reinforcing it. I let my focus drift too far. Then, I left you scared and alone afterwards with no chance to explain. I, the ex-Chosen and ex-lover of a goddess, from whom he should have learned humility after his hubris, the man to whom you showed so much kindness and understanding and support when anyone else would have run in the other direction, I couldn’t even show a fraction of that back to you.

Taviela, my heart, I am so, so incredibly sorry that I wasn’t there for you. When you pulled me from that portal and later heard my harrowing tale of foolishness and desperation, you stood by me. You took care of me and encouraged me, and I threw that back in your face at the first opportunity. It will be a long time before I can forgive myself for that. But I humbly, honestly, and hopefully ask if you could ever forgive me. I understand if you cannot, but know that I will spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.

Please keep telling me your thoughts, Tav. I want to hear them. I need to hear them.

Repentantly yours,

Gale

P.S. I’m far too emotional at the moment to do many little doodles, but yours warm my heart. Please keep doing them. [A filled in heart was drawn here. He had also drawn a simple version of the wand and stars under his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Dearest Gale, [Across the top of the page was a wand, a wavy line of weave, and small stars.]

I’ve been staring at this parchment for at least an hour, but I haven’t been able to write anything until now. I’m sobbing at your words. Your insight about everything I put you through, the weight of what happened after all your hurts and insecurities from Mystra and the orb, the fear of being inadequate to me… That weight is almost too much to bear. I’ve berated myself for months now for hurting you, but the full impact never hit me until I read it in your words. I want to fall on my knees and cry at your feet and beg for mercy. But how could you possibly ever forgive me? I’m sorrier than you will ever know for allowing you causing you to feel that way again.

Also, to think that you are taking any of this upon yourself so strongly, I really don’t know what to say about that either. I still feel like this is all due to my deficiencies. My weaknesses. My fuck-ups. But I can understand where you’re coming from, wanting to take some responsibility. All I’ll say is that there is nothing to forgive anymore. I hold no more ill will towards you. We both acted like children throwing tantrums, but we were each already pushed to our limits and didn’t stop to think about, well, anything, really.  [Tav had drawn 5 filled in hearts here, along with writing (I don’t know what else to doodle here because I’m also emotional).]

It feels cheap to keep coming back to my upbringing, but it’s an unfortunate reality where I’m concerned. Everything was always a bitter fight of either words or daggers. There was no real “communication” to speak of. There were no “feelings” shared. It was all cruel lessons with harsh punishments. ‘Be a bitch, or get walked over’ was something I told myself a lot. I never truly learned to stop and step back and give things time to breathe. Putting myself in another person’s shoes is something I’ve forced myself to learn, especially during our adventures.

I have a confession to make. When I (literally) ran into you in Waterdeep a few months ago, it wasn’t just happenstance. I’d come there with a purpose. The downward spiral had begun weeks prior and I was nearing rock bottom. I came to look for you. To see if you were possibly even half as miserable as I was without you. I was certain you would be, and that it would give me a reason to approach you. We would be on common ground and might actually be able to talk. [On the right side of the page, Tav had drawn an open book sitting in a puddle of water in the rain. On the pages of the book it said ‘I’m sorry about the books.’]

But then I saw you. You were in the marketplace, smiling, making small talk with the merchants, even laughing with them. You looked full of life. You looked like you were doing just fine – without me. My heart dropped into my shoes and I’d considered just walking away, never letting you see I was even there. But something in me snapped. I apparently just had to get in a couple more digs before I walked away forever. That was childish and unacceptable and I’m sorry I put you in that position. (I don’t blame you one bit for the Hold Person spell, for the record. I deserved it.) [Tav had drawn the symbol for the Hold Person spell here, along with Tav approves.]

Please forgive me, but I’m emotionally spent. I think I’ll wrap this up to send in the morning, go sit on the back porch with a cup of tea, and just think for a while.

Still yours,

Tav

[Along the left side of the bottom of the page, Tav drew a small flower garden. On the right side, a cup of tea.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Darling Taviela, [On the right side of the top of the page was carefully drawn an eternity symbol. Inside each side was a heart – a G written in the one on the left, a T written in the one on the right. Next to it, Gale wrote:] (I’ve been doodling this a lot lately.)

My heart aches for you, for us both. You’re right. There’s nothing to forgive anymore. We were both stretched so far beyond our limits, no wonder we broke down. We both have acted out of turn, we both have put ourselves through the wringer, and we both built impossibly high walls around ourselves. I’m happy to say that I believe we can push those walls down now. I want to move forward in whatever way we can, even if that ends up being as friends (though judging by your comments, it doesn’t sound like that will be the case, but please correct me if I’m reading the situation incorrectly).

I have a confession for you, in light of your revelations regarding our “run-in” in the marketplace. It was all an act to save face out in public. The laughter, the ‘life’ you say you saw in me, the light-hearted interactions – they were all a façade. I was miserable without you, however angry I was. After that interaction, it got even worse. I felt awful immediately, leaving you standing there shivering in the rain. [Gale had drawn a hand getting smacked by a ruler with words in a bubble outlined in sharp angles: BAD WIZARD!] I couldn’t believe that, even though there was some provocation, that I’d still reverted to such a childish response. I sank further into my depressive state. I almost didn’t come to the reunion with our companions either, actually. It felt like more of an effort to get myself put together than I was capable of. Fortunately, Tara snapped me out of it.

Speaking of Tara, I’ve been working on getting her to be more understanding. I’m sure you have noticed that her protectiveness of me overrides any kind of empathetic nature towards anyone who has caused me even a lick of hurt. But she’s come a long way in understanding both sides of our…predicament. I’ll keep at it, for both of our sakes. [A trail of small paw prints was drawn after this.]

I’m pleased to say that I’ve been keeping up with the cleaning, [on the right side of the page, Gale doodled a robed hand holding a sparking wand next to two balls of dust that look like rabbits. Underneath was written, (dust bunnies).] I feel like I finally have a handle on my students and my lesson-planning, and I’ve found joy in cooking meals again. Too much time is being spent grading sub-par assignments in the evenings, I’ll admit, but it comes with the territory. My heart has been all the lighter in the last couple of weeks, and it’s all thanks to you: your words, your patience, and willingness to work on…well, us.

What have you been up to lately? Any more adventuring opportunities coming your way? Are you doing any traveling? I wonder if there’s any chance our paths might cross in the near future.

I’ll admit, my mind has been wandering to thoughts of seeing you again. I miss the warmth of your embrace, the sparkle in your smile, the feeling of home when I look into your eyes – I feel like a part of me has been missing since our falling out.

I was actually thinking… What would you say to coming back to Waterdeep for a proper visit?

Take care of yourself, my darling [a filled-in heart was drawn here]

Gale (no fancy drawing in my name this time. Just me, missing you.) [above this, Gale had drawn a side profile of himself from the chest up, looking down, eyes closed, a tear falling from his eye.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The letters had been going back and forth at a regular, weekly pace. It was about six weeks after the reunion, which already seemed like forever ago. They had come so far, and his words made her realize that she missed him more than she knew was possible.

However, when Tav saw the last question in Gale’s letter, she froze. Her chest tightened and her breath quickened. She got dizzy, her hands shook, and her mind raced, tears threatening to overflow onto her cheeks. She was having a panic attack.

She threw the letter in her top desk drawer, slammed it shut, ran down the hall, and pulled the lever for her shower without bothering to warm the water first. Fully clothed, she stood underneath the cold deluge until her breathing slowed and she could process her thoughts.

The nausea was back. She sat on the floor on a towel and just let the water drip off her. Tucking her knees up to her chin, she stared at the wall and focused on her breathing. She wanted nothing more than for Gale to walk in the room right now, pick her up, and hold her in his lap, caressing her hair and whispering comforting words to her until she felt better. But as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her, to smell his scent, to run her fingers through his hair and more, she was absolutely terrified.

All she could think of as she started rocking back and forth was that she was going to end up hurting him again. She cried and cried until she resigned herself to lying down on the floor and crying herself to sleep, shivering in her damp clothes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A week went by and there was no response from Tav. Gale tried to brush it off, attempting to convince himself that perhaps she had gotten a chance to do some traveling, and was running behind sending her letter.

Nine days went by and his resolve started to falter. He replayed every word in his head that he’d written in his last letter. Was he moving ahead too fast? Did he assume too much? Did he push her too far? He ached to see her, to hear her voice, and to comfort her. But he could NOT let himself fuck things up again…

On the tenth day, he sent just a short message in hurried writing, requested for the utmost urgent delivery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav,

I’m truly, deeply sorry if I’m pushing you too far. You don’t have to answer the last question. We can continue just writing if that’s what makes you comfortable. I’ll do whatever you need, but I cannot, I will not lose you again.

Please, talk to me, my love.

Gale [A filled in heart was drawn after his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sleep never found him that night. He let his brain run through every worst-case scenario it could come up with. Tears were still crawling down his face every so often as he saw the faintest colors of the dawn coming to greet the eleventh day. Thank the gods he had the next couple of days off for Midsummer…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the afternoon of the twelfth day, Tav’s response arrived. Gale didn’t even go back inside or shut the door. He ripped open the envelope and tried to steady his breathing as his shaky hands held her letter. He let himself take a deep breath and fall back against his door frame as he read:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My precious Gale,

I am so very sorry for the delayed response and for making you worry. I don’t know what came over me, but when I saw you asking to see each other again…I panicked. I had a full-on panic attack, after which, I slept for days. I lost all track of what day it was or how much time had gone by. I kept picking up my quill and the words just wouldn’t come. I’m so sorry. Your words in the message I received today snapped me back out of it. Thank you for checking on me. [A filled-in heart was drawn here.]

Gale, I can’t bear the thought of hurting you again. I’m not saying that I don’t want to see you. Believe me, nothing would make me happier. My dreams of getting to be near you, to hold you again, to be held by you, they are my greatest source of comfort. But we haven’t spent any time together in person since the reunion, and we spent months before that acting like completely different people.

What if we can’t change, Gale? What if seeing each other brings out all the anger and spite again? I can’t forgive myself, even if you have. I don’t know what to say – I can’t lose you again either, I won’t survive it. And I fear that I will become upset by something and fall back into my old ways of dealing with arguments: with juvenile pettiness and venomous words. I’m so scared…

In fact, I’m going to deflect now so I don’t dissolve into another panic attack.

To answer your other questions – honestly, adventuring hasn’t happened in a while. I was being truthful at the reunion when I said I’d been adventuring and helping people. But coming back from Waterdeep is when I started to shut everyone out. My house descended into chaotic messes that I didn’t have the energy to clean, I stopped eating regularly, I was drinking at least a bottle of wine a day, and I slept all the time. I have enough money set aside that I can get away with not working for quite a while, but that won’t last forever.

The gardening is going well now though! I haven’t killed so much as a tomato plant! I’m growing flowers and selling bundles here and there. I’m also growing my own vegetables and some fruits, though I haven’t begun selling those yet. I’m getting the itch to start baking, however… I’ve found a great deal of fulfillment in creating (growing) some kind of life now instead of dwelling on the memories of taking it. [Along the left side of the page, she drew a tomato plant crawling up the side. Along the right, she drew a plate of danishes and a cup of tea.]

I’m so sorry again for worrying you. I just froze because I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll get this sent to you as quickly as I can, but please tell me your thoughts. I’m hoping your insight can be of some comfort.

With all my heart,

Your Tav

[At the bottom of the letter, Tav drew the same symbol Gale had been doodling on everything he could: the eternity symbol with the hearts in the middle, one with a G, one with a T. Next to it, she wrote:] (I tried… Yours looks much nicer.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My sweet Taviela, [Their infinity symbol with hearts and their initials was on the top right.]

Thank you for explaining the reason for the delay. I completely understand, and I’m sorry to have caused you to panic. If I may offer some encouragement, however, perhaps I can help quiet your heart.

Neither of us are under anywhere near the amount of pressure and stress that we were at the time back in Baldur’s Gate. We are taking care of ourselves now as individuals, fully independent of others, and neither is a crutch for the other. This bodes well for quelling any fears of being too dependent on each other for our own good.

We’ve seen what damage can be done by careless words and actions, and we’ve walked back from that ledge – together. Now we’ll be more aware of the warning signs should we become frustrated with each other again. We’ve talked about what we can do to avoid arguments in the future, like walking away for a breather, should we need to. Lest you have any unrealistic expectations, please remember that we will become frustrated with each other and we will likely have some arguments. That’s only natural for any two beings that have a close relationship. But we have some experience now and wisdom gained. I truly believe that we can be better for each other. We can change. Together. [A filled in heart is drawn here along the left side of the page.]

If you are comfortable thinking about the possibility of visiting, I have a proposition for you. Some simple guidelines that will help keep us in check as we try spending time together again, under completely different circumstances.

-          I will get you set up in a lovely room at The Yawning Portal for one week. The bartender owes me a favor for clearing out some riffraff a few weeks ago. Then you can have a place you feel comfortable retreating to without feeling trapped in my tower, should you wish to get some space.

-          So as to not put too much pressure on either of us too quickly, we can have a date each day, but we don’t spend the entire day together (at least not every day). It may be midsummer, but I still have regular responsibilities with the academy that I need to see to. Besides, that will give us time to individually reflect on our time together and how we’re feeling.

-          At the end of the week, we can talk about how things have gone and what direction we should go at that point. We won’t pressure each other, and we’ll agree that we won’t be disappointed if one person needs more time than the other. Above all, we need to make sure our friendship stays in tact.

So, what do you say? Look! I even got Tara’s stamp of approval! [On the side of the page is an ink pawprint.] (Do you have any idea how much convincing it took to get her to put her paw in ink? I owe her tuna for weeks…)

I won’t pressure you, but if you’re amenable to this plan, we can do this as soon as you’d like – even next week. Having said all that, if you still want to take things slower and keep writing letters for now, I will fully support that decision and be delighted to keep doing so.

If you will allow me, however, I would like to make one last plea: I want to see you, Taviela. I need to see you. My heart aches for you and my arms feel so painfully empty without you in them. I long to curl my fingers into your hair, to hear your contended sighs, to be lit up inside by your laughter, and, when you’re ready, to make love to you and cover you in affectionate, healing kisses until every hurtful word we’ve ever exchanged is erased from memory itself.

I know you’re scared, my darling. But I believe in us. I believe things will be different this time around. I hope and pray to every god and goddess who will listen that you can find it in your heart to take the risk.

Come here to me, my love, and we can keep walking our way forward - together. [A filled in heart is drawn here.]

I eagerly await your reply, whatever it may be.

Yours always,

Gale [A doodle of a wand surrounded by stars is by his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav’s hands trembled. Gods, she missed him so much it physically hurt. Especially now that she knew how much he was missing her as well. Sitting at her desk, she re-read his last full paragraph with tears flooding her vision and heart filling her chest, not to mention a familiar heat between her thighs. She knew at that moment that her desire and her renewed trust in Gale Dekarios FINALLY outweighed her fears. She didn’t even need to think about her response. It was short and sweet:   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale, my love, [Their eternity/hearts/initials symbol was drawn on the top right.]

I’ll set out tomorrow by horse from Daggerford and will arrive at the Yawning Portal on Sunday evening around dinner time. I sincerely hope your arms will be waiting for me, because I’ll be rushing into them the moment I see you. [A filled-in heart was drawn in.]

Just don’t be holding a stack of books this time… [ Tav had drawn a doodle of a winking face here.]

Yours always,

Tav

P.S. I doubt we’ll be waiting long for those healing kisses… I know we’re going to space out our time together, but stay with me the first night? Help me “settle in” to Waterdeep? [Tav sketched a set of lip prints in the bottom right.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tears fell from Gale’s eyes, but happy ones this time. He could tell his cheeks were flushed too from her “P.S.”… He laughed at her jab about the books, then folded up the letter and brought it to his lips, kissing the edge she would have folded with her soft hands.

He had planning to do. 

[sunflw3r]

school boy (댕댕이)

younghoon x male reader reader prns: he/him word count: 1546 fluff, non!idol au, highschool au

younghoon was difficult to ignore

content warnings: mention of throwing up, content overview: petnames, rushed plot

unedited</3

(masterlist)

a/n: i love younghoon sm i think it’s a disease! sorry for the rlly late upload 🤕 school just started and im losing the battle against the demons. happy late younghoon day!! i love yall sm🫶

younghoon’s stare from across the room was starting to irk y/n.

it was his big, brown eyes staring down his back, probably full of sparkles as he mouthed about how much he wanted to kiss y/n right in that moment made him go insane. how was he ever supposed to focus with a boyfriend like younghoon? school was boring compared to him, but he would still like to pay attention sometimes.

“i think your boyfriend is wanting some attention.” jacob muttered, y/n laughing quietly, knocking his seatmate's shoulder. much to y/n’s embarrassment, jacob saw most of younghoon’s hidden affections. he constantly tried to pester his seatmate about it, never failing to embarrass y/n.

“shut up.” y/n grumbled, taking his pencil and writing over the top of jacob’s page, jacob gasping quietly. “if you need an excuse to get away i can say you got to go throw up.”

shocked laughter made a choked escape from y/n’s mouth, the teacher monitoring their study hall turning around to stare at them. “y/n, if you’re not going to pay attention to your work, can you make sure everyone else can?”

the sound of muffled giggles flowed from the back of the class, the teacher’s gaze turning to younghoon’s shrunken figure. “and younghoon,” the teacher started, letting out a loud sigh as she looked between y/n and younghoon. “just- please pay attention to your work. the left side of the room doesn’t have what you’re looking for.”

younghoon’s eyes squeezed closed, the embarrassment of being semi-called out enough to remove the stars from his aura.

should i say something? y/n dropped his head into the palms of his hands, younghoon’s bright smile contorting and twisting in his head, a beautiful nightmare that made him go insane. younghoon made him insane.

but it was because he loved him.

y/n had never really thought about that before. younghoon and him had been dating for a while- long enough to where every single day felt short compared to the past ones, like he could never get enough time with him.

and so he was pretty sure he loved him. the only things they really said were ‘i like you’ or ‘i enjoy spending time with you’ but y/n felt like that couldn’t encapsulate the feelings in his stomach that all were labeled ‘younghoon’.

so he was going to say something.

turning his head, y/n’s eyes locked with younghoon’s, the constant flutter of butterflies at bay in his diaphragm unleashing at the glow of younghoon’s eyes and bright, subtle upturn of the corners of his lips. he was the definition of safety. just looking at his face made y/n feel safer.

“i reallyyyyy like you.” he mouthed, the curves of his lips moving animatedly as he watched younghoon’s smile - somehow - grew blindly larger. “i really like you too.” he replied back, y/n looking at him with content in his eyes.

he really was so content.

tearing his head away from younghoon’s gaze, y/n attempted to focus on his work. math was boring. this math worksheet was boring. he couldn’t bring himself to do this.

turning back to younghoon, he was met with the top of his boyfriend’s head, a sigh escaping from his lips. he just craved his boyfriend.

these emotions were so new to him. he had always felt some fluttering way to younghoon - of course he had, younghoon was his boyfriend. they wouldn’t have dated if he didn’t like him. but the overwhelming way he felt when they met eyes… it made him go insane.

y/n’s thoughts spiraled into a tornado, the memories of him and younghoon intertwining with heart wrenching emotions. he couldn’t focus on anything but them. he had his friends, his family, and his boyfriend. but why was his boyfriend starting to become more than just the boy he liked and more like…

“babe, are you coming?”

snapping out of his daze, y/n stared up at younghoon with blank eyes. “u-um yeah, hold on hoon.” he spoke, packing up his assignments with shaking hands. “i’ll help.” younghoon replied, picking up y/n’s pencils and putting them in their spot in his backpack.

looking up from his now cleared desk, y/n smiled brightly as he gazed into younghoon’s eyes. “do you want to hang out after school?” the words escaped from y/n’s mouth before he could regulate them, younghoon nodding happily at the request.

“of course. now let’s go to lunch. hyunjae probably stole our seats.” the sentence was said with a chuckle intertwined with it, y/n feeling his heart return to ease as he grabbed younghoon’s hand.

a heat ran up his face as younghoon pecked the top of his head before they walked out, y/n leaning against younghoon’s shoulder.

i think i love you.

“school was so boring.”

younghoon’s voice joined the breeze that carried broken off leaves, the fleeting spring air creeping up y/n’s neck as he leaned into his boyfriend as they walked. y/n proceeded to hum in response, stretching his fingers while clasped with younghoon’s hand.

he loved younghoon.

he loved younghoon.

his conscious was bumping around in his head as younghoon continued to talk into the afternoon, ever section where their skin touched creating an unbearable heat. “are you alright y/n? you’ve been quiet.” younghoon asked, his eyebrows laced with concern.

the area around them became the han river park, younghoon stopping on the concrete pathway. opening his mouth, a lack of vibrations coming from his vocal chords. “babe?”

as his lips turned into a frowned, younghoon pulled them off the pathway and onto the grass, moving them to stand under a tree. “what’s up?”

y/n wasn’t sure how younghoon knew something was on his mind. how he was so attentive to the fact that almost no words escaped from his mouth while they were walking. he had no idea how younghoon could understand him so well. did younghoon love him too?

“can we sit? we’re going to be here for a bit.”

the words escaped from y/n’s mouth, the tone low as the rushing past them with a lack of inflection in the sentence. younghoon slowly nodded, concern lacing every fold of his face as he stared into y/n’s eyes. the two adjusted into their positions on the ground, y/n reaching out to hold younghoon’s hand.

how could he tell his boyfriend he loved him…?

“babe, i’ve been thinking this for a long time.” y/n paused, letting out a loud sigh. how could he tell him. younghoon’s eyes turned down, the glimmer present in his neutral state fading away. “don’t tell me-“

his heart crumbled into a pile of dust. younghoon had jumped to the worst conclusion out there. he had assumed the ending of this story was starting now, even though that was quite the opposite tale.

“no no no oh my god hoon- baby i’m not going to break up with you.” extending the hand that didn’t hold younghoon’s out, he gently cupped the right side of his boyfriend’s face. “i…”

younghoon’s eyes started to brighten, an idea of y/n’s next train of thought coming to him. it was now or never.

“i love you. i, y/n l/n, love you, kim younghoon.”

younghoon didn’t reply, but y/n wasn’t afraid. instead, younghoon’s next step was to lean forward, connecting his pink lips to y/n’s.

it was… perfect. everything y/n had dreamed of, life and relationship like a youth drama.

the wind blew through y/n’s hair as younghoon pulled him closer, hand resting against the small of his back. their lips opened and closed against each other, the standard, sweet taste of younghoon’s favorite green grape candy filling his mouth like it was it’s second home.

was he getting the more he so craved and longed for?

pulling away slowly, the bright sparkles had returned to younghoon’s eyes. he was so utterly beautiful that y/n wished to block him from anyone else’s view and make sure younghoon only looked at him.

“i love you too. god, i love you so much.” younghoon whispered, pressing a soft kiss to y/n’s lips. he moved away quickly, y/n pouting. “why didn’t you kiss me for longer?”

he asked, younghoon laughing.

“you have to pay extra for that!” he said, y/n rolling his eyes as younghoon giggled and hit y/n’s shoulder. “i’m your boyfriend.” y/n deadpanned, younghoon matching his stare. “so? what’s my payment?”

trying to continue staring, y/n broke and let out a laugh, younghoon smiling. “well, do you take payment in hugs?” tapping his cheek, younghoon shook his head. “nope.” groaning, y/n jumped on younghoon, his boyfriend’s back hitting the grass as he pressed pecks to his face. younghoon giggled, the sensations of y/n’s soft lips tickling.

“you win, you win!!” younghoon yelped, y/n pushing their lips together in victory. “let’s go.” he whispered, younghoon pinching the side of his chest. “you’re lucky i like you silly.”

at the words, y/n’s heart began to flutter. younghoon loved him.

“i love you too.” he said. and he really did love him.

[voxofthevoid]

We're at Shibuya Swap Wednesday #9, and I still can't predict an end. Part 3 was largely unplotted when I started writing it, and I think I can see the end—and it's miraculously shorter than I anticipated—but let's see how the path there looks.

I didn't write a lot this week, so the fic is at 85k and halfway through Chapter 16. There's a fuckton of conversations in this part because I'm still reaping what I sowed in Part 1. Several bits were like pulling teeth, but I'm happy with the final shape. The following section is a goyuu reunion of sorts:

Yuuji opens the door and steps into the dark.

His eyes don’t need an adjustment period; he’s always had good night vision. The tall figure standing stock-still, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight outside an open window, still makes him startle. A second later, two pools of radiant blue cut through the dark—Gojou’s open eyes, fixed right on Yuuji.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji breathes.

“Hello, Yuuji,” comes the soft reply.

The door gently clicks shut behind Yuuji, almost making him jump. His heart is in his throat, and it stays right there as the seconds stretch on, held in place by reasons better and worse than a door closing on its own. On the opposite end, Gojou is still and unmoving. His features are blank, the shadows on his face made strange by the glow of his own eyes. Yuuji’s known for a while that Gojou’s eyes have their own fire, but he’s never seen them like this.

He’s never seen Gojou like this.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, speaking in hushed tones on instinct, “I’m gonna turn the light on.”

“Go on,” is all Gojou says.

Yuuji gropes around the walls beside the door, and it’d be easier if he just looked, but he finds that he can’t take his eyes off Gojou. A part of him is afraid, not that Gojou will do anything but that he’ll melt into the shadows if Yuuji takes his eyes off him, vanishing like he was never here.

He finds the switchboard and promptly blinds himself.

“Shit,” he swears, slapping his hands over his eyes. He rubs the tears away, peering out from between his fingers and getting smarting eyes for his trouble. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Gojou says, sounding amused; the familiarity of it makes something in Yuuji unclench.

He blinks and squints until the light don’t feel like it’s stabbing his eyes anymore, and then Gojou’s there in full color, eyes bared and hair down and smiling at Yuuji, as solid as a dream can ever get.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji says helplessly, “you’re back.”

“I am. Miss me?”

“I—yes, I was—”

“Worried?”

“…Yeah.”

Gojou’s smile widens. It’s not really a nice expression, too sharp around the edges, but Gojou means these smiles. They’re real, even if they’re poised to cut.

“I’m not the kind of man,” Gojou murmurs, “you should worry about, Yuuji.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji shrugs. “Can’t help it, I guess. And it’s different this time.”

“Oh?”

“You were walking into a trap, weren’t you?”

“Oh?” Gojou repeats with an unholy amount of relish. “You really have been thinking about me.”

Yuuji fights down the urge to throw up his arms. “I just told you that!”

“So you did,” Gojou admits. “No need to worry about your dear teacher—I won’t be outmaneuvered twice by the same person. Once was enough. My pride won’t survive a repeat, and we’d hate that, wouldn’t we?”

“Uh, sure,” Yuuji says, not sure how to say Gojou’s pride isn’t what he’s worried about.

Gojou chuckles like he can tell anyway. “Your mother’s a wily bastard, by the way. I hope you haven’t inherited any of that. I quite like how straightforward you are. You’re not hiding some Machiavellian cunning under all that cute pink fluff, are you?”

“What?” Yuuji asks, his brain stuck on cute pink fluff.

“No.” Gojou tilts his head, humming. “No, you’re a different breed.”

“Okay?” Yuuji wrenches his attention back to the point. “How’d it go? Did you find them, did you—”

“I found the body,” Gojou answers. “Booby-trapped to hell, with the most innovative mix of barriers and seals I’ve ever seen. Maybe I should start teaching you those. See if you’ve got a knack for it. Genetics isn’t everything, but for sorcerers, it means something more often than not.”

Any other time, Yuuji would have leaped at the chance to learn more and get stronger, but right now, all he can focus on is—

“The body?” he asks.

Gojou blinks once; his eyes are glowing even in the bright light. “The brain was absent. The residuals led me on a wild goose chase for a while, but they didn’t lead to anything. I knew it wouldn’t. I was tracking that body’s cursed energy, you see. And I found it. It’s all I found. We should have killed them at Shibuya. But every version of you will be a sentimental fool, won’t you, Yuuji?”

Yuuji takes half a step back before forcing himself to stop. Gojou’s stare is a piercing thing, like twin lasers—hotter than the sun, with none of its warmth. Yuuji feels like it’ll sear off his flesh, chunk of cooked meat falling to the ground at his feet.

He can’t feel Gojou’s cursed energy at all.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuji says very gently, “about your friend.”

Gojou stills, somehow without moving a single muscle. Something seems to suck the air out of the room.

Yuuji smothers the urge to yank the door open and throw himself out of this room. It’s not real anyway. Yuuji doesn’t actually want to run away from Gojou. He’s not scared. It’s just that, sometimes, Gojou gets like this, all silent and still, and every animal instinct Yuuji has starts screaming. It happened with Sukuna too, the one time they met face to face, but Yuuji was too angry then to feel anything else, and it was only later, when the way his spine writhed as Gojou bore down on that volcanic curse felt oddly familiar, that Yuuji even realized that a part of him had responded the same way to that blood-and-bone domain and its vicious master.

With Gojou, there’s no anger to swallow everything else, and Yuuji’s left to grapple uncomfortably with the disconnect between his instincts and his feelings. It makes him feel guilty too. Gojou’s on a whole other level as a sorcerer, as a living being, but he’s still just a person. And he’s Yuuji’s teacher. Yuuji likes him; he worries about him. There’s something profane about any part of Yuuji reacting to Gojou the way it did to Sukuna, and Yuuji has a hundred reasons to want to get stronger, but one of them, close to the top of the list, is that he wants to bear the brunt of Gojou’s power without even a sliver of his soul squirming.

He takes a step closer to Gojou, not once looking away from the violent supernova of his eyes.

Something shifts in Gojou’s expression. It doesn’t soften, but it’s less blank, less alien.

“I’d ask who’s been telling tales,” Gojou murmurs, “but it doesn’t matter, hm? You should save your pity for the ones who matter, Yuuji. My old friend lost that right years ago.”

Yuuji…has no idea what to do make of that.

But he knows one thing. “It’s not pity, sensei. I just wish none of it happened to you.”

“And what would you know of what happened to me?”

Yuuji shrugs, trying and failing to shake off the discomfort layering his skin. “Not much. Just that your friend became a curse user and, uh, died. And then Kenjaku took his body.”

“That’s not all you know,” Gojou says with damning certainty. “Tell me how he died, Yuuji.”

Yuuji looks down at his feet for a moment, breathing in deep. Getting air into him still feel like a fight, and his heartbeat is echoed all over his body, from the skull to the soles of his feet. There’s something unnatural happening.

But he trusts Gojou.

Yuuji looks him in the eyes and says, “You killed him.”

“I did. Are you sorry about that too?”

“Yes, sensei.”

“What if I told you I didn’t even hesitate? He was my best friend, you know. The only one I ever had.”

Yuuji’s eyes smart again, his chest squeezing tight. “That must have felt terrible.”

Gojou blinks.

The air lightens.

There’s a long, heavy sigh, followed by Gojou slumping back against the open window, his entire torso supported by empty space. His eyes haven’t wavered from Yuuji or lessened any in intensity, but there’s a pout on his mouth that doesn’t suit the situation at all.

“Are you for real?” he complains.

“Uh, yes?”

“I don’t believe it. Come here, I need to pinch you.”

“What? I’m not doing that!”

“I’ll come there then.”

“No—eck.”

Yuuji didn’t even see Gojou move, but there are fingers pinching his cheek and a toothy grin filling his vision, and his instinctive struggling does down as he processes the new proximity, the rest of the world fading to make room for the warmth and size of Gojou’s body. He’s so close to Yuuji, their chests almost touching, and more and more of his features burn themselves into Yuuji’s vision. His jaw is a sharp curve, the kind you could cut yourself on, and the rest of his face isn’t any better, painfully pretty. Yuuji can’t help noticing that his lips are cracked, without a hint of their usual glossy sheen. It only becomes more obvious when Gojou’s impish grin eases up, settling into a quiet, crooked smile.

Yuuji stares at them for a very long moment, his mouth drying out to match Gojou’s lips.

He looks up. Radioactive eyes gleam a hot blue, threatening to swallow him whole.