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jeminie-rising · 2 months ago

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onigiris for valentine's

[ Inumaki Toge x Reader ]

link to AO3: [ onigiris for valentine's by JEMINIE ]

summary: "Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair."

Or, it's valentine's day and you give everyone a bag of cookies with ribbons of their favourite colours apart from Inumaki. He then realises that his ribbon was actually in your hair all along.

warnings: Inumaki Toge uses sign language, Soft Inumaki, Inumaki says more than just rice balls ingredients, fluff, toge and reader being complete idiots in love, no smut!, they're both so in love, Not actually unrequited love (they just shy), Yuuta is so supportive, love confessions (finally), slow burn

characters: inumaki toge, The Inumaki Clan, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Zen'in Maki, Panda, Yuta Okkotsu

word count: 6,623

authors note: hi, i know i know. It's the end of February and why am i posting a Valentine's themed one shot?

WELL BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!

sorry, i wasn't in the mood to write about love during the month of my ex's birthday lmao. so not only was i late, but this one shot might not be as good as i would have hoped. I shall come back in the future to fix it, hopefully

In the meantime though, ENJOY xx

and reminder:

sign language in this fanfic, like in all the others, is based on japanese sign language, not ASL.

this is part 3 of the Holidays with Toge series but can 100% be read on its own

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Don’t wait for someday. She’s thinking the same thing as you. - kids that fly

It has been weeks since New Year’s Eve. January seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and even worse, it seems like nothing really has changed. Not the classes they took, not the amount of times Itadori begged for you to help him out with English, not the missions you took up with your classmates, and not the way Inumaki treated you.

You started to believe everything that has happened was a figment of your imagination. His little trick and tease during the countdown to the very last second of last year, was nothing more than his way to pull a joke out of you. It’s not that it was something out of the ordinary. He liked to pull pranks on people with Panda all the time. Something Maki had to deal with every day, being the only other classmate they had that was present. Unfortunately for her, the mysterious fourth second year was always absent, making her the only and biggest target of Inumaki and Panda’s annoying plans.

But exactly because of it, they moved on from Maki and started widening their target to the first years. They started with Itadori, quite the gullible one and easier to get forgiveness from. A safe bet, you’d say. They managed to make him believe he was invisible for an entire afternoon. Even miraculously got help from Megumi, who did not want to get involved. But because it came natural for him to ignore Itadori, he indirectly added to the two’s bit.

They managed to pull one on you too. But in comparison, your prank seemed quite mellower. One day, mid-january, you came back to your room after class only to see it filled up with Christmas decorations when you were sure you put them down just the previous week. Even then, you were certain that you never really owned Santa curtains and elves bedsheets. It took you a whole two days to bring down everything.

Up to this day, you weren’t sure how it was that they entered your room.

“I can hear you both snickering there,” Maki warned the two solidified prankers of the school, “if this is one other prank you’re planning you will–”

“It’s not!” Panda was quick to defend himself, “Toge was just making a joke.”

“If you two have so much time to joke around then might as well use that to train the first years.”

You and Nobara couldn’t help but smile at that idea. Training with a second year other than Maki? Definitely!

Maki was a force of nature. She may not have any cursed energy but she made up for it with raw skills and talent. Nobara swore she would take ten Pandas over one Maki any day. And that she did. Maki wasn’t even done sparring with her before she ran towards Panda to start their training. You only looked at her, a little bit of betrayal in your face for leaving you behind.

Maki looked at you expectantly, now that Nobara was gone, you were next.

“I, actually–”

“Hey, guys!”

Everyone turned around but only the second years reacted to the newcomer.

“Who is that?” Itadori asked, almost appalled, as soon as he saw Maki actually smile.

Megumi, who was the only one from the first years who has been in the school long enough to know, smiled proudly as he answered Itadori, “That’s Yuuta Okkotsu, the last of the second years of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Te–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobara interrupted him. “That’s the last of our upperclassmen then?”

“I guess...?”

With a groan Nobara let down her shoulders, “ugh, so there’s really no handsome guy in this entire school uh?”

“Hey!” Itadori pouted, but Nobara was already waving her hand, shooing him away.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” you admitted.

“Yeah, in a sick Victorian kid way,” Nobara was looking at Okkotsu from the midfield with the rest of her classmates. He was quite far from them, but she could already observe him without problems from where she stood. “He looks like he’s ready to go at any time, are we really sure he’s a special grade?”

Megumi scoffed at her question. There was little to underestimate about Yuuta Okkotsu, and his grade was not one of them.

“Hey guys come here!” Panda waved for the first years, “let me introduce you to Yuuta Okkotsu, our classmate and friend.”

Everyone gave a small nod, all with their own reasons as to not make the first step, but overall, the cursed energy he emanated from that distance was enough to keep them away.

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna bite,” Panda reassured them.

“Not him anyways,” Maki added, making Inumaki chuckle.

“Hello, I’m Yuji Itadori!” The pink haired boy was the first to introduce himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he trusted Panda enough to do it or he really was just that kind of guy to not care about his own safety. The times you went on missions with him made you think it was the latter.

“Nobara Kugisaki,” she simply said, studying him with her gaze. She only let a beat pass before she added, “You’re really a special grade sorcerer?”

Yuuta could only smile at her, and with the most casual tone he answered her, “uh, yeah, I am.”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he?” Maki snickered, knowing exactly what hid behind the false appearances.

“I guess…” Nobara continued, still quite skeptical. Her reply mostly being for his appearances. “Well, my friend here thinks differently.”

Your eyes widened, “I didn’t say anything!”

“You said he was kinda cute!” Nobara reminded you. Your eyes were almost falling out of your eye sockets.

You were not the only one. Everyone present was quite taken aback by that comment. Not really expecting that at the moment. Yuuta couldn’t help but glance towards Inumaki, the boy’s face was half hidden, but he knew his friend enough to notice that little frown between his brows forming.

“And I guess you must be [name], right?” Yuuta tried his best to break the ice that was formed. You frowned at him, confused as to how he could possibly know your name. Catching on your reaction he continued, “Sorry if that sounded weird. I was away for missions, but my friends kept me updated about everything and everyone… Inumaki especially talked to me, so of course I’d know of you.”

“Oh, well, yeah that’s me,” you chuckled, then turned towards Inumaki, his gaze was avoiding yours. He spoke about you? You quickly shook the newly forming delusions away. He must speak of every single one of you.

That’s just the kind of person Inumaki Toge was in your eyes. Sweet, kind, considerate, and so loving and caring about other people. To the point where he would limit his entire life to a few ingredients just to make it a little bit safer for everyone around him.

“Why are you here anyways, Yuuta?”

“Well, I wasn’t around for Christmas and New Years, at least on Valentine's Day I could spend it with my other single friends!” Yuuta cheered.

“Single?” Panda asked skeptically before whispering, “Is that safe to say for you?”

Yuuta could only chuckle, but you, Nobara, and Itadori were left confused. Itadori was the only one mouthful enough to bother to ask, “does Okkotsu-senpai have a girlfriend?” Others hesitated to answer, and when they did Itadori was quick to add thinking he got it wrong, “or boyfriend? …Partner, perhaps? …lover?”

“Yuuutaaa,” a screeching voice came out of nowhere bringing the three first years ready for combat, sensing the cursed energy around them becoming heavier out of nowhere.

“Calm down,” Maki warned, and you weren’t sure if she was referring to you first years who were instinctively in fighting positions, or Yuuta and whatever entity that was slowly appearing from behind him.

Everything within you, every training combat and exercise was pushing you over the edge to attack, but you hesitated. You pulled yourself and your instincts back, knowing well that if it was an enemy, your second years would be the first to react. With a deep breath, you calmed yourself down.

“Rika, it’s okay,” Yuuta was… reassuring the creature?

You frowned. Unsure how to react and even less sure what to think. Was that what made him a special grade? Was that even a cursed technique?

“Yuutaaa, why are they flirting with youuu?”

The voice seemed to reverb until your bones, chilling your spine. But the tone seemed like that of a child throwing a tantrum, something about it seemed odd. It wasn’t until Panda started explaining the situation that Nobara placed her hammer back in her belt and Itadori let go of his tight fists.

“Sorry for having spooked you,” Yuuta apologised quickly after the explanation.

“It’s alright!” Itadori was the first to smile at him, “I understand your predicament.”

“Predicament uh, big words from you,” Megumi scoffed. “Trying to impress or something?”

“Shut up,” Itadori gritted his teeth.

The second years all laughed, and Yuuta went back to the topic he was hoping to have since he came, “anyways, I was hoping we could all do something for the fourteenth? It’s a Friday so we all could go do something after classes…”

“I think that’s a fun idea!” Itadori cheered at the thought of being able to go out with his friends, “Maybe we can watch a movie?”

“I would love that!” Yuuta smiled fondly at the pink haired boy, “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the movies…”

“I’m going if we’re not watching one of those weird movies with long ass titles you like,” Nobara sighed.

“I heard they’re making a release of rom-com movies for the week of Valentines,” you brought up the ad you recently searched. It was in your plans to invite Inumaki for a date, but you knew that was never going to happen. This group activity could be the closest thing you could get to seeing him during Valentine’s day.

“Perfect!” Itadori looked through his phone to buy tickets for everyone before anyone could even agree on coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You were a coward.

Or at least that’s what you have been thinking of. Hiding behind the opportunity of hanging out with everyone to avoid confessing your love and asking Inumaki on a date. Both Panda and Nobara have been cheering for you since the winter holidays to take a step, and you were sure that this Valentine’s was going to be your perfect opportunity. However, it all went to smoke when Yuuta came around (you pathetically excused yourself). Or maybe he gave you the opportunity to see Toge on Valentine’s day without having to confess your feelings.

With this new motivation you thought of what you could possibly do to make the day a little bit more special for him. Maybe a Valentine’s gift was going to be enough? Or was that too forward?

You thought of giving him chocolate. But only giving him while giving others nothing felt kind of weird. So you started making everyone some cookies, something different from his but still made from the heart. But by the time you made everyone a pack of cookies, you noticed how his chocolates paled in comparison to homemade cookies. Sure you didn’t want his gift to stand out, but now it seemed like it was too little.

You racked your brain over what else you could do, but before you realised it, the first few rays of sun came through the window and you knew you had no more time to do anything else. You still had to prepare to go to class and fix the kitchen. With a calming breath, you told yourself that you’d have time during the lunch break. So without battling yourself over it for longer, you quickly cleaned the utensils and counter you used.

You almost didn’t make it to class in time, but fortunately, your training as a sorcerer was helpful to you in more ways than just fighting curses. Classes that day went smoothly. Well, not smoothly, more like they were just background noise for all the thoughts you were getting for later than day.

“Hey let’s have lunch at th–”

“Sorry but I have to do something right now!” You said running away already, giving them no time to say anything.

“Where is she going?” Panda asked, confused to see you running away.

It wasn’t often that everyone would have lunch together. Usually it was first years with first years, and second years among themselves. Often everyone would have their lunch alone too as they had their own things going on. But that was one of the rare times when Okkotsu was home from his long term missions, so they all decided to take advantage of that by spending more time together.

“We don't know either…” Itadori admitted.

“Girl things?” Megumi offered it as an excuse but he honestly didn’t care much. Compared to Itadori, he trusted you to do stuff on your own without getting in too much trouble.

Inumaki stayed quiet, not even offering an ingredient as an addition to the conversation as he usually does. The only one noticing his gaze fixed on you running away towards the dorm rooms was Yuuta.

“She’s probably okay,” he reassured his friend by putting a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t seem the kind of person to go through troubles by herself.”

“Tuna tuna,” the boy replied, his gaze lowering to the chocolate he hid in his pocket.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Other than your absence, the break went quickly and without a hitch. Everyone had a laugh sharing stories with each other. While for the afternoon classes, you were, once again, tardy, but nothing too outrageous to get the teachers to complain. Their annoyance seemed dissipated thanks to the sweet smell that came from the big paper bag you had with you.

Itadori couldn’t help himself, he had to ask about it. He leaned to the side and whispered closer to you, “What do you have there?”

“It’s just a little gift,” you giggled to yourself.

“It’s for Inumaki-senpai, isn’t it?” Nobara leaned in to join the conversation.

“Aww dang,” Itadori pouted back into his seat, his groan a little too loud catching a stern look from their teacher. He lowered his voice again, hoping it would be low enough to not be reprimanded despite knowing he could be heard anyways, “I wanted something too…”

“Just wait for later!” You tried to keep your voice low.

Patience wasn’t one of Itadori’s virtues. He kept poking at you during class, after class, on the way to the cinema, and when they were in line to claim their tickets. The others weren’t phased by anything at this point, especially when it came to Itadori, but Yuuta was new to the bunch.

“You guys seem like a good pair,” he said, smiling at you and Itadori. There was only a beat, before he realised his choice of word and had to add, “I meant that as a like platonic pair –like good friends–”

“Yeah,” Itadori laughed, “I imagined.”

“But what are you guys doing?” He asked, “Is this a normal occurrence?”

“More than you’d think,” Maki sighed.

“It would stop if you could finally spill the beans,” Nobara poked at you. “What are you hiding?”

You looked at the remaining line for the movies. There was still quite a line, pairs of people for the most part, and those that weren’t were a group of girls celebrating in pink –galentines, you thought. There would be enough time before your group’s turn so you decided to take the opportunity at your grasp.

Putting down the paper bag, you started grabbing the elaborated pink bags tied each with a different coloured ribbon. Analysing the colours of the ribbons, you started to distribute them to all the different members of the group.

The green one to Maki. You assumed she’d prefer a darker chocolate flavour, given how much she enjoyed coffee in the early mornings. Similarly to Megumi’s, which was tied with a teal ribbon, who received coffee flavoured cookies from you.

In your hand you still had a red ribbon confection and there was no question to who it would go to. Even Nobara was eagerly looking at the bag with her favourite colour. The girl grabbed it from your hand before you could even offer it to her. Soft and chunky cookies inside, just like she likes them. Similar to hers, but bigger in size, was Panda’s. His bag was also the biggest one among the ones she held. A black ribbon wrapped around it tightly.

After giving Panda his bag, there were only two more remaining. Yuji awaited his turn impatiently, his feet marching in place as a way to stimulate his eagerness. You almost wanted to keep his bag to tease him, but his face made you guilty enough to give his next. A bag adorned with a pink ribbon, and different flavoured cookies inside to reflect his chaotic nature.

“Yaaay! Nothing beats homemade cookies!” He celebrated them above everyone’s head the moment he had them in hand.

Everyone chuckled at the boy, his enthusiasm contagious to everyone. But it wasn’t enough to keep Toge distracted for long. He looked at the last bag you held in hand, and could smell the sweet sweet cookies that fought their way out of the white ribbon.

“And this one…” you held the bag in front of you, “is for you!”

It wasn’t only Inumaki who was speechless, but among everyone was Yuuta, who hesitantly reached out for the bag you were handing him, “Me…? I–I wasn’t expecting anything… we–”

“Of course you get some too!” You laughed as if it was an obvious thing.

“Uh… how about Inumaki-senpai?” Itadori pointed out what everyone was thinking.

At his question, a dust of pink blush, similar to his ribbon, tainted your cheeks. You were trying to avoid doing this in front of everyone, but with everyone’s eyes on you, you had no choice. You opened up your purse, instead of the paper bag, hesitantly, hoping for an escape. And there it was, like the Gods answered your prayer.

“Next!” The lady called out for them.

This was enough to grab everyone’s attention to the cashier lady. In between busy choosing the movies and which seats to take, you took this opportunity to grab the purple tupperware from your purse and push it against Inumaki’s side.

“For you,” you whispered. “Happy valentines, Inumaki-senpai.”

You didn’t even let him say anything before you rushed your way after the other first years, who were arguing if it was better to have all seats in one row or take two rows of equal numbers.

“She gave you… tupperware?” Panda peaked over Inumaki’s shoulder, “Are the cookies inside?”

Inumaki could only shrug his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to have a cute bag with a ribbon too, but he shoved that feeling aside. He was about to eat cookies you prepared for him, who cared what they came into?

He carefully opened the tub but instead of the sweet smell of cookies he smelt the familiar scent of… onigiri?

The two looked at the tupperware container holding two rows of onigiris carefully placed over purple sheer paper. There was a moment of silence between them as they stared at the rice balls, before Panda started laughing dropping on the floor, catching the attention of people around them.

The silver haired boy could only frown and send a kick to his friend, “Bonito flakes!”

But the panda only laughed more at the unintended pun, “t-that’s right! There are bonito flakes –This may be the best prank ever!”

Toge looked back at the tupperware to notice one of the onigiris to have bonito flakes on top of it. That wasn’t common to have from store-bought onigiris –these were home-made, he concluded. With one look he searched for you among the first years, unsure truly how to react or feel about the gift he received. Although, once found the little bow on your head amongst the others, his doubts were somehow cleared.

How could he not have noticed before?

“What’s your favourite colour, senpai?” You once asked him once when the flowers were blooming and offered a various range of colours for him to pick on without having to speak out loud.

Inumaki looked pensive for a bit. Then pointed at a violet that was by her hand, “tuna mayo.”

You followed his finger with your gaze. For a second you thought he referred to your new set of nails, but then noticed the violet in between your pinky and ring finger.

“Violet?” You asked to clarify.

He gave a single nod, “Salmon.”

“It’s a pretty colour!” You affirmed, “they’re similar to your eyes…”

Inumaki was once again grateful for the collar that hid his face and his red. Hoping to change the attention from himself to you, he pointed his finger back at you, “mustard?”

“Me?” You asked before thinking about it. You aren’t sure why you had to think about it. You knew what your favourite colour was. It has always been white. The infinite possibilities white could hold is far too alluring for you to not have it as your favourite colour. But after seeing the purple in Inumaki’s eyes, you hesitated for a bit. What were possibilities compared to the certainty that you found in him? “W-white,” you finally admitted after a moment too long.

Inumaki looked up at the sky, his gaze pensive and they looked farther away than where you ever could, but then he pointed at the clouds. You could only nod, smiling at him.

“Yes, like the clouds.”

He then looked down at the ground. Picking a single daisy, he offered it to you.

“Yes, like daisies.” You reached out for it and twirled it between your two fingers, “and mongolias… and jasmines –my favourite!”

Inumaki looked at you, his head tilted, “Mustard?”

“Yeah, I love Jasmines, they smell like comfort!”

Inumaki seemed to think about something for a bit, then brought his hand to his hair, he grabbed a few strands from his bangs and looked at it making cross eyes you giggled at. Then he looked through his bangs and directly at you, “Mustard?”

You frowned slightly unsure if you understood him correctly. This seemed to not translate to you in his ingredients, so he shifted his body towards you and clearly showed his hands. Back then, he was already studying sign language from the book you have gifted him on his birthday. He was still quite choppy on his sign language but he was getting the hang on it quicker than you did.

You knew his intentions and with a focused eye, you followed his hands as he unzipped his collar down. A sign of vulnerability from him, you learned. You tried to not get entranced by the snake fangs by each side of his mouth and forced your eyes to follow his hands instead. With all his fingers together he twisted the tips of them against each other. Colour.

“Colour?” You repeated his sign out loud and he gave you a nod.

He then pointed his pointer to his teeth showing his own fangs. The small smile he formed as he signed and flicked his finger, made you almost forget what he was trying to say. You shook your head trying to regain focus, but poor Toge assumed you didn’t know that particular sign and looked up instead to point at a new cloud. Then back to your daisy that still rested between your fingers.

You nodded and repeated the sign for the colour white by grinning your teeth out and flick your pointer finger against it. “White,” you spoke out before bringing your two fingers at each side of your cheek as you dropped your hand down, your two fingers met at the tip of your chin. “I like the colour white.” Before a pause you added without sign language, “My favourite.”

He couldn’t avoid a smile at your words. He pointed at you before repeating your own sign. You. Bringing his fingers to his chins, highlighting his snake eyes, and dropping his hand to meet his two fingers to the tip of his chin. Like. Then he pointed at his forehead.

“Y-You…” You gaped before finally realising, “...r hair.”

He nodded and you could not keep in a smile, “yes, I do like your hair colour.”

White was your favourite colour. That was not something Toge would forget anytime soon. That was the colour of his hair, the colour of the flowers you smelt like, the colour of endless possibility. Ever since that afternoon at the field of flowers with you, he has seen the colour in a different way.

He looked at your ribbon again, the one that held your hair together, but it wasn’t white like it usually would be to match your uniform, it was purple instead. His favourite colour. The same colour as the paper that held all his onigiri safe. Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The movie was a hit. Everyone fell in love with the characters as much as they fell in love with each other. Itadori in particular was ecstatic over the ending.

“I can’t believe she wasn’t dead after all!” He jumped as everyone followed on the way back home, “I still don’t understand how it happened…”

“Of course you don’t, simpleton,” Megumi commented a few steps behind.

“It wasn’t said in the movie!” Itadori fought him.

“There are implications!” Megumi scoffed.

As the two argued between themselves you couldn’t help but laugh. It was nice to have a moment with them like that. With studying and missions, it was hard to find a time where everyone could act like normal kids –as normal as a sorcerer could get anyways. Having a literal panda walk with you guys didn’t really keep the attention away from the group. You could only guess the things going on inside people’s heads. But you assumed, just like you did when you met him for the first time, that people thought he was just one of those people who liked to get into anthropomorphic animal costumes.

You looked behind you to check on the said friend, beside him, of course, there was Inumaki who already had his eyes on you. You knew it was too late, but you still looked away and hoped he didn’t pay mind to you. After giving him his valentine's gift, you weren’t sure how he would react, but he hasn’t said anything and that made you more anxious.

“You should make a move,” Yuuta approached him after witnessing the very short interaction.

“Tuna?”

“You never know when it’s too late,” the boy shrugged. “Sorcerers like us don’t have the privilege of time.”

Toge couldn’t look away from his friend. He was right, with all the missions you both had to go through, even more now after Sukuna’s return, there were no promises of a tomorrow. He only had today and his feelings. And with nothing more than that, the boy gave his friend a thankful wave as he caught up to you, who walked ahead of them.

You, in turn, hoped for any kind of reaction for your gift, a comment, a sign. You weren’t really expecting a grand thank you, but nothing seemed a bit too much. Sure you walked away the moment you passed the gift, but part of you was hoping for even a nod from the distance.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you knew it was him.

“Kelp,” he greeted you with a gentle nod.

“Hey, did you enjoy the movie?” You asked, hoping that the question would lead him astray from the thought of your onigiris. But it only did so much as he nodded again.

“Tuna tuna,” he changed the subject again, pointing at your purple ribbon.

You followed his hand, something you found yourself accustomed to at that point. “Ah yes, it’s new, do you like it?”

He paused before nodding at you, “salmon.”

“Seems like you hesitated there,” you chuckled, teasing him, but it didn’t seem to budge him at all.

“Onigiri,” you heard him say, that new word made you almost snap your head towards him in surprise. You weren’t quite sure if he meant that literally or if he was using new food-related words to communicate his thoughts. With a slight frown you tried to look for the answer in his subtle expressions.

“Onigiri…?”

He nodded, grabbing the tupperware you gave him from his bag, “onigiri.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yes, onigiri.”

He then placed the tupperware back into his bag, allowing him to use his hands for signs. You watch him as he placed his left hand flat over a pointer finger directed towards you. With one single movement, he pointed towards you. Why?“Why onigiris?” you asked clarifying, he hummed at your interpretation. “Well, I thought you’d like to have onigiris, I just assumed they were your favourites since you chose the ingredients to be your vocabulary… Did I get it wrong?” “Bonito flakes!” Your worried expression made him shake his head as quickly as he could, hoping to shoo away your doubts. “Tuna mayo.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. The sound of your light laughter was too soft for Inumaki to hear over the chatter of the people around. Especially with Itadori having a full conversation with Nobara right in front of you. He had it in mind to curse them to shut up for a second, just to hear your giggle better. But he quickly moved that bad idea aside when you spoke again. “Each of them have different ingredients inside, I made one of each of the ones you mention the most –There are two of tuna mayo, your favourite.”

Toge could only smile fondly at your words, his chest fluttering with affection towards you, even more than before. He thought about the savoury snacks he had in his backpack, and then of all the cookies and chocolates that were being exchanged throughout the nation at that moment, and he felt like he had the best deal out of all of them. You didn’t simply give him chocolate, like he initially would have wished for, but took time to think about what he would have liked most and actually make it. He puffed his chest lightly at the new treasure he held in his bag, eager to take a taste of them as soon as he could.

“Do you like it?” You asked, looking at him, as you all walked down the street, now closer to your school, “Maybe I should have given you cookies too…”

“Bonito flakes!”

“So you’re okay with it?”

He smiled at you, and he looked around before placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked at him in slight surprise, but his gaze was directed towards Panda, “Tuna tuna.”

The friend smiled at him and gave him a single nod, as the others continued to walk away. You saw Panda pulling Itadori away by his hood. Something about wanting to watch being mumbled away. Without Itadori and the rest, there was a soft silence around you, realising how much quieter things were when it was only you and Inumaki. Nothing awkward, just peaceful. But what did warrant for such quiet and for your friends to go ahead without you both? Your delusions were already jumping everywhere, and you had to push them away before you could get ahead of yourself.

Your gaze turned back to Toge, who had his eyes already on you. “Is there something wrong?” You asked unsure. You felt like there was something to be said, but couldn’t bring yourself to take the first step to leading the conversation.

He shook his head, before zipping down his collar. You were quite sure that he was going to use Sign again, so you followed his hands closely to focus. But to your surprise, he brought his fingers to your chin and gently pulled your face up to meet his eyes.

This simple gesture was enough to cause you to sweat cold. You fidgeted with your fingers hoping to distract yourself from his, that were still on your chin.

“Inumaki-senpai?” You asked hoping he would finally get to the point. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being so close to him without breathing.

He took a step back, much to your health. But his gaze was still fixed into yours, silently guiding you to not look away. Not that you could even if you wanted to, his eyes were as hypnotising as that of a snake luring a prey.

Then he did what you didn’t expect him to, he began to open his mouth.

“I…” he attempted, “have been practicing.”

You swore your heart stopped the moment he opened his mouth and began to beat only at each word he spoke. Unsure if you were supposed to ruin the moment, you kept quiet, not daring even to move a muscle, afraid you might miss something.

He seemed to be thinking about it for a bit, then with careful breathing, he spoke again, “I have been practicing, to not infuse my words with cursed energy.” He paused as he breathed in a big chunk of air. You wondered if it took a lot of him to do so.

“That’s amazing, senpai,” you said before you even realised you were talking. Perhaps when Inumaki could talk, it was you who was rendered speechless. You looked for words to say as he smiled at you clearly quite proud of himself. “Since when?”

He paused before answering. For the first few times he did so, you thought it was because he was thinking about what to say, but it seemed like he was actually selecting which words to use. Despite him keeping from infusing his words with cursed speech he still deliberately thought of words that were still relatively safe to speak, just in case.

“Since New Year’s Eve,” he carefully enunciated his syllables.

You couldn't contain your own smile, “You’ve made amazing progress!”

He smiled back at you and gave a small polite bow, “Tuna mayo.”

You giggled at his favourite onigiri ingredient. Perhaps he was still more at ease with speaking like that. And to properly show his gratitude, he was going to do it with ease.

Then he took another deep breath in and nodded to himself. You watched him patiently, hoping for more words from him. It was cold, middle of february but spring was still so far away from arriving in the hills of Tokyo. But you paid no mind, you could stay there for an entire day and a night if it meant that you could have a conversation with Toge.

“I wanted to be able to speak properly with you,” he said after having attentively selected his words. He imagined everyone would practice their speech to themselves and to a mirror before giving it, and although he did so too, it still didn’t feel enough for him. Nerves got to him quickly as he inched closer to where he was aiming. He looked at you, hoping to gain courage from it, but it only made him even more nervous.

In the long pause, you assumed he was done, so with a small smile you tilted your head, “that’s sweet, Inumaki-senpai.”

“Wait–” he shook his head, “Ikura.”

Your eyes widened slightly, shutting up. It was faint, but you felt the tingle of a cursed energy in his ‘wait’. It didn’t hurt, you noticed, his cursed speech never did hurt you. But it was an odd sensation crawling into your skin and grabbed onto your very muscle cells, forcing you to comply by pure force. There was worry in his eyes, as he noticed it too, but you smiled at him hoping to reassure the boy. With a single nod from you, he was able to breathe again. Perhaps your actions too had the same effect on him as his cursed speech. It took so little from you for him to change emotions and follow your silent commands.

“I wanted to tell you so many things,” he continued his thoughts from earlier. For the first time ever since you’ve known him, it was him speaking and you were listening. It was a dream that you never thought would be real. It made you so grateful for your world of curses, spirits, and impossibilities.

“I like the colour white too now,” he admitted out of nowhere, remembering that one afternoon in the field of flowers.

“And I don’t actually like fish eggs…” he said, recalling that one time you offered some to him and he could only grimace at you. You never knew why he did, but now you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“I don’t like morning assemblies,” he admitted before carefully selecting his next few words, “that’s why I never go.” –That’s why you never see me. He wished to say, knowing from Panda how often you looked for him during the assemblies. But if he said those words he was scared you would go blind, or worse, you’d never see him specifically.

He took a deep breath and then, just as he practiced, “I wanted to thank you for Christmas,” he said remembering how it was her idea to bring everyone to visit him, “and that I am sorry for taking your last grape on New Year’s Eve.” You tried to hide your smile at the memory. At the time, you were stunned and flustered, but looking back it was quite silly. But if that memory was not going to make you blush, his next words would have been enough to do so.

“And that you looked very beautiful.”

He smiled looking at you. Perhaps because he started to get the hang of it, he wasn’t feeling as nervous as earlier. But the more he spoke and the more he looked at you, he could only find more courage to spill all his secrets. To give you everything he had. To tell you every single thought he ever had selfishly hoping you’d keep them all.

“I was going to tell you on New Year’s Eve,” he continued before chuckling to himself, “but we got interrupted.”

The memory of your silent conversation on New Year’s Eve came back at you. The way he held his fingers on each side of his cheek close to expressing how he felt. You kept your eyes fixed on him, afraid to even blink. Afraid that in that fraction of a second where you blinked, your lashes might swipe him away from you or miss his words.

You had a vague feeling of what was to come. He was so close to telling you so many times that you developed so many ‘What-If’ scenarios that all of them resembled the one where you were in at the moment. You prayed to all the Gods looking over at you two, to the saint of Valentine’s day, that nothing would interrupt you anymore.

“This might be nothing compared to your onigiri, but…” You watched him as he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket, and with another deep breath in, a solemn look, and a fond smile, he offered both the chocolate and his feelings to you, “I like you.”

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noiriarti · 8 months ago

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The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, [Ch. 6], Ch. 7, Ch. 8

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

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The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

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Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker/you #anakin/you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #star wars prequels #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine

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poppadom0912 · 1 year ago

Text

Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

#onechicago #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #halstead sister #jay halstead #will halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #will halstead x sister!reader

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bambisnc · 5 months ago

Note

can you write something about winter????? write harever you want with gn!reader. thank you!!!

apple cider [ft. k.mj]

GENRE : everything i write is crack honestly. some fluff CW/TW : swearing + uneditted af xx + reader is js confused <3 WC : 0.7k? SUGGESTED 🎧 : apple cider, queen bea XOXO : tysmmm for requesting lovely <3 im sorry it took like. almost exactly 6 months (june 24th.........) :( + [m.list]

your first time meeting kim minjeong had entailed a bruised hip, a spilled drink and a late pass.

it was almost as if the universe had had it pre-determined; made up its mind, even, for you to not like her.

... sure, it might've slightly been your fault that you were late and scrambling to find a seat in the already pretty hectic classroom that caused you to bump into said girl,.. which in turn had the equal and opposite reaction of her managing to push you and your (now bruised) hip with a loud thud! towards one of the tables.

which lead to you spilling your entire drink all~ over your shirt.

your favorite shirt.

before you even knew her name, you had decided you were not a fan. and even now, having spent considerable time in roughly the same friend group,.. you really don’t get the hype around her.

okay, yes, you admit she’s, like, really nice and pretty and helpful and cute, but it’s whatever.

hence, obviously, the only liable course of action then was to take advantage of the fact that your teacher announced a project to be done in pairs and end up being minjeong’s partner because you don’t really like anyone else in that class which somehow ends up with you having to break her out of a literal, physical fight with some girl whose name you couldn’t even be bothered knowing.

huh?

“let’s meet at the library.” she had suggested, “it’ll be quiet – it’d be easy for us to focus and get our work over and done with as fast as possible.”

you had taken a little offense to that. but hey, at least you knew your (slightly) bitter feelings towards her were just as reciprocated.

so naturally you were surprised when you walked straight into a crowd in the otherwise quiet hall, and happened upon the previously mentioned scene.

the tense scene was captivating, to say the least. both girls involved showed no apparent signs of remorse or stopping. it even took you a while to manage to pick up your jaw off the floor and move to intervene, albeit your actions being mostly on instinct.

you’re not quite sure why you did it. maybe because your project was at stake? yeah that was probably the only reason.

… doing so was shockingly easy, however. the minute minjeong felt your touch on her, she paused, quietly. a strangely herculean feat on her part, considering how fiercely she’d been fighting merely seconds ago.

but her opponent didn’t have the same mindset. despite the comparatively much more bruised appearance (minjeong barely even had a scratch on her, really), she still found the ability to paste on a sneer and speak out. “wah~ your beloved’s here for you, huh? here to rescue you? just like you were trying to keep their name clear from the rumors-”

at which point, the girl previously in your grasp all but leapt out to land one last (rather satisfying) punch square on her opponent’s face.

and then, wordlessly, effortlessly, she walked out;... with you trailing behind, mind chock-full of questions but not being really sure how to express even one of them.

you could only watch as she walked all the way to the courtyard with all the casualness of the world before sitting down on one of the benches .. and soon find yourself stopping in front of her, offering her the bottle clutched in your hand all this while, surprising not only minjeong but also yourself.

“...you’re probably tired out after all that .. exertion. plus dehydration’s never fun.” is your flimsy, offhanded excuse.

she smiles, then, and accepts it, but both you and her know that she doesn’t really believe it.

your eyes meet hers, finally, asking if she’d mind company. she shakes her head, no, shifting to make space for you.

the warmth of the late evening embraces both of you with an orange haze. from where you’re sitting, a disarmingly comforting scent invades your senses, your mindspace even.

it’s somewhat fruity. and it’s so inexplicably kim minjeong that you feel like you’re almost going crazy for thinking about it like that.

when minjeong hands you back the bottle, you notice rather grimly that she’s finished almost the whole drink, “i didn’t know you liked apple cider too. it suits you, weirdly.”

her words only barely register, but her voice manages to crash your reverie completely.

what exactly was that bitch girl saying earlier in the library?

why are you even here with kim minjeong right now? it’s not like you owe her comfort or anything, it was her fault for getting into an unnecessary fight (over you?....) in the first place – god knows you don’t even like her that much.

…

wait. fuck.

𐙚 . regulars : @brocoliisscared ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k24

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honeyncherry · 4 months ago

Text

Through the Looking Glass - Two

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: tension, bad parenting?

word count: 6.3k

The morning time used to be your sanctuary. In the quiet hours before the world woke up, you’d find peace. Those fleeting moments where it felt like the universe had hit pause just for you.

As a child, mornings were your reprieve, a small window where no one demanded anything of you. No clipped commands and no pressure. Just you, the soft light filtering through your bedroom window, and the occasional birdcall drifting in from the trees outside. It was your time to breathe.

Sometimes you’d sit cross-legged on the carpet, a book balanced on your knees, imagining yourself in stories that didn’t involve expectations and schedules.

Other times, you’d sit by the window tracing patterns in the condensation with your finger, imagining what life could be if it were yours to choose. The stillness made it easier to dream, to let yourself believe, even if only for a little while, that there was more to life than what had been laid out for you.

That quiet was everything, a momentary break from a life that wasn’t truly yours.

But mornings weren’t like that anymore. The peace had been replaced by a steady thrum of tension that refused to let go. You couldn’t escape it, not in this world where every move felt calculated, every interaction weighed. Even on a campus as vibrant as this one, sunlight spilling across the red brick paths, students walking in clusters as laughter rang out, the tension remained. All coiled beneath the surface.

Today was no different, though the stakes felt higher. As you walked with Brooke, Maddie, and Sabrina toward campus, their chatter filled the space around you, light and carefree. They swapped stories about professors, exaggerated tales of late-night cramming sessions, and Maddie’s latest tirade of a group project.

“Seriously, who decides to leave the entire presentation to me?” Maddie was saying, her tone dripping with incredulity. “I’m not a babysitter.”

Brooke laughed, “that’s why I never volunteer for group work. Let them pick the slackers. I’ll take a solo essay any day.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Sabrina chimed in, nudging Brooke playfully. “Besides, you’re better at flirting your way out of deadlines.”

“I prefer to call it persuasion,” Brooke said, grinning.

Their banter washed over you like waves, grounding you in the moment. It was a relief, in a way, to let them take the spotlight. Their vibrant personalities filled in any gaps where you might’ve had to speak. But your thoughts were elsewhere, trailing ahead toward the building looming in the distance.

Personal Relations 201.

This wasn’t just another class. It was the class. The agency had assigned it with purpose, placing it carefully into your schedule. Not because of its content, though it was useful enough, but because of who sat in that very lecture hall every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at precisely 10:15am.

Rafe Cameron.

“You’re so quiet this morning,” Brooke’s voice cut through your thoughts, light and teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who actually gets nervous for class.”

You blinked, her words pulling you back. “Just thinking about everything I need to get done. You know how it is.” You forced a small laugh, shaking your head.

Brooke grinned. “Oh, trust me, I don’t. That’s why I don’t think about anything until five minutes before it’s due.”

Sabrina laughed, nudging her shoulder. “And yet, somehow, you still manage to pass.”

“Talent,” Brooke said with mock arrogance. “Pure, unteachable talent.”

You laughed softly, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“But, you’ll be fine,” Brooke circled back, giving you a reassuring pat on the arm. “Just sit in the back if it gets boring. That’s what I do.”

“Or sit near the hot guys,” Sabrina added with a smirk. “That’s what I do.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Try sitting where you can actually see the board. That’s what normal people do.”

“Pass,” Brooke said with a wave of her hand before turning to you. “What’s your strategy?”

“Probably somewhere in the middle,” you replied lightly. “Close enough to look like I care, far enough to keep my sanity.” You flashed a grin as if you already had this system mastered to the T.

“Smart,” Sabrina said, flashing you a grin. “See? She’s already got this figured out.”

You gave a small, easy smile as you all stopped in front of Bynum Hall. “This is me. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck!” Brooke called after you as they moved on, their laughter fading into the distance.

The building stood ahead of you, its tall glass doors reflecting the morning light. You adjusted the strap of your bag, your fingers brushing the cool canvas as you stepped inside. The air conditioning hit you immediately, a sharp contrast to the warmth outside. The hallways were already bustling with students, some lingering in small groups, others disappearing into lecture halls.

You kept your steps measured as you entered the room, its rows of seats sprawling out in neat, orderly lines. The space hummed with quiet conversations, a handful of students already seated, their notebooks open and pens poised. You chose a spot near the middle, strategic, of course. It was the sweet spot — the balance you always aimed for.

Unpacking your things and sitting down, you let your gaze sweep the room with casual detachment. The overachievers clustered at the front, their attention already focused on the professor’s notes on the screen. The socialites and athletes occupied the back rows, leaning into each other as they whispered and laughed. It was a dynamic you’d seen, yet never stepped foot in before, one that always fell into place like clockwork no matter the setting.

The door opened, and you didn’t need to look to know it was him. The energy in the room shifted, a subtle ripple of awareness that followed him wherever he went. Rafe Cameron walked in with a kind of confidence that felt almost performative, like he knew the impact he had on a space and enjoyed wielding it.

You kept your gaze on your notebook, feigning interest in the syllabus you’d already memorized. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped just a few feet away. He settled into the row you were in, leaving a seat between you. The distance was purposeful, a space that felt charged even in its quietness.

You barely glanced up, your fingers tapping lightly against your notebook as your eyes skimmed the same lines over and over again. But when his voice broke through the hum of the room, low and casual, it was impossible to ignore.

“Morning.”

You glanced at him, letting a small smile play on your lips. “Morning.”

He leaned back in his chair, his pen spinning lazily between his fingers. For a moment, it seemed like the exchange would end there. But then he turned slightly, his eyes catching yours. “Didn’t think you’d be in this class.”

You tilted your head, feigning mild curiosity. “Why’s that?”

He smirked, tapping his pen once against the desk. “Just didn’t peg you for the communications type. You seem more…” He let the silence linger, his eyes scanning you briefly before finishing, “…reserved.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting his words hang in the air before responding. “Maybe you just haven’t seen enough to know.”

His smirk deepened, like he wasn’t sure if you were challenging him or playing along. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back again. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, though.”

The professor’s voice cut through the room then, calling for attention as the lecture began. Turning forward, your pen remained over the page though you were acutely aware of the weight of Rafe’s gaze lingering on you for just a second longer.

As the lecture progressed, you fell into the rhythm of note-taking, your handwriting neat and orderly. But every so often, you felt the pull of his presence, the subtle shifts in his posture, the quiet scratch of his own pen on paper.

It was when the professor began discussing the importance of first impressions, that Rafe leaned forward ever so slightly, scribbling something in his notebook. Then, without looking up, he asked, “So, what was your first impression of me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Do you want the honest answer or the polite one?”

He finally turned to look at you, his smirk widening. “Always honest.”

“Well,” you said, keeping your tone light, “you seemed... confident. Maybe a little too confident.”

His laugh was low, quiet enough that it didn’t carry far. “Figures. What about now?”

You leaned back slightly, tilting your head as though appraising him. “Still confident,” you said after a beat, “but maybe not as intimidating as you think.” You had to force down the grin that was threatening to show.

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “Not intimidating, huh? Most people wouldn’t say that.”

“Maybe they don’t know you well enough,” you countered, letting your voice dip slightly in mock seriousness.

He grinned at that, tapping his pen against the desk again. “Fair. And I’m guessing you’re one of those people who don’t get nervous, huh?”

You shrugged, forcing a small laugh. “Not much phases me. But maybe I’m just good at hiding it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he turned back to the lecture, a quiet “touché” falling from his lips.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of half-heard lecture points and subtle glances exchanged. You could tell he was intrigued, though whether it was because of what you said or how you said it was harder to pin down.

As the professor dismissed the class, students began packing up their things, their voices rising as conversations resumed. Rafe stayed in his seat, taking his time as though he had nowhere to be. You followed suit, slipping your notebook and laptop into your bag with measured movements.

“See you next time,” he said casually, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for you.

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone breezy as you stood.

You walked out without looking back, though you could feel his eyes on you. Let him think he had the upper hand. Let him think you were quiet, nervous, unsure. Every word, every glance, every moment was intentional, and he just didn’t realize it.

You stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking against its intensity as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. Your mind replayed snippets of the conversation with Rafe — his subtle smirk, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long. The memory hovered like a cloud, equal parts intriguing and irritating. You shook it off. Focus. You needed to focus.

Your feet carried you almost automatically toward the coffee shop Brooke had shown you during her whirlwind tour. Over the past weekend, it had quickly become a favorite. Not just for its cozy atmosphere and strong espresso, but for the sense of anonymity it offered. Everyone here seemed absorbed in their own world, sipping lattes, scrolling through their phones, or flipping through notes. Sitting alone didn’t feel out of place.

The familiar bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stepped into the line, your eyes scanning the menu even though you already knew what you’d order.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice said, pulling your attention.

You turned to see Sabrina standing a few feet away, her signature grin firmly in place. Beside her, Liam held a large iced coffee in one hand and what looked like a half-eaten bagel in the other.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling lightly. “Small world?”

“More like predictable habits,” Sabrina teased, stepping closer. “This is our go-to post-class caffeine fix. Liam can’t survive without his sugar rush.”

Liam raised his coffee towards you. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

You laughed softly, the interaction easing some of the tension still lingering from class. “Good to know Brooke showed me the right place.”

As you moved up in line and placed your order, Sabrina leaned casually against the counter. “We’re heading to the quad after this. It’s kind of our regrouping spot. You should come.”

“Regrouping spot?” you echoed, tilting your head.

“Translation: Brooke and Maddie will be there, and there’s going to be gossip,” Liam said with a smirk. “The quad’s like our version of the water cooler.”

Sabrina nudged him with her elbow as you laughed at his joke. “Ignore him. It’s chill. A good place to just hang out and unwind.”

You hesitated, but the decision was already made for you. If the group was heading there, it was the logical next step. “Alright. Count me in.”

“Perfect,” Sabrina said, grabbing her drink as it was called. Yours followed shortly after. “Let’s go before Brooke starts texting us every five minutes asking where we are.”

The three of you left the coffee shop together, the sun casting long shadows across the path as you made your way toward the quad. Liam walked slightly ahead, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his drink as he whistled a tune you couldn’t quite place. Sabrina fell into step beside you, her drink in hand.

“So,” Sabrina began, her tone casual but laced with curiosity, “what’d you think of PR class? Worth the hype?”

You shrugged, keeping your response neutral. “It’s… interesting.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Liam called back, smirking over his shoulder. “Bet Rafe made it more ‘interesting,’ though.”

You felt your cheeks warm slightly but managed to keep your expression calm. “How’d you know he was there?”

Sabrina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. All the guys have each other's schedules memorized. It's borderline obsessive.”

Your eyebrows lifted as Liam laughed but didn’t deny it. “Rafe was… chatty.”

Sabrina laughed. “That’s one word for it. He can’t help himself sometimes.”

As you approached the quad, the sound of laughter and conversation grew louder. Brooke and Maddie were already sprawled on a large blanket under a massive oak tree, Maddie scrolling through her phone while Brooke gestured animatedly, mid-story. A few other students lingered nearby, their own little pockets of chatter blending into the atmosphere.

“There they are,” Liam announced, lifting his coffee as he waved. “The queens of the quad.”

Brooke’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up as she spotted you. “Finally!” she called out, her voice carrying across the lawn. “We were starting to think you ditched us.”

“Never,” Sabrina replied as the three of you reached the blanket. “We had to fuel up first.”

Brooke turned her attention to you, patting the spot beside her. “Come sit. We’re just planning tonight.”

“Tonight?” you asked, lowering yourself onto the blanket.

“The party at Beta,” Maddie said without looking up from her phone. “You’re coming, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indecision. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to do.”

Brooke gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like you’d just insulted her. “A lot to do? It’s your first day of classes! That’s practically a crime against fun.”

“It’s Beta’s first big party of the semester,” Sabrina added. “Basically a rite of passage.”

“And by ‘big,’ she means chaotic,” Liam chimed in, plopping onto the grass beside Maddie. “But, you know, in a good way.”

Brooke leaned in closer, her expression morphing into one of exaggerated pleading. “Please tell me you’re coming. It won’t be the same without you.”

You sighed, letting a small smile slip through. “I’ll think about it.”

Brooke’s grin widened triumphantly. “You’ll think about it,” she repeated, her tone teasing. “That’s code for yes.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. “I hear we’re talking about a party.”

You turned to see Chase and Rafe approaching. Chase’s grin was wide and easy, the kind that could disarm anyone, while Rafe’s expression held its usual mix of amusement and judgment, his stride unhurried yet commanding. The two moved with the kind of assertiveness that turned heads without trying, their presence drawing the group’s attention almost instantly.

“Always,” Brooke gave a slow shrug, her grin widening mischievously. “And you’re both coming, obviously.”

Chase dropped onto the blanket beside her, his energy infectiously cheerful. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Rafe lingered at the edge of the group for a moment, his gaze scanning the circle before settling briefly on you. Then, he sat down, “what about you?” he asked, his voice low and casual. “You going?”

“Still deciding,” you replied lightly, keeping your tone neutral.

Chase leaned forward. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s coming.”

“Bold assumption,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not an assumption,” Chase countered, his grin widening. “A prediction.”

Laughter rippled through the group, the easy banter flowing seamlessly. You let yourself relax slightly, the warmth of the moment grounding you even as you felt Rafe’s presence like white noise beside you. Your gaze flicked to him only once, but his attention had already shifted, his focus split between the conversation and whatever silent thoughts lingered behind his eyes.

As the group continued to talk about the party, you couldn’t ignore the way Rafe’s quiet confidence filled the space, unsettling and fascinating all at once. He didn’t need to dominate the conversation to make his presence known. It was in the way he leaned back, effortlessly commanding the moment, even when he was silent.

“Alright,” Brooke announced, clapping her hands together with finality. “So it’s settled. We’re all going, and we’re going to make it the best night ever.”

“I didn’t agree yet,” you teased, though your tone was playful, a subtle challenge in the words.

Brooke waved her hand dismissively. “Details. You’ll thank me later.”

You laughed, the sound blending into the chatter around you as the group shifted into easier conversations. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the quad in a warm, golden light. It felt almost like one of those carefree moments you’d seen in movies, where the world seemed simpler, lighter. Almost.

For now, you let yourself settle into the moment, even as the undercurrent of your true purpose hummed beneath it all.

Brooke leaned back on her hands, her curls catching the golden light as she tilted her face toward the sun. “This is what college is supposed to be about,” she said with a content sigh. “Good weather, good company, and not a single textbook in sight.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maddie quipped, raising an eyebrow as she gestured to the pile of notes beside her. “Some of us actually care about passing our classes.”

Chase scoffed, leaning forward with an easy grin. “It’s literally the second week of classes. Relax, Hermione. You’ve got time.”

Maddie shot him a pointed look, though her lips twitched as if holding back a smile. “Some of us like to stay ahead. Not everyone can get by on charm and last-minute cramming.”

“Cramming is a skill,” Chase declared, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “It’s an art form, really.”

“Wait, didn’t Brooke say the exact same thing earlier?” Sabrina perked up, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Maddie raised an eyebrow, glancing between Brooke and Chase with a sly smirk. “Wow. Maybe you two really are meant to be.”

Brooke froze for half a second before recovering with a dramatic groan. “Oh my god, Maddie, stop. That is not what I meant.”

Chase smirked, leaning back with a serious expression. “You hear that? She didn’t deny it. Sounds like someone’s got a serious crush.”

Brooke shot him a glare, her cheeks faintly pink. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just because we’ve been talking doesn’t mean I’m part of your fan club.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in the club,” Chase shot back with a wink. “You might even be president.”

Brooke stretched her arms above her head with a dramatic sigh, her voice light but edged with playfulness. “You wish.”

Before anyone could add more, Rafe, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly, his tone dry and sharp. “If this is your version of foreplay, it’s painful to watch.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the group, breaking the tension as Brooke turned toward him with an incredulous expression. “Oh, shut up,” she said, her tone exasperated but tinged with amusement.

Chase grinned as he gestured between himself and Brooke. “You know, this is why we’d never work, Brooke. Too much drama, not enough appreciation for my charm.”

Brooke scoffed, swiping her hand through the air like she was brushing him away. “Please. If anything, I’m doing you a favor just by being seen with you.”

“Oh, it’s a mutual favor,” Chase quipped. “Trust me.”

Brooke rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Speaking of standards…” She emphasized before fiddling with her phone screen, the faint sounds of swiping and tapping filling the air as the others groaned preemptively.

“Here we go,” Liam muttered, shaking his head with mock despair.

“Patience,” Brooke said, holding up a finger as she turned the screen toward the group with a flourish. “Okay… what about this one?”

The phone’s screen displayed Braeden Lowe’s Instagram profile: a parade of gym mirror selfies, flexed biceps, and overly filtered vacation shots. His toothy grin practically screamed “wannabe influencer.”

Rafe groaned dramatically, leaning back on his elbows with an exaggerated wince. “God, Brooke. Even my thirteen-year-old sister wouldn’t give that guy a second glance.”

Brooke’s glare shot toward Rafe as she clutched her phone protectively. “You have no taste. Besides, I’m not asking for you.” She turned her gaze pointedly to you, her grin teetering on the edge of mischief. “What do you think? He’s your type, right?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You’re asking me?”

“Of course!” Brooke’s tone was light but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her intent. “Someone’s gotta find you a date, and clearly, I’m the most qualified.”

The group broke into grins and scattered chuckles, their amusement filling the space between you. Heat crept up your cheeks as you shook your head. “I don’t need a date, Brooke.”

“Oh, come on,” she whined, tilting her head with exaggerated drama. Her curls bounced as she grinned. “What’s the harm in a little fun? Live a little!”

Rafe snorted, his smirk widening as he gestured lazily toward the phone. “If this is Brooke’s idea of fun, I’m concerned for all of us.”

Laughter rippled through the group. You couldn’t suppress your grin, even as Brooke shot Rafe a withering glare. She snatched her phone back, brandishing it like a weapon. “You’re so predictable, Rafe. If you think you can do better, be my guest.”

Rafe relaxed into his spot, his smirk growing as if he’d been waiting for this opening all day. “Please. If I tried, it wouldn’t even be fair.”

“God forbid,” Maddie muttered, rolling her eyes as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

“Please don’t,” you interjected, your tone laced with mock alarm. “The last thing I need is Rafe Cameron picking anyone for me.”

“Why not?” Rafe countered smoothly, angling his head toward you with that maddening smirk. “I’ve got great taste.”

“Great taste in what?” Maddie asked flatly. “Flapjacks and trouble?”

Sabrina and Chase snorted, their laughter mingling as Brooke waved them off impatiently. “Come on. College is for having fun, and fun means romance. Don’t tell me you’re going to be the tragic single friend.”

You shook your head, trying to stop this before it spiraled into something unbearable. “No one needs to help with anything. I don’t need a—”

“Boyfriend?” Rafe cut in, his tone dripping with amusement. His blue eyes locked onto yours, daring you to take the bait.

You froze for a beat, your mind scrambling for a comeback that wouldn’t play directly into his hands. Of course, he’d jump in just to throw you off balance. These past couple of days have been like a game of tug-of-war with him, and the more you tried to steady yourself, the harder he pulled.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Right,” he said, dragging out the word. “I’m sure.”

You sighed, waving him off with a dismissive shake of your head. “Thanks, Brooke, but I think I’ll survive without your matchmaking services.”

“Single and thriving,” Sabrina chimed in, raising her drink like a toast. “Brooke, not everyone needs a boyfriend to complete their college experience.”

“Fine,” Brooke relented with a dramatic huff, flopping back onto the blanket. “But when you change your mind, don’t come crying to me.”

“If she changes her mind, she can come to me.” Liam grinned from across the circle, wagging his brows in exaggerated hopefulness.

“Dream on, Liam,” Maddie shot back, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh and nearly spill his own drink.

The group’s banter dissolved into smaller conversations, the air light with their laughter. You let yourself relax slightly, slipping into the rhythm of their chatter. It was easier this way, listening from the edges, laughing when appropriate, and staying out of the spotlight. It kept the focus off you, which was exactly what you wanted.

Except Rafe wasn’t letting that happen.

His gaze lingered, sharp and steady, even as the others’ attention shifted elsewhere. When you glanced his way, his smirk softened into something subtler, his eyes assessing. It was unnerving, the way he seemed to notice too much, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle you hadn’t even known you’d left scattered.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the surrounding noise. “No boyfriend back home?”

The question caught you off guard, your hesitation betraying a flicker of surprise. His smirk deepened at the pause, a glimmer of triumph sparking in his eyes like he’d just gained the upper hand.

Little did he know, that pause wasn’t hesitation; it was calculation. His quick quip had only confirmed one thing: he was playing the game exactly as you wanted him to.

“No,” you said firmly, refusing to let the silence stretch any longer. “No boyfriend.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, his tone casual, though his gaze suggested he was testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d flinch.

But you weren’t about to let him think he’d rattled you.

You looked away, focusing on Brooke instead as she picked up her phone and waved it in Rafe’s direction. “See? You should be thanking me. I’m just trying to help.”

Rafe scoffed, the smirk creeping back onto his face. “You’re not helping anyone with that lineup, Brooke. Try harder.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offense. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from giving opinions.”

“Good luck enforcing that,” he shot back with a grin.

The group laughed. Around you, students lounged on blankets, paging through notes or simply soaking in the sun. It was the kind of scene that should have felt idyllic. Carefree. But the weight in your chest wouldn’t let you fully sink into the moment.

Every time Rafe’s gaze landed on you, it felt like the walls were inching closer, pressing in on all sides. He watched too closely, noticed too much.

“Don’t tell me you’re zoning out already,” Brooke teased, nudging your arm. “It’s not even midterms yet.”

Her words snapped you back into focus. You managed a small smile. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” Rafe quipped, his smirk curling once again. He sat up slightly, his posture shifting from relaxed to alert. “You sure you’re not plotting something over there?”

You rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh. “Always. Can’t help myself.”

“You’ve got that look,” Chase added, gesturing vaguely toward you. “You know, like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe or something.”

Before you could respond, Rafe tilted his head, studying you more closely. “Seriously, though. You good?”

The shift in his tone threw you. It wasn’t soft, not exactly, but it lacked his usual playful bite. His smirk had faded into something subtler, almost... curious. Like he was genuinely asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, nodding to punctuate your words. “Just... tired.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply, his gaze flicking over your face as if weighing your answer. Then, just as easily, his smirk returned. He leaned back on his hands, his posture lazy once more. “Good,” he said simply, his tone dismissive, as though closing the conversation.

Brooke’s phone buzzed from where it lay in the grass, pulling the group’s attention back. She groaned, picking it up and waving it in the air like a flag of defeat. “Okay, someone else can take over. Clearly, my taste isn’t appreciated.”

“Maybe you should let her pick her own boyfriend,” Rafe quipped, tossing you a glance that felt sharper than it should’ve.

The group laughed, the moment dissolving into more teasing and chatter until the sharp trill of a ringing phone cut through the noise. Everyone instinctively glanced at their devices.

“It’s me,” you murmured, a mix of relief and dread flooding you as you pulled your buzzing phone from your pocket. The screen displayed a stark “No Caller ID,” and your stomach sank like a heavy stone. That familiar block of text only ever meant one thing, and you’d been hoping to avoid it, at least for now.

You stood quickly, smoothing your shirt and offering a rushed excuse. “I’ll just be a second,” you said lightly, though you felt the weight of curious eyes as you stepped away.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you forced your voice to remain calm. “Hello?”

His response was immediate, clipped, and impersonal. “How’s everything looking?”

Your eyes closed briefly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. How typical. Not a greeting, not even the pretense of concern. Just straight to business. “Fine,” you replied, keeping your tone as brisk as his. “It’s early, but everything is progressing as expected.”

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying the same detached authority it always did. “You’ll have more updates by the end of the week.”

It wasn’t a request, but you knew better than to push back. “Of course,” you said flatly. “I’m working on it.”

There was a pause on his end, brief but heavy, the kind that made you want to fill the silence just to escape the weight of it. But you didn’t. You knew the routine too well.

“When I say ‘progressing,’” he continued, his tone colder now, “I expect measurable results. Not vague reassurances.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “I’m handling it. You’ll get what you need.”

His sigh was barely audible, but you could picture it clearly. Him sitting at his pristine desk, lips pressed in a thin line, calculating as always. Likely already rifling through another case file, another project. “Good,” he said finally. “Because you can’t afford to screw this up. Neither can I.”

There it was. The reminder that you weren’t just representing yourself, you were representing him, his reputation, his legacy. It was always like this, a constant balancing act between proving your competence and falling short of expectations that always seemed impossible to meet.

You leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, the bark rough under your palm as you steadied yourself. “I know what’s at stake,” you said evenly.

“Do you?” he shot back, his voice slicing through any lingering resolve. “Because if you did, I wouldn’t have to call and check in like this.”

Your stomach twisted, anger and hurt mixing into a cocktail you’d become all too familiar with. He didn’t trust you — not fully, not really. And maybe he never would, no matter how many times you executed flawlessly, no matter how many hoops you jumped through.

“I’ve got it under control,” you said firmly, your fingers tightening around the phone. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

Another pause, longer this time. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating the risk of letting you take the lead versus micromanaging. When he finally spoke, his tone was sharp and dismissive. “Then prove it.”

The call ended abruptly, the line going dead before you could reply. You lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen as his words echoed in your mind.

He never said goodbye. He never said much of anything, really. Just orders and expectations, always dangling just out of reach like a carrot on a stick. You’d stopped hoping for more years ago.

As you slipped your phone back into your pocket, you let out a slow breath. You couldn’t let this rattle you. But the lump in your throat lingered, a reminder that no matter how far you went, no matter what you achieved, you were still chasing something you weren’t sure you’d ever catch.

When you turned back toward the group, their energy felt like it belonged to another world entirely. The laughter was a stark contrast to the weight still pressing against your chest. You moved toward them, forcing your steps to remain casual, your shoulders to relax, even as the tether of that phone call pulled tighter.

Of course, it had to be Rafe’s gaze that caught yours immediately. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered made it clear he’d noticed the sudden shift in your expression. His sharp, discerning eyes seemed to pick at the seams of the mask you were holding in place.

“What was that about?” Brooke asked, tilting her head with a curious smile. Her voice was light, but her curiosity was genuine.

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, shaking your head as you eased back onto the grass. “Just family checking in. You know how parents are.”

Brooke’s curiosity flickered for a moment, but she didn’t press. Before she could pivot the conversation, Rafe’s voice cut in, laced with curiosity but edged with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Seemed tense.”

His usual smirk was gone now, replaced by a look that made your skin prickle. It wasn’t soft, Rafe Cameron didn’t do soft, but it carried a weight that left you uneasy. His tone wasn’t quite prying, but it felt like he was looking for the cracks.

Sabrina nudged him with her elbow, her tone light as she chided, “Don’t be nosy.” There was amusement in her voice, but not enough to ease the tension winding tighter in your chest.

The weight in your body increased tenfold, everything suddenly feeling heavier, sharper. You forced a small smile, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you stood. “I just remembered I need to drop some things off at the administration office. I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Brooke pouted, her bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated frown. “But we were just getting to the good part!”

“It’ll have to wait,” you replied lightly, though your voice sounded strained in your own ears.

The others nodded, letting you slip away without too many questions. Brooke’s attention, thankfully, quickly shifted back to the group, and their conversation resumed.

The quad stretched out before you, still buzzing with its lively energy as you walked away, but the laughter and sunlight felt distant. Each step carried you further from the group, yet the weight in your chest refused to lift. You rolled your shoulders back, trying to shake the lingering discomfort, but it clung stubbornly, an unwelcome echo of the phone call.

Thankfully, with each step, the air began to feel lighter, the distance between you and the group growing wider. But even as you moved further away, the flicker of his face lingered in your mind. Not as a point of intrigue, but as a reminder: Rafe Cameron got everything he ever wanted.

And maybe that was why you didn’t like him. Because you never had.

A childhood that was spent under a microscope, every move dictated, every choice already made. Your father had ensured there was no room for rebellion or freedom, no time to breathe or dream of something different.

While Rafe had likely been breezing through his teenage years on a tide of parties and privilege, you were memorizing ciphers and learning to silence every part of yourself that wasn’t useful. You’d been shaped, molded, and stripped of the very things he took for granted.

He was the kind of person who existed with ease, who took up space as if the world owed it to him. And maybe, in a way, it did.

But this was one round he wouldn’t win. Not with you.

The thought steadied you, a sharp contrast to the unease that had been clawing at your chest. Let him smirk, let him watch. Whatever he thought he was playing at, let him keep playing. Because he didn’t know the rules. He didn’t even know the game.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your thoughts. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, the screen glowing in the fading sunlight.

unknown: Hope to see you tonight.

You stared at the words, your pulse quickening slightly. Not from fear, but from something harder to name. The message wasn’t signed, but something about it felt deliberate. Intentional.

You let the weight of the text settle, your mind flickering to Rafe almost instinctively. It felt like his kind of move. Subtle but strategic, designed to test you. A flicker of a smirk tugged at your lips before you shoved the phone back into your pocket.

If it was him, it meant he thought he had the upper hand.

But then again, you’d already set the board.

divider: @adornedwithlight

a/n: i've had a couple people ask to be tagged so if you'd also like to be, feel free to comment and lmk!

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction

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little-diable · 1 year ago

Text

The Game is Won - Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 9/9)

I decided to end this story here, because I want to focus on a few other ideas I can't let go of. Thank you so much for your love on this fic! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, some angst due to the kidnapping, regular CM stuff, a happy end

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest. Every step she took felt like a risk, with the room closing in on her. Her fingertips were bleeding, her head pulsing in pain. She was driven by her determination, driven by the need to escape. And she was close, so very close.

Deep down she had feared the man, deep down she had wondered how far he’d take it. But as she had noticed that he hadn’t locked the door to the room she was held hostage in, everything had begun to clear up. He was stuck up, did believe too much in himself, not even thinking about the possibility of (y/n) trying to leave. This was her chance, probably her only chance.

With a shaky breath, (y/n) let her eyes wander. She was now in what appeared to be his office, eyes focused on the window to try and figure out where she was. It took her a moment to read the street name, but the second she managed to focus on it, she reached for the corded phone.

Her hands trembled as she dialled Aaron’s number, no longer sure who she could trust – especially after her kidnapper had dropped Penelope’s name. (Y/n) counted the seconds passing by, eyes squeezed shut to try and keep calm. Aaron would get her out, he would come to her rescue.

“Hello?” The sob that left her at the sound of Aaron’s voice was almost violent, shaking through her whole body. (Y/n)’s hand shot out to stabilise herself, clinging to the nearest chair to try and stay on her feet.

“Aaron, it’s me, (y/n).” She inhaled a shaky breath, and had to wipe her face to try and get rid of her tears. (Y/n) heard him shuffle around, heard the deep breaths leaving him. “Listen to me, Aaron, he’s working for the FBI, and somehow Penelope is involved in this.”

“What? What’s his name? Where are you, sweetheart?” A groan left her as she sank down on the chair, limbs no longer able to support her weak frame. The room was spinning, she was close to being swallowed by darkness, but now wasn’t the time to give up, not when she was so close to disappearing from this hellhole.

“I,” another sigh left (y/n), eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know his name, but he’s about the same height as me, brown hair, dark eyes, he’s wearing round glasses. He told me Penelope helped him, I don’t know how, but she has something going on with him. The street’s called Jerwick Road, but I- uhm I don’t know which house I’m in.”

“I’ll get you out. He’s working on the case, I’ll have him arrested in a minute. Hold tight, sweetheart, I’ll come get you. I always will.”

……

“Morgan,” Aaron had his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of his office door, trying to keep his composure as he let his gaze wander. (Y/n)’s words kept ringing in his ears, repeating them over and over again. How could he have been so oblivious? He should have trusted his gut, and should have picked up on the uncomfortable feeling the guy had emanated.

“You alright, Hotch?” Derek stood close to Aaron, concerned eyes wandering over his hard features.

“Where’s Garcia and Kayce?” He quietly murmured his words, eyes still not meeting Derek’s. Aaron kept trying to figure out if Kayce was close, knowing they had to work fast. He needed to get to his woman, needed to hold her close as soon as possible.

“Hotch, what’s going on?” Only as Derek didn’t answer his questions did Aaron dare to look at him. Could Penelope be involved in this? The woman Aaron loved like a sister? The woman who loved (y/n) with all her heart?

“(Y/n) called, it’s him. He told her that Garcia helped him get to her.” Derek took a step away from Aaron as if he had been pushed, eyes growing darker. For a second neither of them spoke, but then they both began to move, quick steps carrying them down the stairs. Aaron called out to the others as he followed Derek to Garcia’s office, hand wrapped around his gun.

None of them spoke, guided by the tense atmosphere, knowing that something was going on, something that left their boss shaking with what appeared to be anger. Derek came to a halt in front of the door, he let his eyes wander back to Aaron, waiting for the nod that would give him the go. And within seconds, they burst into Penelope’s office, forcing a gasp out of her as her wide eyes found her team, guns drawn.

“Where is he, Penelope?” She flinched at the sound of her first name rolling off Derek’s tongue, eyes instantly turning glassy.

“Who? What is going on?” Aaron could instantly tell that she was just as confused, not understanding why her family was standing close to her with their guns drawn. But he had no time to lose, especially when Kayce was no longer with Penelope.

“Kayce, where is he?” Her eyes flickered to Aaron’s, not used to him speaking with that harsh tone he only used on unsubs. A sight that left his heart clenching. Tears ran down her cheeks, seemingly spurred on by her confusion and her shock.

“He left almost ten minutes ago. What did he do?”

……

She must have passed out, swallowed by darkness after Aaron had ended the call. Perhaps it had simply been the fault of the safety she had felt for the first time in hours, knowing that Aaron would come and save her. Whatever it was, it had instantly forced her out of this reality.

But now she woke with a groan, eyes struggling to focus on her surroundings. She was still in the office, no longer sitting on the chair, but lying on the ground. It took (y/n) almost a minute to set into motion, knowing that she needed to get out of the house while she was still alone. With a sigh leaving her, (y/n) shifted on the floor, eyes squeezed shut because her surroundings were still blurred.

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” Her eyes shot towards the door, her heart coming to a stop as her eyes met the ones of her kidnapper. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest, lips pulled into a smirk. “I didn’t think you had it in you, (y/n). It’s a shame it has to end like this, I wanted to keep you around for a while longer.”

“They’ll be here any moment now, you lost the game, because you got sloppy, because you underestimated me.” Her words seemed to swallow him wholly, drowning in waves of anger now flushing through his system. (Y/n)’s gaze was forced down to the gun he had cocked, pointing it at her with a sinister smile glued to his lips.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, (y/n). You’re in no position to defend yourself.” He took a step into the room and didn’t take his eyes off her features as he closed the door. A shudder ran down her spine, goosebumps covered her limbs in fear of dying in a room with a man she hated more than any words could ever describe. She needed to drag this out and give the team a few more minutes to find her.

“You won’t kill me, it was never the plan to kill me.” She murmured her words while slowly rising to her feet with aching limbs. (Y/n) carefully watched his every expression, trying to stay calm as she reminded herself that this was the situation she had been training for. And now, as she watched him with tired eyes, she knew that he wouldn’t kill her, not when he still hadn’t shot her, even after moving around.

“You messed it all up! You were supposed to stay in the room, wait for me like a good girlfriend would do. But I misjudged you, you’re no longer worthy, I have to get rid of you to free myself from your spell.” Confusion swapped through her, words she couldn’t pay any further attention to as the loud sounds of somebody calling out her name echoed through the house.

She was safe, she was safe, she was safe.

……

“Here, let me.” Aaron stood behind her, arm wrapped around (y/n)’s waist. Their eyes met in the bathroom mirror as he carefully watched her wipe her face clean, struggling to get rid of the blood covering her skin.

It hadn’t taken the team long to find her, within minutes she had been freed, ripped from the man’s grasp who had been shot by Aaron the second he had moved closer towards (y/n). The sobs that had wrecked through her as Aaron had pulled her into her chest had been violent, shaking up the whole team as they engulfed her, all but Penelope and Derek.

“Can I ask you something?” By now she had turned around in Aaron’s hold, staring up at him as he cleaned her face and neck. The hum that left him vibrated through her, once again reminding (y/n) that she was safe, that she was right where she belonged.

“Did you figure out why he had ties to Penelope?” She watched a frown tug on Aaron’s features, taking his time to answer her question. It seemed as if he was still as shaken up as she was, reminded of the past trauma he had been forced to endure.

“He befriended her and got access to her system, and from then on he managed to get into her system to watch you. She’s shaken up, Derek’s currently with her.” (Y/n) shifted her weight onto her toes to meet Aaron’s lips for a slow kiss, needing to feel him close, desperate to feel him pressed against her body.

“I’ll visit her tomorrow, I can only imagine how awful she’s feeling.” Aaron pulled her in for another kiss, placing the wet towel down to wrap both his arms around (y/n). The moan that left her allowed a grin to widen on his lips, enjoying the feeling of having her back here with him, the only one who’d ever be able to make her feel like this.

“Take me to bed, Aaron.” Her whispered words rang in his ears, forcing them to part as Aaron pulled her into his bedroom. Carefully he pushed her down on the mattress, pulling her shirt over her head, and her jeans down her legs moments later.

“God, how I missed you, how I missed having you in my arms, I won’t ever let you out of my sight again.” His words left her chuckling, forcing (y/n) to pull him down, unable to reply with words. Aaron kissed his way down her throat as his hands did quick work on her bra, letting it fall down to the ground. “My pretty girl, how I feared that I wouldn’t ever get to see you like this again. I would have burned earth to its ground for you, everything to have you back with me.”

“Aaron,” she choked on his name, eyes finding his as she parted her lips once again. (Y/n) was overcome by her emotions, unable to stop herself from speaking what she had wanted to say for years. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, and I always will.” Aaron kept holding eye contact as he sucked on her hardening nipples, forcing groans from (y/n) that made his cock twitch. Both wouldn’t waste any time tonight, it had been too long, too many hours had passed without feeling one another close – hours they wouldn’t get back.

“Love me, Aaron. Fuck me, please.” His hum vibrated on her skin, shooting shudders down her spine. (Y/n) watched his every move, how he rose to his feet to undress, how he reached for the nightstand to pull a condom free. Only as his cold hand found her heat, panties ripped from her, did her eyes fall close. He brushed his fingers through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread on her folds. It felt as if she was reborn, finally freed from the grasp darkness had on her.

“I got you, pretty girl, let me take care of you.” He aligned himself with her heat, slowly pushing into her to leave them both breathless. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke, needing to adjust, allowing her to let go of a heavy moan. With a small nod thrown his way, (y/n) allowed Aaron to move, clinging to him as he began to build a fast rhythm.

Her nails scratched at his skin, begging for more without finding the strength to speak up. But Aaron seemed to understand everything her body was telling him, fucking her even deeper. Their eyes met as she reached for his hand, wanting to feel every part of him on her, guiding his fingers to her pulsing bundle.

“I will always love you if you let me. You’re forever mine.” Tears welled up in her eyes, her throat was too choked up to reply, (y/n) could only hope that he could read the emotions swimming in her pupils. God, how she wanted to be his till the end of their time. How she wanted to cling to Aaron till their last breaths would leave their frail bodies.

Aaron dipped his head down for a slow kiss, tongues moving together as he fucked her into the mattress, set on burning his touch into her skin. He could almost hear the racing beat of her heart, he could almost feel her passing out beneath him due to the intensity of their touches. All for the man she loved, all for the woman he adored more than words would ever be able to describe.

(Y/n)’s walls fluttered around him, already close to the edge, begging Aaron to give her the last needed push. With his fingers adding more speed to their movements, he watched her fall apart, pleasure-drunken features staring up at him. It was a sight so raw, a sight so beautiful, Aaron followed her down moments later, letting go with a groan.

Slowly he pulled out of her, getting rid of the condom before he pulled (y/n) into his chest. Neither of them spoke for a while, hung up on their thoughts, wondering how they had ended up right here. Brought together by their shared interest, forced to meet as student and professor, guided by their emotions for one another. But yet it had always felt awfully right as if they had been made for one another.

“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.” (Y/n) shifted in his grasp, staring up at him with a smile.

“I love you too, (y/n).”

#Aaron Hotchner imagine #profiling 101 #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner smut #criminal minds imagine

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ohwhatagloomyshow · 15 days ago

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gemmahelena: I never sought to love you

Guess what, we're gonna test run another gemmahelena on Tumblr before posting to ao3! I know fanfic is something you write for yourself first and others second but I'm already imagining this one being a bit long and part of me doesn't want to dive too deeply into it if it wouldn't have an interested audience, you know?

AU set before the show, where Gemma meets Helena under unusual circumstances, where Helena has a rather direct role in targeting folks that Lumon could use for Cold Harbor. As implied above, I anticipate this being multi-chapter, switching between Gemma's and Helena's POVs. My thought is friends to lovers to enemies. ~2500 words.

CW: Discussions of perinatal loss.

It’s only when she’s two wines deep, Mark softly snoring beside her and sleep nowhere to be found, that she finally crawls out of bed to dig the crumpled flyer out of her jacket pocket.

She can’t even blame Sandy for it, as much as she wants to. Sandy, their new undergraduate admin, was using Ganz’s paltry education credit program to take night classes to pursue a new career in counseling. She was just doing her job (well, “job”), passing out flyers in the Humanities building. Gemma had even been happy to see her that morning; the university had updated their travel reimbursement policy and she had questions.

“Hi, Dr. Scout!” Sandy had positioned herself at the skyway connecting Humanities and Science, a decent place for foot traffic. She held in her arm a bundle of flyers and Gemma had started to decline one until it was shoved, rather confidently, into her hand. “Next week the counseling center is going to start hosting the local perinatal loss support group while St. Mark’s finishes its renovations. I told them I’d pass these out, try to let as many people on campus know about it as I can!” She was so bubbly, handing out such depressing flyers, shades of blue and pink that to the unsuspecting eye would look like a flyer for a transgender student support group.

She’d really rather go to a trans student support group; the handful of trans students she’d had tended to be the most open and engaged of any of her kids. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually, she and Mark had been lightly scolded for not involving themselves more with student orgs -

“It doesn’t matter if you yourself haven’t experienced pregnancy loss,” Sandy continued, and it was clear she’d been doing this all day, trying to break through to folks who immediately emotionally checked out, “there’s also a group for anyone supporting someone through pregnancy loss, like a friend or relative. It’ll be every first Monday of the month! We’ll have snacks!”

It had taken all of her self control not to crumple the flyer up immediately, but that would’ve only started a conversation she really, truly, didn’t want to have. She had just nodded, said that she would pass the information along in her circle, asked her most pressing question as briefly and quickly as possible, and shoved the flyer into her coat pocket the second Sandy had turned her head.

She’d heard about the support group from her OBGYN when she had that very first miscarriage four years ago, so early in their marriage. She hadn’t even realized she was pregnant - hadn’t even realized she wanted to be a mother - when her spotting was much heavier than normal and she’d called her doctor’s office.

“I’m glad you called, because a miscarriage means something’s up with the IUD,” her doctor had informed her, casually but sympathetically, over speakerphone. Mark had been beside her, a little freaked out by the blood loss she’d described to him. He rubbed the small of her back in slow, warm circles. “We’ll get you in over the next few days; make sure you’re using secondary protection until then. In the meantime, if you or your husband need any help processing this in any way, my patients have had great things to say about St. Mark’s Lutheran’s support group. They’re on the corner of South High and West Market - I can send you more information if you’re interested?”

“No, that’ll be okay, Dr. Sharma,” Mark had replied on her behalf, before she really had a chance to think about the offer. Not that she would’ve accepted it, it just would’ve been nice to decline on her own. “We’re just glad this wasn’t something bigger.”

But it is big, Mark, she’d wanted to interrupt right then, the enormity of the conversation finally hitting her. It’s maybe the biggest thing in the world. The IUD was out a few days later, replaced by pills as she considered other options.

But once the thought was in her head she couldn’t get rid of it. She hadn’t realized Mark had been the same way until he brought home the crib. They had celebrated rather enthusiastically that afternoon, and when they’d finished she called her doctor’s office to cancel her next refill.

It had been so fun, in the beginning. He’d always been an enthusiastic lover but this was different: sacred and holy, every touch full of meaning and potential. They never talked about it directly - it was funny, how many things they didn’t need to talk about. It was just in Mark’s expression, the way he carried himself after buying that crib: some new confidence in the set of his shoulders, an additional pep in his step, although she wondered if that was just the result of more frequent fucking.

They had tried so hard, once.

She finds the paper in her right coat pocket, crumpled around her keys; even though Mark is down the hall, she tries to be quiet as she presses its wrinkles out, tilting it so she can ready by the light of the moon streaming through the kitchen window.

NOW AT GANZ U COUNSELING CENTER: Struggling with pregnancy loss? Looking for someone who “gets it”? St. Mark’s Lutheran Church hosts a gathering of mothers, fathers, and loved ones and friends to share experiences and provide support. Meetings @ 7PM the 1st Monday of every month. Snacks and drinks provided!

She sighs, considers getting another glass and opening a fresh bottle of wine. Thinks about the empty bottles piling up in their recycling, nearly turning into his-and-hers, although her consumption has never been as frequent as his. Still, it hasn’t…been great. She knows it hasn’t been great.

Fuck it - her Monday classes go until 5PM. Staying an extra few hours won’t be a problem. She might get caught up on grading, even. And it’s only once a month.

She circles the Counseling Center three times before she finds the courage to go in. It’s outrageous to be so nervous - nearly one in four pregnancies end in early miscarriages, she is neither unique nor special in this regard, women have had early trimester miscarriages since the dawn of time, and anyway, she and Mark are fine! Why would she need to talk about her feelings with absolute strangers -

She watches a couple walk up the old wooden steps, and then a small group of female friends, and then forces her own feet up the creaking porch steps.

She’s only been in the Counseling Center a handful of times over the last seven years, always to help escort students up these very steps, and she’s pleasantly surprised at how warm and welcoming it is. The lighting is soft, the furniture organized to be as opening and conversational as possible although she’s sure that’s just for tonight’s event. There are cookies and brownies and tea and decaf coffee laid out on opposite tables against the walls, and she heads to the coffee just for something to do with her hands.

After a cursory glance around the room she’s so relieved to realize she doesn’t recognize anyone here. At least, not well enough - they are faces she’s seen around campus and around town, but no one who knows her or knows Mark by name, as far as she can remember. Certainly no one she knows by name. Sandy’s flitting around but that’s okay, she won’t stay at Ganz forever and this is good practice for her, anyway.

She decides to meander in the refurbished farmhouse as the volunteers continue setting up the two group rooms, one for the parents and one for the concerned loved ones. She wants to flip a coin to decide where she’ll go first, if it’s worth ripping the bandaid off for the group she actually belongs to or if her time would be better spent doing reconnaissance. She thinks about Mark - wishes for just a moment that she had told him, rather than given him a grading excuse - and decides she’d rather know how the friends and family talk about loss rather than surround herself with depressed childless couples.

We used to be a depressed childless couple, she immediately scolds herself, wincing at her inner cruelty. The decaf burns her lips and she wants to tell karma “Yes, okay, I get it,” but instead she quietly follows other strangers into the room that’s quickly identified as the support-support group.

There’s a good number of people here, and they all move in on the chairs, so she chooses to stand in the poorly lit back corner. There are pamphlets all over about every problem under the sun a college student could have and she contemplates taking a few to keep in her office until she’s distracted by a gentle whiff of very expensive perfume.

(She can hear Mark in her ear, gently mocking when she tells him about tonight. “How could you even know that? Are you a sommelier in perfume now? Do they even have those?” And she would push against his shoulder and say something like “Stop shitting on my seventh sense.”)

But it’s a deep scent, warm and spicy, and it makes her think of leaves in autumn when she turns to look at her new neighbor, breathing heavy after rushing in just before the volunteers closed the doors. She’s a pretty white woman, several years younger but too old to be a student, long red hair trailing down her back, fashionable black square glasses framing eyes lined boldly in black. She looks remarkably nervous for someone in the friends-and-families space, and Gemma can’t help but reach out and touch the girl’s arm. She jumps slightly, her eyes wide when she turns.

“You okay?” Gemma asks, attempting to give a thumbs up before realizing her coffee is still in her hand. She puts it down on a nearby table to finish the gesture.

The girl gives a confused half-smile and returns the gesture. Gemma grins, pats her arm, picks her coffee back up and sips. Standing next to someone even more uncomfortable than her is an unexpected balm to her anxiety.

When the meeting starts, she’s pleased at the laid-back attitude of their facilitator. They’re plump with a warm and open face in their mid-fifties and introduce themself as someone who struggled with perinatal loss with their partner, who then took that pain and turned it into a career in therapy.

“I’m not here to be anybody’s therapist tonight. We’re all here to talk to and learn from each other. We’re all here because we love someone who is going through something really, really challenging. We’re here to practice listening and experience what it’s like to be heard.”

They guide the room in introducing themselves but encourage that no one should introduce themself if they’re uncomfortable doing so. Gemma skips, as does the woman beside her. No one bats an eye.

The facilitator, Birdy, reminds the group that everything said here is confidential and provides a few tips on how to actively listen. And then they’re off.

Something unlocks in Gemma’s chest as she listens to these vulnerable strangers, who ask each other how long their friends might feel grief, how to keep their grief from overshadowing their sister’s, their best friend’s, their parents'. She’s never quite thought of herself as a person worthy of the label of grief, of mourning: only one of her pregnancies had made it into the second trimester.

She is learning, very quickly, how wrong she’s been.

She thinks about Mark immediately, vividly - imagines the sardonic comments he would make to keep himself at a remove, picking apart people’s thought and speech patterns, egging her on to do the same. But in this moment, she just can’t. The room feels almost holy.

And then it’s over: Birdy opens the door and they’re welcome to rejoin their friends and family from the other session. Snacks and drinks have been refreshed. It’s only 8PM.

She’s in a bit of a daze as she makes her way back to the decaf, grabbing another cup. The rich-smelling pretty young woman is picking apart a chocolate chip cookie with her thumb and forefinger, crumbling it into smaller and smaller parts on her plate as she watches the other guests mingle, her eyes focused.

“What did that cookie ever do to you?” She can’t help but comment - the agitation in the young woman’s hands is so different from the calm stillness of her body.

Again, the redhead jumps, like she’s alarmed at being noticed. She looks at her plate like her hand has been operating on autopilot, which Gemma guesses it had been. “Oh, uh. Guess that was…a little intense in there.” Her voice is low and slow, very controlled and well-enunciated. This young woman is a mass of contradictions, Gemma notices now: jeans stylishly ripped at the knees, Converse looking fresh out of the store, and a buttoned-up flannel even though it’s not quite cold enough for that yet. She looks like someone trying very hard to look comfortable, but the way she holds her body is much too stiff.

“Kind of bizarre when people just…talk about their feelings, right?” Gemma replies, forcing a joke into her tone that doesn’t quite belong.

Either the young woman is taking pity on her, or she’s actually succeeded in connecting with a stranger at a perinatal support group. Who would’ve thought? “It was like being on safari, trying to stay still enough just to observe.” At this she opens her eyes wide like a deer, holds herself in utter stillness that’s a bit uncanny. Gemma surprises herself laughing.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Helly.”

“Gemma.”

She can’t believe she has to wait three weeks for the next session. She can’t believe she can’t wait to go to the next session. She’s not entirely sure if it’s because of how comfortable that room felt, or if she’s excited to shoot the shit with Helly again.

She’s ready to talk to Mark about it. Because who knows? Maybe he just needs to be in this kind of environment to open up a little.

The house is dark when she pulls in, but that doesn’t always mean anything. The lights from the bedroom aren’t always visible from the driveway. She’s preparing what she’ll say as she unlocks the door: “Listen, I know it’s silly, but Sandy kinda cornered me on Friday and I had to check it out….”

The house is cold and dark and quiet.

A thousand years ago - back in the beginning, when everything was fresh and new - “don’t wait up for me, I have grading to finish” had typically been code for sex. It had been code for Please wait for me, let’s try out that new toy or lingerie. Sometimes it just meant Let’s fall asleep together after a long day apart. But it had always meant Welcome me home with open arms.

She can’t remember when that stopped.

#severance #gemmahelena #gemma scout #helena eagan #gemma x helena #helena x gemma #it's the tragic yuri of our dreams #fanfiction #severance fanfiction #my favorite character in nbc's hannibal was abigail hobbs and You Will Discover This

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batfambrainrotbeloved · 7 months ago

Note

Hey so you know how you made Dick speak sanskrit in your fic? lives in my head rent free.

Why did he not speak romanian. how far back in the historical timeline was his clan(??? idk how to translate the word im thinking of into english but its “ନକ୍ଷ୍ୟତ୍ର”/ “ଗୋତ୍ର”) separated from the rest? How was it not prakrit? Were his parents just trying to reconnect to their roots? Did he learn it from his parents or was it learned while trying to connect with his roots? Does he ever realise that any songs and texts are all religious? Is HE religious with how many words in sanskrit straight up reference god?Does he feel alienated with how his culture is romani but his language is indian? Does he ever realise theres only one village in the world that speaks sanskrit as a native language and its over 13,000 km away? Does it get lonely realising that even damian’s knowledge of languages cant cover it?

Im sorry for ranting but my struggle to reconnect w my culture has me projecting HARD 😭

OH BOY- I have been avoiding some asks (because I haven't had the mental strength to give each the time and love response they deserves I swear im getting to yall) But THIS one was just far too good to pass (and im bored as hell in class)

I would say I do dive a little more into my headcanon culture stuff involving Dick and even Damien in Mama Bird (which again I REALLY NEED TO UPDATE)

BUT Let the rambling begin <33

Why does he speak Sanskrit in the fic vs any other language? Simply it was the closest language I could trace similar roots to Romani ancestery too that was easily acsessible dictionary/translator that I could use in my writings.

Canonically he probably WOULD speak a dilect of Romani or Prakrit etc, but in my desperate trying to look into the language and culture half of the resources I came upon were incredibly racist even for someone who had no idea about the culture before then.

How far back in the historical timeline was his clan??? (Clan/Tribe/Family are good english translation's) Im not familiar enough with Romanian clans to assign a specific one (Though from my understanding of research, The Grayson family would be desenced from Romani people lineages that used to reside in the Indus Valley region- yet another reason for the use of Sanskrit)

Were his parents just trying to reconnect to their roots? Did he learn it from his parents or was it learned while trying to connect with his roots? I havent thought into this TOO much, but i'll say as a headcanon that his family felt a great pride in their culture as some of the lucky few who could maintain their nomadic lifestyle with the circus. His Mother was probably less connected (only knowing from her grandparents sort of thing) and rediscovered her roots after meeting his Father who was VERY in tune with his culture.

And as such tried their best to reclaim those roots and share them with Dick. So yes he learned from his parents- but they were still fully connecting themselves.

Does he ever realise that any songs and texts are all religious? Is HE religious with how many words in sanskrit straight up reference god? This is more projection but as someone who grew up in the bible belt, (Translation- American southern region nicknamed "The bible belt" because of how ingrained the Christian Faith is in both religious practice and general culture) Dick is less belief religious and more culturally religious- he will use religious phrasing, have some habits/beliefs FROM religious background without being fully invested, and even some things he doesn't realize are heavily religious until pointed out.

Aka religious pratices in the way of how your mother would teach you to put knifes in the dishwasher upside down (so they wouldnt be as much of a hazard) but something you do because its how you were told instead of thinking about the WHY as much.

Does he feel alienated with how his culture is romani but his language is indian? Does he ever realise theres only one village in the world that speaks sanskrit as a native language and its over 13,000 km away?

Now this is more complicated, I don't know much about circus life (though I do actually have a friend I can ask so might change this later) But from what I know its a VERY mixed enviornment so Dick was both entrenched in his cultural lifestyle as a nomad with his parents proudly sharing their roots, while also being exposed to dozens of other cultures that were also "his".

Aka- Dick is an amalgamation of culture to the point he both belongs in more ways than most people could ever have, and yet feels completely isolated as a result since no one else understands why he gets upset when people wish him Happy Birthday early, why he always dumps the first steep of tea, why he "pays respects" to his bike and tools, why he sets aside food just to be thrown out, etc etc

Its nice, to be able to connect with people over so much, but at the same time it sucks when his family points out "weird habits" that he hadnt even realized were strange. (Thankfully after a few long talks, people stopped commenting on Dicks habits, anyone who does faces the wrath of the Batclan and just about every Hero from Metropolis to the edge of the Milky way)

Does it get lonely realising that even damian’s knowledge of languages cant cover it?

Actually Batfam DOES know some Sanskrit just by exposure of living with Dick. The one who knows the most is probably Alfred since he was the one dealing with the rambunctious kid who would get frustrated with instructions he didnt understand (and that frustration only getting worse for English being like 5th or so language)

None of them are anywhere near fluent though, but I like to think Dick has a pen pal/friends he practices with. Also because he's terrified of losing his proficency and in turn, losing another part of his culture his parents tried so hard to give to him.

And No need to apologize! Like I said, im an outsider looking in from a very different culture but I loved reading (what little good sources I could find) about this topic. Of course if you have any insights/comments/crituqes I would love to hear about them and thank you for the ask!!

#Sunny asks #OH BOY #Longest one yet tbh #Dick grayson #romani dick grayson #romani culture #sanskrit #why is every source so racist??#THAT is the true question #but thank you for the ask!!#This was so fun to think about #and made me realize #many more things #I need to think further into #the drakes spoiled brat #batfamily #sunny rambles #ty for the ask!!

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months ago

Text

Ordinary Day

Isn’t it nice weather? Let’s take a short stroll and enjoy it.

This is part 16 of 20. We come close to the conclusion.

The Tale of the Cursed Raven:

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 I Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 I Part 13 I Part 14 | Part 15

Information has a way of spreading by word of mouth. Without a form, there is nothing to restrain them from travel, and from the details straying from the truth. By the end of the school day, Kon has already picked up on at least seven variations of the same story.

The disappearance of one Raven Crowley, and the aftermath of it.

She hadn’t attended class for some time now, hadn’t shown her face in public. A wind blew through the grapevine, supposed tea brewing.

“I think she transferred. Didn’t really fit in here anyway. Probably at some all-girls place now.”

“No, no, she’s being homeschooled for safety reasons. The headmaster keeps her locked away in that tower and personally tutors her.”

“I heard she’s dead. She Overblotted and went on a rampage in the woods. The dorm leaders had to suppress her and collect the body afterwards.”

He grips onto his textbooks harder, fingers digging into the leather-bound cover and spine. Kon is always anxious, but the whispers tug at his nerves, pulling them taut.

It doesn’t come from a place of concern, he knows. Gossip is gossip, meant to amuse and entertain.

He wonders if he should confront them, ask them to stop--if they’d even listen to his pleas.

Because no one wants a story’s end to be as sad as that…

Instead, he ducks behind a column and waits for the chattering group to pass. The debate grows heated, turns into betting and rough housing. Ugly, unpleasant sounds.

The thought occurs to him again. If he tries…

“Are you going to say something?”

Kon startles at the sudden question.

He senses a figure beside him, but is too frozen with fear to turn his head, to see who it is.

From his periphery, he can glean glimpses of them. Auburn waves threaded with gold, a frilled gown colored as green as the springtime. A soft voice to belong to one of the rowdy mobs. It’s sweet yet flat, like a soda without the carbonation.

Who is this…?

His mouth won’t move to utter what he wants it to.

“No? You won’t?” they ask. “Ah, you choose to observe then. You are wiser than you would appear to be. A story is just meant to be witnessed. To involve oneself is to meddle. The impartiality, ruined.”

Shock dislodges the knot in his throat. “Wh-What are you saying? The rumors floating around… I don’t think anyone would want that.”

“Talk is what they have, so they relish in it. Action is difficult. Very few manage to scale the tower to witness the truth for with their own eyes. The chosen, the worthy.”

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

There is a scoff.

“Perhaps not now, but in the future you may.”

He sees a hand extend, cupping the sunlight. It is sheathed in a billowing green sleeve, nothing like the NRC school uniforms.

“This is a day like any other. Please enjoy the mundaneness to its fullest. We do not know for certain how long this peace will stay with us.”

“You’re not a student,” Kon says weakly. Already, he is sweating up a waterfall on his forehead. “Who are you?”

In the response, a slight smile.

“Just a visitor passing through. Pay me no mind.”

“’Scuse me! Sorry! Comin’ through!”

A ghost outfitted in a mailman’s uniform weaves his way through the hallways of Octavinelle. He doesn’t so much as go around students as he was fazing through them. The only trace of him left behind is a slight chill in the torso, like an ice flower has just melted there.

The mail ghost launches itself through the Mostro Lounge doors.

It’s a busy night.

Students are seated at the booths and at the bar. Friends with friends, soaking up jazz and the aquatic ambience. Plates of seafood and colorful drinks, served under glowing jellyfish.

The conversation flows like water.

“They shipped her off to a lab to get tested. Or maybe she got kidnapped.”

“Nah, she’s in hiding somewhere.”

“She opened up a portal to another world and hopped into it.”

From the podium up front, Jade bows to the mail ghost.

“Welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guest,” he greets. “I’m afraid we are fully booked at the moment, so if you wish for a table, you will have to come back in 45 minutes’ time. Though--” Jade eyes the bag of mail hanging from the ghost’s body. “--I suppose dining was not in the cards from the start.”

“Just here for the usual mail delivery.” He reaches into his bag and produces several envelopes, fanning them out.

“Thank you for your service as always. I will receive them for Azul.”

The exchange is made, and the mail ghost continues on his route.

As soon as he vanishes, Jade allows his smile to relax.

The merman begins going through the envelopes. It’s a distraction, but preferable to paying mind to the swirling hearsay. It will only make him irritable.

Plain white, mostly bills or spam mail and advertisements. Hardly anything worth gracing their dorm leader’s desk.

Azul.

Jade frowns.

Since Azul had been whisked away to the emergency meeting, he has been more alert than usual. Jade notices it in the subtleties. His breaths, his glances, the way his fingers drum.

Whatever happened that day, it still bothers him.

He had “spoken” with the other dorm leaders, of course—but none of them knew much, not even Kalim, who claimed to have found her. “Not sure why she was in the woods, but all that matters is that she’s okay now. Maybe she just wandered and got lost?”

Wandering and lost. Those were apt descriptors for how she had looked that night she had stumbled into him. She was haunted then, small and shuddering in the glaring moonlight.

Jade dislikes not knowing, dislikes being kept in the dark.

He barely bats an eyelash until he comes to the final envelope. It doesn’t look like the others, with their formal business addresses and postage. Pitch black, with golden embellishes.

His name is written on it.

In handwriting that makes his heart stop.

“... What is this?”

He tears it open at once, retrieving the letter inside.

Jade,

I realize receiving this may be awkward, given our history. However, I still hope it finds you well.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting about many things. Our time together, our relationship... and also about myself and what it is that I’m seeking.

I haven’t been very brave or honest. I think I can admit that now, though it doesn’t leave me feeling good. It’s like when a baby bird first hatches from its egg. It can’t quite see the world clearly, and nor does it have feathers to shield its vulnerable body from the forces of nature.

I have something important to tell you. Too important to scrawl on paper. It must be said face-to-face.

The apple tree in the courtyard is in bloom. It’s so very beautiful this time of year. I wish I could stare at them forever and ever. In the language of flowers, apple blossoms can mean many things. Love, peace, rebirth, good luck... a long life too.

Let’s meet there, in the shade of the apple tree and under the cover of stars.

Tomorrow, right before the stroke of midnight.

I will give you my answer then.

Best regards,

Raven Crowley

Life at Night Raven College continues.

A single cog it may lack, but the mechanism continues to churn. There is a spot in the core that is empty, where the missing cog belongs. Still, the machine operates without its heart.

Another day comes and goes.

And in the highest room of the tallest tower...

Something goes bump in the dark.

Someone stirs.

#twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #Raven Crowley #twisted wonderland #Octavinelle A-kun #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #Tale of the Cursed Raven #wow it only took me like over a year to get this installment out

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satoriberry · 2 years ago

Text

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute." - karasu tabito

★ resume: you need to make photocopies of a correction sheet for all 35 of your classmates. also, karasu can't use printers.

★ heads up: karasu is potentially ooc but imo he acts the way he does when it comes to football outside of bllk he's CRINGE BOOOOO, reader has hair that can be tucked behind her ear so it can be short or long yknow and uhhh nothing else ig, maybe just karasu being cringe but what's new. also reader is so fucking sick and tired of people in this so she's a bit rude but its justified :3

★ berry's note: oh wow im WRITING!! [😱😱] n e way, i hate this guy a lot and i cant imagine him excelling at using a printer by himself, so time to make a cutesy scenario out of it where he makes a fool of himself!!! enjoy!! :3

maybe it was because of the big, fat, red "57" that was surely an adequate and representative grade for your work - and not just your geography teacher being a bitch - but for some arbitrary reason, an itch developed in the back of your brain and made you feel a bit less tolerant of stupidity. at least until you get back home and sleep like a comatose patient.

you felt a slight comfort in knowing that even the self-proclaimed class genius got a gut-wrenching 60 on the same test, which isn't the nicest way of finding inner peace, but who cares? besides, geography is for losers who want to make statistics about the declining birth rate, and you couldn't care less about women giving birth to less and less children with each passing decade. strutting down the empty hallway, you gripped the sheet containing the answers to the questions with a bit too much intensity and aggression, slightly creasing it in your hand but you had bigger things to worry about. the printer room.

the godforsaken printer room - that served as the only motive to still keep hallway number 4 of the third floor accessible - possessed a myriad of faults and problems, the worst one being that they rarely kept the ink fresh; 'they' being the student body whose only involvement was that. keeping the ink fresh. they didn't even have to buy it, their only job was checking the printer's ink every 4 to 5 days and replace the cartridge if needed so. but, suprisingly (considering how competent they usually are), no one was bothered enough to accomplish this single task. nevertheless, it seemed that you weren't the student to first stumble upon this inconvenience today. the door to the printer room was slightly ajar and the lights were clearly on, so someone had to be in there.

taking the final steps, you lightly pushed the door all way to the end and gazed upon the wall where the (shitty) printers sat on an alignment of old desks. there was someone, you knew that already, but that someone seemed a bit familiar.

oh. it's that super soccer guy from bambi osaka. kawaru tamiko.

or at least you thought that was his name. you weren't good with names.

he was leaning forward against a table carrying an old canon®, tilting it forward with a grip on either side, and his hair flattened against the wall. almost like a person checking the label on the back of a cargo box that was too heavy to move. he was probably trying to look at the wires in the back, there was no other explanation for such an awkward posture.

it took him a few seconds to notice your presence, partly because he was so engrossed in the printer, and partly because you didn't care enough to say a word and instead opted for standing awkwardly with a hand on the doorframe. he turned his head towards you a first time and immediately went back to the printer before rapidly turning his head towards you again, this time fully absorbing your existence. kawaru abruptly let go of the table, producing a loud noise as it hit the wall, making you slightly wince at the idea of an even more damaged printer. you walked towards him.

running two fingers on the dust coating the surface of the printer, you lazily muttered, "it's not working, is it?", expecting nothing less from junk that was probably in use from before the fall of the soviet union. he had stood up straight and begun to awkwardly swing his arms back and forth, a clear attempt at de-stressing. "err, no, pretty sure there's a wirin' problem," he answered, though you were moreso talking to yourself than him, but that didn't matter.

"and uhh, this button right here hasn' stopped flashin' ever since i turned the thing on. prob'ly needs a technician," he continued, forcing a more assertive tone towards the end. you asked him to show you what button he was talking about, so he eagerly pointed at a flashing button located on the left side control panel of the printer. a button that had the image of an opaque drop on it. a button that had the faded word "ink" written underneath it.

the printer was working fine. it just needed ink.

and he thought it was broken.

you stood there in silence, physically and mentally unable to comprehend how someone can miss such an obvious clue. you didn't take your eyes off the flashing button, breathing quietly, trying your best to not lash out on kawaru. you noticed a frizzy lock of hair sticking out from your head and proceeded to tuck it behind your ear, then put your hand over your mouth in an attempt to hide your frustration, eyes still on the flashing button.

karasu, on the other hand, was waiting next to you, though his eyes were moreso fixated on you than the printer. did he know you? he didn't think so, but you seemed like someone he can find interest in, definitely the thinker kind since you appeared to be pondering a solution to this ordeal in a rather sophisticated manner. other questions flowed through his mind: what class were you in? were you a 3rd year? were you in the advanced course? did you have any mutual friends? did you do any extracurriculars? did you like soccer? have you ever been to one of his matches? he couldn't stop the flow of possiblities as to how to get to know you.

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute."

you slowly turned your head to face him, body stiff and unmoving. he realized how outlandish the comment he just made was, and possibly inappropriate considering the circumstance.

"huh?" "what?"

you blinked at him with gradually developing bewilderment, fully certain that you heard what you heard but that didn't change the fact that you weren't awaiting that from him.

and sadly, you couldn't say that it displeased you. the opposite actually.

"i err, i...anyway, you said ink? there's a few cartridges in the desk's cubby. whaddya need? black? magenta? cyan? yellow?", he started to speak again at a fast pace, wanting to get done with this interaction and dwell in sorrow from his incapacity to talk to cute girls. "black's fine," you answered, looking away to make it less embarrassing from him. he dug in the cubby for a moment, hand banging the sides of the metal compartment before he got hold of a blocky object. he read the cartridge's sticker and made sure it was black ink before standing up again.

you expected him to press the button that dislodged the upper half of the machine and replace the cartridge, however, he stood quietly, fiddling with it while nervously looking at and away from you multiple times. oh. he doesn't know how to replace ink. exhaling through your nostrils, you stuck out your hand, wordlessly demanding him to hand it over - an order he prompty followed.

karasu felt you snatch the cartridge before he could even fully place it on your palm, making him feel even more guilty for wasting your time. he watched as you effortlessly pressed a series of buttons, took out things, replaced things and before he knew it, you snapped the top of the printer back on, which caused the flashing button to stop doing so. was he a loser or were you just a printer connoisseur? he didn't care enough to think of an answer though, he was once again focused on subtly seducing you and make you notice his more pleasant qualities.

you chose to ignore him for the rest of your stay in the printer room, procuring 35 copies of the sheet and preparing to leave when you felt a hand (his hand) lightly tap you on your back.

"yes?," you said, though you recognize you could have said it with a bit less bluntness in your voice. he took no notice of this however, and asked, "what's yer name? i think we've met before."

"(last name) (first name). no, we've never met, or at least i don't think we did," you replied before staring at him with more attention than before, noticing a few details about him that you missed. for example, the mole on his upper left cheek, or the weird angle at which his hair was styled. what kind of fucking product would you need for that?

"ah, hahaha, my bad, i was prob'ly thinkin' of someone else. umm, i...i meant what i said earlier," he mumbled his words more and more. you raised an eyebrow, not getting what he meant by 'what i said earlier', before remembering that he had called you cute. oh, right. that happened.

you involuntarily flashed a face of understanding, then lowered your head to bite your cheek. you didn't want to look like a loser while trying to hide your smile, a smile you rarely gave to guys with bad flirting skills, albeit this one was of the more good-looking variety so you can superficially excuse his lack of skills. "thanks, that was very sweet. i wasn't expecting it but it's still sweet. thank you."

"i can help ya' carry those papers to your classroom, that looks a bit heavy-"

"it's fine, really. but i do have a question. what's your name?"

his expression changed from nervous suaveness to a giddy grin, feeling honoured that you were interested in his name. "karasu tabito. i play for the local youth team, bambi osaka. you didn't ask fer that but, y'know...," ah. that was his name. karasu tabito. kawaru sounded a bit too childish for a guy like him.

"karasu tabito. yeah, i've seen you play. you're fun to watch." you tried to lighten the mood a bit cause the boy was seconds away from developing a rash if he kept scratching his neck like that.

"fun to watch? me? oh, thanks. i've been called a 'good player' and 'excellent' even, but 'fun', i've never gotten that before. w-whaddya mean by that though? what's fun, my playstyle or my presence or-,"

you couldn't afford wasting any more time than you already have, so cutting him off, you replied, "fun as in watching you in your element is rather entertaining, i don't do much sport outside of PE, but i can tell you love what you do. sorry, i have to leave, my teacher is gonna be up my ass about taking so much time."

karasu's lips formed a thin line, bitter about not making much of this exchange. and before he could even hold himself back, his mouth let out, "wanna watch my practice after school? you don't have to stay fer the whole thing, jus' to show you how i play outside of official matches."

"sure."

"what? hu-"

"i said, 'sure'. i'll watch you, i'll even stay for the whole practice, i've got nothing. catch you at the shoe lockers, bye."

and with that (plus a quick smile to soften the blow), you speedwalked out of the printer room and began to go down what felt like a dozen floors.

you didn't allow yourself to think about what happened up there, to avoid cringing at your bizarre attitude and not think about the fact that a (weird) guy you would consider somewhat out of your league, just asked you to watch him play.

bonus!!

lunch break finally rolled around, and your friends typically hung out in an obscure part of the courtyard to eat while hiding their cellphones from any faculty members. checking your messages, you noticed an instagram dm from someone whose username already crossed your mutual recommendations but you never took the time to open their profile.

kr_tabito23.

-> coach is sick but i still want an excuse to talk to you

-> there's this really rad crepe shop in namba parks

-> im paying :]

-> you can't say no

-> lol kidding

-> sorry that was weird

you giggled at whatever he was trying to achieve, he was definitely a dork. you didn't mind that.

-> sure. still gonna catch you at the shoe lockers c:

and somewhere in the school, on the opposite side of the main building, next to the fountain where he and his friends usurped the benches, karasu jumped from his seat and into the air, bumping his fist and yelling unintelligible words while his friends watched, confused but happy for their normally cool and collected fellow.

★ berry's post-writing note: guys im gonna be honest i hate the ending my inspiration juice ran out so i just came up with something but i feel like it could've been a bit better. still happy that i wrote something cause ive been in a long ass writer's block since?? what??? february? anyway, criticism is always accepted and uhh thank you for reading till the end!! <3

#berry.writes <3 #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #karasu x reader #karasu tabito x reader #karasu tabito #tabito karasu

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melissathettpdmember · 3 months ago

Note

Hello I'm back with another ask!!!

making flawless ocs with pure trauma and nothing else is way too overrated. I hate it when ocs just have trauma and no character development. Which leads to the question

What flaws do Daphne and Thoren have both seperately and as a couple? And if they are doing something to improve on their flaws, what would it be?

And aalso to add on this, why do they have these flaws? Is it a trauma based flaw, or just a flaw they have with no backing up?

I'm very interested to know this because your AU is so interesting and my favorite! (I used a few aspects of it in mine actually, but if you are uncomfortable with that I'll stop) and giving characters actual flaws and a spark that makes them more life like is something I believe every character needs. Its why bloom was butchered in Canon, they made her too perfect.

Sorry for the ramble haha, btt thanks for reading!

Hello!!! <3333

Ok let me check hold on

Flaws✨

Daphne:

-She gives up on something the second she makes a mistake. This is because she was raised as a perfectionist and doesn't believe that she should even be alive if she's not good at everything she does.

-Her defense mechanism starts the second she's startled and can you guess what the defense mechanism is? Physical violence. Great shit.

-She hates small talk. Not because she's an "introvert" or something, that's not true, she's definitely an extrovert but she doesn't believe that small talk is useful. This causes fragile hearts (like Bloom's) to break and panic that she doesn't care about them anymore.

-Unlike Thoren, she can't speak about her trauma freely and laugh back at her stupidity back then. Sometimes even hearing about it leads her to a panic attack. Which happens a lot. That's why she doesn't teach subjects that include, and I quote: "Literally anything about Domino; the creation, recruiting, and the recent history of the Nine Nymphs of the Magical Universe; literally anything about Eraklyon, that one small planet that was ruined by a random witch (probably Dyamond); or really anything that I'm in."

-Speaking of which, she never took the history tests when she was a student at Alfea. Because "Who knows? I could have a panic attack right there, in a class full of other people younger than me (she started Alfea at 19 years old because of a mission or something) and that's more embarrassing than scary. Also, if more than half of that stuff is stuff that happened to me, I would already pass the tests???"

-Not to mention, history is also her worst subject, not just in Alfea but all throughout her school life. Ironically, she excels at math more than other subjects.

-She cares about her reputation more than her health. In fact, she doesn't care about her health at all. The only thing she does closest to taking care of herself is that she is covered in bandages for her wounds and she takes like 24 medicines a day. But she cares a lot about her reputation. She has executed at least 2 hate accounts.

-She literally doesn't give a fuck when Thoren ends up in the ICU. It's kinda his fault, he tries to kill himself at least twice a month and he has "training" (involving his trauma about the incident or whatever) basically every day unless he ends up in the hospital.

-She hates celebrating her birthdays, I have no idea if it's because she's suicidal or she hates the thought of celebrating the fact that you spent another year trying to kys and still ended up alive. She's probably both.

-Miss girl has anorexia. I have anorexia and I see it as a flaw so (DON'T COME FOR ME PLEASE) she sees it as a flaw. She hasn't related to the song "Clean" just yet.

-She uses everyone's secrets against them. Whenever she's not using physical violence. So if she doesn't use violence it's probably because she's arguing with close people.

-She once accidentally drank a mug full of mouthwash because that's what they used in their highschool Heathers performance as drain cleaner. She still completed the show and went straight to the hospital. So the flaw in question is the extreme thought of "the show must go on" I guess.

-She CANNOT self censor. She will still use "+13" words around children (like the entire dictionary of swear words).

-She can't sing opera. It's not a flaw but she sees it as one because she wanted to perform "no one mourns the wicked" when this huge villain was defeated when she was a student at Alfea as a celebration. Politea performed it instead but Daphne still went on the stage and sang it (Idina Menzel style).

I'll add more if I remember lmao

Thoren:

-He has a #fuckspecialists shirt. Not because he hates them though, Nex got it for him because he hates specialists. Kinda disproven since Nex fucked Roy tbh.

-The maddest conspiracy theorist ever. Whether it's about someone missing or just another rep tv date. Magix' Matpat fr

-He is so suicidal to the point that it's normal if you see him not breathing.

-WORKAHOLIC 🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️🔥🔥. He has the record of training for 22 hours straight. This is linked to his trauma about the incident thing and how he saw himself as weak 👍 he also works at the Lightrock Monastery so it helps.

-Probably would kill for a Laufey concert ticket. Not that it's a flaw but it shouldn't be that hard to get especially for someone who scored 2 tickets to the Eras tour. But can we start a petition to get my guy to a Laufey concert 😔😔😔 ✊✊✊

-He would let an enemy get away if they emotionally manipulated him enough. Would also get himself killed for the sake of the same enemy. Not because they're the enemy but because they're a person. Boo, red flag.

-He's stupid. Like too basic I know but he literally is stupid.

-You'll only see him frustrated+confused. He's literally the embodiment of "WHAT????"

-He cannot function without ADHD meds. For reference: I have ADHD, but I can sufficiently function without my meds. Daphne has ADD yet she can function without medication as well. I can say the same for the many other Winx characters. But he can't do shit. He takes 27 medicines a day but the only one that isn't crucial is the one he can't live without.

-His alcohol tolerance is 2 vodka shots. Literally that low. (Compared to Daphne whose record is 12 shots in under a minute and she is still pretty sober after) So if he drinks, you won't find him sober. Luckily he's not aggressive when drunk.

-He normalizes punching paparazzi. Which is technically correct to do but still.

-The only person he's not afraid of disrespecting is Erendor. You'll see him in interviews and he's casually just talking shit about Erendor. The way Johanna Mason talks about Coriolanus Snow in Hunger Games.

-He sees getting pushed off of the Linphea College Arena as a way to learn. Nonetheless, he pushes people off of the Arena. He also lets them push him off if they need to. 👍

-SH. That's it.

-He would dress up as a Ghostbuster if there was a missing person case. A real one.

-Pathological people pleaser. Low ass self esteem.

-Loyal. Not in the good way. Too loyal. Loyal to the wrong people. This causes him to lose the enemy usually.

- He's morally gray. Do whatever you want with this.

-He's probably more naive than Tetis Astral.

-He rips up his own art if it's not the way he wanted.

I guess this is it tbh. I couldn't find more or link them to traumas so, here you go!

#winx club #winx #winx headcanons #winx club fanfiction #winx club daphne #character writing #character flaws #winx trix #trix winx

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heich0e · 2 years ago

Text

the wake - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 8 in the bff!osamu series word count: 2.5k tags: angst, childhood friends to pining, every miya fic i write is just a thinly veiled love letter to the miya brotherhood and that is very clear here, angst gets worse before it gets better so be nice to me, ps: u ever heard the song vienna by billy joel?

The longest that you have ever gone without speaking to the Miya twins was thirteen calendar days—a single day shy of a fortnight—when the three of you were eleven years old.

It all happened because you’d invited the twins over to see the brand new lava lamp you’d gotten for your birthday—the one you had been longing for relentlessly, and talked about incessantly in the lead-up to your big day—and, well, one thing led to another (as it often has the tendency to do when Osamu and Atsumu are involved) and the beloved lamp had ended up shattered across your bedroom floor only a few hours after you’d torn it from its pretty purple wrapping paper.

Neither of the boys had been willing to take responsibility at the time, each pointing an identically vehement finger of blame towards the other, and they both refused to offer you anything remotely close to an apology—lest that somehow imply an admission of culpability.

Your mother had sent them home after a stern, disappointed talking to and a call to their own mother (which she then echoed in a far less civilized tone when they returned home to her) and then they didn’t hear from you for almost two full weeks. It felt like an eternity back then, when life was small and days were long and just a couple of hours felt like a lifetime. You refused to come to your door when the two of them showed up knocking, didn’t answer any phone calls or instant messages they sent, and outrightly ignored them at school each day—hiding in classrooms on breaks between classes or behind the backs of other girls to avoid the increasingly desperate attempts of the twins to get your attention.

And so, on the two week anniversary of The Incident, the twins showed up at your door one last time—sheepish but earnestly remorseful—with a new lava lamp in tow. Thus the silent treatment was ended, reconciliation was struck, and there has scarcely been a day that passed since then where you had not been in some form of contact with the twins.

Osamu hasn’t heard from you in 6 weeks.

After the night of Atsumu’s party, he’d waited with bated breath to hear from you. His phone was on, sound at full blast and never too far from his reach. He knew it wasn’t really his place to reach out first. Knew you probably needed time to process things. To forgive him.

That first night he’d barely slept a wink, staring up at the ceiling of his living room, sprawled across the couch the two of you should have been sleeping on together, regretting every single moment of his life that had led him to this misery. He had texted you a simple: Let me know when you’re home safe please. It was a message he’d sent you countless times before, but never with so much urgency—but it went unanswered. It didn’t surprise him, even if it hurt. Even if it only added to the twist of anxiety turning his stomach into knots. More time passed. Seconds bleeding into minutes that turned into hours, each more agonizing than the last. He thought about calling you. Texting you again. Pulling on a jacket and chasing after you like he should have when you walked away from him hours prior. But he didn’t.

Osamu texted Atsumu first thing the next morning, with bags under his eyes and exhaustion in the marrow of his bones, asking if you’d made it back to the party safely. He’d wanted to reach out sooner—he’d had an entire sleepless night to think about nothing else, after all—but he’d waited for the sake of saving face with his twin.

When Atsumu finally woke up and saw his message, replying back with a frightening ??? didn’t she leave with u?, Osamu’s worst fears were realized.

After hearing from his brother, Osamu immediately texted your roommate—a girl you’d gone to college with, who might even have been considered your best friend had the twins not beaten her to the punch by about two decades. She and Osamu had always been on good terms, seeing each other semi-regularly over the years by virtue of their shared connection to you. You’d even once implied she had a little crush on him after Osamu had met her for the first time, though he had (for obvious reasons) never acted on the information. He felt no hesitation reaching out to her about whether or not you’d made it home the night before.

Yes.

Her icy reply came through almost immediately—even though it was early in the morning, even though he rarely ever texted her. The message was just three letters and a full stop, but it told him everything he needed to know: you were safe, and she knew what he’d done.

Osamu knew that the very least that he could give you in this situation was space, and he really did try, but he only made it two days of silence before he was reaching out to you again. His text had gone unanswered on that horrible, sleepless night where he had ruined everything, so after two days he finally tried to call.

It went right to voicemail.

His subsequent texts (and eventually calls) over the following days were similarly ignored, and every day that passed without hearing from you felt worse than the last.

Atsumu’s concern took root the day following his party, thanks to his brother's early morning text, and it only continued to grow. You were ignoring him too, the reason for which he had not the faintest idea, and the blonde inundated his twin for details as to what exactly had happened when the two of you had left his apartment that night.

But Osamu couldn’t tell him.

He couldn’t.

So he started avoiding his brother's calls and texts, too.

Osamu’s feelings for you were the only thing he’d ever, ever kept from his twin in all of their shared lifetime. And look where it had gotten him.

But eventually—inevitably—Osamu finally broke.

It was to be expected, really. He was hardly eating, scarcely sleeping, and any hours not spent robotically going through motions of keeping his business running were spent holed up in his little apartment. The apartment that now somehow reminded him far too much of you—like you had inked yourself as indelibly into the walls as you had the paint that you helped him apply when he'd first moved in.

Osamu showed up at his brother’s place at 11 o’clock on an otherwise completely unremarkable Wednesday night, still in his Onigiri Miya uniform, and as soon as Atsumu opened the door he burst—violently, spectacularly—into tears before he could even manage a greeting.

It must have been shocking, frightening even, for Atsumu to see his twin in that state. For him to have to help his brother’s crumpled frame across the threshold, over the step in the genkan, and to the couch in his living room—supporting the entirety of his weight to keep him upright. Atsumu had shown up a hundred times at Osamu’s door in not dissimilar states of heartbreak, but that was the first time he’d ever seen his twin—largely credited as the level-headed, rational one between them—like this. He’d always thought Osamu was just stronger than he was when it came to heartbreak; his relationships fizzling out with relatively little fanfare, and no substantial distress, and his exes sort of just faded into the background like they’d never even been there at all.

Atsumu never realized it was because his brother’s heart had never been theirs to break in the first place.

Osamu came clean that night in his brother’s apartment. Confessed to the sins he’d kept locked away in the recesses of his chest for so long, more fully and unequivocally than he had ever voiced the long-held secrets to anyone. And Atsumu listened. He didn’t tease him for his tears. Or berate him for keeping his feelings from him. Or yell at him for harming you and jeopardizing the friendship that the three of you had spent so much of your lives building.

He just hugged him. Comforted him. Cried with him. Because that was what his brother needed from him more than anything else.

When Osamu calmed slightly, many hours later, Atsumu quietly admitted that he’d suspected there may have been feelings that his brother was harbouring but he’d never really known for sure. I figured ya’d tell me when you were ready. Those were the simple words he’d offered, with a little shrug and a gentle, wobbly smile. And it was the first time in all his life that Osamu realized that his brother had far more tact than he’d ever given him credit for.

Atsumu reached out to you again that night, though his messages to you for the past week had gone unanswered like his brother’s. He put his message simply. He told you that he knew what had happened. That he wanted to talk. That you were his best friend and he needed to see you.

The twins were laying side by side in Atsumu’s bed, neither asleep nor fully awake, when your reply came through.

I need some time, Tsumu.

The brothers shared a look across the mattress of Atsumu’s bed in the dim light of his bedroom, their eyes sore for crying and the harsh glare of the cellphone’s light.

They yielded.

A few day later, you finally reached out again, and agreed to meet Atsumu for dinner.

Just Atsumu.

The evening that Osamu knew the two of you were meeting without him, he was a mess. He burned half the food he tried to prepare at the restaurant, got a nasty cut on his finger when he was chopping carelessly, and almost charged a customer 250,000 yen for their 250 yen purchase. When the restaurant finally closed, he slumped over the counter with his head in his hands and waited.

Atsumu showed up not long after.

“It was weird," his brother confessed, fiddling with an edamame pod but never moving to bring it to his lips—curled down slightly as the corner as he spoke. "But I can’t go between the two of ya like this, and she can’t see me without thinking of you."

“She hates me,” Osamu rasped, a familiar, suffocating tightness swelling in his chest that had made a home there over the past two weeks.

“She’s just upset,” Atsumu tried to console him, but Osamu could hear the wisp of frustration creeping into his twin’s tone. It wasn’t Atsumu’s fault—Osamu knew how hard this entire situation must have been for him, all as a result of the circumstances for which only he could bear the burden of blame. You’re Atsumu’s closest friend too, as much a part of the elder Miya twin’s life as you are the younger's, and Osamu didn’t take that fact for granted. Atsumu shut his eyes, sighing. “I think she’s confused, Samu. Hell, I’m confused and we shared a womb.”

Osamu’s eyes began to burn with a familiar, unpleasant prickle. He didn’t cry much about it anymore, now two weeks on, like he’d somehow run the well dry. But he’d occasionally get phantom pains behind his eyes, like the precursor to tears he knew couldn’t come. It was almost worse.

“I know,” the dark-haired twin finally muttered, his head hanging dejectedly.

“We’re gonna figure this shit out, but she’s gotta take some time to get things straight in her head first, alright?” Atsumu said softly, nudging his brother’s hand with his own, lending him encouragement in the warmth of their knuckles meeting. “Just give her that.”

So he did.

Osamu gave you another full month of time.

Of space.

Of absence.

And now he’s here, six weeks to the day since everything went wrong.

Osamu drives home to Hyogo on a whim—the idea of spending another weekend holed up in his apartment, wondering each day if it would finally be the one where you call, is enough to make him feel sick. His apartment has never felt more suffocating than it has in your absence. Never felt smaller than it does without you in it, no matter how contradictory that sounds. It’s been a while since he went home to visit his mother and the boys from high school who stuck around into adulthood, and even though his childhood home is as rife with things that remind him of you as his current one, he can’t help but hope that the change of scenery might do him some good.

The Miya family home hasn’t changed much, if at all, since the twins were kids. As an adult, Osamu takes comfort from this fact—finds stability and familiarity in the walls and windows and roof that endure today in just the same way and in the same shape as they always have. His mother’s car isn’t in the driveway when he pulls in to complete the picture, but he hadn’t told her he was coming so he can’t blame her for not being there to welcome him.

Osamu grabs his hastily packed duffle bag from the passenger’s seat of his truck, walking up the stone pathway his feet have trod upon so many times, in all their different sizes, to the door. He keeps his mother’s house key on his own keyring, because the last thing she’d said to him the day that he’d moved out—her hands, smaller than his own now that he’d grown so big, clasped around his as they held the little silver key—was that no matter what this would always be his home.

The genkan is the same. The coats in the closet are the same. The air smells the same, though there’s the faintest whisper of citrus in it as Osamu closes the front door behind him and toes off his shoes. His mother keeps two pairs of slippers at the door for him and Atsumu when they visit but his are missing for some reason, so he stuffs his feet into his brother’s designated pair before he pads off further into the home.

He can hear the television—the faint hum of a variety show or something similar drifting through the halls—and he laughs to himself that his mother has never quite been able to correct her bad habit of leaving the TV on even when she’s not watching it. He turns the corner into the living room, the sound of the television having grown louder the nearer he got.

And then he freezes.

The duffle bag he’d held loosely in his hand falls gracelessly to the floor.

And even though the television is right there, he can’t hear it anymore.

Because between him and the LCD screen, tucked under the kotatsu with a satsuma poised in hand half-peeled, is a face he hasn’t seen in six long weeks.

There, in the heart of the place that would always be his home, is you.

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #bff!osamu #WE'RE BACK BABY

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