#give him something bitter and he’ll have a field day with it

[fieryarzen]

“Fun” fact. Kyran’s species has developed an aversion to sweet tasting foods due to many highly toxic fauna on his original planet having that attribute - which as you can see, leads to some not so nice consequences when he encounters that taste. This is a fact that Harley did not know.

[satsugacafe]

𝐉𝐮𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: (1) Can I ask for relationship hcs for Jugram?(If it really possible? Lollol) And NSFW too, if u dont mind :)This boy need more love in this fandom :c (2) Can you please write sfw and nsfw headcanons for jugram, yhwach (separately) x fem reader? Thanks ❤️❤️

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: Yhwach headcanons will be in a separate post, anon, since I wrote so much for Jugram. I really hope you all enjoy this and aren’t overwhelmed by the length, because I tend to be thorough for these types of content, and I also wanted to write a lot for him (he’s my fav). I also sectioned of the SFW from the NSFW for those who just wanna read the SFW.

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: I tried to make this entirely GN reader, but got sidetracked in the NSFW section, so fem!reader in the NSFW section, very long, possessiveness, talks of hard and soft dom!Jugram, oral (giving & receiving), rough & soft sex, sub!reader, marking (spanking & creampies), hair pulling, pet names, fingering, aftercare

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: SFW and NSFW headcanons for being in a relationship with Jugram Haschwalth

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

「 ✦ SFW Headcanons ✦ 」

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t perfect when it came to dating you. At first, he made it appear out of duty rather than emotions and connections, so it was a bumpy start. Juggling you, his duty to Yhwach and his friendship was an imbalance in the beginning. He struggled to separate his time for each of you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Dating Jugram is not an easy task because you have to be prepared to have most of your time with him fragmented, because of his dedication and loyalty to Yhwach. A date you two planned might be interrupted by the sudden request of his presence or helping him de-stress would be interrupted by him needing to sort out some arising matters.

˚₊‧꒰ა You once joked about how Yhwach might be jealous of you stealing away his right-hand man and having him devoted to another, which made him momentarily smile. He doesn’t admit it much, but you make him feel alive and help add colour to the mechanical aspect of his life.

˚₊‧꒰ა You must be prepared to receive his form of words of affirmation. They’re not over-the-top, or flowery. Instead, they are rather curt and straightforward. His compliments and adoration surround your duties and how good you are to him. “You were excellent today on the field,” he’ll mention softly, or on softer days, “You’ve ruined me, you know?”

˚₊‧꒰ა There are moments when you can manage to catch him in a slight sentimental drift, and many tender words come tumbling out. Preferably during a stressful period when Yhwach came down harsher than usual, or he had a burnout—he would hold you tighter as though you were his lifeline. “This feels nice. Thank you,” he whispers into your stomach as he holds you.

˚₊‧꒰ა It’s an odd, yet comforting and understanding gesture you had come to learn about him. Given his childhood and upbringing, physical affections weren’t something Jugram relied on or received in a comforting manner. It left him touch-starved with a bitter taste in his mouth. Hesitant to approach the act even though he desired to.

˚₊‧꒰ა So when you came into the picture and started showering him with physical affection, he treated you with feline behaviour, seeking distance because it was overwhelming and not within his stoic mannerism to be so physical. But when he did come around, you’d get those moments when he would cling to you as though you were about to vanish.

˚₊‧꒰ა All his touches are reserved for closed doors, minus brushing your hair out your face, placing a hand on your lower back or brushing his hand against yours. He found it odd how much he craved your warmth and safety. You were his safe haven.

˚₊‧꒰ა Falls asleep in your arms after a long day of duties and overseeing the Empire for Yhwach. At first, he used to tense when you ran your fingers through his hair. Now, he melts under your touch as it lulls him to sleep. Your arms have become a frequent place for him to disassociate from the world.

˚₊‧꒰ა Speaking of hair. You once asked him for his hair routine, and he calmly stated that he had none and that his hair was naturally silky and majestic. You had never been so bummed out in your entire life. However, it doesn’t stop you from offering to wash his hair or combing it after a long day.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’re the only person who can convince him—through dire persuasion—to allow you to style his hair during your private moments behind closed doors. But you’re not getting to put bows and clips in his hair. He’ll let you put some braids in since he’s from a time when braids were a common practice and a form of affection, even let you wash his hair (scratch his scalp and he might pur).

˚₊‧꒰ა Though, he would request that you keep your affections quieter in public settings since he had his professional image to upon and Yhwach was always observing. He didn’t need his King questioning why you were clingy and could not control yourself.

˚₊‧꒰ა Getting Jugram to whisper those three little words was perhaps a roller coaster ride. To him, his acts of service and words of affirmation should be enough to let you know that he loved you. Why do you need him to vocalise it?

˚₊‧꒰ა A trip to one of the female Sternritters or Bazz would let him know that it was important to say nonetheless. And that’s how you got Jugram to whisper, “I love you,” in the most heartfelt and tender tone as he held you closely. Still, it’s not all the time he says it.

˚₊‧꒰ა Expect to hear it if you get injured and he nearly loses you, after a sentimental moment filled with reassurance, or when you shower him in kisses and whisper the words until he mutters them with a tender smile.

˚₊‧꒰ა As an individual who is focused on displaying his devotion through his loyalty and service, the same will be done towards you. Silently draping his cloak over you when he notices you forgot yours or were chill, sending up fresh tea or breakfast each morning because he knows you’re too stubborn to eat properly, helping you ascend through the ranks.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram cares more than he likes to admit, believing that his actions were enough to convince you of his affection and devotion towards him. In the beginning, your relationship would be rough since he treated it like a duty similar to serving Yhwach. You had to be patient when it came to teaching him the proper ropes of relationship etiquette, so he could excel.

˚₊‧꒰ა Overprotective to some degree. The world is already cruel to Quincies, he doesn’t need to lose someone he considers important to the horrors of this world. Hence, his reason for excluding you from certain fieldwork or tagging along for extra security when he can. If not, he would pair you with someone he considered capable, though he never once saw anyone worthy of protecting you besides himself.

˚₊‧꒰ა His protectiveness does become overbearing because he treats you like glass as if you didn’t have the capability to dismantle the second-strongest Quincy with a few sweet words and hugs. It does lead to arguments which results in getting nowhere due to his stagnation. However, for your sake, as much as he wouldn’t outrightly admit, he would ease up on certain protective measures.

˚₊‧꒰ა Gifts will be given and that’s one time Jugram will not hold back, nor will he accept you informing him that he was doing too much. It’s his way of expressing his love and devotion—by wanting the person he’s with to have all that they need and want to make living comfortable. “Is there anything else you wish for, liebchen?”

˚₊‧꒰ა It is also his way of apologising if he did something. However, he would take a trip to Bazz, Askin or Bambietta for a bit of advice on what he could do to make it up to you, without revealing your relationship details.

˚₊‧꒰ა On that note—incredibly private on any topic involving your relationship and hate when something speaks about you. He would stand nearby, straining his ears to overhear the conversation, and should it be negative, whoever it was, would be removed from office before the day was over. “You’ve exercised your ability to be insolent for quite some time—today that ends.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Doesn’t like when you talk negatively about yourself because what do you mean you don’t see yourself as capable or strong or worthy? Hello?! In his mind, the fact that you were able to convince him that you were the best person to be with and managed to bag yourself a complex man like him, was an accomplishment by itself. You should be praising yourself, highly.

˚₊‧꒰ა He would be awkward on the emotional spectrum of consoling you. He would sit there, staring at you and wondering what exactly he should do. Say something? Hold you? Give you space? Sit and wait till you were done? Call for help? His words, when he does find the right thing to say, will carry notes of warmth and appreciation. “Please do not cry, schatz. It hurts me to see you this broken—you are one of the strongest people I know.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He would nestle you in bed, draping a ton of blankets over you and demanding that you remain stationed since you were in no condition to perform your duties. Would send the servants to fetch you food and tea, and well…you might be lucky to have him feed you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Stepping aside from that, you have Jugram who grows weak and flustered whenever he sees you in his clothes. Be it his uniform or his clothes, it doesn’t matter if it’s fitted or loose, he grows weakened at the sight. His hands would curl into fists at his sides as he fights to restrain himself from holding you. “You look…—It would appear that my clothes suit you better than me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Reassurances. On his end that is. You need to let this man know that he’s enough and important. Let him know how much you adore and need him, he is loved and appreciated. He’ll fumble—stunned at the emotional display of words being directed towards him but appreciated them.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, onto kissing him. The first time he experienced what a kiss felt like, he would not admit it—he melted on the inside and couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his. From that day on, kissing you has become one of his favourite forms of physical affection. Be it to his forehead, the crown of his head, your hand or wrist, your cheek, neck or lips.

˚₊‧꒰ა There’s something about you kissing him goodbye or good morning that helps to make his day a little brighter. It’s like a good luck charm that unconventionally chases away the stormy clouds.

˚₊‧꒰ა Kissing him easily ventures into an erratic interaction if one of you doesn’t break apart. His lips will remain glued to your skin and wander, while his grip on you tightens, his body pressing firmly against yours. He becomes a little more vocal during this moment, his terms of expressions confidently flowing from his mouth. “You drive me crazy, you know that? I could keep you here with me all day—you’re mine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Ah yes, how could I have forgotten. His possessive streak. You cannot tell me that this man is not naturally possessive and jealous. Like why do you need to be close to others when you have me? Why do you need someone else to train you? I’m here. Where are you going without me? Why was that person flirting with what’s mine? “You’re mine, don’t forget that, or I’ll have to remind you and everyone else.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When it comes to ensuring that you and others remember who you belong to, Jugram transforms into a calculating, dominant individual (as if he isn’t). He wouldn’t be heavily affectionate and whatnot, but he will hover and remain glued at your side, and use terms of endearment a lot more, like ‘Schatz, engel, liebchen, liebe lien and so forth.’

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll whisper against your lips after a hungry kiss, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that, or I’ll have to remind you.” His way of saying that you’re his, while it is possessive, he says it with the hidden meaning of ‘Don’t leave me, you’re all I have,’ since you are regarded as the (second) most precious person to him. You gotta fight against Yhwach for first place.

「 ✦ NSFW Headcanons ✦ 」

˚₊‧꒰ა First and foremost, his cock is pretty (if y’all didn’t know that). It’s pretty just like him—long, thick and girthy. And his stamina is insanely otherworldly. He could edge himself for a long while, all for the sake of ensuring you come first, and to display his dominance.

˚₊‧꒰ა He is a service top. This man’s entire life is built around being devoted and serving, you cannot tell me that while he retains his dominance, he is willing to showcase his ability to care and provide through being a thorough lover—listening to your needs and desires and giving, while incorporating his touch.

˚₊‧꒰ა He thrives off knowing that your pleasure is taken care of and you are satisfied. But it doesn’t mean that he isn’t willing to accept reciprocity. On his days when he’s stressed or requires reassurance, you just gotta push him down in his chair or bed and get to work. He’ll be gripping the sheets or you for life.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, with his service top complex, he is a dominant, somewhere in between a hard and soft dom. Being submissive isn’t something you would get from him, but Jugram will allow you a moment to show your devotion by relaxing and letting you do your thing. He’s still holding onto the reigns.

˚₊‧꒰ა So, with his possessive streak, he enjoys body worshipping and leaving his mark all over you, in discreet places, of course. His mouth is attached to your skin throughout the entire session. If he’s not whispering in your ear, he’s biting or kissing your skin. Or his hands are gripping you tightly to leave a few bruises. And, uh, he secretly enjoys it when you leave scratches down his back.

˚₊‧꒰ა You once saw him looking at his back in the mirror one morning after a rough night, his fingers tracing the red lines he could reach with a small smile on his face. He likes the idea of having a mark that represents you, on him.

˚₊‧꒰ა Now, speaking of marking. Jugram has a thing (his possessiveness) for filling you up to the brim and no, he doesn’t agree to make a mess. It’s either swallowing (if you’re into it) or he empties himself inside you, and he prefers the latter a lot more due to his mild breeding kink. It’s not to get you pregnant, but he enjoys the idea of you being thoroughly marked through this method.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll calmly push his cum back into your pussy if it was spilling out, murmuring about how pretty it looked in you, and this leads to him fingering you into another orgasm. He also enjoys watching his handprints all over your ass after he spanks you.

˚₊‧꒰ა When he’s being a hard dom, you can expect it to showcase during times of high stress or you’ve riled him up. He’s rougher and will have you pinned under him for hours, leaving you incapacitated when finished. He’ll take you from behind, pulling your hair to sink you into a deeper arch while leaving handprints all over your ass as he whispers his filth. “Look at how well you take me. Just like that, liebchen. Squeeze me tighter.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s a simple guy when it comes to positions, sticking to missionary, face down ass up, cowgirl, bent of his desk and taking you against the wall. As for where he takes you, mainly resides behind closed doors—you aren’t getting him to take you in public. In the bedroom or in his office for the most public of places.

˚₊‧꒰ა His patience is unnerving. The way you could tease and taunt this man the entire mission, even if it takes days to complete, he will retain his composure UNTIL you return to Silbern. Then it’s his game, and you are to do as he commands otherwise, punishment.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram’s usual form of punishment, when you misbehave, would focus on spanking, overstimulation, edging and orgasm denial. He loves to hear you beg and sound needy and desperate for him—fuels his pride to know you want him so badly. He’ll use this opportunity to have you on your knees and show him just how much you crave him—suck his dick.

˚₊‧꒰ა I’m serious. He really enjoys it when you suck him off—when you struggle to take all of him yet determined to continue pleasing. It makes him smile as he guides your mouth along his cock. “Such a good girl. You’re doing so well.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Ugh, the way he speaks to you during sex is heavenly. The things he says make you question where this vocality was hiding. “You were made for me, every inch of you belongs to my will,” “I can’t get enough of you,” “Look at me—let me see how crazy I drive you,” “Do you feel that? How consumed you are by me?” “You know exactly what you do to me, and you like it, don’t you?” “Say my name. Say who you belong to.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He loves to whisper and remind you that you belong to him. Whether you’ve done something that requires him to put you in your place or a passionate moment—he’ll always tell you that you’re his and never forget that.

˚₊‧꒰ა  Underneath this shell of his, Jugram also has his softer dom side which is displayed more often whenever you two have sex on the regular. His soft dom side is filled with him expressing his reverence, like a sentimental moment, a little session before you sleep or you returned from fieldwork alive. Along the lines of that.

˚₊‧꒰ა His lips are attached to you most of the time, his forehead against yours and looking into your eyes. There’s not an inch of space between your bodies due to the way he’s moulded himself against yours. A little more vocal in terms of moaning, and fewer words since he’s deep into the moment, trying to connect with your soul.

˚₊‧꒰ა Eye contact is a serious thing for him. Whether his face is buried between your thighs, you’re going down on him or either of you are on top, he wants to maintain some level of eye contact.

˚₊‧꒰ა During his softer side, he’ll have you face him a lot more and will also allow you to ride him without attempting to manhandle you under him. However, the grip on your waist and hips is a silent reminder that he is still in control.

˚₊‧꒰ა Ah, yes. Pet names. I know I’ve mentioned terms of endearment he would address you by, but during sex, he’ll call you a ‘good girl,’ ‘princess,’ ‘darling,’ ‘sweetheart,’ in his sultry voice. Especially when he’s moaning in your ear or sweet-talking and praising you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Jugram really loves it when you moan his name. It doesn’t matter how. Be it sweetly, raspy, broken, squealing, whining, pathetically—he loves the way his name rolls off your tongue. A reason why he indulges in eating you out, just to watch you lose composure as you struggle to catch your breath and speak his name.

˚₊‧꒰ა I might not have mentioned it, but Jugram loves the way you taste. The act of eating you out is something he views as him venturing into losing control. Like, he knows he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself after getting a taste. He gets so lost in your taste, that he can’t believe you’re this heavenly and capable of making him lose his composure.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s not going to tell you this, but during the session when you take the lead, mainly because of him being stressed or needing reassurance. When you praise him, letting him know how good of a lover he is, how he takes good care of you and how important he is to you and the empire—he loves it. Makes him feel good.

˚₊‧꒰ა Just praise this man more often. He praises Yhwach far too much, that he deserves his moment for being front and centre.

˚₊‧꒰ა This one doesn’t matter whether or not he’s in hard or soft dom mode: wear lingerie for him and watch as he slowly cracks, especially if it’s his favourite colour. He has a preference for babydoll dresses, but honestly, just wear lingerie or even his clothes if you want to drive him up a wall.

˚₊‧꒰ა Whisper in his ear how much you want him, run your hands all over his chest, rake your fingers through his hair. Congratulations, you have a composed man who lost his control and has become unhinged. If you’re in his office, you’re getting bent over his desk, if in the bedroom, then pinned under him in some position.

˚₊‧꒰ა Not a fan of quickies since he isn’t allowed to have you the way he would like, however, he would oblige if he has the time for them, due to your persuasive methods. A quickie in the shower is one he wouldn’t have an issue with.

˚₊‧꒰ა Doesn’t matter whether hard or soft dom, aftercare is important to him. Jugram will clean you up, get you a glass of water and massage what areas he can while asking how you’re feeling. His favourite aftermath is mostly pillow talk, as you two are lying in each other’s arms, your body still trembling from the intensity because he’s a thorough lover. He’ll press a kiss to your hair and whisper, “You did well. I love you.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @edensrose

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[forgedroyalseal]

Life a bit the the left

Chapter 1

TW: abuse, alcoholism, ptsd

The sound of a shattering plate drew a heavy sigh from Will. He sat back from the broken door hinge he had spent all evening trying to repair.

“Dad?” He called, hoping that the plate had just slipped. That his father was coherent enough to take care of it himself. The silence suggested otherwise. Will stood and made his way quickly to the kitchen where clay shards covered the floor in a half moon around his father.

“Dad, are you ok? Are you hurt?” Will approach him slowly, voice soft. His father just groaned, which, for a typical person, would normally indicate an injury, but for his father could mean anything. There were times when Daniel would be nonverbal for weeks on end, and other times he’d rant and ramble endlessly. Will scanned his father for signs of blood. There was a small gash that ran the length of his thumb.

“You have a cut on your hand dad. I’m going to wrap it with my handkerchief, ok? It might hurt a little but I need to stop the bleeding.” Will had gotten into the habit of narrating his actions after spooking his dad and being slammed into the floor one too many times. For a man who didn’t do much beyond drink and sit in his armchair, Daniel Blackwood was still as strong as ever. Will was praying for the day he’d finally hit his long awaited growth spurt and be able to handle his dad‘s outbursts without ending up black and blue.

Once Daniel’s hand was taken care of, Will guided him to the armchair and tended to the fire, before returning to the kitchen to sweep up the fragmented plate. He wasn’t sure how the plate ended up on the floor. His father never ate without being prompted, and it had been years since Will had allowed alcohol into the house. There wasn’t a reason for Daniel to be in the kitchen, but then again, there was never a reason for the things he did. Or at least, never a reason Will understood. Will considered preparing something for dinner since he was already in the kitchen, but the ache in his stomach was too mild for him to justify wasting the little food they had. Tomorrow, the ache would be a roar and he’d have no other choice. Tonight he’d be ok.

Later that evening as he laid awake in bed, he heard the latch on the front door click and he pulled his worn blanket tighter. He hated this. Hated that he was laying here and was just letting his father leave. Letting him make his way to the tavern. Letting him drown himself in drink. Letting him stumble home at dawn by himself. Will knew that a better son would stop him. Or follow him. But Will wasn’t a good son, he was a selfish one. So he let the door swing shut and he forced his eyes to close. He had to sleep. He had work in the morning and god knows he doesn’t get anywhere near enough food to give him the energy he’ll need to work in the fields from dawn until dusk.

His father was home by the time Will woke. The acidic stench of vomit warned him to watch his step when he opened his bedroom door. He stepped over his unconscious body that laid across the hall. Beside him, a pool of watery vomit. Will debated what’re or not he should drag his father into his bed, but a bitter voice in his chest told him to leave him. The voice had been getting louder and louder recently, only being drowned out by the voice in his head telling him what an awful son he was. They were at a constant war with each other, his head and his heart. His heart won this morning, as he left his father on the floor next to his vomit. Will knew he’d have to clean the floor later. It would never occur to his father to do it himself. He probably wouldn’t even realize it was there. Will should just clean it now, if he leaves it the stench will linger and the acid will stain the wood. But Will was tired and hungry and already done with the day. All he wanted to do was slip back under his blanket and shut the door on the world forever. But he couldn’t. Because he was already late and if he lost another job, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to find another one. So the vomit would have to wait.

///

“Blackwood! Drop the shovel and get up here.” The steward barked as he approached Will, flanked by two knights. Will clambered out of the trench he had been working in.

“Sir.” Will hunched down slightly. The steward had no entitlement to a bow, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel he was owed one from the likes of Will.

“These men were looking for you. I thought it best to bring them to you myself.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his smirk. The steward had had it in for Will since he took over for Matthew, the previous steward, two weeks ago.

“Will Blackwood?” The knight on the right asked.

“Yes. What can I do for you Sir?”

The other knight took hold of Will’s arm. “You’re to come with us.”

If Will was hoping for an explanation, it was clear none of these men thought he was owed one. And he wasn’t. They outranked him, as did nearly everyone in Redmont.

The moment the knights turned their, and in doing so Will’s, backs to the steward, the man called out, “Don’t bother coming back Blackwood. I won’t have a trouble maker under my watch.”

Will twisted in the knight’s grasp. “No please! I didn’t do anything. I need this job. Please sir, please don’t do this, I didn’t do anything.” Will’s words caught and cracked in his throat. He knew he sounded pathetic but he didn’t care.

“Enough boy.” The steward rose his hand and Will flinched back.

Will sagged, the knights on either side of him now holding him up. The steward would never recant his decision. “You owe me my wages for this morning’s work.” He muttered.

This time the raised hand wasn’t just a threat. The slap stung across Will’s cheek and he bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out.

“Consider it my payment for having to put up with you.” Glancing at the knights he said, “Please remove this boy from the property.”

The walk to Castle Redmont was long. Will’s hands were bound and tethered to one of the knight’s horses. He was dragged along by his new found leash like a dog. Nobody paid any mind to him though. Few villagers even knew his name, and the ones that did didn’t concern themselves with his general well-being.

///

Whatever Will had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t to be brought right through the heavy wood and iron doors of Redmont and delivered to the grand hall. The Baron sat on a chair that was embellished and upholstered with red and gold. It had never occurred to Will that a chair could be beautiful, he was lucky if his chair had even legs, but that’s what this chair was. A beautiful chair in a beautiful room. Will was suddenly embarrassed of his appearance. His poorly patched, threadbare clothes and his dirt covered hands and his general dirtiness. He felt as though he was tainting the grand hall by simply standing in it.

There was a man in common clothes who stood in front of the Baron. They seemed to be discussing something, but from the other side of the hall, Will couldn’t make out their words. Baron Arlad glanced up and noticed Will standing with the knights.

“Ah, you’re here. Please come in.”

Will obeyed the Baron’s beckon, not eager to give the knights another opportunity to drag him around. The closer he got, the clearer it became who the other man was. Barrow. Will’s stomach dropped. There wasn’t a single positive reason that Will and the tavern owner would be in a room together, much less a room this grand and official.

“Young Mr.Blackwood, thank you for joining us.” The Baron smiles at Will as if he hadn’t just been dragged through the town.

“Of course. Is there something I can do for you?”

The Baron’s smile dropped, as if he had just remembered why Will was here. “Ah yes. Well, Mr.Barrow here,” Arald gestured to the other man, “has brought some… concerns to my attention.”

“Concerns about me?” Will frowned. As far as he can recall, he’s never actually met Mr.Barrow.

“Your father, more like it. But the word on the street is that you're the one who manages your family’s affairs.” Barrow’s voice is heavy and coarse. It’s not a voice Will is particularly excited to be on the receiving end of. But Will is grateful that he has the grace to call him and his father a “family”.

Taking back control of the meeting, the Baron continues, “Your father has built but quite the tab at Mr.Barrow’s tavern. A tab that he is looking to have paid. And if you are unable to, I’ll have no choice but to have your father arrested.”

Will's heart dropped to his empty stomachs “Please my lord, I just need a bit of time. I’ll get him the money I swear. Grant me a little time and I’ll get Mr.Barrow what’s due to him.”

“And during that time, your father’s tab will triple.” Barrow turned wearily to Arald. “Baron Arald, the boy is not the one at fault. I’ve no issue with him. His father on the other hand is drinking my tavern dry. I’ve got a family of my own to feed. Promises of eventually won’t fill my children’s bellies.”

Will briefly wondered if Barrow even knew what hunger was. If he knew how it froze your core like an icy winter night. How the pain made you double over. How you knew it was bad when you didn’t feel it anymore. How the hunger would project haunting phantoms on the ceiling before black spots filled your vision.

The Baron’s deep voice pulls Will’s mind out of his stomach and back to the present. “I can appreciate that, Mr. Barrow. I have to say, I am a bit perplexed as to why young Will is here in his father’s stead.”

“My father is unwell.” The words rushed out of Will as they always did. He was quick to defend his father, to distract people from the reality of their situation.

“He’s well enough to stumble up to my bar every night.”

Will shot a glare at Barrows but quickly returned his attention to the Baron. Arguing with Barrow directly would get him nowhere, the Baron was the one who would decide his fate now.

“Please my lord. I just need a little time.” A pathetic whine escaped with the words. Will wondered if the men in the room were judging him for begging. He wondered what it would be like to be the kind of man who could afford to care about that kind of thing. To be able to be prideful. But Will was born desperate and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Pretending otherwise would only leave him on the streets, hungry and cold and dying. And then where would his pride be?

“Will, I’m sorry but-“

“Please.” It tore out of his chest.

The Baron’s face softened. “Mr. Barrow, how much did you say Daniel Blackwood owes again?”

“Two silver.” Will had never seen two silver in his life.

“And without breaking any laws, how long would it realistically take you to come up with that amount?”

“A couple months.” Will hoped his lie wasn’t as glaringly obvious as he felt it was. Even if he hadn’t just lost their solo source of income, it would take years for Will to earn that kind of money.

“I see. Well, that won’t do, will it Mr. Barrow?”

“Definitely not.” Mr. Barrow confirmed. Will noted that he had least had the decency to not sound smug about it.

“Sir-“

Baron Arald leveled Will with a look he recognized well. A look of, not another word. He shut his jaw with an audible snap. He’d done what he could. Now there was nothing left to do but face the music.

“Martin,” the Baron gestured his assistant over. “Please settle Daniel Blackwood’s debt with Mr. Barrow and escort him out.”

Will watched with mouth gaping as the Baron’s attendant guided Barrow towards the exit. Before the doors shut, Will catches a glimpse of silver being exchanged between the two men.

Taking a deep breath, Will turns his gaze back to Baron Arlad. “I wish I could say that we don’t need charity. I wish I could refuse. But I’m not a fool. So I can only thank you. And you will be repaid. I promise. I’ll work just as hard to pay back my debt to you as I would my debt to Barrow. Harder, in fact!” His words tripped over themselves in a rush to be heard.

“Will, if I may,” Baron Arald said gently, “how unwell is your father?”

Will swallowed. “He fought in the war. He was brave. He, he saved people’s lives.”

“I don’t doubt that your father is an honorable man. But if you need help, if he needs help then perhaps-“

“I won’t send him away! He just needs me. I can take care of him. I have been for as long as I can remember.”

“How old are you Will?”

Will’s back straightened like it always did when he was asked that question, not that it did much for his height. “Fifteen my lord.”

“Fifteen.” Baron Arald repeated to himself. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a fifteen year old.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Like I said, I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“And that’s very commendable. But how do you plan on continuing to support both of you?”

“I’m a hard worker. People hire me to help them fix things, help in their fields, things of the sort.”

“You can’t live on odd jobs forever.”

Will frowned. The Baron had seemed like a kind man. But he didn’t understand why he was harping on about their lifestyle. It wasn’t like Will could do much about the circumstances in which he was born. “Sir, I really appreciate you paying off my debt, and I will pay you back. With interest! But, I really should be going. I don’t like to leave my father alone.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t like to leave his father unaccompanied. But that didn’t mean he didn’t do it.

Baron Arald stood and approached Will, who had to force himself not to take a step back away from the large man. “I host several wards here. Children who were orphaned. Tomorrow is their Choosing Day. All the craft masters with an opening for an apprentice will meet with them. I’d like to extend the invitation to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I think that if life had moved a bit to the left, you’d be there anyway.”

“I don’t think I understand my lord.”

Arald sighed, “Just, be here tomorrow at eight. Please.”

And who was Will to refuse a Baron anything. “Alright my lord. I’ll be there.”

[callmerhynner]

A hopeless romance,

(I just kinda wish you were gay, by: Billie Eilish)

synopsis: A story of a getaway driver falling head over heels for the aromantic arsonist. Unrequited and bitter.

tags: song oneshot, angst, poorly written, confession fail, unrequited love, runaway criminals, oc x oc, delusional love, reality slap, best friends to enemies, mentions of smoking, disney-esque realization, delulu, angst x2

author’s note: might make a part 2 idk. my pen tip broke and i cant draw on my tab😭😭

⇱♥︎⇲

🎶 “Baby, I don’t feels so good” six words you never understood 🎶

“Spark, i don’t feel so good…” Swift confesses, the two were laying on the car’s hood and resting their eyes under the stars. Spark, his best friend and unrequited lover, gives him a glance before going back to resting them.

“We have a job in 10 hours, don’t get sick.” The ravenette bluntly puts. Swift sighs and nods along, this has been how he’s treated him their entire friendship but it’s been hurting him so much these past few years. It’s been bothering him more and more each day.

Memories flood his heterochromic eyes, remembering all the many times the stoic arsonist has left him to deal with all those hurtful experiences all on his own.

🎶 "I'll never let you go", five words you'll never say (aww) 🎶

The man dawning a low ponytail has never showed appreciation for the driver, who would openly take a bullet if it meant to protect him. He showed no interest, and no desire to try and connect each other like they did during their childhood years. There was one thing he would do to satiate each others ‘connection’.

Sex, no strings attached, they would roam each others bodies. Maybe it was to empty out their pent up aggression, their fields don’t show much time or value in meeting other people they could have a sexual relationship with, after all. But, Swift being the hopeless romantic that he was, daydreamed about the alternate universe of them having such a bond to reciprocate his upheld feelings.

🎶 I laugh along like nothing's wrong, four days has never felt so long 🎶

He knew it wasn’t true, it was never going to happen. Spark has never shown interest in romantic connections or relationships, in general. All he could do was respect it, not wanting to invalidate his own feelings, and laugh along to each and every thing he’d been through.

Swift beat himself up over his stupid hearty emotions. He knew that Spark was never going to reciprocate anything, but he still had the ability to continuously fall deeper and deeper inlove with him. Stupidity, at its finest.

He’s been with him so much that every thing he does has become almost routine. It’s been quiet a thrilling ride because of their dangerous occupation but soon, when the open hours close, it’s nothing but comfortable silence. Nothing new and nothing strange..

🎶 If three's a crowd and two was us, one slipped away (hahahahaha)🎶

Spark only had one ambition, to rebuild an agenda of a system he wants to uphold. He’ll burn down continents to have himself be a ghosting haunt for people of power. To be able to control someone powerful’s actions and life, he wants that.

Swift was never part of that ambition. He was his only considered friend, but that’s only because he was the only one willing enough, stupid enough, and impulsive enough, to run away with him. To be his partner in crime.

To be a victim of his crimes. Even from childhood.

🎶 I just wanna make you feel okay🎶

Swift looked up, eyes distant and staring at the shiny stars you could only see in an urban landscape, he reminisces of something. A promise that Swift can’t help but be loyal to.

If they were to be caught, Swift, the victim and the getaway driver, he will take all the blame. Spark will run a free man, without consequence. He will do anything for that man he calls his best friend, anything.

A terrible decision that he can’t remember making. But chooses to follow. Chooses to be a punching bag for his so-called love.

He was a pawn to him, and he allowed it.

A stupid decision, but one he doesn’t regret.

🎶 But all you do is look the other way🎶

Anything he’d do to gain his interest would fail or end in pointless shambles. He was basically a pet to the arsonist. He’d be either treated or punished if he was to do something that caught his attention.

He’d either be given a sexual favor or some sort affectionate gesture, or manipulated to become his puppet until he says he’s learned his lesson. Those punishments..it would never be pretty. Never was it brought up, the most fucked up things he could get to get away with, he’s made the driver do it to try and get his approval.

It never mattered to Spark what he gave Swift as a reward nor punishment. All he was wanted was a comrade to leverage him to his goal and if a fuck-buddy was what Spark thought was what the driver wanted, he was willing. It wasn’t like it was important or anything.

🎶 I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay🎶

Swift can’t keep up. It was thrilling, trying to chase after him, until he realized that he was chasing nothing. It wasn’t a matter of time or effort, Spark was a brick wall.

All he’d do is kill himself if he tries chasing after him. All those heartbreaks, those broken promises, and all those cracked memories. It was impossible, but he chose to try and reach him from the top. To try and climb up to him, not realizing he was inside the wall, barricaded.

Foolish, utterly stupid.

🎶 I just kinda wish you were gay🎶

Swift feels the car hood bump down and back up, Spark had walked off to god knows where. The hopeless pawn forced himself to try and not stare over at him waking off into the deeper parts of the forest, probably to go grab a fruit to bite on.

“I really need to quit…” he sits up, biting a cigarette and lighting it. If it wasn’t the romantic torment killing him, it was his lungs absolutely turning black from his smoking habits. “Fuck. That.” He replies to himself, huffing out smoke, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed.

🎶 Is there a reason we're not through?🎶

The nicotine must be slowly drudging him because tunnel visions started and Swift was starting to see things in the smoke like a Disney Movie prediction. He saw two things, from the right was two children with similar builds from the two men’s kid bodies. They were running around, being playful and being boys.

The children were roughhousing, wrestling inside what looked like a living room, until the child that resembled Swift pushed Spark’s child body into the floor, hard. Spark was whimpering with his body shaking, he was in pain; and not even a second after, Swift ran up to carry him out of the living room, worried and running for his life outside of the smoke’s clouds.

And then there’s the left, another smoke cloud resembling Swift, this time in his young-teenager body. The teen was in a loud party, whilst just leaning himself on a wall with a cigarette next to an open window. The cloud-Swift was bored until Spark’s cloud popped out of the window to lure him out. Swift followed, body language looking more excited.

He hopped off the car and his eyes widen and take the cigarette out of his mouth and fan out the cloud images. “STOP IT!” He yelled, irritated at the emotional torture he’s stuck having to handle. “I can’t.” He huffs, sitting on the lightly wet grass, defeated. “Not this. Not now. Not again.”

🎶Is there a 12-step just for you?🎶

“That man is shit. And you know it.” He huffs. “Get him out, he’ll just…” he slams the back of his head on the nearest part of the car he could reach, “he’ll use you, Swift. You know that.”

“But what if he can change?” Here comes the internal battle.

“He won’t. He never has, and seems like he never will.”

“What if I just do what he wants. He’s always liked that.”

“Each and every time, you do that. Even that isn’t enough to please the fucker.”

“Time can change a man. That’s inevitable.”

“I never even got a thank you after throwing my life away to be his damn getaway driver.”

“HES THANKED ME ENOUGH! He’s..cared, he’s given me rewards”

“And punishments?! HES TREATING ME LIKE A PET!”

“He only gave us what I asked for! I wanted thrill, and a life of action, he gave that to me!”

“And uses me for everything?! Is he a princess??”

“He has priorities!”

“IM NOT ANY OF HIS!” Swift punches a dent into his car’s front as he huffed and panted after yelling his closing statement. He was so deep into his argument that he didn’t even notice that he was pulling on his hair, so much so that he had some of his grey locks in his hands already.

🎶Our conversation's all in blue

11 "heys" (Hey, hey, hey, hey)🎶

“Hey, crazy. Don’t wreck the car. Dipshit.” Swift looked up at the voice, it was his crush walking up to him with a glare to kill a man. He walked up to his form, eying him up and down before grabbing the drivers wrist and pushing it off the car.

“Hey…Spark.” The driver rubbed his hand and wrist, the punch and the arsonist’s rough push sure made the pain start to feel. “How much of that did you..umm..hear.?” Embarrassment rushing in, watching Spark’s cold eyes check on the car’s conditions.

“Shut it.” Be replied back, with his usual blunt and sharp voice. “I have good ears, Swift. If you have something to finally confess, say it now or I’ll kill you before you can.”

Swift cleared his throat before standing up, his hands fiddling inside this hoodie pockets. He looked back down, minds starting to fight again. The need to finally say his heart out to him and the want to keep it all

down, the fear of ruining what they have eating him up inside.

“I’m waiting.” Spark says, sitting on the car hood, giving him his undivided attention. The blushing man scratched his neck in thought, looking down and praying for some sort of sign to confess the obvious or act dumb and suck it all up. “Swift.”

🎶Ten fingers tearin' out my hair🎶

His left hand, subconsciously, went up to start grabbing at his hair. His right went off to follow, the voice or reason and the words of his heart were fighting for their life by this point. Spark watched all of this with his usual resting bitch face, waiting patiently for the man to get his mind in order.

“Swift.” He tried to get attention, but the man continued pulling on his hair. His gray hair starting to get pulled and that’s when the arsonist slapped the man in the face, as softly as he could without injuring him. “Stop.”

🎶Nine times, you never made it there🎶

“Just spit it out, or I’m leaving.” Now he was handed an ultimatum. “10 seconds. Make up your mind because I’m not acknowledging this ever again.”

“That’s not fair!” Swift tried to argue, looking at the calm man with wide eyes. “Atleast give me a day!” He just sat there with his eyes glaring in response.

“9 seconds.” The years of practicing to confess had now suddenly become deceased. He couldn’t even remember his name, it was so nerve wracking.

“8 seconds.” Swift just stood there, defeated. His mind was racing, trying to find some sort of way to finally decide. This stress was making him get a headache, by this point it was basically impossible to think things through without going rampant.

🎶I ate alone at seven, you were six minutes away🎶

“I..can’t.” Swift muttered, looking down in shadowing defeat, one could argue it was only a display to try and gain some sympathy. Too bad Spark is a sociopathic mastermind. As a man whose known him all his life, this was a common fact; he wasn’t trying to gain sympathy, he is now an emotional mess beyond the brink of help.

“7 seconds.” No mercy.

“You know that..” the driver continues to look down, wanting to cry but body so tortured it was almost impossible. Under the circumstance, he was as close to ‘loyal until death’ as he could get.

“6 seconds.”

🎶How am I supposed to make you feel okay🎶

Tears threaten to break through the driver’s heterochromic eyes, he was never good with pressure. He was the one who knew what to do with a plan, the strategist to his crush’s suicide missions. Wanting to just fade away, Swift takes a step back to breathe as much as he could as the pressure was choking him dead.

The eyes of this man was swirling in terror.

He had tried to accept that he was never gonna be given a chance with the man he finds so hard to let go of, all to go in vain. Love was a topic he hated to mention; it was never a problem he wanted. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a way out that could save his sick mind to swim away from his unrequited desire.

“5 seconds.” the man in the turtleneck states, glaring dagger into his skull.

🎶When all you do is walk the other way?🎶

“I LOVE YOU, OKAY?!” he finally yells out, the pressure on his throat now being shoved down his throat like a pack of razors. This hurt him a lot more that it’s should’ve, more than it normally should. More than the two could possibly wonder.

The two remained quiet, the pain spreading around the driver’s chest at the final display of loyalty. Meanwhile, the other was having a hard time trying to figure out how this could give him the upper hand in his twisted mind. Their dynamic was something reminiscent to one of a predator and its prey, one was vulnerable and the other was hungry for it.

And so, with that, the predator feigned surprise and soon forced out a hearty laugh. Feeling humiliated, the driver fists up their hands until his small nails could make rivers of red drip down his palm. He could remember his laugh as it just reminded him of what a devil incarnate his heart just had to belong to. Exactly three seconds of laughing, the arsonist-for-hire finally ceases, laughter dying out for him to finally reply to his forced confession.

“I don’t need that.”

🎶I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay🎶

The world around him just shattered, he knew it was coming but that small spirited heart of his was still hoping for an unanswered miracle. There was small flick of light in his head, trying to delude him into thinking that what they’d been doing for all these years—running away together, trusting only each-other—was more than being wanted criminals. He wished to ever god and deity that he didn’t agree to an unchangeable life of crime for nothing, that, at the least, the moments of life or death he’s shared with wasn’t with a stranger. That his childhood friend was still there.

But no, the man in front of him wasn’t his childhood friend. The man facing him was a stranger, he knew nothing about this man. He looked like his dearest best friend, but he wasn’t. He was his shell.

He’s been seeing everything through to gain that friend’s love back, for all these years of running away from cops and bounty hunters. But he can’t.

🎶I just kinda wish you were gay🎶

He can’t gain the love of his best friend, he wasn’t there.

“Oh…” he says, eyes darkening and face showing a neutral expression. A still sound of crickets chirping surrounded them, one eyeing the other down with mused judgement; the other, hearing his crush heart wilt away.

“What? Did you expect me to swoon over you?” the man responsible for breaking the other’s heart says, tilting his head with crossed arms. “You’ve done nothing but burden me.”

“That’s not true.” the man clenched his hand into a fist, breathing out through his nose.

“You talk all that after you punched a dent into your own car. Those big emotions always get the better of everything.” As Swift looked at the car, eyes straining slightly at how strong he was gritting his teeth. Unbeknownst to him, a sadistic glint sparked in the others eyes as he watch his anger rise through.

“That’s isn’t true.” another gruff mutter.

“I can’t name one time you’ve done something that’s ever helped me. You can’t prove it, you dont even show it—“ Swift could hear the evil smile on his voice. That was it—all these feeling were pouring hard, feeling his chest squeeze and making him swallow every shard of his broken heart until his throat was cut open. It was too much.

“Are yoU THAT STUPID?! My parents are getting mixed into your horseshit because of you dragging me into this.!” he finally manages to yell out his feelings, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist until his knuckles turned white. The other was stunned, this was the very first time he’s ever had the guts to yell at him. He’s put him in various torturous situations and Swift has held in every scream he tried to squeeze out of him, to be honest, it drove the sadomasochist up the wall of how much he could take without screaming or crying.

“You agreed to this, i didn’t drag you in. Don’t blame it on me because i don’t want to hold your hand like toddler.” The stunned man finally unfroze, glaring holes into the driver’s eyes with his resting bitch face.

“Are you serious?! You told me you got caught doing some stupid shit and needed to run—running away without knowing anything fucking else! You expected me to let you go alone?!” He replied with a tone of which was telling of how obvious the reason was. Over the bridges of dead bodies and burnt buildings of their crimes, this reason was always what stuck to him all throughout. Him not knowing this simple answer angered Swift even more, more than he expected.

“Maybe I did! Who gives a fuck?!” was all the other could give, looking away—trying to hide how threatened he was starting to feel—those blue and green eyes staring inti his soul.

“I give a fuck! I gave a fuck all these fucking goddamn years, but you?! You’re doing those because you’re a goddamn masochist!” The man slammed a hand onto his own chest, before pointing, accusatorially, at the arsonist. “And when things go south, you come crawling back for me to pick all of your goddamn shit up!”

🎶To spare my pride🎶

Denying everything felt right, seeing the stranger’s face contort and frown at his words were like food medals awarding him for all the shit he’s had to go through because of his masochistic suicide missions.

“Why?! Are you that FUCKING desperate?!!” Feeling a small desperation to be right, the man yells out and slaps the pointing finger.

“IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WERE MY FRIEND! THATS WHAT FRIENDS FUCKING DO!!” was the response he got, a small silence bit at each other’s backs, The driver was breathing do heavily that his shoulder were going up and down rapidly. He’s held that in the moment he took a step out of that window, the first time he helped him run away from the people hunting him-both of them, down. The air was still, the tension was high and the ship their friendship resided on had long since drowned in the sea of life.

They were never friends, the realization hit the man with heterochromic eyes, the light in them fading at the sight of the pathetic husk of a man facing him.

“Everything…” a whisper escapes his lips, heart pacing and chest heaving. Had he been this delusional this entire time?

How could he let it get this bad?

🎶To give your lack of interest, an explanation🎶

“Everything I’ve done, all of it…it was for nothing.” Swift says with the look of enfacement decorating his features. Those bright eyes that lit up when he was praised by the man, that bright contagious smile he wore all the time to show his friendly nature, all gone. Down the drain as fast as they were always put on.

“Swift…look-“ The stranger tries to rebut, no. That thing didn’t deserve to speak any more than he already has.

“Hans Quinton Maeri, or whatever you call yourself, i quit.” He pushes him away, taking steps back, fists clenches as his jaw was pushing at each other.

“You can’t quit. You can’t—after everything you’ve done, they’d kill you on sight. You don’t expect them to welcome you with open arms arfter all the blood on your hands, right?” The exasperated emotion was evident by the sense of his tone, a hand tries to place onto his shoulder—his tell when he was going to persuade him into something—but he jerks his body away.

“I mean that I quit. I quit everything. You, this, life—everything.” Swift’s hands waved around him and pointing at everywhere, he wanted to leave everything away to burn, so the thing in front of him has to deal with all it’s consequences. “Nothing has treated me right after the damage you put my life through,

🎶Don't say I'm not your type🎶

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The stranger asks, furrowed brows and a visible burn of judgement in his corneas.

“You know what it means.” he huffs, turning his head to face straight forward and walking off to get into the car.

“You’re not seriously thinking that killing yourself is gonna solve all the shit you’ve been hunted down for, right?!” It grabs at his jacket sleeve, making him stop at his step. Swift pulls his arm back, making a disgusted face at his touch. “You can’t be serious!”

“If i have to die so you can finally be put into a goddamn cell. So you can go crazy with the same thoughts you keep spewing out to me.” An uncharacteristic monotone voice says aloud to him, the soul he had just a moment ago had died the moment he was both rejected and slapped away from his delusion.

“If those bounty hunters cant kill you, they’ll hit the next best thing.” The stranger says, each word coaxing a smirk out of it’s own hideous face.

“You? perfect, exactly what i was aiming for.” Swift responds, taking a step to side when the stranger started laughing maniacally. What was he laughing about? Did it not hear him?

🎶Just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation🎶

“What the fuck are you on?!” He yells out, the urge to punch the thing was so tempting, almost stupidly tempting. But he won’t, he never will, be as petty as it was.

“This is so pathetic! Do you seriously not know?!” The thing continues to laugh, arms crossed at it’s stomach. With how much it was laughing, whatever he had to say was something he found very funny.

“Know what?! That you ate some poisonous shit while i was out here moping? You made that fucking obvious.” He retorted, it was really starting to get to his nerves.

“Let me ask you this, clearly. Who do you think are the next best things from killing the most wanted getaway driver?” It asks, tone mocking him. He wasn’t in on something very important, and the thing wasn’t going to be budging anytime soon.

“Just spit it out, if it isn’t you then i’m beat.” He gives in, just wanting to head inside the car and leave the pyromaniac to die alone in an electric chair.

🎶I'm so selfish🎶

“Your parents.”

🎶But you make me feel helpless, yeah🎶

🎶And I can't stand another day🎶

🎶Stand another day🎶

🎶I just wanna make you feel okay🎶

🎶But all you do is look the other way, hmm🎶

🎶I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay🎶

🎶I just kinda wish you were gay~ 3x🎶

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

i would love to know 🌾🌺 and 🌷 for Rexus!

🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold?

Oh, that would easily be Guilt. A few years ago, Envy would’ve had a field day with him, but he’s not bitter and spiteful like he used to be and now just feels bad that he ever was. He’d be especially susceptible to it after going to help Treviso instead of Minrathous, but it’s a pretty sure bet Guilt gets to him any time: lording his failures and misdeeds over him, insisting they’re all he is and all he’ll ever be, and taunting him with the inevitability of future ones.

You failed your friends, you failed your people, you failed your city, you failed Silver, you failed Neve. You failed Bellara. You failed Harding. You failed Varric. You're going to fail the whole world, and even if you don’t, someday you’ll fail Davrin just like you failed Emma. All you’ve ever brought and all you will ever bring to anyone is suffering, because the only way you can be happy is if only you are happy. You haven’t changed, Rexus Leventis, and you never will. You can’t. And you don’t really want to.

As for how to break its hold, that’s…tough. The idea behind his work towards redemption has never been to seek forgiveness or absolution, though he may want to, but to accept responsibility for things he’s done and learn to be better than that. To become a person who does the right thing on his first instinct, and without hesitation. And that leads to him holding on to enough guilt to drown himself in, but he’s had many successes too! The fact that he feels guilt at all means he has changed, and he already is better, even if there’s still more to do. Reminding him of that would help snap him out of it and keep going.

🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food)

Nah, he doesn’t look back on anything from his childhood fondly, but instead of being bitterly jealous if someone else does, like he used to be, this is one of his favorite things to know about other people because it becomes something he can give them. That kind of Ratatouille-esque nostalgia when someone sees, holds, or talks about a favorite childhood food or book or place or activity gives people a look that Silver calls their ‘glow’: a pure, unbridled and unashamed form of joy that’s unlike anything else, and he loves it. He’s become someone who genuinely wants to see that kind of happiness in the faces of people who are important to him, and likes being responsible for it even more, whether they know he was or not.

🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse?

Rexus doesn’t particularly care for the Lighthouse in the first place, since he’s also had some training as a mage-killer and the Fade gives him a weird feeling of…not exactly pain, but pressure? in his back teeth. So his favorite place is the same it’s always been: Minrathous, somewhere he can watch the people, the ships, and the water, or somewhere dry and comfortable to have a drink with a friend, usually Silver. He’s gaining an appreciation for nature, too, despite having spent his whole life only feeling at home in cities…well, one city, but that might have more to do with the company than the setting.

Got any more?

[starlingsrps]

through the bitter.

wes has never been as close to bumming a cigarette in his life than at bastogne.

it starts with the dwindling supplies. one day he’s just barely making do and the next, he’s out of damn near everything with no supply drop in sight. it’s forcing creativity in a way that invites carelessness, which only pisses him off. he used a cauterized steak knife from a mess kit the other day and felt like a mad scientist the whole time. a sewing kit one of his own medics had picked up off a dead kraut to sew up wounds, tearing apart bedding for bandages, whatever they can find, he uses. he’d scored a few morphine pipettes from another medic who came through the field hospital in exchange for scissors. they were gone again in two days, putting him right back at square one and now without his spare scissors.

it’s fucking freezing and though he mostly gets to stay indoors, the building is ancient and about as well insulated as an old shoe. he may as well be in one of the pits in the forest - might be some body heat to be found. his fingers go numb doing paperwork. he found england too cold for his thin blood but belgium seems determined to finish him off. he has to plunge his hands in damn near boiling water in the mornings to make them halfway functional.

he can’t sleep and he can’t stop thinking and, some days, he feels like it’s going to eat up whatever’s left of him.

he thinks about katy. the letter from home telling him she passed had been the last he received before they left for the ardennes and promptly shoved into his footlocker where he wouldn’t have to see it again until he was back in england. but their mama’s neat handwriting is stamped in his head, the words that she’d died and been buried at cold springs because they couldn’t manage to bring her home with the war going imprinted deep. he can see the words when he closes his eyes.

bullshit, wes had wanted to write back before he decided against it. shep hadn’t wanted to spend the fucking money to do it right. she’d died alone and been buried alone and if it’s wrong to blame their brother for that, then he can’t bring himself to give a shit.

their birthday passes in early november and he doesn’t notice until a few days later. it’s only his birthday now, he reckons. neither of them had ever been romantic about being twins. they weren’t identical (though it was always funny when someone asked) and there was no eerie sixth sense when it came to the other. they simply were twins and there was nothing more to it. but now that she’s gone, she seems to be on his mind, on his shoulder, always there.

wes is too practical for ghosts and the like but he followed her into this world and, surrounded by death as he is, it sometimes feels like he’ll follow her out.

he’s supposed to be a father in a matter of weeks but if the red cross can’t get them supplies, he’s not that surprised that he can’t get his goddamn mail. he doesn’t know how tali is doing and it’s driving him a little crazy. he tries to tell himself that she’ll be fine - that she’s done this before, that she has friends and the morrigans there, that there’s a perfectly decent doctor in diss. between margery and the red cross girls, he’s sure she’s being half smothered. he’ll marry her when he gets home and if she doesn’t want to, then they can just live in sin.

the when of going home starts to waver into an if the longer they’re stuck at bastogne. he was never a fatalist before but damn if he isn’t starting now. it’s cold and he’s lonely and a cigarette might give him something to do, an excuse to escape for a minute, to not think and just sit. but he holds out, not out of any self preservation but because all he can picture is the smug look on the faces of the jackals if they found out.

there’s suddenly a supply drop one day and wes jumps on his mail and a fresh pair of scissors like the former is a lifeline and before anyone can snatch up the latter. the rest of the medical supplies he leaves to his medics to collect and sort, barking a reminder that they need morphine and sutures. the supplies won’t last long, not at this rate, and it’s not nearly everything he needs but there’s mail. at the moment. he cares about that more than how badly inventory will disappoint him when all is said and done.

he finds a patch of floor along the wall of the threadbare building serving as the hospital to read. he shoves aside the thin airmail envelopes from home and his friends’ army stationary to get to tali’s plain white paper. there are a few of them, the oldest one from late october and one for each week since. he doesn’t care about the delay, now that they’re in his hands. at least he’d gotten her reply to his written proposal before being dropped here and he reads them greedily. she writes about the baby and noah and farm, long rambling letters that take him away from here as long as they last. the baby is fine, she writes several times in each letter, underlining it every time. she’s fine - underlined twice. it makes him laugh, a rusty huff of a sound from disuse. she’ll see him when he gets home and she writes that every time - and when gets a little stronger than if.

her last letter is from the beginning of december and when he finishes, he leans his head back against the wall and sighs. some of the weight in his chest has eased. he doesn’t feel alone anymore. for the first time since the news about katy, since being cut off from anything that isn’t this goddamn forest, he feels tethered again.

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

Blown Away

Genre: EXO AU, Kyungsoo Fluff

Characters: You x Kyungsoo

Warnings: None

Word Count: 474

Summary: Kyungsoo wishes on a dandelion, hoping he’ll one day have the courage to confess to you. 

A/N: This was a Kyungsoo drabble request that I received and I just think it is so darn cute! 

~*~

Kyungsoo isn’t one for superstitions–or fields of weeds for that matter. To him, dandelions are simply a yellow hindrance to a well-manicured garden or on rare occasions, a bitter component to a delicious salad. Kyungsoo wonders how he managed to end up here, though he doesn’t have to think too hard.

 It’s you, of course. 

Kyungsoo twirls a flower stem between his fingers, watching you from a distance. He admires your silhouette against the twilight hues, the way the wind gently lifts the strands of your hair. You’d been best friends for a long time; but for him, the glow of friendship had long since given way to the flame of love.

He pictures himself walking up behind you,  gently taking your hand in his own. The two of you would slowly walk together for hours, merely basking in the company. As the rays of sunset faded, he’d pull you close and whisper tender words of love in your ear–a perfect dream. 

But that was all it was–a dream. He’d never gotten up the nerve to tell you his feelings. 

“Kyungsoo, come look!”, you call, motioning him over. 

Coming to a stop beside you, Kyungsoo peers at the area you were pointing to, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

“There’s dandelion puffs!”, you exclaim. 

“And?”

 Kyungsoo didn’t understand the appeal of a weed, let alone one poised to disperse its seeds and wreak havoc on gardeners everywhere. 

“Kyungsoo, you really have no imagination,” you huff. “Here!” 

You hold out a perfect dandelion puff and wait for him to take it. 

Kyungsoo takes the flower carefully from your hand, sucking in a silent breath when your fingers touch. Holding the puff delicately in his grasp, he wonders what to do with it.

“You’re supposed to blow on it,” you supply. 

“Why?” 

“Because your wish will be granted–watch!”  

You harvest your own puff ball, holding it in both hands like something precious. You close your eyes tight, then gently blow on the flower, watching the seeds scatter across the field. 

“The seeds are special, you know. They’ll carry your thoughts and dreams to the people they’re meant for.” You smile dreamily at the thought. 

Kyungsoo isn’t one for superstitions and he’s sure that an ordinary flower such as this can’t have such mystical powers. Yet, as he studies the pale, soft wisps, he wonders–could they carry his thoughts to you? 

“Go on, try it,” you encourage. 

Feeling slightly ridiculous, he closes his eyes. Give me the courage to let her know how I feel. Please let her love me as much as I love her. Releasing a breath, he watches as the seedlets spread across the sky, carrying his wish on the wind. 

“What did you wish for?” 

“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo answers, a secret smile on his face, “but maybe one day I’ll tell you.” 

~*~

Thank you so much for reading “Blown Away”! I hope you enjoyed some Kyungsoo fluff. If you liked what you read, please re-blog so that others can find it too! 

XOXO, 

Emmy

[1kook]

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.  warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.  

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.  

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?” 

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.  

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence. 

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[moonknightly]

now all you see is red : santiago garcia x reader

Word Count: 3.6k+

Excerpt: “There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.”

Warnings: Smut (18+), choking, spanking, light bondage, dom/sub dynamic, light degradation/humiliation, rough sex, angry sex, dirty talk

Santiago is familiar with anger.

He knows it well, he’s used to the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, the smoke he can never fully push from his lungs, the way flames lick at his fingertips as his blood boils in his veins. He’s used to the sharp bite and unrelenting sting, he knows the exact sound his fist is going to make when it meets drywall, can hear each bone crack on impact and can feel the sensation of his knuckles splitting open, can visualize the black and blue bruises that will mark his skin for weeks to come.

They might as well be permanent, he never feels like himself without those damn bruises anymore. They’ve become an integral part of him, just like the scar on the back of his neck and the weight he carries on his shoulders day in and day out.

Just like his anger.

He needs it, he doesn’t remember how to get through without it. Anger isn’t a stranger to the ex soldier, but a lover.

It’s a dance so intimate, one he’s performed thousands and thousands of times before. It keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s real, that he’s here. He’s alive and he’s breathing, he’s not lying at the bottom of a ditch in a foreign country with a bullet in his side, rotting. He made it out, he’s earned his temper.

He’s in control. He has the power, and nothing is going to hurt him again. He won’t let it.

Except, that’s not entirely true.

There’s you, and God, Santi would let you completely ruin him.

And you have, you so have. You’ve fucking wrecked him, but he refuses to let you see it, he doesn’t even fully understand it himself. In all of the years you’ve known each other, Santi’s been able to keep that little secret to himself, and he’s not about to give it up now, he doesn’t need that shit.

What he needs is the control back in the palm of his hand after losing it for the last week. He needs to feel some sense of power after spending seven days in unfamiliar territory, feeling utterly torn apart by grief and worry.

They’d lost contact with you on your last assignment, and an entire week had gone by without so much as a word until you suddenly showed up at base, seemingly fine. Santi hadn’t been able to find even a scratch on your perfect skin, and he’d checked several times just to be sure. You’re fine.

But Santi isn’t. Fuck, he is so fucking far from fine, he feels like he’s going to be sick. His initial relief is fading fast, threatening to turn into something that he has no desire to feel, something he doesn’t know how to handle. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.

He needs his control, his power. He needs familiarity.

So he latches onto the subtlest spark of anger the moment it strikes. He takes it and he fucking runs.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

His voice is eerily calm, almost chilling and it doesn’t waiver for even a second. It’s collected while the rest of him isn’t, but it’s enough to get him through. It’ll do.

“What do you mean?”

You’re sitting at the end of the bed, unlacing your boots, desperate to get out of them and into something comfortable. Santi keeps his eyes glued to you, tracking your every movement with expert precision that he’s spent his entire life mastering.

“A week. You went a fucking week without report.”

You seem almost annoyed, and really, you are — you’d spent the last hour getting the same lecture from your boss, you don’t need it from your boyfriend too even though it’s inevitable, so you shrug in response, and Santiago feels another white hot flash.

It’s perfect. He’ll take it.

“It would’ve compromised the mission, he was onto me. I’m fine.”

You’re fine. He laughs bitterly at that.

“I’m glad you’re fine, princesa,” he hums, not thinking about how he enunciates his words as he stalks towards you, painstakingly slow, brown eyes never straying from his target.

He’s quick, his reflexes sharp, and he has your chin between his fingers before you even register his hand moving.

“But that’s not a fucking excuse. You know your safety comes before anything else and we had no way to help you.”

“But I was safe.”

“But how were we supposed to know that, huh?” He shakes your head in his grip, like it’s enough to get you to see his way. “You could’ve been dead for all we knew. Do you have any idea what-”

He stops himself. That unfamiliar emotion is bubbling in the pit of his stomach again, and he pushes it away, down, down, down where it can’t touch him, can’t hurt him.

He needs another spark.

But now, he’s struggling to find it, and it’s clear. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you watch him wrestle with himself and hesitate, and he panics when your lips part because he knows you’re getting ready to ask him if he’s okay and he doesn’t fucking want you to. He doesn’t want to answer you.

So he just growls again, his hand moving to the back of your neck where he pushes your head forward until your lips meet his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

It’s all teeth and desperation and frustration and just like your annoyance, it’s perfect. Santi clings to that frustration to fuel his anger again, and he’s satisfied when it works and he feels the familiar tendrils of rage wrap themselves around his body. His free hand moves to your shirt, and he uses his grip to haul you to your feet only to shove you towards the dresser. You catch yourself, knocking a few things off in the process but you don’t care. You love it when he gets like this.

“Santi-”

“No.” He’s behind you again, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so your neck is perfectly exposed to him, breath hot against your skin. “Don’t you dare say a fuckin’ word, understand?”

You nod obediently — you’ve always taken orders as well as he gives him.

“Good girl.”

He nips at your neck once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth in, biting down, marking you and he smirks when he feels your knees buckle just slightly. You’re struggling to hold yourself up already and he’s hardly touched you.

His hand travels around to the front of your neck and he wraps his fingers around your throat, not applying any pressure, simply just holding them there. He feels your pulse thrum under his fingertips and he counts along for a moment, smirking at just how quick your heart is beating.

“Nervous baby?”

You hesitate, and he feels you gulp, feels the way you shift just slightly under his touch.

“No.”

He tsks, sighing in your ear almost disapprovingly. He lets his grip tighten around your throat, and he revels in the sound of you trying to pull in air before he cuts you off completely.

“Maybe you should be.”

His free hand slams between your shoulder blades and you’re suddenly flat against the dresser, the force of it knocking what little air you had left in your lungs out. He gives you a second, just a second to use your safeword or to tell him to go a little easy, but you don’t.

He knows you’ll tell him if he needs to take it down a notch.

There’s nothing slow or patient about Santiago’s touch. It’s urgent, each movement made with purpose, never lingering, he doesn’t have time for that. He just wants to feel you, just wants to feel that anger and the pleasure and nothing else.

He pulls your jeans down your thighs, not bothering to get them all the way off or worry about your shirt. His eyes are immediately on your ass, and he growls when he sees that you’re wearing his favorite color — red. He loves you in red.

Not enough to save the panties for another day though. He rips them clean off your body, the stretching, tearing sound of fabric making him groan alongside your gasp.

“Open your mouth.”

You don’t hear him the first time, too absorbed in the feeling running through you. He smacks your ass, hard, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. The moan that leaves your lips might just be the most sinful sound Santi has ever heard.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

This time, you hear him, and you obey just like he knew you would, opening your mouth for him to stuff your panties into.

“Fuck I can smell you on them from here princesa.”

He loves it. He loves it so fucking much. He smacks your ass a second time, feeling it turn hot under his touch, then he does it again and again and again until he’s satisfied with the way you flinch, until you’re laying limp against the dresser with tears running down your cheeks.

“Color?”

Like he said before, your safety means more to him than anything else, and through his anger he still always checks in to make sure you’re okay to continue. He never wants it to get to a point where he actually hurts you, even though he knows what your body can take, even though he knows you’d let him, you’d even ask him to.

You can’t speak with your panties in your mouth, but one finger means green, two means yellow, and three means red. You hold up one, and he lands one final blow just to see if your answer changes. You still only hold up one.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your wrists and drags you back towards the mattress, and you immediately fall face down ass up just how you know he likes, but now he hesitates.

His knees are bothering him today, more so than usual, and he doesn’t know if he can kneel behind you long enough to fuck you how he wants to.

That only makes him angrier, feeling like he can’t perform. Feeling like he’s not good enough, like he’s failing in a field where he’s always personally felt like he’s excelled.

All he sees is red and you and it’s the exact distraction he’s been looking for, the perfect combination. His blood burns, his fingers burn, his mind is fucking screaming your name and nothing else. There’s nothing but you and the rage boiling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s intoxicating, it’s everything, it’s familiar.

“No, no no,” he laughs, shaking his head as he undoes his belt, hastily pulling it through the loops of his jeans. “On your side, hands behind your back.”

He’s on you the second you're in position, tightening his belt around your wrists so you can’t move them, can’t touch him. He chuckles darkly when your fingers wiggle around in search of something to hold onto.

“Poor baby,” he hums, voice completely condescending and he loves the way your eyes roll at the tone of his voice. He loves that you get off on this just as much as he does, he loves that you dance with his temper, that you know it almost as well.

He’s so fucking hard. He can’t wait any longer.

He doesn’t check with his fingers to make sure you’re wet enough to take him, he knows you are. He can smell you, he can see your juices glisten when he hoists your leg up to reveal your pussy to him. You’re always so wet, always so ready for him.

And he’s more than ready for you, stroking himself in the palm of his hand while he looks you over with hungry, dark eyes. His hand is nothing compared to the warmth and pleasure he knows you’ll bring him, there’s not a damn thing in this world that can make him come as hard as you.

He lays behind you, continuing to pump his length as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds, nudging at your clit and smearing his precome all around. He can feel you clench, can feel you try to pull him in as you start rocking your hips against him.

“Jesus Christ, you’re acting like a fuckin’ whore for my cock babygirl. You need it, huh? You need me?”

You immediately start trying to beg through your makeshift gag and normally, that would only earn you more teasing but just like you, he can’t take it. He needs you just as much, if not more.

His nails dig into your left hip as he pushes himself against your entrance, leaving little crescent shaped indents in your skin, his grip so tight you both know it’ll bruise but it’s more than fine, it’s so good. He stops, wanting to drag it out for just a moment longer and your begging only continues, growing louder and louder until Santiago finally gives in.

All it takes is one sharp thrust and he’s so deep inside of you, spreading you open on his cock, tearing your walls apart to make room for his length, your bodies flush against each other. His free arm is wrapped underneath your body, his hand finding your neck again as he quickly sets his pace, not giving you more than a single second to even attempt to adjust to him.

It’s hard, it’s fast, it’s dirty and your cunt is squelching around him so deliciously, the sound only pushing him further — he doesn’t know if he wants to slow down so he can listen to it properly or if he wants to go faster.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your ear, his voice gravely and rough and he thrills in the way it makes you shiver. “Fuck you’re so tight, you’re squeezing my fucking dick baby. How’re you this tight?”

You only let out a moan that’s somewhere between a sob and a scream, and that sound alone is so entirely hot in itself, it’s enough to make his toes curl. He wants to pull that noise from you again and again and again, he wants you shaking and gasping and writhing. He starts using your hips for more leverage, knowing that he can get you to cry and whine for him this way.

You squirm and jolt each time he brings you back onto his cock, every time he hits that spot you didn’t believe existed until he fucked you for the first time and he wants to explode as he watches you struggle to take it.

He knows you’ll hold up your fingers if you need him to stop, but he still pulls your panties out of your mouth just so he can hear it, just so can listen for your words. You never say them, you only scream and cry and moan about how good it feels, how he’s pounding your pussy better than anyone ever has and how you never want him to stop.

“Yeah baby?” he purrs, nipping at your earlobe, tugging on it as he thrusts harder and harder. “This my pussy princesa? Tell me.”

“It’s yours,” you sob, clenching around him over and over. “God Santi, it’s yours, I’m yours.”

“That’s fuckin’ right baby, that’s it.”

He tightens his grip around your neck, his left hand moving from your hip to your clit, fingers matching the pace of his thrusts. He’s rubbing you so hard, he’s almost surprised when you angle yourself closer, but that’s his girl. That’s his fucking girl.

Santi can tell you’re close when your sounds grow higher in pitch and when he no longer needs to drag you back into his thrusts — you’re doing all the work for him, moving on your own accord, searching for that last little push you need to get over the edge and he lets you.

He lets you control the pace, lets you take what you need and that’s when that unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling enters his stomach again. He tries to ignore it, tries to push it away, tries to tap back into the anger but once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Now he’s just frustrated, but he doesn’t let himself get distracted, not when you’re on his cock, bringing yourself closer and closer to an orgasm he doesn’t want to miss a second of.

He rolls onto his back suddenly, catching you off guard but he steadies you on top of him and uses your bound wrists to continue rocking you on his length while you get adjusted again. He brings his free hand back to your clit, just like before and it’s not long before you’re right on the brink of coming again. Santi’s right there with you, watching you roll your hips and bounce on his cock, impaling yourself on him again and again. You’re so full of him, he only wants to fill you more.

He thinks he might actually let go first, but then you’re falling apart on top of him in a matter of seconds, sobbing his name so loudly while your thighs quiver and your body trembles. That’s what finally does it for him, and he comes inside of you with a deep groan that echoes in his chest, his back arching completely off the bed in an attempt to get even closer to you. He quickly grabs your hips again so he can continue to piston himself up into you, watching your combined release leak out of your pussy and coat his cock in glistening white. He only moans, quieter this time, and fucks it back into you, his pace slowing as his cock twitches over and over and quickly becomes oversensitive.

He doesn’t forget to undo your hands before he pulls you back onto his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you and burying his face into your neck. He’s working hard to catch his breath, and he hopes that that’s all you think he’s doing when really, he’s having to put twice as much effort into not falling apart.

His chest is heaving with emotion, his eyes are filling with tears that he refuses to let spill over. His anger is completely gone and only this remains. He doesn’t know how to control it, doesn’t know what to do with it and he hates it. He hates it so much.

And you notice, of course you fucking notice. He’s slow to launch into aftercare and it’s obvious that he’s distracted through it, something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Santi, what is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t fucking call.”

His voice waivers and cracks and his cheeks immediately turn red, though he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or this feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

“What if something happened to you? You didn’t call.”

“Santi,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, and he’s frustrated all over again. Usually he’s so good at reading you, he knows you like the back of his hand, but again he’s unsure about the emotion. He doesn’t know if you’re exasperated or if you’re concerned. He doesn’t wait to find out.

“You have any idea what was going through my head,” he bites, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

He doesn’t see the expression on your face, doesn’t see how his words hit you right in the chest and shatter your heart. He misses the way you swallow the lump in your throat and he doesn’t see your hands start to shake, but he feels them when they cup his cheeks. His shoulders slump at the contact, and then Santi just breaks.

“You didn’t fucking call, why didn’t you fucking call?”

He chokes on a sob, coughing to try and rid himself of it but it doesn’t work. He hides his face into his hands, shoulders shaking as he softly cries and he’s just happy that he’s able to keep himself quiet.

“Oh sweet boy, come here.”

Santi let’s you pull him into your arms, he lets you comfort him in a way he didn’t know he needed, in a way he never even imagined wanting.

And he lets himself feel all of that unwanted emotion, because he needs to get it the fuck out. He doesn’t want to hold onto it like he does with his anger, he doesn’t want it dancing in his veins. He never, ever wants to feel this way again.

Santiago is familiar with anger.

But he’s completely unfamiliar with the fear of losing you. He’s not used to the nausea or the way his hands shake with panic, the way his chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. He’s not used to any of it, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.

But at some point in the middle of the night, he looks up and he sees you, still holding him, still comforting him, and it suddenly hits. Suddenly, he understands.

It’s you.

This is how you’ve ruined him.

You’ve made him feel things he’s been pushing away for so long, things he’s tried so desperately to keep under lock and key where it can never hurt him.

You’ve stripped him of his control, his power. You’ve taken away his anger and you’ve replaced the throbbing bruises on his knuckles, the smoke in his lungs and the blood that paints his vision.

He doesn’t see red, he only sees you.

Santiago is familiar with you.

[yanderenightmare]

How would our yandere boys of BNHA react to their girlfriends telling them that they're pregnant?👀

yandere ! fluffy BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNING: heavy yandere-vibes, abduction, guilt, anxiety, profanity, drug mentions, Stockholm syndrome, pregnancy, implied DUBCON/NONCON

KATSUKI BAKUGO - KACHAN

Time to prepare for fucking Ragnarok. He’s writing lists, buying everything on the lists twice over, reading books on parenting and raising children and quirk development and everything and anything to satiate his gaining anxiety. He’s pushing his darling to do several different cardio exercises, either walking about inside the house with him or even letting her go outside for fresh air and sun, always assisted by him of course, putting aside his normal fear of her escaping as his newfound paranoia of the baby not being healthy threatens the foundations of his fragile composure. He hires a personal trainer to teach them what they’re supposed to be learning in baby class, if they could go outside. He’ll even be contemplating letting the media know as so to avoid hiccups later down the road. Testing his darling from time to time to see if she truly has come to terms with their arrangement, finding that he’ll probably never be satisfied, never feel comfortable enough to allow her back into the real world.

Other than that, he’ll be at his darling’s beck and call, so much so she doesn’t even have to ask for anything before he’s there with the exact thing she needs, even at times she doesn’t even know what she needs. And he’ll definitely be fidgeting when he’s not able to make her comfortable. Foot-rubs and messages are never ending, he’s cooking all the food from scratch with purely organic vegies and fruits and wheats and grains and strictly no candy or anything considered slightly unsafe for either her or the baby to consume, that also means no TV or screens of any kind. She’s never been allowed cigarettes or anything of the sorts, so that window has already been checked, but all alcohol is also stripped from the house now as well and of course those sleeping pills he would sometimes take advantage of when he had no other choice.

Katsuki is slightly freaking out on the inside, wanting to pull his hair out, pick at his scabs, bite his nails…. but, he’s keeping himself in check to support his darling. He’s adamant on the fact that nothing will go wrong with this pregnancy and he’ll soon have a little, squishy, bubbly, bundle of firecrackers running around the house. He can sense happiness just around the corner, but it’s a sharp turn, he’s afraid they might just skew off into some unknown territory where he has no chance of getting back on the road again.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi is in full on freak-out, suddenly looking at his hands as though they are knives. How can he ever raise a child? Will the child be like him? Oh, how he hopes, prays, screams at whomever out there’s listening, that the child’s more like his darling than like him. That the child is feather-soft and pretty-eyed and has a heart of daisies and not made up of scars and callouses and bitterness like him. But… it’s really up to him what their child becomes. That’s his responsibility. His job to not allow the flames of childlike wonder to snuff out, his job to keep them alive.

What if they get hurt? What if his mishaps get them hurt? What if he hurts them? Besides… they cannot possibly live here, in this dump of a villain base. That’s no place to raise a child. A child needs friends, other children to play with. A child needs a garden, where they and their friends can play. A child needs to feel safe. A child needs to be able to look out a window at night and see the moon and stars and to see the sun wake up in the morning. A child needs to go to school. A child needs to run and bike and scrape their knees on the sidewalk only to come home and have their wounds cleaned and band-aided, only to go out and do it all over again. This is what a child needs to not end up like him.

He buys a house. A nice house, with a white picked-fence and a lawn and a cherry-tree where he hangs up a swing. His darling loves it, she spends most of her time out in the garden, in the sunlight, smiling, glowing. It feels nice. It feels harmonic. They have a kitchen now, but Dabi doesn’t know how to make any type of food sept for cup-noodles, but his darling is eager to teach him. She’s so sweet. She’s always been sweet and soft and too bright for the dusty room-complex he’d kept her locked up in for so long. But in this lighting, in this setting, in this life he’s finally decided upon, she looks like she belongs. He can’t say the same for himself. When he pictures the future, he sees his darling and their child out on that swing he put up, but he doesn’t see himself. He doesn’t deserve this, not when he’s so sure he’s going to have it all destroyed. His darling is a good but bittersweet reassurance, how she hugs him close, kisses him so softly he nearly forgets how many people the same hands wrapping around her small breakable body has killed.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Confusion. It’s strange but the whole affair leaves him feeling younger. Too young. The things he doesn’t know, the unprepared oblivious state leaving him at an utter loss. He’s just not ready for this, he’s unsure if he’ll ever be ready for this. He’s never pictured himself in the scenario. Never once humoring the idea, but now that it’s being shoved at him whether he wants it or not, he has to simply accept it. He barely knows up from down as time passes. Leaving him stating the obvious to thoroughly grasp the situation without letting it slip. His darling is pregnant. He’s going to be a father. A father. Dad. The word barely making sense to him as he rolls it around on his tongue.

He’s having a kid… half the time he still feels like a kid himself. Throwing fits, playing games, eating trash. But… maybe that can be a good thing. Maybe his fits will subside in the fresh light of an infant’s earth-shattering cries and wails and screams, his infant, his child. Maybe it’ll be good for him to finally learn a few things, maybe he’ll grow up just a little bit. But only a little, playing games is something he can do with a kid. Besides, kids eat trash too. He doesn’t have to give up everything, or… at least not forever. How long does it take before kids become mobile enough to hold a controller?

It’s going to be somewhat of an adventure. It’ll be somewhat pioneering in a sense. Not in the way of planning a new attack or kidnapping or planning someone’s death, but planning someone’s life instead. He’s created life as opposed to what he always does with those hands of his. He’s created life, he’ll have to take care of a life, care for a life, send that life into the world so that it’s not just alive but living. It’s humbling in the same way it’s glorified. So much responsibility. Life suddenly feels longer, eventful, important, dutiful and not just his playground, not just his blood-field, not just something to watch burn, but something to better.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Oh no. A baby? He’s not prepared for this. He’s so used to things being avoidable, or delayable at the least, this isn’t avoidable, this is happening whether he wants it or not, sooner than he can control. That stresses him out more than anything, the state of not having any control over the situation, leaving him frustrated, sporadic, afraid. He suddenly knows nothing about anything, his mouth is constantly dry, and he finds himself thinking of how strange and heavy the weight of his tongue feels to distract himself from the mess he’s created. And the only reason to it being a mess is because he has no idea how to protect everything from breaking into shambles. That’s more or less what breaks him the most, knowing how he’s most likely the one to ruin everything, that failure will probably be his fault.

He manages to calm down somewhat. His darling, in all her natural maternal feline instincts knows more or less what to do and how to do it, not really needing Hitoshi to provide her with anything on his own but what she tells him to do. And, despite needing to constantly hold the reigns, Hitoshi’s surprisingly glad or relieved more than anything, that his darling took the wheel so effortlessly. God knows he had no clue what to do. But, he has questions; bundles and mountains of inhuman questions. How many kids do Neko’s usually produce, when normal kitty litters sum up to nine kittens? Can he take care of nine kittens?! His darling doesn’t have nine nipples so he guesses that doesn’t make much biological sense. What else: how will a mini version of him look like? What more: what will a mini version of him with a cat’s features look like? Lastly: how does he feel about that?

He’ll help in the ways he still knows how. Cleaning makes up for most of it, since food has never been his specialty and now that food is significantly more important, he lets his darling control that too. Messaging and petting and cuddles making up for the rest of his helpfulness, which often gets frustrating for the both of them, given that they’re used to a certain spontaneous erotic lifestyle that now is out of reach.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Satisfaction. Finally, his little songbird needs him. Soon she’ll barely be able to walk on her own, she’ll need him for everything, be completely dependent on him, no longer in position to afford scowling at him or barking or biting or scratching or screaming. Knowing how something very soon will take her place in those extremities, and how they both will be exhausted and on the same side for once. He’s got it all figured out, he’s going to take a couple years off, to stay on with birdie number one and birdie number two. The days will be short but buzzing, between breakfast and collapsing into bed with his darling once the hours run to a close, waking up to screams that seem so welcoming and not at all like the onset of death as other parents make it out to be.

He can see it all so clearly. Soft-tinted days of baby-food and building-blocks and flying lessons, their baby with either his inherited crimson wings or his darling’s coat of pearl-white angel-feathers, perhaps a mix of both, how their little angel will fly from his arms to his darling’s arms, falling at times, but learning and prospering, becoming the embodiment of greatness. He can’t help but wonder how beautiful their child will become, being the product of himself and his darling, they’ll probably look godsend or like an actual god on earth. Wondering if they’ll have golden hair and golden eyes like him or satin hair and doe-eyes like his darling, how a mix of the two of them could be called perfection itself.

But, first things first. He doesn’t have time to humor his daydreams too much, never mind how tempting when they’re so close he can almost taste them. His darling needs him more than whatever imagines he conjures up. His instincts kick in, yet his humanity has last say in most of the decisions he has to make. The nest not being made up of sticks and mud like he was gravitating towards, but of pillows and blankets and plushies. Food not being made up of worms and insects but human cooking instead. Other than that he’ll stay in bed with his darling, stroking her feathers and feel her relax and stretch each time he hits a particular soft spot, listening to that special type of moan he’ll argue is the softest sound in the world.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

It’s cute of her to think its big news. It’s cute to watch her walk around pondering, wondering what’s wrong with her. Why her breasts are larger, sensitive, tender. Mistaking her morning sickness, rushing to the bathroom gulping, for being under the weather. Silly little thing, even more so with her pregnancy brain, walking around all cute and clueless. He enjoys the show, strokes her hair in a petting fashion, smirk irked in the corner of his lips and though it was small it spoke volumes, but what surprised her even more wasn’t the condescension she was met with but how relieved she felt upon understanding he had everything under control, something she used to hate, now feeling like a blessing, knowing how she was in… not exactly good hands… but something like it, something more capable than hers.

He is so prepared it borders on ridicules. It’s strange, for as long as she’s known him he’s always been so sure of himself, but now, glimpses from his youth shine through his composure of self-confidence. He’s nervous. The old rebellious her would poke fun at him, but she evolved, she’s survived, and she knows better. Besides, if he falls apart, what’s then left for her to do but follow suite? The new her comforts him with what she knows is true, having learnt that he doesn’t appreciate lies either. She tells him that he’s far away from his own father, because she knows that he will never leave her, soon to be them, as she stroked his unruly hair, kissed his forehead, squeezed his hand, smiled, told him that she loved him. And again, he knew before her that she meant it, she’d understand some time later that her dependence and his guidance created perfect symbiosis, equaled love, just like he had predicted.

The baby is the last of the puzzle-pieces, everything finally falling into place. She’s able to see him as more than something to fear like god, but as something human, as he rocks their baby in those massive scarred arms of his, his smile not nearly as unsettling as she once found it, but warm. And Izuku will finally see his darling as more than something to protect and to keep, something more than to love, as she bounces their child on her knee, that glow she used to have returning, he’ll not just see something to take, but something he already owns, as though some fog has lifted, he’ll feel proud, he’ll feel respect, he’ll feel happy, and he can say that it was all worth it and she can say that she forgives him.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Kai seems unfazed. It’s a lot to wrap one’s head around. He treats it awfully alike one would handle a business deal. Weighing the pros and cons and benefits and payments. Bringing a life into the world, a life that’s partly your own and partly the one you love. Does it mean he will love their spawn just as much as he loves his darling, that seems hard to believe. Does it mean he has to, that he’s expected to? Will his darling love the baby more than him? He heard that the love found between mothers and their children is insurmountable. Will he have to separate them to get the attention he needs? Will that make her hate him again? Will she perhaps love him more, now that the product of their love has come to fruition?

There are so many variables, so much to consider, and so painfully little time to get it all sorted out. He’s exhausted and on the border of grossed out. Between morning sickness and unpredictable mood-swings. He heard pregnant ladies are supposed to glow, he doesn’t see it. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks his darling is beautiful, but… she’s huge. He thought she was clumsy before, but damage was at a minimum when she was practically half his size, now she’s like a walking wreaking-ball. He can’t imagine how she will ever be able to… deliver something that seems to be taking half of the space inside her. He’s actually feeling anxious about the whole ordeal, trying to suffice his growing fears in a search for pregnant-aiding quirks.

And don’t get him started on the pregnancy brain. It’s not just her limbs that are everywhere at once, her brain is scattered like the aftermath of a shotgun, she barely pays him any mind anymore. All those hours spent teaching her proper manners, seems wasted and forgotten now, seeing how she eats like some animal then falls asleep, snoring with no thanks to spare him. He feels neglected to say the least and he can’t help but dread the time the baby actually comes around, knowing how the event will grant him no more attention than what he’s given now, probably robbing him of even more time with his precious darling.

TODOROKI SHOTO

He’s not leaving his darling’s side for a second. She’s holding his baby, possible babies, carrying them inside her belly, keeping them safe, so of course he needs to keep her safe too. Safe and comfortable and loved. He holds off on the unorthodox play until after the birth and probably sometime past it as well, no punishments than can cause stress, no fun and games and edge-play, nothing but soft touches, nothing but pillows and blankets and rosehip baths and soppy romantic films, cuddling, messages, words that are too sweet it almost becomes lifedraining. He’ll be so doting, so feather-light, she’ll nearly beg for him to give her just one measly frostbite burn, just one scorch-mark, but he won’t answer her prayers. They will be doing nothing that can cause duress, nothing at all.

He's in such mission-mode. More so than when he’s actually on a mission. This happening, this great chapter in their lives, this beginning of new life, seems so severely more important than anything else the world has to offer, nothing can distract him, no grade A villains, no threats to the world, no matter how much a friend or family member might need him, this pregnancy is paramount. He’s not going to put anything before his darling or their little bundle of joy happily coming to life inside her, blooming with potential. He’s not going to mess everything up like his father did, he’s adamant on not letting that happen. He’s going to be good. Everything’s going to be good. Happy. Perfect.

The only other thing he does, next to doting on his darling, is thinking and humoring what type of father he’s going to be, what type of father he should be, what type of father he has to be. Should he be strict, pushing his child to achieve greatness, milking their potential until they drain? Should he be liberal, letting his child run their own show, chase their own dreams no matter how wrong a path it seems? What did he want as a child?... Love. He wanted love. He wanted to be listened to, to be heard, to be helped. He wanted a friend, not just a teacher. He wanted to feel safe. He knows what type of father he wants to be, but… he knows it won’t be easy, it’s not meant to be easy, but he’s not one to back away from a challenge.

TIP-JAR

[onecanonlife]

Ranboo plants Tommy flowers. Somewhere, somehow, Tommy receives them.

(word count: 1,261)

----------------

“So, it works like this,” Wilbur tells him. “Things that people in the living world give you as offerings show up here. We don’t quite know why, but then, we don’t know why we’re stuck here, either, so—” He shrugs, as if to say, There you have it.

Tommy frowns, looking away, eyes drifting across the white expanse, seemingly endless in all directions. Blank, empty of life, devoid of sound except for that which they make.

“It’s why Schlatt’s got his grave here,” Wilbur continues. “It’s the only real landmark we’ve got. People must leave him booze sometimes, I guess. I don’t know how he’d get it otherwise.”

“Do you get anything?” he asks.

Wilbur smiles at him, bitter around the edges. Shrugs again, as if to say, What do you think?

Wilbur’s not here all the time. Neither is Schlatt. Mexican Dream shows up even less than either of them. But the afterlife, or this holding place, whatever it is, never stays the same for long. He can walk for days and not run into a single soul, and sometimes he’ll take a step to the left and be surrounded by people, all of them fuzzy and indistinct and walking onward into some inexorable distance, none of them acknowledging his presence even when he yells. And he does yell. If he has one thing left to him, it is his voice, loud and strident and lonely.

Sometimes, he’ll find his way to Schlatt’s grave. Schlatt is always there. They don’t talk much. It’s hard, sometimes, to stay angry. There is nothing to do here except to be angry, and that gets tiring. The dead don’t sleep.

He changes too, just like the space around them. Sometimes, he is himself. Sometimes, he is a child again, truly a child and not the teenage soldier he grew up to be, wielding weapons he never grew into, old before he should have been. Sometimes, he is himself, but when he touches his face, his fingertips come away bloody. He doesn’t like to remember why, but he can never stop himself.

If he’s being honest, he’s not expecting to get much of anything. A grave, hopefully. Maybe a few small things. He likes to think that some people will miss him. But not most people, he thinks, because most people found him annoying, or disregarded him entirely, or loved him once but now do not. Tubbo will grieve for him, he’s sure. But that might be all.

Then, he steps forward, and he is surrounded by flowers. Red and white. Daisies, calla lilies, poppies, roses. There is a veritable field of them, and he can smell them, too, their scent sweet and pure in a place that never smells of anything at all. He walks among them, trailing his fingers along the petals, brushing them against their stems. He tries to pick one, but it won’t budge from the ground.

But they are for him. He knows in his heart that they are for him.

“Don’t they know that you don’t like flowers?” Wilbur asks, the next time he sees him. His words are mocking, but his face, as he bends down to inspect them, is soft.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “Flowers are for sissies.”

“Of course,” Wilbur says.

He doesn’t like flowers. Really, he doesn’t. Doesn’t see the point in collecting them, in using a fine summer’s day with his friends, picking them one by one. Doesn’t see the point in keeping them, either, not when they’re not useful for anything, even when they’re a gift, given to him by someone important, given to him as a symbol of something greater. He doesn’t like flowers, and that’s the story he’s sticking to.

He doesn’t know why. It’s not like it matters, anymore. He can like flowers all he wants, and no one will ever know.

He likes these flowers, at least. And the others seem to get that, because they don’t make fun of him for it. Wilbur pretends to, but pretending is pretending. Schlatt rolls his eyes, but leaves him alone. Mexican Dream compliments him on the garden he’s got going on.

He looks around. Every time he looks, there are more of them. It really is a garden, though instead of soil, there is only blinding white ground, impenetrable.

He doesn’t love them for themselves. Not really, though they do look nice. It’s the fact that someone is planting them, and thinking about him. Missing him. It’s probably Tubbo. This seems like the sort of thing that he would do.

The statues are a surprise, when they start popping up. They’re funny as hell, really, and also a bit weird. He appreciates the thought. But in the end, he likes these flowers the best. He can lie down and close his eyes breathe in deeply and pretend that he’s laying on top of his hill, the sun in his eyes and Tubbo coming down the way, his hotel rising to the sky just a bit down the path, and the world is good and the world is at peace and there is nothing to worry about, and all is well that ends well, and he can finally, finally live.

He does this, and then he sits up and lets the illusion dissipate. It is never wise to let himself dream for too long. Even if it doesn’t matter anymore. Even if he has more time to dream than he could possibly want.

He sits up and lets the illusion dissipate, and there is a new flower in front of him. This one isn’t planted, is just lying there, and it’s strange because it’s allium, puffy and purple, and it doesn’t match the color scheme of the rest at all. He picks it up gingerly, spinning it in his hands. And then sets it to the side again.

He watches for more allium, from then on. There never is any, though the amount of all the others continues to increase. And he keeps circling back to it in his mind, because it stands out, because it is different, doesn’t quite belong, and he’s not sure why someone would—

Allium.

There was an allium flower, wasn’t there? Before everything went wrong? He put it in the chest with all of the rest of the pilfered items, and he always meant to go back for it and all the rest, but that never happened, so for all he knows, it is in there still, lying undisturbed under the blackstone floor.

A single allium. He picks it up again. And there is a whisper in his mind, a whisper that is quiet and familiar and a bit choked with grief, and he knows, in that moment, that Tubbo isn’t planting these.

Have a flower, Tommy.

And he doesn’t understand, not really. Doesn’t understand why he would spend so much time on it, planting flowers for a dead boy who will never see them grow. Except, perhaps, for the reason that he is missed, that he misses him, and this is the only thing he can think to do. The only thing he can do.

He brings the allium to his face and breathes in. There is a smile on his face, slight and sad. Quiet. There is no wind here, so he must be imagining the breeze he feels, but he can see it in his mind: his bench, his jukebox, the sunset, and someone sitting by his side. For once, it isn’t Tubbo.

He hopes Ranboo knows that he’s thinking of him too.

[kyunniebuns]

𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛!𝔻𝕚𝕝𝕦𝕔 𝚇 𝙶𝚗!ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣!

The head of the house Ragnvindr, the Darkside of Dawn, the owner of the renowned Dawn Winery- Many names,.. But for you? He was only your precious father.

He wasnt really good with children to start with, so he started researching all the little details he can possibly discover. If he’s not  satisfied with that, he’d actually ask someone. 

He wants to be the best father for his child, he also doesnt want you to grow with terrible stuff. With every little or big way,he’ll make sure you’ll live your life the fullest while he guides you.

Diluc is described as “aloof, bitter, and distant.”. However, his demeanor changes in front of his child. He’s still indifferent but the thing is- he is wholeheartedly attentive. 

Diluc is also a bit too overprotective. Well, how can he not? He lost his father in a brutal way. The redhead man is basically terrifed of losing another family, let alone his own child. Danger also lurks around uninvited, with your small build- It’s natural for him to put extra caution.

Overprotectiveness aside, he’s not very good in affection. He’s not like the type of father who showers his little one with constant praises and peppers their faces with soft kisses. 

The redhead man is more on the discreet way of showing his adoration. He spoils you a lot too. He has the money, so why not? (But not too much to the point you end up growing bad attitudes.) All your necessities are always laid out and he buys stuff he knows you’ll definitely adore. You want something like that adorable plushie displayed in the shelf of that store? Two seconds later you’re already holding it. Oh, you like that beverage? Consider it your everyday drink. You want to see the stars at night? He’s already making arrangements to have your own planetarium constructed! 

Well, if he’s not spoiling you with inanimate things. He’ll sneak in a few headpats, maybe some careful pecks in the forehead. He’ll also let you sit on his lap and play with your toy as he works on his papers. Diluc wont admit it but, he definitely enjoys having you accompany him while he's working. It makes him feel less tired.

About his work, ever since you came- He made sure he still has time to hang out with you. After all, children grow so fast, why would he want to miss our most adorable days? And if it does come to a point where he really needs to pay extra attention to work- He’ll leave you to Elzer and Adelinde, maybe even Kaeya too. The Chivalry captain is still, after all- One of the few people he trusts you with.

Diluc is also most likely the type who’ll surely carry his child around when he goes on long travels with them. Kaeya will probably make fun of him, but is he ashamed? No, he’ll even feel secretly proud he carries them around.

When it comes to overall raising you to be good, he’s got his ways. One of it is being very strict. Bedtime is bedtime. No more dilly dallying around, off to bed. If you cant sleep, he’ll prepare some warm milk and stroke your heads until you are off to the paradise of dreams. (Oh, maybe he’ll even hum a soft lullaby, who knows-)

He's also a very supportive one, if you want to be an artist- That's fine! Diluc will start buying you paints, papers, pencils and all. Oh, maybe you want to learn how to fight? He'll be a bit hesitant since he doesnt want you to get hurt, but nonetheless, he'll personally teach you how.

 “Uncle Kaeya is here! Daddy! Daddy lookie! It’s uncle Kaeya!” You cheer happily as you start swaying around in the man’s arms. “Uncle! Uncle!”

“Stop moving around, you might fall” Diluc sighs as he watched the chivalry captain wave and walk over. 

“My little niece/nephew sure has sharp eyes” The cryo user softly smiles as he watches the child sling onto their father happily “How have you been lately? You’re getting a lot of sleep right?”

“Mhm! Daddy lets me sleep on his bed when bad dreams come and bother me! He makes them go bye-bye!” You giggle lightly as you snuggled on the crevice of Diluc’s neck “Daddy is the best!”

“Mn” He lightly hummed, stroking your small back with his warm gloved hand.

“Oh? But did you that there is also someone called the ‘Darknight Hero’who beats bad guys in the dead of night? If you call for him, he might just help you get rid of those bad dreams completely” Kaeya chuckled as he watched his sworn brother throw him a small glare

“You’re talking too much” Diluc scoffed at him.

“Darknight Hero? That name sounds cool!” Your eyes twinkled. “But I dont need the darknight hero! No, no, nope!”

“Why not?” Kaeya asked, leaning his head towards you a bit “Dont you want to see a real hero?”

“Heroes are cool and all but... I have Daddy!” Diluc slightly flinched at your reply. “Daddy doesnt need to wait until moon appears to be a hero! Daddy is always here and makes the baddies go bye-bye effortlessly! And daddy is really-really handsome too and-and really strong! I dont need another hero cuz I have daddy! And daddy is all i would ever want!”

Your voice was so full of innocence and admiration one could almost feel like they were walking in a field of flowers. Diluc felt embarassed since Kaeya wasnt the only one who heard- The people passing were in awe by your innocence. He sure is lucky to have such a cute child like you. Being the clueless little angel you are, you rubbed your cheeks together with a proud grin.

“That’s adorable and all... But what about Uncle?” Kaeya cooes.

“Mn... Erm... “ You thought for a bit. “Daddy is still cooler!”

“As cold as your father, you really do take after him” He shakes his head.

“Alright, that’s enough” Diluc finally says. “It’ll be dark soon, it’s best we go home now”

“And I was just beginning to have fun with the little one” He shrugs “You take care now. Be sure to listen to your daddy and sleep a lot so you’ll grow”

“I will!”

With that, Diluc started to head towards the gates of Monstadt.

“Daddy?” You yawned softly.

“Is there something you want?” He asked softly, stroking your back. 

“When I grow big... I want to be just like you... I wanna be strong and make all the baddies... Go bye bye” Your words faltered as you drifted off to sleep in his chest. 

“Not just yet, dont grow up too fast” Diluc whispered in your small ear, nosing your little head and giving it a small peck. he doesnt want that yet, let him  cherish you with all his heart. Let him handle the villains, let him protect you with everything he can. He knows he wont be able to protect you always, he knows there’s always going to be a day where you’ll have to face the dark reality of this world,... But just this once, just a little while longer... Let him cherish your inoccence. Continue to be cluless about the cruel world. Just smile brightly, so bright that even the sun cannot match it.

❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽❄︎᯽

A/N

Hi! Hi! Thank you so much for taking your time and reading! I hope you enjoyed it! This is my first time writting an HC so please bare with me with all the errors ahah QAQ. I might make Kaeya and Xiao version if I feel confident enough!  I would also like to thank @araglia for the tips about Diluc! Thank you so much for the help! AND I’M GOING TO TAKE THIS CHANCE TO SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR WRITTING!!!!!

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[the-modernmary]

you’ll always know me || aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: "I would have stayed... If you asked me to.

After your high school graduation, you left without saying goodbye to Aaron Hotchner, your best friend, and nobody had heard from you since. Years later, you're back in DC, and catching up with Aaron brings more than you could have possibly hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of weed

A/N: I really wanted some soft Hotch content in my life after all the angst in my best habit, and this is about as soft as I can get. Inspired by Taylor Swift's "dorothea". Honestly, I was listening to evermore, blacked out for about three hours, and this is what came from that. There is no other explanation for this. It's written differently than my usual style, but I hope y'all like it still!

read on ao3 || masterlist

~~~~~~~

“What’s got you in such a rush?”

  Rossi eyes Aaron carefully as the latter circles around his office, double and triple-checking that he didn’t forget anything. The last thing he wants is to have to come back to the office and cut his day short.

  Aaron shoves a few case files in his briefcase. “An old friend from high school is in town and I’m meeting up with her.”

  Rossi perks up at the word ‘her’ and he leans against the door frame. Aaron notices this, too, because he shakes his head quickly. “It’s not like that. We both got sent to boarding school for being problem children and we became quick friends. I haven’t talked to her since graduation. She just packed up her stuff and left the very next day.”

“You sound bitter,” Rossi points out.

  “Not at all,” he lies, trying to forget the hurt of running to your dorm for your weekly breakfast together, only to be met with an empty room and a singular polaroid. “I knew she hated it there and her goal was to travel and see as many places as she could. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s back stateside at all. Last I heard, she was doing some art apprenticeship in Italy, but that was years ago.”

  “You sound like you have a long evening ahead of you, so I’ll get out of your hair. And have some fun tonight, Aaron. You deserve it,” Rossi adds on as an afterthought. 

  The corners of Aaron's mouth lift slightly. “I will. Try not to let the building burn down while I’m gone. Reid is back on his physics magic kick, and I think I heard something about a lighter.”

  Rossi gives Aaron a two-finger, half-hearted salute in acknowledgment, which is all it takes for Aaron to shut his office door and head towards the elevator. Knowing that you’re just outside, he has to make a conscious effort to slow his pace from an excited jog to just an anxious speed walk. The elevator ride is slow, seemingly stopping at every single floor on the way down, which gives his mind ample time to wander and think back to graduation day.

  “There you are!” Aaron shouts from across the football field as he runs up to you, shoving through bustling groups of families trying to take pictures. He has so many stoles and cords and leis around his neck that you can barely see the suit he’s wearing underneath his gown. It’s a stark contrast to you, with only a singular chord for academic achievement, although a 3.2 wasn’t much of an achievement in the eyes of most people at boarding school.

  “Here I am!” you laugh, throwing your arms around him in a hug and breathing in the smell of his cologne.

  “Where’re your parents? Didn’t they come?”

  “Of course they didn’t. They’re not ones for celebrating something as trivial as high school graduation, not when it’s just expected of me.” You roll your eyes. “What about you? I thought you and Haley were going to do the whole ‘meet the family’ thing today?”

  Aaron is oblivious to the bitterness in your voice, although that’s nothing new. “We are, but I just wanted to give these to you.” It’s then that you notice the bouquet of flowers in his hand, although it’s now being pressed into your arms. “As a congrats. And a thank you for being there for me this whole time. You’re my best friend.”

  You try to ignore the ache in your chest at his words. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he waves it off. “If you want to get me something, breakfast is your treat tomorrow.”

  “Okay, deal,” you agree, the smile coming back to your face. Selfishly, you don’t want him to go back to Haley or his family just yet. You want him to stay there with you so you don’t feel so lonely in the crowd of happy graduates. “God, I can’t believe you’re staying in D.C. for college. We always talked about getting out, seeing the world and never coming back.”

  Aaron shrugs, and you watch as he brushes away a piece of his hair that falls into his face. “I’m hoping that going to GW for undergrad will make it easier to get into law school there.”

  “And Haley Brooks is still here for another year,” you point out, half accusatory.

  “Yeah, that, too.” Aaron chuckles uncomfortably before quickly switching the conversation. “What about you? Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “There’s an art school in Glasgow I’m thinking of going to. But, you know… George Washington also has an art program. It’s pretty nice, too. I’m still deciding.” You trail off, looking straight into Aaron’s eyes, giving him every chance in the world to make the decision for you.

  Aaron hesitates, fighting an internal battle. “Go to Glasgow!” he says, fake enthusiasm in his voice, but your disappointment blocks out anything but his actual words. “Then I’ll have an excuse to visit Scotland.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was leaning towards, too,” you lie. “Aaron, I—”

  You’re cut off by a voice calling his name. You both turn around to see Haley Brooks waving him over, her other hand holding 7-year-old Sean’s hand. She looks like spring personified, her blonde hair in bouncy curls and her pink sundress swishing around her long, slender legs. Her smile is so big that it could have parted storm clouds, and you want nothing more than to hate her with every single fiber of your being.

  But then you see Aaron, returning her megawatt smile with his own, one you rarely ever saw, and how can you hate somebody who makes him so happy?

  “I have to go, I’m sorry,” he says, although there’s not even a hint of regret in his voice. “But I’ll see you for one last Sunday breakfast tomorrow?”

  “I’ll see you then,” you lied.

  How Aaron could have missed the signs of your unhappiness, he’ll never know. At that time, all he knew was that you left without ever saying goodbye, leaving behind only a polaroid of the two of you from your weekend trip to Virginia Beach, both of you drunk and laughing with your arms wrapped around each other. He still has it, buried in his nightstand somewhere, but he hasn’t had the courage to look at it for a few years now.

  As Aaron steps out of the FBI building, he recognizes you instantly, even though it’s only the back of your head, and it causes his breath to catch in his throat. He calls your name and watches as you turn around, your hair whipping around you, and the fact that you still have that same mischievous glint in your eyes is enough to make him feel like he’s sixteen again and nervously skipping class with you holding his hand and pulling him towards the school gates.

  “Aaron!” You jog up to him and throw your arms around him in a hug, which he happily reciprocates. You press a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away, and Aaron’s entire face burns.

  You keep your hands on his biceps, holding him at arm’s length, as you study him. He looks almost exactly the same as he did all those years ago, with soft hair and the slightest bit of stubble, but he looks less carefree. He seems more mature, like life had aged him 100 years. Still, as cute as high school Aaron was, it had nothing on how good he looks now. “Look at you, Mr. FBI, all suit and corporate-looking! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ve changed quite a bit,” he admits, and the sight of his dimples makes you want to melt right there into the sidewalk. “It’s really good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you barely thought about me,” you joke, but hurt flashes through your eyes.

  Aaron wants to argue, to tell you that he thinks about you all the time, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to spend the precious few hours he has with you bringing up old issues. “Are you hungry? Because there’s this diner a few blocks down with giant milkshakes.”

  “Why are we still standing here, then? All you had to say was milkshakes, they’re my favorite.”

  “I know. I remember,” he says, and that all-too-familiar pang in your heart comes back like it had never left. “Come on, we can walk and cut through a park.”

  The two of you start your walk in comfortable silence, listening to the bustling city around you. Every once in a while, your hands would bump into his, and you were doing everything you could to ignore it.

  “So did you ever go to that art school?” he asks suddenly, looking over at you.

  You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. “I did. You were right, I loved Scotland.”

  “Where did you go after that? Nobody heard from you.”

  Your eyes sparkle as memories of your life the past few years flash through your mind. “Everywhere. Literally. I took a bunch of odd jobs and spent my time traveling,” you admitted. “I taught English in Vietnam for a year, worked on a cruise ship that went around South America, was an au pair for a French ambassador, went on research expeditions… Even dated a pilot for all of six months. Anything I could do that would let me see the world.” You laugh to yourself, shaking your head fondly. “I really put that private boarding school tuition to good use, huh? My parents were pissed.”

  “It sounds like you were living the life you dreamed of,” Aaron says softly, looking down at you.

  “It was,” you agree, your voice a little sad.

  “So then why are you back here in DC?”

  You shrug, your hands clasped behind your back, and you step down on a particularly crunchy leaf. “I’m just passing through. I’ve been going around the US and looking for a place to settle down. Finally. Figured I might as well put that art degree to good use. Maybe I’ll open a gallery or something.”

  Aaron nods slowly as the chill of autumn runs through his bones. It’s nice, though, in a weird way. He’s always preferred the fall over spring. “Where have you looked so far?”

  “Lots of places. San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Atlanta, San Antonio, Miami… I’m heading up to New York next. Nothing’s felt right so far. But enough about me, how are you? I heard you married Haley Brooks.”

  That same bitterness you felt in high school when you talked about Haley comes back with a vengeance. It’s unfair, and you know that. How was Aaron supposed to know that you were practically in love with him in high school if you never told him? Even now, you’re sure that he hasn’t put together the pieces.

  You watch as his gaze falls slightly. “I did. She died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you reach out to give his hand a small squeeze.

  “We got divorced a little while before it happened,” he explains, unsure why it’s so important to him that you know that. “I blamed myself for it for a long time. But I’ve, uh… I’ve made peace with it now.”

  You give him a comforting smile, fully aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. “Aaron Hotchner, making peace with something in his life? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Aaron chuckles and bumps his shoulder to yours. “I’ve been known to do it a few times. But only a few. Haley and I have a son, though. His name is Jack. He’s 8 now.”

  You shake your head in disbelief, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “And you’re a father? Wow, you really have changed.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, and you shake your head wordlessly.

  “I like every version of Aaron Hotchner,” you promise. “Besides, change is a good thing. Especially since this city hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Aaron looks around, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s seeing DC for the very first time. “It’s actually changed quite a bit. But it’s subtle. Only people who have been here as long as I have would even notice it, probably.”

  The words cut through you both as a painful reminder of your abrupt departure from DC, and the silence settles over the two of you like a thick fog. This conversation was going to have to happen no matter what, you knew that going into this meeting with Aaron, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

  “I would have stayed,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If you asked me to.”

  Aaron shakes his head as his Adam’s apple bobs. “I thought about it. But I couldn’t do that to you. I knew you wanted to see the world, and you said it yourself. This city had nothing left to offer you.”

  You pause, rubbing your thumb over your fingertips with your freehand. “It had you,” you reply, and Aaron feels like he was just stabbed in the heart. “That would have been enough.” Seeing Aaron’s dejected face, you quickly keep talking. “But I get it, don’t worry. You were head over heels for Haley Brooks. Everybody knew you two were meant to be together.””

  “What does that have to do with you leaving?” he asks, more accusatory than he intended.

  “Everything.”

  Aaron breathes out your name, unsure of what to say until he settles on: “I’m sorry.”

  You wave him off, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be. I was 17 years old with a crush. We do stupid things, like want to stay at home for a boy. I’m glad I left. Besides, Haley Brooks was clearly the love of your life, and far be it from me to try and break up the golden couple.”

  The two of you stop in front of the diner and you drop Aaron’s hand, much to his disappointment, although you’re still close enough to him to see your reflection in his brown eyes. “I didn’t know you felt like that about me,” he says.

  “Which is surprising, because everybody else definitely knew. But you’ve always been a little clueless when it comes to stuff like that,” you tease, flashing him a toothy smile. “But it’s in the past. So come on, I want to hear about this FBI stuff and drink a milkshake so big it makes my stomach hurt.”

  Twenty minutes later, you and Aaron find yourselves smushed together in a corner booth covered in cheap vinyl, splitting a chocolate milkshake and laughing as you stroll down memory lane. 

  “You know, I ran into Stephen yesterday! A little coffee shop not too far from here,” you tell Aaron.

  Aaron almost drops the fry he was about to eat. “Do you mean Stoner Stephen? What is he doing back here?”

  You take a sip of the milkshake, and Aaron’s gaze is intense as you wrap your lips around the straw. When you pull back, he’s still staring at the soft pink your lipstick leaves behind. “Apparently, he’s lived here for years. Also, did you know he’s crazy smart? Like… graduated 4th in our class, went to Brown undergrad and Columbia graduate, smart.”

  Aaron’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “And this is the same guy who, completely sober, tried putting his mattress in the pool so that he didn’t have to sleep in his own dorm?”

  “The very same one. He’s like a lobbyist now or something for some activist group.”

  “Wow, I did not expect that. Do you remember when he got so high that he thought his joint was going to catch the dorms on fire?” Aaron asks, the words barely discernible through his laughter. “So he warned campus police that the whole school was going to burn down.”

  “Yes!” you giggle, your head thrown back in laughter. “They thought it was an arson threat and they had to evacuate the whole school. I was taking an English final during that.”

  Aaron’s shoulder pressing against yours makes a shiver run down your spine. You idly wonder how much closer he can get to you if he really tried.

  As if reading your mind, Aaron turns towards you a little more so that your knees are touching and you can feel his breath on the side of your neck. “We went to the beach that weekend,” he says quietly, unwilling to break eye contact with you. “Drank cheap beer. You got stung by a jellyfish. I had to carry you back to the car.”

  No, no. You were not about to fall for Aaron Hotchner’s charm again that easily. Not again. It took you too long to get over him the first time. Still, you were leaning closer to Aaron, and Aaron was leaning in towards you, and your noses brushed as you tilt your head to the side ever so slightly and—

  And his phone rings. Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips one last time before pulling away, giving you an apologetic look.

  “Hotchner,” he answers, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself as realization sinks into you. You feel like you’re 17 again, desperately waiting for Aaron to ask you to prom, only to hide in your dorm for days on end when he asked Haley Brooks.

  When Aaron hangs up, he immediately reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, setting enough cash on the table to cover the tab and tip. “That was work. We have to fly out to Arizona. I’m sorry.”

  You nod understandingly. “Gotta catch the bad guys. When do you leave?”

  It’s silent for a few torturous moments before he finally answers. “An hour, at most. We brief at the office and then get on the plane.”

  “Wow,” you breathe. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you live out of your suitcase. Can I walk back with you, at least?”

  Aaron smiles, a small smile that makes you wonder how often he actually smiles now. It used to be a lot, but from what he’s told you, it seems like he’s had a rough go of it the last couple of years, and has a lot less to smile about. It makes you sad because when you were traveling the world, his smile was the one thing you missed the most.

  “I’d really like that.”

  The two of you make small talk on the way back, swapping stories about Jack and your various adventures around the globe. The autumn air is crisp with leaves falling all around you. At one point, there was a big gust of wind, and leaves and pine needles got blown onto the two of you, and you took your sweet time running your fingers through his hair, bushing it all off him. 

  When you get to the entrance of the FBI building, neither one of you says anything. You just stand there, both unwilling to say goodbye. You turn to face each other, just as close as you were in the diner booth.

  “Oh, you have a…” Aaron delicately reaches his hand to your hair. His fingers in your hair make your stomach do flips, and you’re almost positive he can hear your racing heartbeat. His eyes stay trained on yours the entire time, never blinking. “Pine needle,” he whispers, holding the offending object between his fingers.

  “Thanks,” you breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the autumn chill or his hand reaching to cup your cheek that sends goosebumps throughout your body.

  As if he were magnetic, you rise onto your toes, bringing yourself closer to him, and you press your lips against his. Aaron deepens the kiss and runs his thumb across your cheekbone. His other hand wraps itself around your waist. The kiss is slow and sensual and better than anything you could have dreamed of — and you dream of Aaron kissing you more often than you’d like to admit.

  All too soon, the two of you pull away from each other, both wearing matching smiles.

  “I should probably… get in there… before my team sends out a search party,” Aaron says reluctantly, pointing towards the entrance. 

  You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Go save lives. I’ll probably be around for a few more days before heading up to New York. If you’re back by then.”

  Aaron purses his lips, deep in thought. “You’re definitely settling down somewhere? Done with seeing the world?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Have you… Do you think…” Aaron takes a grounding breath, trying to gather the words he was too afraid to ask back at graduation. “Have you ever considered settling down here? There’s a pretty big art community here.”

  You shrug, ignoring excitement building in your chest. “I think my work is a little too experimental for the people of the capitol.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he chuckles.

  You bring your lower lip between your teeth, chewing nervously at it. “I don’t know… I left for a reason. I just don’t know what DC has to offer me anymore.”

  Aaron spreads his arms out at his side, palms facing you in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. “There’s me,” he offers, and, when your eyes go wide, he adds, “And Stoner Stephen, if I’m not enough.”

  A laugh bursts out of you uncontrollably, which seems to put both you and Aaron at ease. “That makes it a very tempting offer,” you tease.

  “And I have a coworker who flips houses. He’ll be able to tell you where to get the best deal on an apartment,” Aaron presses as if you need any more convincing. As if your mind isn’t already made up.

  “First, I need to know that there’s more than one good place to get milkshakes,” you point out, shoving your hands in your coat pockets. “You’ll have to show me around when you get back.”

  Aaron’s lips quirk up in a hopeful smile. “It’s a date.”

  He makes his way towards the entrance of the Hoover Building, but you call out his name, stopping him once more. “We’ll also need a new Sunday breakfast place. Since our old one is closed down.”

  Now, his smile is one of pure joy, and his eyes are sparkling in a way you haven’t seen in years. “I know just the place. As long as you don’t up and leave without telling me again.”

  “Never again,” you promise, and for once, the idea of staying doesn’t terrify you.

  “Then we’ll get breakfast together as soon as I get back.”

  You smile at him, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours. “I’ll see you then.”

[usaginotwst]

Oh you know i wanna know 💐 family/parent headcanons for leona, riddle, and azul

hohoho bestie, you better bet I'm excited for this one!!! I literally love writing family hcs!!

here's a link to the ask meme if you want to ask

💐 Family/Kids HC

Leona:

· Was reluctant to have kids in the first place because he knows firsthand how awful some can be to one another.

· Once his daughter is born, however, things begin to change. Very slowly at first, but the change does come. Seeing the tiny version of his own eyes staring back at him sent images of his childhood rushing through his mind, the beauty and wonder, the abject disappointment and bitterness. He decided then and there that she would never suffer the way he did. The perfectly unmarred skin of her face would serve as a silent reminder that her upbringing would be better than his.

· Eventually has two or three kids. I think he would have a girl and two boys.

· As a father, Leona is dependable, if lazy. Definitely the world’s biggest supporter of nap time and days spent under the shade of a tree.

· He actively helps with the children’s education and livelihood but doesn’t push too hard. His kids are smart and they’re ambitious, if they want to know something they’ll figure it out.

· You won’t catch him doing dishes or housework unless hounded. Some things never change.

· Leona loves his family more than life itself and he’ll actively hunt down someone for hurting any one of his children or his spouse. The type of man that if someone wronged you in the grocery store parking lot, Leona would usher you and the kids into the car before turning around and with a flick of his wrist the other person’s shopping cart was turned into dust. He would laugh and get into the driver’s seat as their groceries rolled around on the asphalt.

· Would gripe about school plays but would complain loudly if there wasn’t a seat in the front row so he could see his child in their role as ‘tree #3’. Would also actively brag that his kid was chosen for the role over everyone else’s, because of course they were. Also gets very obnoxious at sporting events.

Riddle

· Riddle wanted to have kids, but only with someone he had been with for a long time and had heavily vetted to see if their disposition was right to be a parent. A parent’s actions can heavily impact their child’s life you see. Well, you came along and the rest is history.

· Anxious and almost shaking with anxiety, Riddle cut the umbilical cord that served as his son’s lifeline for the last 9 months, he realized that he was now his son’s lifeline. And he welcomed the responsibility with open arms and tears in his eyes.

· Has a son and a daughter roughly 5 years apart.

· Riddle struggles with wanting to be lenient and wanting to see his children succeed. He never wants his children to experience what he did. And he even had multiple stern talks with his mother about the difference between her being a grandmother and her trying to parent his children.

· His children oftentimes do things to see who can make him turn the most red in the face. One time they moved all the furniture in the house three degrees to the left and watched as he stubbed his toe on everything as he passed by. Another time, they filled a bubble bath as high as it could go before splashing all the bubbles on the ground to create an indoor slip-n-slide.

· Despite them wanting to get on his nerves, Riddle is a proud father and he has their art, homework, and anything they would give him displayed on any vacant surface in the home. Macaroni art made in the first grade? Hanging in his office next to his Father’s Day cards. 100% on a test he stayed up to help them study for? Still on the fridge.

· One moment he will be making fun of his partner for getting so heated at their child’s sporting event and the next he’s red in the face demanding a new referee on the field.

Azul:

· Thinks he would be prepared because he devoured every single pregnancy, birth, and parenting book he could find, but when they placed his first daughter into his arms, Azul’s knees began to quake. Nothing could have prepared him for this. They don’t exactly come with instruction manuals.

· Has three daughters, triplets.

· He is wrapped around their fingers and it’s so bad. He believes them over anyone and is the first one to jump to their defense if something were to happen.

· However he is also prone to theatrics when they get to the age where being seen around their dad isn’t cool anymore. He spends many nights crying to his partner, worried that they hate him.

· He is the dad that always has everything seemingly perfect around the house when guests come over and is always mysteriously rife with cash, though he never truly tells his daughters’ friends what he does. It makes him seem mysterious, but he just doesn’t want to burst their bubble and let them know he owns multiple restaurant franchises.

· Hypocrite. Holds himself to impossible standards but believes that his daughters are perfect as they are, even as the middle daughter gets heavier and finds herself bullied. Azul would stroll up to the school to ensure a new code of conduct is written in exchange for the principal to have a whole new wardrobe.

· If any of his children were giving a presentation or in a play of some sort, he calls ahead and has the school block off the entire first row and he forces some of his employee to come see it. The school faculty is tired of him.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Make A Scene

AMHL – Masterlist

Dick immediately noticed when Y/N started getting quieter and quieter as they got closer and closer to the venue.

Bruce had hired a driver to pick them up from their apartment in Gotham. And the car had gone quiet now. 

Dick reached over to gently hold her hand.

“Nervous?” He asked.

Y/N shrugged, not really seeing the point in trying to lie to her boyfriend.

“This isn’t your first rodeo, ya know.”

She gave him a look. “You know that wasn’t the same.” Her eyes flickered to the driver. “I wasn’t exactly…myself. And I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

Also, tonight they didn’t have the security and comfort of being at Wayne Manor.

No, instead this particular event was being held at the ballroom of Gotham’s most extravagant five-star hotel. It was a party for Wayne Enterprises, not a personal charity or party of the Wayne family.

Bruce had kindly asked Dick and Y/N to attend when board members and business partners started asking if the whole family would be attending. Jason hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts about it. None of them expected him to show up. Tim had to attend since he worked for Wayne Enterprises. And Damian…Well, Damian was his father’s son and not yet an adult. He basically had to do whatever Bruce asked of him while he lived under his roof.

“I’m not gonna leave your side,” Dick promised.

He squeezed her hand to further emphasize it.

Their car pulled up to the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

There had to be a hundred journalists and photographers, along with random civilians who had nothing better to do than to see Gotham’s elite get out of cars and walk into a hotel.

Dick took in a deep breath.

Thankfully the car’s windows were tinted and protected them from any onlookers.

“Ready?” He asked her.

She nodded.

Dick opened the door and ignored the screams and flashes as he carefully helped Y/N out of the car with his offered hand. He also shielded her from the photographers to give her a moment to get out and adjust herself before they could capture any photos of her.

“Mr. Grayson! Mr. Grayson! Who is your mystery girlfriend?” Someone yelled.

Sometimes Y/N forgot that Dick was somewhat of a celebrity in Gotham City through association.

It wasn’t like people were asking for selfies everywhere he went. Or that the paparazzi were following his every move.

But in Gotham, people took note of where Dick Grayson went and who he was with.

And everyone noticed he’d had the same woman on his arm for quite some time now.

Even though Y/N and Dick had been dating for over a year, the media still couldn’t figure out Y/N’s identity. 

What they didn’t realize was that she controlled every single piece of information about herself that lived on the internet.

They didn’t stand a chance. 

Dick smiled and waved at people who called his name. But his hand other hand never left Y/N’s as he helped her up the stairs.

“Who are you wearing?” A female journalist yelled at Y/N.

She ignored them and focused on getting up the stairs without tripping and face planting. Not that Dick would ever let that happen.

However, she knew her outfit was going to draw gazes.

Y/N had made a promise to herself that if she was going to be forced to attend events like this with Dick, then she was going make a statement. People were already going to be staring at her, so she figured she might as well give them something good to stare at.

Instead of wearing a typical cocktail and formal dress, Y/N wore a full men’s suit that was tailored to perfection, but with the bowtie undone. It was what the fashion magazines would describe as “androgynous” in the press tomorrow morning.

Y/N wanted to control her own narrative. And she’d rather be judged for her bold decisions than just her trying to blend in.

Bruce insisted on paying for all the boys’ date’s dresses – in this case, suit – if they happened to bring one. He always thought it was more of an incentive for them to attend these terrible events if he encouraged them to bring significant others. And the press always had a field day with it, which only helped throw people of their trail when it came to their secret lives as vigilantes.

Everyone kept screaming Dick’s name as they walked in, and Y/N wondered how he got so good at smiling through the chaos and ignoring them.

Once they were inside, Dick felt the tension leave Y/N’s body a bit.

“Alcohol?” He offered with a smirk.

“Yes, please.”

He nodded, knowing it was exactly what she needed.

Quickly, he grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing waiter.

They clinked glasses.

Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for being my date.”

Y/N smiled at his sincerity.

Dick sighed before he threw back the champagne, “The quicker we find Bruce and prove we were here, the sooner we can leave.”

“Try not to sound so excited,” she laughed darkly.

Suddenly felt a small human wrap around her thighs.

Y/N gasped in excitement, “Dami!”

Dick smiled as he looked down at his 10-year-old brother hugging his girlfriend.

“Dick gave me the drawing you made for us. It’s so beautiful. I’m trying to find the perfect frame for it,” she told the boy.

Damian beamed with pride at that.

Suddenly the boy started asking a million questions about Stoker, one of his kittens that he’d given to them to take care of when Bruce gave a limit to how many cats Damian was allowed to have in the manor.

Then, to Dick’s shock, he saw Jason slowly walk over to them with his hands in his pant pockets.

He was not at all dressed nice enough for the event. No suit jacket. No tie. His white button-up shirt wrinkled, messily tucked into his pants, and with two many buttons undone. The sloppiness of it all clearly wasn’t an issue with the women, seeing as all of them were ogling Jason.

“Todd,” Damian greeted coldly, pausing his conversation with Y/N, who whipped around at the name.

“Hey, you,” Y/N smiled as she went to greet him.

Jason gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and a quick hug.

“I really didn’t think you were coming,” Dick told his brother.

“Well, I wasn’t. But I got a business engagement.”

Y/N and Dick shared a confused look.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked.

“I found my neighbor crying on her fire escape a few nights ago. Apparently… one of the finance bros of Wayne fucking Enterprises was everything but a gentleman to her.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization. “J, I already took care of that.”

“I know,” Jason nodded as his eyes scanned the room. He was clearly on a personal mission tonight. “You deleted the evidence. I am teaching him a lesson.”

Dick slowly put together what they were implying.

“Oh, please don’t make a scene, Jason.” Dick begged him.

Because he knew Bruce wouldn’t be dealing with the aftermath; it would be him.

“Don’t worry!” Jason laughed. "I’m gonna take him outside before I beat the shit out of him. No one here will even notice. It’ll be fine,” Jason assured him as he gave Dick a far too heavy slap on the back.

“Just tell Bruce and he’ll get him fired,” Dick tried to convince him to take the less violent route.

“Oh, we already did,” Y/N muttered.

Dick’s gaze shot to his girlfriend.

“He’s getting fired on Monday,” she clarified sheepishly.

“Since when do the two of you work together behind my back?” Dick accused them.

But he wasn’t actually mad about anything – maybe just a little bit bitter.

Jason opened his mouth.

“I swear to God, Jason, if you say ‘club business,’ I will lose it…” Dick warned.

Y/N tried to hide her smile.

“Got him,” Jason growled as he glared at someone on the other side of the room.

As soon as he left them, Dick gave Y/N his full attention.

“Seriously?” He accused.

“I’m sorry! He asked me for a favor and I was happy to do it once I realized what it was,” Y/N defended.

Dick pouted a little. Mostly because he hated being left out.

“Don’t worry, ya big baby. I’m still your ‘guy in the chair’ and no one else’s,” she teased before giving him a kiss, immediately wiping the lipstick off his lips.

“How come Jason gets to beat up people at events like this, but I’m expected to behave like a well-trained dog?” Damian mumbled.

Dick sighed and shook his head.

“Jason likes to think he’s a lone wolf who doesn’t have to play by the rules,” Y/N tried to comfort the boy.

To distract Damian from getting further into how unfair it was, Y/N asked him to show her more of his drawings.

This seemed to please Damian and he pulled his phone out, flipping through photos and showing Y/N his recent sketches.

With Y/N being entertained by his youngest brother, Dick decided to go to the bar and get the two of them a stronger drink and maybe get a kiddie cocktail for Damian. He’d pretend to be patronized and annoyed by it, but Dick knew better.

He patiently waited for the bartender’s attention. 

“So Gotham’s Golden Boy really has returned…” a husky voice uttered beside him at the bar.

Dick glanced over to see a beautiful woman close to his age eyeing him.

It was clear what she wanted. Dick used tactics like this on countless missions.

“So I have,” he answered.

He was polite, but distant.

Women hitting on him at events like this was nothing new. To Gotham, Dick Grayson was a Bruce Wayne 2.0 – younger, just as charming and handsome as his mentor and stand-in father figure. 

Dick knew how to play the game. But he never had any interest in casual relationships like Bruce did.

“Back for good?” The woman persisted.

“My girlfriend and I are just in town for a few weeks,” he answered before ordering his drinks with the bartender finally.

“Oh, brought up the girlfriend rather quickly,” she laughed.

Dick quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just…my friends and I had a bet going.”

Then she pointed to a group of three young women, who were giggling and smiling, not even trying to pretend like they weren’t watching them closely.

“Oh, yeah?” Dick asked, already tired of this conversation.

--

Jason had already rejoined Y/N and Damian.

Y/N looked down to see his knuckles red with irritation and bruised.

“Please tell me there’s not a corpse in the alley behind this hotel now…” Y/N sighed.

“No,” Jason answered coldly. “Though there fucking should be.”

“What did he do?” Damian asked curiously, clearly he hadn’t been listening to their earlier conversation that closely.

Y/N shifted her weight in discomfort, not sure how to handle the subject with the boy. Yes, Damian was far more mature than many grown men, but he was still just a kid. There were some things Y/N felt like they should at least try to protect him from still. 

“He got my neighbor too drunk to consent, filmed them having sex without her knowing it, and then showed it to a bunch of people at their work,” Jason answered bluntly.

Damian’s brow furrowed, clearly thinking long and hard about what his brother just told him.

After a moment, the boy perked up, “I know where we could hide the body so even father won’t find out.”

“Damian!” Y/N scolded.

But Jason was beaming.

Y/N looked around for Dick, hoping to find another sane person to stop the two boys from actually murdering anyone tonight.

But when she finally spotted him, she saw a woman standing far too close to Dick and pointing to a group of girls who flirtatiously waved and winked at both of them.

“Real cute,” Y/N muttered to herself.

“Vultures,” Damian growled as he followed her gaze.

“Jason, if I leave you alone with Damian, are you going to kill someone?” She asked without taking her eyes off her boyfriend.

“I don’t need to be watched,” Damian groaned.

“No, I need you to watch Jason to make sure he doesn’t change his mind about keeping that asshole alive.”

“Fine,” Damian whined.

Without any further confirmation, Y/N left them. 

She walked across the party on a mission, never taking her stare off of her boyfriend.

Dick did a double take when he noticed her heading towards him.

“Hey,” he greeted innocently.

Because he was innocent. All he’d done was be polite to a bunch of women who were after him for his name…and maybe his good looks.

“I was wondering where my drink was,” Y/N said with a surprising calmness and smile.

Then she turned to the woman. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be a friend of Dick’s.” 

She held her hand out.

No cattiness. No rudeness.

Y/N said it with the same kindness that drunk women having with other drunk women in bar bathrooms.

“Oh…I’m Irina,” the woman stuttered as she took Y/N’s offered hand, clearly confused by Y/N’s niceness.

Dick held out her drink.

Y/N took it, quickly clinked her glass with both Dick and Irina.

“Cheers,” she sang before tossing it back and chugging the drink that was meant to be slowly sipped.

Dick didn’t know what game his girlfriend was playing, but he was intrigued.

Once Y/N lightly placed her empty glass back on the bar, she turned to Dick and tilted her head to the side. “Could you show me to the bathrooms? I have no idea where they are.”

“Of course,” Dick answered without knowing where this was going.

“It was nice meeting you, Irina,” Y/N told the woman as she linked her fingers with Dick’s and guided him away.

—

Meanwhile, Jason watched the interaction as if he were watching an award-winning movie. Him and Damian were way too far to hear, but everyone in the bat family could read lips more than fluently.

Then Jason smirked as he watched Y/N drag Dick away.

“Boys,” Bruce greeted as he snuck up on the two of them. “What are we staring at?”

“Oh, you know,” Jason hummed with hilarity, “just watching Y/N assert her dominance.”

“Good for her,” Bruce grinned as he realized what was happening.

He moved his attention to his youngest boy. “Alfred is waiting outside with the car. You’re officially released from your duties.”

“Finally,” Damian groaned.

“Don’t you wanna say bye to Y/N?” Jason asked.

“They’re coming to the manor tomorrow afternoon,” Bruce answered for his son. Then he raised a brow at Jason. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Jason’s only response was a shrug.

Bruce tried to hide his disappointment and nodded before he guided Damian away and walked him outside, where Alfred was waiting.

10 minutes later, Jason saw Dick trailing behind Y/N as she walked back to the main area of the event.

Jason burst out laughing at the spectacle. 

Dick’s hair was an absolute mess. Half of his shirt was untucked. His jacket was draped over his forearm. His lips were swollen and pink. Y/N had left lipstick all over his neck and even a bit on the collar of his shirt.

Yet somehow not a single hair was out of place on Y/N and her makeup was still immaculate. Her outfit was just as sleek and clean as when she’d arrived. The only thing different was the proud smirk on her lips.

Clearly Y/N had just had her way with Dick.

But she wanted to make sure the whole party knew about it.

—

Y/N hadn’t said a word to Dick since she dragged him from that woman.

Her body did all the talking.

One second they were at the bathroom doors, the next Y/N had thrown him against the tiled wall after locking the bathroom door.

She gave no verbal explanation, just started kissing him and undoing his pants.

“Not that I’m complaining. Like, at all,” Dick laughed as they rejoined the party. “But wanna to tell me what that was all about?”

Y/N finally stopped walking and turned to face him with narrowed eyes. “I think you know, Richard.”

Y/N only ever used his full first name to provoke and tease him. And he hated that it worked every single time.

Dick glanced around to see that everyone in their vicinity was eyeing them. Well, they were mostly eyeing him and how it was clear he’d just been fucked in the bathroom.

He stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “Ohhh, I see how it is.” His eyes flickered down to her lips for a split second. “If a guy does that, he’s jealous and possessive. But if a woman does it, it’s sexy…”

Y/N proudly smiled like the cheshire cat. “Exactly.”

Something over his shoulder caught her attention. “Oh, I see Tim. I’m going to go say hi.”

Without hesitation, she brushed past him.

Dick let his head fall, put his hands on his hips, and laughed.

He’d pay her back later tonight. And by ‘pay her back,’ he would just tell her how incredibly hot her behavior had been and basically invite her to do it whenever she damn well pleased.

Dick felt a presence beside him, and he didn’t have to raise his head to know it was Bruce.

“Hey,” Dick greeted him nonchalantly.

“You have lipstick all over your neck,” Bruce told him as he took a sip of his drink and looked around the party. “And your zippers down.”

“Sure is,” Dick sighed.

--------------------------

OK. This was way too fun to write. 

Let me know what you think!!!

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