#have a wonderful day and wonderful rest of the week!!

[sooniebby]

an idea; a (bottom) male reader who’s apart of an indie jpop boy group. The members are just you, a childhood friend, and three other people you met through college/random events. Your group was lucky one of the members comes from a rich family that doesn’t mind spending some money to help you guys out—waiting until a company finds interest and asks to manage you.

The first month or so is rough so you all find part time jobs in the mean time. But regular jobs just don’t interest you so it takes you awhile to even apply for any… mostly getting fired after the first week or so because you end up showing late all the time.

You’re left wondering what to do when you come across a website of camboys and camgirls. Some of them show full nudity while others stay dressed for the most part.

It intrigues you enough but you don’t do it without running it through your members. They’re mostly shocked you even want to do that… but other than that, they just tell you to not speak and wear a mask.

Easy peasy. You chose a simple and almost silly name, “Shy Usagi” since your mask resembled a rabbit.

The first stream is awkward, you had to figure out a way to talk. Surprisingly, a few of the people that dropped in were intrigued by your refusal to talk. You had expected them to immediately want you naked but it seemed you attracted people that liked the teasing aspect of camboys.

Though you were 99% sure it was only men watching you. The first few weeks, you only wore skimpy clothing and did anything they requested. The most sexual thing you did was suck a dildo.

Occasionally you’d masturbate on live and that would always garner more attention. But there was always one person who would tip you no matter the stream.

“Hitachikoi”

You were sure he was probably an old man but you didn’t care, money was money. He knew how to flirt so you never felt weirded out with his attention.

Things were going reasonably well until after your group’s performance at a little festival. You had spilt away for a second to look around when you bumped into someone. He had his face covered with a mask and baseball cap.

You were going to apologize and go about your way when you caught that he was holding a poster of your group. He didn’t say anything as he simply held up a marker.

It took a second before you finally realized what he wanted. “Oh! Sure.” You were a bit excited, having never really signed anything before. Your signature was a bit messy but still legible.

“Here you go, thanks for coming to see us!”

“I only came to see you.”

“Hm?” You leaned in closer, wondering if you had heard him right. Only you?

The man let out a laugh as he reached up and pulled down his mask, leaning down so you could get a clear look at his face. “Mhm. Only you… (Name)… or ah,”

His hand reached up and cupped your face, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. It was only when he pulled off his cap that you got a good look at his face.

He… he wasn’t some random guy. He was a famous actor… a famous actor knew about you?

“Shy Usagi? It’s nice to see your entire face… that mask never hid your lips.”

You could stare as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. The only thing you were thinking of was if he was about to ruin your career before it even took off? But why would he care? Why was he even—

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Someone like you isn’t made to think so hard,” he said, a slight frown on his lips. “I just, well I got tired of watching behind a screen. I wanted to touch you…”

His other hand moved to rest on your hip, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips against your ear.

“To be inside of you instead of that dildo… I mean, I’m paying you so much money, it’s only fair I get to have you, right? Mhm? I can have you, yea? I’ve thought of fucking your mouth for days now.”

“(Name)! Where are you?”

He pulled away, rolling his eyes. You only watched as he slipped back on his mask and cap, pulling your shirt back down. “You’ll stream tonight.” He said, as if he was giving you an order, not asking.

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Wear something red tonight… that’s my favorite color.”

With that he left you standing there, mouth agape just as one of your members walked over to you.

You… were so fucking screwed.

In more ways than one.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @secretivemessenger @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @tehyunnie @remdayz @cherry-blossoms-187 @tomoeroi @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @love-kha1 @anchoredphoenix @yuzuukix @bensontrechic

I already made a face claim lol.



[acoazlove]

A New Place | part five

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: A couple of weeks after your conversation with Azriel, your mind won’t let you sleep. what happens when the person on your mind can’t sleep either

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff ? maybe?

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Eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to reorient yourself. Adjusting to the dark room. You turn your head towards the windows, dark. Still nighttime.

With a heavy sigh, you heave yourself out of bed. Waking up hasn’t been such a task since you were human. Living in that cabin—if you can call it that. Waking up back then was simpler.

But since you left your sisters and the rest of their family, you can’t bring yourself to care if you don't get out of bed ever again.

Pulling the covers off of you, sliding out of bed. Your feet meet the chilled floor while making your way blindly into the bathroom. Turning on a dim faelight.

Everything about your apartment is old, and worn down and you used to think it gave it character, made it unique. But as you look at the light you can’t help but wish it was the old cabin. Life was easier back then, no fae, no wars, no monsters, no evil kings or cauldrons, but most of all, you had your sisters. Of course you were all on the verge of starving or freezing to death. You don’t miss that.

Despite the fighting, you were all closer. Now everyone’s gone their separate ways and have their own families and partners. You don't have any of that. That thought breaks you from your reverie, turning to the mirror hanging above the sink. The edges are slightly rusted and the frame is a bit scratched.

Locking eyes with your reflection, you cringe. Dark shadows under your eyes, hair messy and frizzy as if you hadn’t brushed it in days, shoulders tense with undercurrents of your strained emotions. You look exactly how you feel. Tired.

Ignore it. A small voice in the back of your mind. You turn the tap and splash water on your face. There’s no going back to sleep so might as well do something.

Turning back and entering your bedroom, heading straight for your wardrobe. Putting on the first thing you grab. Staring in the mirror for a moment too long, you grimace once again at your reflection. How long had you looked a mess? Your friends would tell you if you didn’t look okay. Right?

With a heavy sigh, you exited your room. Passing the kitchen—you’re not feeling well, you’ll eat later, you tell yourself—and go straight to the front door, grabbing your coat as you glance at the clock on the wall by the door. 4:00 am, no wonder everything’s so quiet.

Without another thought, you slip out the door. You can’t be in that apartment for another moment. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you decide to clear your mind and go for a walk. Because walking down dark streets at 4:00 am is totally normal.

You miss the small shadow slipping under the door, following you. A second one going in the opposite direction, away from you.

─

Meandering down the streets of The City of Starlight, your thoughts wander despite trying to clear your head.

Wandering to a certain shadow-wielding Illyrian. Your conversation had been two weeks ago now. You wanted to talk to him again. or at least just see him.

You huff. Where had that thought come from? I mean he was kind enough to go for a walk with you and listen to you rant.

But he hadn’t exactly offered to be the company you’d seek out, but you’ve been lonely. You’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive your family just yet. You want to, but you won’t reach out first. They need to put in the effort for once.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly you should think—there are a few fae still wandering the streets. Maybe they were in your position too. Can’t sleep, and might just need to clear their mind, and get some night-chilled air

The Court of Dreams. It honestly doesn’t feel like it. You don’t feel like you’re dreaming. Nor had any of your own dreams had come true. It felt more like a nightmare.

Alone. All because your family forgot your birthday. You think bitterly. But then again, the more you think about it, you find more reasons that had been chipping away at your patience with them. It just happened to explode into a huge freakout on your birthday. The last straw.

They probably thought you were being overdramatic. You kick a small stone on the ground in front of you at that.

─

Tossing and turning, wings shifting uncomfortably, azriel grunts as he clenches his eyes shut. Trying to get some sleep for once, only for it to be just out of reach.

It’s like his mind was in overdrive—every thought shifting to another even more unwanted one—making him restless, which in time made his shadows restless. The main issue was that they weren’t telling him what was wrong. he doesn’t like that.

Finally, as his body relaxed and he was so close to falling asleep a new shadow joins the mix. Immediately slithering across his bed until it reached his ear. The information he received had him shooting up from where he had been lying down, and every last ounce of tiredness drained from his body.

She’s going for a walk. He glanced out his window. With how high the moon was in the sky he gathered that it was around four in the morning-

Why are you going for a walk at this time?

With a huff, knowing he won’t be able to sleep at all now, he pulls the blankets off him at the same time as sending a few more shadows to follow you, to make sure you’re okay and not in any danger of course.

Azriel hasn’t been able to get the conversation he had with you either. Well, it was more him listening as you spoke your mind, plus him apologising a few times and getting some of his thoughts out there. Or maybe it was just you in general. He can’t quite figure it out.

Now that he was out of bed he realized he didn’t actually know what he was planning to do with the situation. You’re going for a walk at four in the morning. You won’t want company. Besides, he already sent a few shadows. That should be fine.

The rest of Azriel’s shadows whirl around him, still agitated. Wanting him to do something, but still not telling him what. A long-suffering sigh leaves him, as he turns to look at his leathers, which are hanging over the back of the chair at his desk—thrown there after a long day—then back to the window.

He’s been staying in the townhouse since his last encounter with you, to make it easier for you if you want to seek him out and don’t want to see the rest of the family. Which you haven't. Why would you?

He also has a better view of the streets of Velaris from here. Which is why he sees a figure walk down the street, heading towards the sidra. Though he can’t see their face, he doesn’t need confirmation to know who it is. The posture, the way your shoes scuff when you walk while in thought, the way your hair falls with your head down.

Nevertheless, a shadow snakes up his arm, to his ear. Sad. Confused. Angry. Guilty. Lonely. The last word repeats over and over.

Azriel’s features contort into a frown. Watching as you disappear from view, having turned a corner. And without a second thought, he put on a change of clothes—deciding that if you do see him, his leathers possibly might make you uncomfortable, might think that there’s some kind of danger—opening up the balcony doors, stepping out and launching into the starry night sky. Following the direction you went, keeping a decent distance.

As he catches sight of you once again, slows down, descending to the ground. Landing as silent as he could for a massive Illyrian male.

Azriel steps into the shadows, trying to stay out of view and give you space.

He stands there feeling slightly awkward suddenly. Never has he felt that way about watching his family. Confused and caught off guard he misses the way his grip on his shadows loosens, most of which scramble their way over to you.

Already reaching your feet before he finally realizes, much to his horror. Frantically trying to yank them back to his own body.

─

Your train of thought is interrupted by small shadows softly brushing against your ankles before, slinking up your legs and entwining with your fingers. A soft smile curves your lips, as a scuff sounds from behind you.

“Hi Az.” your voice is soft. Looking over your shoulder, at the same time as he steps out from his hiding place. And even though it’s dark and void of any street lamp where you are, the stars and moon light his face enough for you to see the pink tinge to his cheeks. The sight brings you far more enjoyment than it should.

“Sorry.” he mutters lowly, watching the shadows almost reluctantly untangle itself from your fingers and body, returning to their master. “They have a mind of their own sometimes.”

Your smile widens ever so slightly, “It’s okay,” turning back to your beautiful view of the sidra, shimmering like the stars above. “I like them. They’re good company.”

Azriel blinks a few times, dumbfounded by your admission. You like them and think they’re good company. Not many think so. A lot of people perceive them differently. Not inherently scary, but wouldn’t consider them good company.

After a long moment he gathers himself. “Would you-” he stops himself mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut before the full question is out. But rather than running in the other direction like he assumed you would, you turned to face him, “Yes, I would like company Azriel.” That certainly caught him off guard.

You aren’t quite sure where the confidence came from. Cheeks tinting pink, gaze darting back to the sparkling sapphire river. You don’t even know if he was going to say that.

Right as you prepare yourself to leave, utterly mortified, his dark figure enters your peripheral.

Shoulders still stiff from the previous embarrassment you look out the corner of your eye. Thanking the mother when you see that his attention is elsewhere.

Your gaze casts downward, suddenly feeling awkward, you clear your throat, causing the Shadowsinger's attention to shift back to you.

Shifting between your feet, turning your head slightly to glance at him, “Uh…” Unsure.

You watch a shadow crawl around from his shoulder to his ear. a twitch between his brows at whatever information he had been given, before evening back out. Body turning fully toward you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes widen marginally. “No!” you say all too quickly, rubbing a hand down your face. “No, I’m just not-” gaze meeting hazel, “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to go for a walk?” Voice quieter than before, “Rather than just standing here.” Trailing off.

His wings twitch at his back, you barely catch the movement, before he gives a gentle nod. You give him a small smile before whirling around, and heading back through the streets of Velaris. Azriel and his shadows follow closely behind before coming up next to you.

The walk settles into silence. Not awkward like before. Comfortable. That’s something you’d noticed about Azriel from the moment you first met him in the human realms. He always let others talk and listened intently to every word. Contributing to the conversation only when needed.

Your thoughts drift to every interaction with him. He’d always been observant and encouraged conversations with you. Wanting you to feel comfortable. Similar to what happened with Elain a long while ago. Except he’s never had any romantic feelings for you. He was just being polite. Just as he is now.

You ignore the turn in your thoughts. Weird. And your destination is only a few steps away. The bridge above the sidra. The place you come to when you really need some kind of white noise to clear your head.

You lean forward, over the bridge peering down at the broad sparkling river. Almost mirroring the beauty of the stars above. You feel Azriel settle next to you on the bridge. Twist your head to look at him. He’s looking up at the sky, shadows swirling contentedly around his shoulders and wings.

You take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. You always knew he was handsome, would have to be blind not to. But in the moonlight, he’s stunning. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead, shadows cast over his eyebrows, his other features highlighted. His hands resting on the bridge wall, the lighting illuminating the ridges and crevices of his scars.

Just in the corner of your vision, you see the sun starting to rise, pinks and oranges, painting the previous starlit skies. It was views like these that make you wonder what the other courts are like. The Night Court obviously has exceptionally beautiful night skies, the stars so clear you might think one could reach up and touch them.

But then there were The Dawn Court’s dawn skies. A customer at Benny’s Bar once told you that when the sun rose in dawn it was one of the most breathtaking views one could see, that you had to see it at least once in your immortal life.

The Day Court had some of the most incredible libraries filled with immense knowledge. Something you’d like to see and explore at least once too.

The seasonal courts had to be amazing as well, you hadn’t heard too much about them except Mor saying how much she loved The Winter Court because of her best friend and how beautiful the snow is, and briefly of Summer from when Varian is around with Amren. And Spring, well Feyre and Rhysand don’t like talking about The Spring Court, so you never asked. The same goes for The Autumn Court.

You feel a cool brush of Azriel’s shadows against your hand, pulling you from your longing, wrapping around your wrist almost as if to comfort. You let out a heavy sigh, your walk must have been longer than you anticipated. Originally just hoping to clear your head, and tire yourself out before going back to sleep.

You have work anyway. Early shift, which is fine, you get to finish early in turn.

Turning to the Shadowsinger, “I should head home. I have work earlier today.” You fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to to head back to your apartment just yet. Back to the tavern. You haven’t talked to your coworkers much since the inner circle dined at the tavern.

Azriel gives a small nod, watching your features for a few moments before speaking, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

without hesitation you give him a nod in answer. “yes please.” Your answer soft.

He gives you a gentle smile before turning with you to leave.

─

Standing at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment you run a hand down your face. Azriel is quiet behind you. You huff, spinning on your heel to face him. Trying to find the words to what you want to ask him.

He’s patient as always, features kind. Allowing you to sort through your thoughts.

Inhaling sharply, you open your mouth, then close it again. Frustrated, you just blurt it out instead, “Would you like to do something once I finish work today?”

Azriel’s brows raise fractionally, and your face heats up. “of course only if you’re free, or even want to. If you don’t want to that’s okay-“ You pause your rambling when you see the subtle smirk curving his lips.

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest. He huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” keen eyes, observant as ever, see you shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable from the lack of an actual answer. “I would like that. I’ll come by and you can decide.” Voice more quiet than before.

You give him a curt nod, happy with the response, turning toward your stairs once more, stopping at the top step, looking over your shoulder to the Shadowsinger, “Thank you az.” At the tilt of his head you continue, “For just… showing up, I guess. I appreciate it.” Smile at him and slip through your door before he can reply.

Azriel stares at the closed door for a few long moments before heading back to the townhouse. His shadows far more calm now. Interesting.

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a/n: Hi guys, I’m so so sorry that I took so long to post this but I was in a really bad writing slump and had other stuff going on in my life. I’m better right now and am planning on writing more. I know this isn’t the longer part that I asked you about but I just wanted to get this out, and it would’ve taken longer to come out. i’ve already started the next part as well. next week I probably won’t update just because I’m going to Australia with my sister for a week but you never know. Anyway I edited this but there still might be some mistakes. I love you all and thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed. <3

[mggslover]

🤓☝️ may i request for your first time series the first time spencer lets reader take control during sex? not too sure how you feel about sub spencer but im horny for it and i’d love to see what you do

edging sub spencer genre: smut 18+ cw: sub!spencer x dom!reader, mentions of spencer being insecure about his masculinity, mentions of p in v sex, tied hands, handjob, edging, breastplay, oral (f receiving), thigh fucking, bit of degradation, religious comparisons wc: 2,4k a/n: am i a sub spencer fan?! pull up in the- yes lol i very much am. i cannot even call these drabbles anymore. if anyone is wondering why your requests are taking so long, this is the reason. my first time exploring this dynamic. i hope you'll enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

“Come on, baby. You’re the one who begged me for this.”

Spencer whimpered underneath you in response. He sat up straight on your shared bed, upper body rested against the headframe, long legs spread over the sheets, as your naked body hovered over his. And most importantly, his hands were tied behind his back with a silk red fabric.

Spencer craned his neck, trying to press his lips to yours, but you simultaneously leaned away from him. You shook your head, tsking. “What did I tell you?”

Twinkling hazel eyes blinked up at you, his eyebrows caught in a slight furrow.

“You can’t tell me you forgot,” you purred, fingertips trailing the curve of his jaw. “What did I tell you, Spencer?” you repeat with more force in your tone.

He visibly swallowed as your nails dragged down his neck. “That I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“And why’s that?” You hummed.

“Because sexual denial will increase the release of dopamine, and—oh…” he closed his eyes in delight as your nails continued their path down his chest.

“—and the release of oxytocin and serotonin. It will… in general… Jesus… make you more sensitive, which will heighten your pleasure.”

He had hurriedly finished his last words, letting out a deep breath of relief once you nodded in confirmation. 

“And all we want is for you to feel good. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He nodded fervently, a deep moan escaping his throat as your fingers grazed the skin of his upper thigh, carefully avoiding his throbbing length.

-`♡´-

It had all started last week, when you came home on a dreary Thursday evening. Immensely frustrated from your day at work. 

Spencer oftentimes suggested sex when you were feeling stressed out. Sexual intercourse is known for lowering blood pressure and boosting happy hormones.

Usually this would result in him leading you to the bedroom where he’d gently press you down onto the mattress. He’d crawl on top of you, lips immediately finding yours, giving gentle pecks as his hands roamed up and down the sides of your body. 

You’d have sensual sex. Sweet. Vanilla. It was the norm, and when it came to sex, Spencer wanted to keep to the norm. Sexuality and masculinity were deeply intertwined for him, and in both of these aspects, he felt like he didn’t fit into the traditional roles of a man, causing him to feel the need to approach sex textbook-wise.

The sex was good for the both of you. You never minded seeing your boyfriend on top of you. His lips slightly agape as he fought back his moans, hair falling into his face with every push of his hips, shoulders shuddering as he came inside of you. And for Spencer, he was always happy to be there. 

So, it was entirely new when you came home that day and tugged him by the collar of his shirt the second you entered the house. Spencer’s mouth was still in a gasp when you hungrily pressed your lips to his, tongue finding his without building the moment up like you’d usually do. 

Your body pulled flush against him. The softness of your breasts pressed against his hard chest. He was able to feel the peaks of your nipples even through the fabric of clothes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer choked out as you cupped him roughly through his pants. 

“I just need you, Spence. I need to use you.”

Those words were almost enough to make him spill in his underwear. And indeed, the second you had moved to the couch and straddled him (an entirely new position), taking his cock in your soft hand as you sunk down onto him, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to fill you up with his release.

You needed the control and security after having been bossed around at work. Spencer, on the contrary, felt too much in control at his job. Setting a profile and finding evidence and whereabouts on an unsub was very precise work, not even mentioning the huge amount of pressure on saving people’s lives. 

He never realized how good it felt to let go. To trust someone else in taking charge, in taking care of him. At that moment he didn’t think about portraying a certain type of masculinity. Instead of holding back his moans and settling on deep groans, he whimpered against your mouth as you fucked him. Squirming and whining underneath your touch as he begged you for more. 

His reactions didn’t go unnoticed by you. When you both had recovered and were cleaned up, you brought up the subject of this sub-dom dynamic, and it was very easy for Spencer to give in to exploring it more.

-`♡´-

“P-please.”

“What’s that?”

“Please touch me,” Spencer softly cried, fisting the pillow behind his back with the little grip he had.

You leaned in closer. Your breath tickled against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before you licked a bold stripe up the skin. 

A strangled moan left his throat. You smiled at him, pleased with yourself. It deeply turned you on that you could do whatever you wanted to him, that he’d beg you for anything that you could give him. 

His body responded to every ghost of your touch. Your lips trailed his throat, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Occasionally leaving lingering marks and bites until you made your way up his jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Spence?” You teased as you put your hand around his thick shaft. 

“Yes,” he moaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “Exactly that.”

You pumped his length in a steady rhythm, flicking your palm to enhance the sensation. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a pretty boy. Your cock is so hard and ready for me.” 

He shivered at your words. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have you hovering above him, breasts swaying with every movement of your hand. You were so good to him. When his gaze blinked from your breasts to your face, seeing you seductively smile but your eyes radiating a gentle sweetness, he started wondering if there might really be a God. You were too heavenly to be here on Earth, pleasing him like there was no better enjoyment in life.

Your eyes were fixed on his cock, watching his precum gather at the tip. You circled the sensitive skin with a soft stroke of your thumb. Spencer used the momentary distraction to dive in, his lips catching around your nipple. “Oh god,” you gasped in pleasure, the sensation going straight to your core. His tongue made quick work of stimulating the nub. His cheeks were hollowed as he sucked, giving his everything for the mere moments he might get of tasting you.

Spencer was internally grateful when you didn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, your fingers knotted through his hair as you tugged him closer to you. It helped him keep his balance as his still tied hands clenched around the air. 

He continued his kisses to the rest of your breast once he was confident enough that you wouldn’t tell him to stop. He sucked on the soft, full flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment days from now.

“Look at you sucking on my tits. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Such a little slut for me.”

He moaned around your nipple, a wave of need fluttering through your stomach. You pulled on his hair, sharp enough to leave a pleasurable sting of pain. “Look at me.”

Wide doe eyes met yours. “‘m sorry.”

“Too distracted by having my tits in your face to look me in the eyes, huh?”

“Sorry, you’re just too pretty,” he truthfully muttered, eyes fleetly falling onto your breasts before blinking back up.

He looked so pretty like this. A red flush painting his neck and cheeks. His lips were just as swollen and red as he pouted at you. A smug smile lingered on your face, and you pulled him back in, leaning forward to not have him stretch his neck too far. The kiss was sloppy, hungry. You were not able to tell whether his whimpers were because of the kiss, or because of your touch as your hand had found its way back to his cock.

You fastened the motions of your wrist. His mouth was parted, a pretty song of whines escaping. You sucked down on his bottom lip, mirroring the action he always did when kissing you. 

“Oh, baby.” The moan came out in a gasp. His hips started stuttering, stomach clenching as he neared his release.

“Are you almost there, Spencer?”

“Yes! I’m almost there, I’m almost there baby. Please don’t stop.”

You released your grip on him. His length remained hard, standing upright as if you were still holding him.

The desperate cry that left his lips should have made you feel bad. Instead, you found yourself getting even more turned on. Sure that your thighs were slick with your wetness by now.

“Why—why did you do that?” He whimpered accusingly, as if betrayed. “I was so close.”

“Ah, I know, baby,” you faux pouted. You had to bite your lip to hold back a sadistic smile as you noticed his glossy eyes, looking more green than they usually were.

“I’m just keeping you to your promise,” you reminded him. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “When you told me you’d always make sure to make me come first.”

“But we weren’t—”

“Uh, uh, uh,” you shushed him, index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you want to please me?”

He softly kissed your finger, “Of course I do.”

“Then start using your mouth for better things than complaining,” you cooed at him before carefully standing up on the bed, making your way forward until his face was right below your cunt. Spencer wiggled on the sheets until he lay flat on his back, arms in a bit of an uncomfortable position, but not enough to bother him as he had a perfect view of your dripping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in a prayer. You softly chuckled, bending your legs so that they were spread on either side of his face. Slowly, you lowered yourself until his tongue, which was already sticking out, made contact with your folds. You hissed at the sensation, your clit throbbing in the same way it always did before he ate you out.

He started lapping at your pussy, gathering your sweet slickness and spreading it over the lips. He flicked his tongue over your inner lips before sucking on them. As much as Spencer adored giving you the reins, nothing compared to the shaky, uncontrollable whimpers that left your mouth. Sounds that were made because of him. Sounds that were made for him. 

“Keep making those sounds, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body.

After more worshipping kisses to your cunt, his lips finally settled down on your clit. Your back arched when he started sucking on the sensitive button while simultaneously pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. He truly was your toy, no silicone object giving you the ecstasy that he could give you. 

“Oh God, Spencer. You’re so good at this,” you stated in a heavy breath. The feeling of your orgasm coming up was close to overwhelming, and you were whimpering as your vision hazed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck, I’m—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, instead crying out a moan as your release hit you. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy pressed even harder against his mouth as you rode out the aftershocks, muffling his deep moans. The feel of his nose against your overstimulated cunt was dizzying. 

“I need to lie down,” you said, out of breath. Shaky Bambi legs as you climbed off of him. Your body didn’t allow you to move much further. Settling on lying down on top of his body, spreading your legs to give his achingly hard cock room to breathe.

Your cheek rested against his sweaty chest. Spencer reached out to trace your face, huffing in annoyance when he remembered his hands were still tied behind his back. 

He hummed when you pressed a wet kiss to his chest. “Finish for me, baby.”

Then you squeezed your thighs together. Spencer swallowed when he realized what you meant. His cock was enveloped between your plush thighs, and when he experimentally lifted his hips, he discovered how good the act felt. 

“Jesus, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

Wasting no time, he started pumping his hips up, using your thighs as a cocksleeve. The wetness that was gathered on your inner thighs (and was still dripping out of your pussy) working as lube. 

Your fingertips lazily trailed over his chest. “Doing so good for me, baby. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

He nodded, a whine leaving his lips as he fastened his speed. His eyes were transfixed on the curve of your ass, craning his neck to get a better look.

He’s never experienced a feeling as sentimental as this. The rough pleasure of the sex mixed with the gentleness of your head resting against him. He couldn’t get closer to Heaven than this.

“You feel so good,” he whined. “You’re not stopping me this time. Right?” He asked for confirmation, his voice shaking in doubt. 

You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That really took a toll on you, huh? I won’t, I promise.”

The slight tension in his body resolved. Making him feel enough at ease to let go. He placed his feet firmly on the bed, using his knees to lift himself up, making you let out a yelp as he fucked your thighs.

The silk wasn’t enough to hold him back, the fabric tearing as he moved his wrists. His hands immediately found your head, holding you against him as his hips stuttered. Your moans were entangled in each other as he spilled his cum all over your ass. 

His stomach clenched underneath you, and you soothingly shushed him. Reassuringly caressing his chest and shoulders as he came down from his height.

-`♡´-

“You okay?” You softly mumbled once his heartbeat had calmed down.

He nodded, a lazy smile displayed on his lips. “I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t too rough with you. Was I?”

“No,” he answered, holding you closely against him. “You were perfect.”

[shy-writer-999]

How many dreams to say "I love you"? (iii)

Summary: Zoro hasn't been able to stop having dreams about you, his best friend and crewmate. When he goes a few days without one, he thinks he's in the clear. Surely, realizing that he's in love with you is enough to make the dreams stop entirely, right? Right?

Part 3 of 4. ~3.6k words. (read part 1 here!) CW: Equal parts smut and plot. Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Sex! Love-making! Mentions of death, danger, and blood. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 3: Scattered polaroids.

Zoro had three whole nights of solace after he realized he was in love with you—three nights of no dreams, three nights of long and restful sleep.

After the third night, he was under the impression that the dreams had ceased entirely. The realization that he loved you was the cure for his sickness, he told himself. Now, he could pine after you from afar during the day and sleep peacefully, minding his business at night.

He did just that. For those three days, during his waking hours, he tried to calculate how to get closer to you. He put together nonsensical equations in his mind over how, why, and for how long he had been in love—he could, and would, keep doing this all day until he returned to his bed, savoring each smile from you.

Evidently, the conversation he overheard between you and Nami was the catalyst for the chain reaction of psychological warfare he had withstood for over a week—the end result was a euphoric crescendo of emotions, his realization that he was capable of romantic love and that his heart had been screaming for attention for months.

But what was there to do about it?

More importantly, did you feel the same?

Zoro needed to find out. He wanted to get to the bottom of everything—the conversation, who you had been talking about, why you were having a hard time being lonely around them, and how you felt about him.

While the swordsman did the mental math of what that discussion may look like between the two of you, he felt sick. He had fought dangerous foes of every kind and been on the verge of death many times before, but nothing ever gave him nerves like this.

If you had feelings for someone, would you tell them? He wondered about you, the sorts of decisions you made, how you would act and feel. If he got to the bottom of this situation and discovered that you had feelings for someone other than him, would he be able to cope with the jealousy?

Jealousy.

The emotion started to seethe when he thought about someone other than himself being with you. It boiled inside when he watched Sanji fawn over you, touch the small of your back, and whisper compliments in your ear. Every bashful smile and flutter of your eyelashes in Sanji’s direction twisted some dial inside of Zoro. Too many twists would prove troublesome. Explosive, even.

He knew that that this emotion, envy, had been there for ages before he recognized how he felt about you. It didn’t feel good, and he knew it was unhealthy. Various images and memories flashed through his mind as he recalled instances in which he felt this same burning envy frequently coupled with a fierce desire to protect you.

Zoro tried to comfort himself with the knowledge of what sort of person you were—if you had a problem with Sanji, or with any other person, you would have said something, no? He was certain that you wouldn’t hesitate to stand your ground.

But that thought was less of a comfort than he initially thought it would be, because you hadn’t ever reprimanded the blonde for his advances (that Zoro knew of), but you did shoo him away sometimes. Your smile felt restrained and reserved whenever it was sent in Sanji’s direction. It looked different than the smiles you gave Zoro.

Well, there was no point in getting himself worked up over the dynamic in question. Nothing would change, probably, unless he did something about it.

It had been a while since you and Zoro last spent time together, one on one. And he thought you had been a bit quieter than usual, recently, so… might as well catch up. Maybe spending some time with you would soothe his heart—it felt like it was aching any time you weren’t around, and when you were around it felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know how to cope other than find ways and excuses to spend time with you.

His solution was… lunch. Practical, at the very least, if not the most effective.

On the morning after his third night of restful sleep, Zoro asked you if you’d like to have lunch with him under one of the trees on the deck of the Sunny. This was nothing too out of the ordinary. He grabbed food, some drinks and some napkins and brought them out to you.

When Zoro handed you your plate, you smiled up at him from where you sat and he felt like he would pass out. He had absolutely no clue how to handle this recently unlocked feeling—the feeling of love—and he was trying to act as normal as possible. He was, all things considered, succeeding. 

He didn’t have much trouble acting ‘normal,’ per say. He was simply hyperaware of how beautiful you were, how fast his heartbeat was, and how blisteringly intense your eye contact was. He had noticed inklings of this before, but he was reminded, strongly. Every moment that your eyes met his, his heart fluttered. He was trying not to blush. It felt very out of character.

“How have you been recently?” Zoro tried to start the conversation casually.

“I’m fine,” you responded with a smile, like usual. “The same as ever. What about you?”

Zoro wondered if that was worth pressing you on, since you seemed a bit sad, or distant, or something along those lines. He decided it was worth it. Ignoring your question to him, he followed up.

“You sure you’re fine? You’ve been a bit quiet recently.”

You tried to brush it off. You had been quieter recently, and for good reason. You thought he didn’t know the reason, but he did. At least, he knew the bare bones of it. Something along the lines of feeling lonely.

“Ah, yeah. I guess I have been a bit down recently.” You responded, trying to hold your smile and pretend like your heart wasn’t crying inside. He studied your face closely, and you could tell.

“Why’s that?”

You had a brief internal battle over whether or not you would be candid with him, but you didn’t have it in you that day and the scenery wasn’t anywhere near private enough. You lied. “No reason, really. I’m not quite sure why.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.” Zoro smiled sweeter than you had ever seen and then dropped the subject. His smile was uncharacteristically sweet. Heart-stoppingly sweet. Painfully sweet. It was like a dagger.

You told him thanks and the conversation moved on. As a whole, lunch was enjoyable. Afterwards, you both felt significantly more at ease. To spend time together always brought your respective spirits up. It was a great dynamic—no wonder Zoro was in love with you.

Zoro told himself that he should just keep checking on you and go even more out of his way to spend time with you. He’d double down. Maybe it was lunch today, and then tomorrow it could be dinner. And after that, he’d ask you to watch the sunset with him in the crow’s nest. Or would he whisk you away and confess his feelings in his cabin? He was scrambled in the head, confused by that classic paradox of choice, where there are so many options that you’re incapable of choosing one. Was it even the right call to tell you how he felt? Would it screw everything up?

“Oh, Zoro?” Your voice stopped him in his tracks down the hallway after lunch. “Want to have some drinks tomorrow night? It’s been a minute since we caught up. You stood me up last time, remember?”

You were joking, but it was true. Last time Zoro asked you to have some drinks with him after a hard training session he completely forgot and fell asleep. You both laughed about it afterwards, and you used it to poke fun at him sometimes.

He agreed. "Yeah, drinks tomorrow night. I promise."

That was one problem solved.

DREAM 10: Un-solved

That night Zoro dreamed about you. It broke up that momentary peace he had of three nights with no dreams—it seems the internal turmoil of the day was enough to evoke a vivid and striking dream, unlike any others he had before.

Zoro found himself in a dimly lit bedroom lying on a big bed. The sheets and blankets were smooth and plushy. He could hear someone breathing next to him and he knew that you were there.

Turning his head, he saw that you were lying on your side facing away from him, completely nude, hair sitting perfectly on a silk pillowcase. The sheets were pulled down, so he could see your whole silhouette. In the dream, Zoro could feel himself compelled by something, reaching out a hand to pull you closer to him so your bodies were flush.

He smelled your hair, felt how soft your skin was, and ran a rough hand up and down the side of your body, trying to memorize every inch. He ran a palm over your hips and down your thighs, felt your back, shoulders, and waist; he was drinking up every second that his hands wandered over your skin, like your body was an oasis and he was dying of thirst.

You let out an indistinct noise. He couldn’t hear it well enough. It sounded like a sigh. As his hands moved, you stirred, turning your shoulder into his, giving him more access.

The faint sound trickled out of your mouth again, this time audible. Your voice sounded sleepy, sweet and faint. “Zoro.” He could feel his heart trip when his name fell from your lips.

Your hand groped back to grip his thigh and you whispered his name again. “Zoro. More.”

He snuck his hand from your hip to your front, starting to knead and cup your breasts. His fingers elicited another hushed entreaty from your lips. “Zoro. More.”

Suddenly aware of his hard-on pressing on you, his hand lingered on your chest and he began to kiss you. He started with you shoulder blade, marking a trail of kisses up to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your hair and skin. His kisses were soft and loving, coaxing more pleasant sighs from you.

He wanted to taste every inch of you, to draw out those sounds and muffled noises that he was starting to become acquainted with (at least, in his dreams).

Zoro lavished your skin with affection and care for a few moments, and you said his name again. Every time you said his name, it felt like every nerve in his body buzzed.

“Zoro. I need you.”

The dream fogged up and transformed. He was leaning over you from between your legs, missionary style. You were looking up at him, eyes pleading, hair ruffled just right.

Zoro’s erection was positioned right at your entrance, precum beading and pooling around his red, angry tip. The scene was vivid—his mind replicated every facet of what this would look and feel like in real life, down to each atom of detail. It was absurd.

He gawked at you, eyes jumping between your needy face and pouting lips and your glistening core. One of his hands was stroking his shaft leisurely, and the other gripped your waist.

“Please, Zoro.”

As your begging reached his ears, he slowly pressed into you, letting out a hiss of air through his teeth when he bottomed out because it felt so good. You gasped and the sound felt heavenly in his ears.

“Fuuuccckk, Zoro.”

He leaned in to kiss you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. Your lips were still locked when he started slowly rocking his hips into yours, dragging his cock in and out of you slowly.

You felt amazing, so warm and wet around him, squeezing him perfectly. He sped up, finding the perfect pace. As his hips rolled into yours, you began to moan his name, mewling it into his mouth as he explored yours with his tongue.

Zoro reached a hand and pushed one of your thighs down, allowing for the deepest angle possible. He wanted to hit your g-spot just right; he wanted to make you feel good, wanted to see your eyes roll back in your head and hear his name as many times as possible.

The dreamscape transformed again, just slightly. He was in the same position, but your faces were centimeters away now. You were holding his cheeks in your hands, making eye contact as he thrusted into you, deep and slow.

“Zoro,” you panted. “Feels good, Zoro. You feel so fucking good.”

He could feel your legs wrap around him, could feel you grinding down on his cock, trying to fuck yourself with it deeper.

A moment later, you were holding hands, fingers entwined. You moaned his name and only his name. He could feel himself about to let go. Your eyes were entrancing.

“Zoro,” you keened, arching your back up and squeezing his hands tightly. “Tell me you love me, Zoro.”

His heart stopped again and picked up at a rapid pace; his hips did the same, moving haphazardly, stuttering and shaking. He was seconds away from cumming in you, pleasure building into one massive cliff that he was about to free fall from.

“I—love—you,” he thrusted between each labored breath and grunt. The words tumbled out of his mouth and on the last one he orgasmed. He reeled with ecstasy, convulsing in pleasure as his cum painted the inside of you a hot, milky white.

Zoro collapsed on your chest panting. One of your hands traced circles on his back and the other petted his head, which rested in the crook of your neck. You cooed “good job baby” in his ear and kissed his shoulder.

He woke up, and even though he wasn’t shaking or sweating this time, he felt extremely unwell. It took him a moment to realize that he came all over the inside of his underwear while he was asleep. While his return to consciousness was gentler this time in comparison to his other dreams, he was still disturbed. It was a scarily realistic and wildly intimate dream.

He tried to get his thoughts in order. There was no point in feeling any shame here, he told himself, because you didn’t dream about that on purpose. But really, what the fuck was going on? A wet dream? How long had it been since he had one of these?

The frustration he felt upon waking was agonizing. Three whole days and nights of a clear head. He thought that since he realized he loved you, the dreams had stopped—the realization of his feelings had been the cure to his lovesickness, after all.

Evidently, he was wrong. One intense dream snapped Zoro back into the insanity he had lived in for a week. He felt like he was going to go crazy.

Wasn’t the realization that he loved you enough to make the dreams stop? If that wasn’t enough, then what would be?

Did he have to do something about it?

Fuck.

He really had to do something about it. Perhaps he’d do something about it when he had drinks with you.

But those promised drinks never came.

The next day, the Strawhat crew ran into a hostile pirate group. The skirmish lasted a handful of hours. Lucky for the crew, there were no truly formidable opponents, but it still ended up being a pain in the ass. The crew got separated, and Zoro got lost and left behind—an experience he was well familiar with.

Finally making his way back to where the ship was docked, after hours of wandering around aimlessly on the island and defeating some random mid-tier power user, Zoro returned to the ship. He was met with a startling sight.

The Sunny was ransacked. On first impression, the crew was nowhere to be found. Your absence was starting to agitate him more than usual when he realized the ship was most likely empty. His latent realization of his love was certainly contributing to that.

As the swordsman explored the ship and went room to room, his distress mounted.

There were blood splatters on the walls of some of the hallways—a pattern that looked like someone, gravely injured, was dragging themselves around the ship. In addition, it looked like every inch of the ship had been turned inside out. The kitchen was a mess, pots and pans everywhere, and even the chairs and table were flipped over at odd angles.

In a rising panic, he dragged himself to your room. He was sure it wasn’t you who was injured and struggling, but… what if it was? Might as well check.

As he suspected, your cabin was plundered and empty, too. His heartbeat was through the roof, his vision started to go red in agitation.

Where were you?

In your room, the pirates rifled to their hearts’ content, searching for money, treasure, whatever they could get their greedy hands on.

Your mattress had been ripped off the bed. The drawers on your desk were pulled out and emptied, the sparse contents littered around the floor. Your closet was ravaged, too. Clothes were in piles and tatters on the floor. Your lamp was knocked over, and the bulb was shattered.

Geez, what the fuck were they doing in here? Zoro wondered. He took in the view for a brief second, noting that you weren’t here, and that he needed to move on. If the crew was in a tight spot right now he ought to go help them out instead of dawdling around on the ship in a frenzy searching for you.

Maybe you were with Luffy or the shit cook—maybe you had your snail, maybe he could call you and check if you were okay.

He had only felt this level of panic a couple times in his life so far. A thought cut through his worry—what if I lose her? What if I lose her before I’ve said anything?

He felt like he was sinking. His vision started to tunnel, his hand jumped to rest on one of his swords, getting ready to cut someone down at a moment’s notice. As he turned to leave your room, a lightning bolt of clarity struck him. Scattered across the floor carelessly was a messy tornado of polaroid photos.

Your camera was crushed to bits in a corner, but the photos, which you’d been taking for ages at this point, had been torn from their little box in your closet and thrown everywhere.

Most of the photos, he realized, were of him. His heart panged. He had never seen this many photos of himself in one spot. His memories with the crew slipped through his fingers every day as they happened, but when recorded and hoarded like this he noticed how happy he looked in the photos. Was it because you were taking them?

When did that light start coming into his eyes?

His stomach flipped. You weren’t here. Your room was destroyed. You were in danger.

In a panic, Zoro pocketed a handful of them and darted out of the room. He hurriedly checked the rest of the ship—completely empty, ransacked and pillaged. Luckily, the pirates didn’t find Nami’s stash. But aside from that, almost no corner of the ship was left untouched.

His heart started to feel like it was seizing—if he didn’t find you fast, he was going to snap.

Would the photos you took of him be the only relic of your shared moments of happiness?

He ran onto the deck, out of breath and sweating, and looked at the shore. Time froze.

A wave of relief crashed over Zoro as he took in the sight—the crew was now strewn around the beach. Some were laying on their backs in exhaustion from the battle, others were huddled up, talking, and still, some were injured, getting briefly triaged by Chopper. Nothing looked too serious. His eyes darted around, searching for you.

You were standing next to Luffy, holding your side and wincing. A pool of blood saturated your shirt, radiating outwards from where you pressed your palm to stop the flow of blood.

You were alive. Injured, yes, but alive. He released the tension in his body and a preliminary feeling of relief coursed through him.

It seems like Zoro had forgotten that life on the seas wasn’t just sunshine, lunches on deck, pining, and exploration. Death and danger were key elements of the whole experience.

Not only had he been lacking on his training, but he was lacking on being an attentive and good friend to you, let alone a crew mate that could protect you. In the lapse and haze he had been in for the past couple weeks, he had let his guard down somehow.

Ever hard on himself, Zoro had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment. He needed to sort shit out with you, fast. He didn’t want to have any regrets. He couldn’t lose someone that he loved again.

Taking deep breaths and internally cursing himself out, Zoro made his way down the gangplank and onto the beach. He decided that when the ship was cleaned up, and everyone was bandaged and fed, he would confess.

This love was festering in him. It had festered for far too long before forcing him to acknowledge it. He couldn’t cope anymore. The next chance he got, he would tell you how he felt, no matter what.

< previous part | masterlist | next part >

taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996 @chibinasu @theilluminatidragonqueen @becca-oak @my-name-is-heartache @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @adamwarlockislife-blog

a/n: happy valentine's day, everyone! thanks for your patience waiting for this one :) the next part won't take as long ❤️❤️

[cowgirlvi]

Jinx who has sexsomnia…

mdni. needy sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. dub con. somno. sexsomnia. short blurb.

jinx has always had a vivid imagination. her creative yet chaotic mind is something she’ll never be rid of, so it makes sense when that transfers over into her REM state of sleep.

she used to have night terrors—relentless, haunting things that made sleep feel like a battleground. but since meeting you, she says the nightmares have subsided. as long as you’re sleeping beside her, jinx’s dreams are nothing more than a quiet, endless void—a darkness that, for once, feels safe.

but you have an inkling as to what she really dreams about now. because every night, once she drifts deep enough, her hips begin shifting, moving lazily against your leg. 

it starts off languid, almost imperceptible, but the further her dreams pull her under, her movements grow more insistent, more intense. soft whines escape her chapped lips, her breath hitching as she unconsciously seeks out friction. even in her sleep, she's desperate for something just out of reach, lost in a world of sensation she won't remember in the morning.

you can feel it—the heat of her pussy, the dampness seeping through her thin, pink panties, smearing against your bare thigh. she’s soaked, wet and sticky, sloppy in her haste to make herself come.

her fingers twitch where they rest on the sheets, grasping at nothing, moaning sleepily, “uhh, uhh, mmm.”

you tense your thigh, helping to create more pleasurable friction while jinx humps you like a dumb mutt, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. is she remembering how you stuffed her needy pussy full of cock earlier that day? how you fingered her in that gross, grimy alleyway the other week, making her cry?

her slutty body is completely debauched while her face is peaceful with sleep, mirroring a fallen angel. the juxtaposition is amusing���funny almost—and so is the way jinx’s pussy always needs your constant attention, even in a state of rest.

she’s teasing you and she doesn’t even know it.

every night she only sleeps in a little pair of panties, her legs and torso bare, pink nipples pebbled due to the bite of chilly air. and right now, all you want is to push her panties to the side, to stuff your nose inside her cunt until her pheromones make feel drunk, to kitten-lick her little hole while her arousal soaks your chin like honey nectar, to feel her spongy walls cling to your fingers like dew on grass.

her nose is wiggling like a bunny, pink tongue sticking out between her parted lips. you imagine she’s dreaming of kissing you now, of how you fuck your tongue inside her mouth until she grows dumb, how all she can do is hang onto you for comfort while you ravage her sweet lips.

she’s such a needy little thing, always relying on you to make her grow stupid and mindless.

jinx looks so sexy like this; vulnerable and trusting, unaware of the depraved thoughts running through her own mind. the bed is starting to creak and shake with the strength behind her thrusts and you’re surprised she hasn’t woken up yet.

you know she’s getting close because she’s humping against you sloppy and staccato now. her panties are nothing more than a sopping, squelching mess every time they make contact with your thigh. you can hear the obscene sound clearly in the quiet of your bedroom, the way the soaked fabric clings and sticks to jinx’s swollen pussy lips, only to peel away with a lewd, wet schlick.

her eyebrows are creased and she’s panting with more desperation. your own cunt throbs in sympathy.

”that’s it, baby. let it out, there ya go,” you murmur, brushing her bangs from her eyes. 

and she listens to you—despite her unconscious state—because she comes against your thigh suddenly. her back arches like a drawn bow and her pussy is scalding hot like lava, a fresh flood of arousal gushing out of her tight hole.

her pink tongue lolls out, dripping down her chin with drool as she pants and mewls, drowning in the sensations that consume her dreaming mind. and as quickly as it began, it's over. jinx goes limp, collapsing against the mattress like a puppet with its strings cut. her little chest heaves as she gulps down air, her skin flushed in the darkness.

she settles back into the mattress, one of her thighs still thrown carelessly over your hip, pinning you in place. you don’t mind, finding a perverse sense of comfort in jinx’s claim on you, even in her sleep.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings, @blackdykegirlblogger, @thatgrlnany, @imfckngfantastic, @f3ralpuppyg1rl

(2/16/25)

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk. 

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love. 

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together. 

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound. 

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror. 

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off. 

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head. 

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you." 

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way. 

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it. 

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him. 

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now. 

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk. 

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?" 

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises. 

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim." 

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will. 

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue. 

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night. 

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you. 

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him. 

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his. 

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—read 13.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[clovermoters]

we love, love day! ln4 x reader

summary - with a wedding on the way, lando makes sure this years valentine’s day is one you and him will remember forever.

warnings - fluff, small amount of smut towards the end (oral fem receiving) extremely established relationship, lando is a loverboy, extreme valentines adorableness. wc: 2.8k !!

a/n - happy love day loves! i hope u all enjoy this little fic i wrote for yous <3 id like to give a big big thank you to @landopoet for being my lovely proof reader/editor/person i bounce my ideas off of! anyways with love..enjoy 💗

February 4th 2025

the calm hum of the McLaren Technology Centre was quiet in the background of your boss going over the preseason marketing plans for the team.

your face rested on your palm as you fought the urge to fall asleep in your chair. you’ve been in meetings all day and all you want to do is go home and cuddle with your fiancé, who’s been texting you updates throughout his day off at home. receiving pictures of him on the couch watching movies and playing games with Max Fewtrell. his updates however, went radio silent during your previous meeting.

“and with that i’ll leave you to your assignments for the week, please email me if you have any questions or concerns, see you Sunday for our livery launch” your boss announces.

you swiftly pack up your supplies into the purse Lando had bought you for christmas mere months ago.

making your way towards the spot lando agreed to pick you up, your eye catches a mix of red and pink balloons tied together, next to them stood your loving fiancé holding a pink drink with a delicious looking cake pop sticking out of it, looking at you with a giddy smile.

“well hello to you too...” you eye your boyfriends cheeky look on his face as he hands you your drink. you take the cake pop out, revealing the simple sharpie writing on the plastic lid.

will you be my valentine? <3

you laugh softly looking up to see your boyfriends eyes. the hopeful look on his face makes your heart melt.

“lan, baby, we’re getting married in 4 months” you say with a giggle. the boy scoffs at you “oh i'm well aware love, but i still need to ASK you to be my valentine. it's how the holiday works, sweetheart!”

you smile taking a sip of the drink before reaching out to link your hand with Landos, giving him a soft peck on his lips. “of course i’ll be your valentine, my love”

Landos eyes sparkle, smiling from ear to ear as he gives a gentle fist pump to the air, whispering a playful “yes! let’s gooo!” under his breath before pulling you into a tender kiss. you giggle into his lips as he pulls you closer by the hips, your lips moving together in sync before you gently pull away, reminded that you left your planner on your desk.

“i'll just be a second.. i need to grab something from my desk quickly” you mumble into his lips

he nods “okay, i’ll wait here.” you turn on your heels, speedily navigating through the quiet office. it was getting late on a friday evening and you weren’t surprised to see others having already gone home to their families.

on your way out, you cross paths with your co-worker, she smiles at the drink in your hand.

“it’s sweet how he feels the need to ask his fiancé to be his valentine” she comments, your cheeks go pink as you gaze down at the cup in your hand. you try to memorize the scribbled sentence on the plastic, wondering what you did to deserve the man who’s currently waiting for you downstairs. “he just loves love,” you reply with a shy smile.

wishing her a lovely evening, you quickly make your return to find Lando holding your balloons while typing away at his phone. his face lights up at you, taking your hand in his.

you walk to his mclaren 765LT, your personal favourite car of his. he opens the door for you before rounding the car to get in himself.

“alright pretty girl, time to get my valentine home,” he adds playfully, starting the car. he leans over the console to place a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before merging onto the country roads, taking you two home.

February 7th 2025

the soft stream of sunlight filtering through the curtains woke you up. you rolled over in your sheets expecting to find your sleeping fiancé next to you, only to be met with cold, pulled back sheets.

you frown, lando hadn’t mentioned going on a run this morning and your shared calendar hadn’t shown a meeting being scheduled. on a regular day, it’s rare for him to wake up first.

a pout forms on your face as the smell of maple syrup fills your senses. you sleepily make your way through the apartment. slippers shuffling across the hardwood floor, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turn the corner into the kitchen.

there at the stove stood a shirtless Lando, his hair askew from sleep, grey sweatpants sat on his hips, he’s smiling back at you, spatula in hand.

your breath halts in your throat when you spot the table he had set. roses and other flowers placed strategically around the table for two, surrounded in a sea of orange and red flowers. the table already set with fruit and a variety of your favourite pastries. your heart squeezed at the thought of him taking the time to set this up.

“what is all this for?” you ask, hands fluttering softly against his back before gently wrapping your arms around his bare chest. Lando smiles, rocking you both side to side.

“can’t a guy treat his girl one week out from love day?” he asks, mocking offense. you giggle, turning to give a kiss to his back before lando spins around, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your lips.

“i’m just surprised you managed to do this all on your own,” you tease.

he chuckles “i did actually have to call my mum.” he admits “but it still tastes the same!”

February 11th 2025

Lando left for testing yesterday and you’ve been home alone. five years into your relationship you and Lando no longer felt the need to go to testing together. you spent your day puttering around the apartment cleaning and resetting your mind for landos return.

you’d been cleaning all day, reorganizing clothes, doing laundry and even venturing into landos office to clean his helmets. just after lunch you decided a nap would do you good. right before you decided to take yourself to your room, your phone chimes.

lan <3: hey love, just hopped out of the car. it feels great! how are you doing?

you smiled at his text, a picture attached of his sweaty post race face showing you a goofy smile.

gosh you already missed that face and it’s only been a day.

you: hi baby! i’ve cleaned so much i’m about to pass out, about to take a nap but i’m happy to see ur cute face before i sleep <3333

you sent a photo back of you poking your tongue out at the camera.

lan <3: aw there she is! love you baby, enjoy your nap, call me when your up xx

liking the message you click your phone off, placing it on the nightstand before getting comfortable in your bed. letting the sleep pull you into an essential nap.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the sun had moved through the sky when you woke, a pink glow flowing into the room. you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you felt well rested from your catnap, turning in your spot you catch the singular rose sat on the foot of the bed.

you scramble to your feet picking up the rose, examining it in your fingers. your look around your room slightly panicked, thinking someone broke in, you open the door to check the rest of the house.

swinging the door open you step out into the hallway, you feel a flutter at your feet, looking down you see a trail of rose petals. you gasp slightly, slowly following the flowers into the living room you stop in your tracks when the room is filled to the ceiling with bouquets of roses.

there were too many bouquets to count, you tried. you got to thirty before you gave up. moving to the kitchen where there were more bouquets to be found covering every surface there was.

placed in the middle of one of the bouquets was a letter, reading the envelope your stomach erupted to butterflies

my love

recognizing the handwriting was landos, you rip open the letter.

hey beautiful, i know i can't be home right now but i wanted to do something special because i love you more than words. 72 bouquets of roses for the 72 hours im away from you. see you soon pretty girl, i love you xx

L <3

flipping the card over you chuckled at the parting message

ps. max used his spare key to place these while you were asleep, i know you were probably worried about someone breaking in. he should still be outside if you wanna go say hi, love you, call me when you can!

you dashed to the front door, opening it to see a very disheveled max fewtrell stood on the other side. The man still had stray petals in his ruffled hair. you had to cover your mouth to muffle the giggles from escaping.

“lando promised me best man if i did this, you're an EXTREMELY heavily sleeper by the way” is all he says before raiding your fridge for leftover pizza, as you pick up your phone to ring the love of your life.

February 14th 2025

Lando woke up first again. the sunlight peeking through the curtains. he rolled over to find you sleeping soundly next to him, he couldn’t help but admire your peaceful state, you looked adorable with your face squished into the pillow.

he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before crawling out of bed. Today was the day he had planned down to a T. he spent the past two weeks waiting to shower you with his love.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

you stirred in your sleep to find Lando laying between your legs, soft kissing fluttering across your stomach, as he lifted your his shirt. You whimper softly when he sucks on the valley between your tits. your hips bucked as the heat between your legs grows.

“ ‘mmf- fuck lando” you moan when he trails kisses down your stomach, to settle between your thighs. licking his lips when he pulls your panties to the side. your core was dripping, Lando taking his fingers, spreading your wetness through your folds, praises falling from his lips as his nose brushed against your clit.

your hands found his curls, tugging softly to guide him through your folds, his tongue working wonders on every nerve ending. sending you dizzy.

Lando curled his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you like putty in his hands.

he loved seeing you like this, you looked angelic, eyes closed with your lips slightly parted. you tasted amazing, he groaned as he ate you out like a starved man. his tongue running up and down your folds, sucking on your clit while his fingers worked inside you.

“oh fuck…. lando!” you were a fucking mess above him, hardly able to form a sentence as you choke on moans. landos knees went weak at the noises you made, grinding slightly into the mattress to find from release. he relished in the sounds that tumbled from your lips just for him

“ come ‘for me baby, let me hear ya” he slurs into your folds, drunk on your taste.

the vibrations sending you over the edge as your finish on his face with a loud moan, your slick coating his goatee, lips puffy as he takes you through your orgasm.

you catch your breath as he places soft kisses on your clit, earning small whimpers as you come down from your high. you pull him away from your legs, his eyes blown out as he licks his lips before raising to place a sweet kiss on your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“happy valentines day gorgeous” he mumbles into your lips.

“happy valentines day lan” you reply sweetly. Lando switches to lie down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you choosing to spend a few minutes tangled together before you get up to start your day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

your first gift of the day was a basket filled with your favourite goodies, an array of chocolates and sweets overflowing a small crochet basket partnered with a small jellycat lando had seen you dot over when you two took a trip to the market last week. you had ooo-d and aww-d at the plushie for five minutes before deciding you don't need it.

he went back and bought it the next day.

you were ecstatic when you saw the jellycat, throwing your arms around his neck while a string of thank you’s fell from your lips right before attacking his face with kisses on every inch of his tanned skin.

he laughed, “don't thank me yet, you still have one more gift.”

you raise your eyebrow at him, he matches your expression playfully before pinching your hips. lifting you off him to stand up. he leans down slightly, his face coming close to yours.

“but that's for later,” he says with a wink.

your face flushes pink and he swiftly makes his way out the room, leaving you standing frozen at his boldness.

“c’mon baby! we gotta get going!” Lando shouts to you, like he didn’t just send shivers down your spine at his words

you spent the day hand in hand, walking through London drinking overpriced coffee with Lando carrying multiple designer shopping bags with your name on it. he loved spending his money on you, letting you waltz around a high-end store with him and his wallet in tow while he got to sit on comfy couches and watch a personal fashion show.

that's his favourite pastime.

the day was filled with love and kisses, even after years together every kiss felt as special as the first. Lando loved you the same way now as he did when you were twenty and following him around the world with lovestruck hearts in your eyes. when you stumbled back into the apartment, clothes slightly misplaced after a steamy car ride home. you prepared for dinner while Lando took a nap, letting you do your thing.

the dress you’d chosen for tonight was one of Lando’s favourites, light pink silk that hugs your body in all the right places. Landos eyes lit up when you walked out, him sporting a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone.. just how you like it, and black slacks.

“wow…you look gorgeous” his eyes raked up and down your body as you applied your lip gloss.

“and you look handsome as ever” you say, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the restaurant was a small, italian, hole in the wall just outside of monaco. you and Lando adored dining here because you never had to worry about paparazzi, you could enjoy the company of each other during your meal.

you sat across from each other, your glass filled with some expensive scarlet wine while Lando nursed his whisky. he looked delicious, the dim lighting coating his tan skin like he was sent down from the gods just for you, chestnut curls tamed perfectly, matched with your favourite chain sitting on his neck.

your hands linked as he played with your engagement ring, your conversation casual as the waiter arrives with her notepad. Lando speaks up to order for the two of you

“she’ll have the fettuccine alfredo,” Lando points to you with a smile, “and I will have the penne marinara.” handing your menus off, you're left alone once again.

“now before food comes i want to give you one last gift” Lando speaks, reaching under the table, your browns knit in confusion as he places a small gift bag in front of you.

carefully pulling the tissue out of the bag a small jewelry box sits inside. your eyes meet Lando's and he's smiling back at you like you're the only girl in the room. “go on… open it,” he whispers with a slight nod.

inside the box sits a dainty silver necklace, tears prick your eyes as you touch the pendant. a small L with the number 4.

“lan.,” you sniffle “it's beautiful, thank you..” you take the necklace into your hands, immediately clasping it around your neck, getting up to give Lando a sweet kiss on the lips.

even after five years, and with his ring sitting on your finger, Lando loves to show the world, and you, that you are his and how much he loves you. he loves everything about you, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, your home cooked meals that welcome him home after a race weekend. you had been his rock for years and will continue to be in for the rest of his life. He smiled watching you sit across from him, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“just think, next valentines day,” he leans forward slightly, “we're gonna be married!” he whispers excitedly like you were keeping a secret. you giggle at him, matching his excitement.

“i know, i'm worried that if you went all out this year, what's gonna happen next year when i'm your wife!?” you joke, he giggles, throwing his head back slightly as his chest shakes with laughter.

“don't underestimate me baby, i've already got plans.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thank you for reading ahhh i hope u enjoyed

love ya see you soon (hopefully)

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

metamorphosis

tw: medical talk, pregnancy, abortion mention, non-con, smut, piv, oral, breeding kink, somno, sedatives

You wonder if Mary of Nazareth felt like this when she was told she would have God’s son. When Gabriel came down to the heavens to give such sour news, was she as scared as you are now, trembling, hardly able to stand on your own two feet? Did she feel as violated as you do? 

Three pairs of parallel lines haunt you from the bin in the bathroom. They stare at you each time you enter to wash your hands or pathetically pray that there is blood to soak your underwear. You were certain the first time was a fluke. A false positive so cruelly given to you simply to see if you would keel over from the heart palpitations it plagues you with. So you take a second one, hopes high but mind reeling. It only rubs salt in the wound. 

By the third test, you sob. Crumbled on the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as if you were a school girl sniffling in the stalls again. Alone—terrifyingly alone and without guidance. 

You spend your night wallowing in bed, unable to sleep. Trembling fingers plug search after search into your online browser, looking for an explanation to your miracle pregnancy. You’re faced with the idea of miscarriages, of ovarian cysts, or possible cancer. Psychosomatic disorders, memory loss after violent sexual assault. 

The pink flesh in your brain splits. Cleaved clean in half, you’re presented with two terrible realizations—that something terrible happened to you—something that your mind purged in order to protect yourself—or you are simply crazy. You are lying to yourself to save face. So you don’t have to admit that you made a stupid choice, and are now suffering the consequences. 

In the morning, you call your gynecologist. The soonest she can get you in is in five weeks. 

Though you try hard not to, you cry on the phone to the receptionist. You babble about how you don’t know what to do, that you need help, that you can’t wait that long. Taking pity on you, she tells you that she’ll add you to the waiting list, and that you’ll be seen as soon as possible when there’s an opening. 

It takes them four weeks to call you to tell you that there’s been a cancellation. Four excruciating long weeks. Each time your friends invite you out to drink, they stare at you with narrowed eyes when you decline with restless hands. Countless nights are spent sleepless, or with Ghost pinning your body beneath his, allowing you no rest in the day or night. You think about abortion. You think about raising a child on your own. You think about wasting away in a cancer center with no one to hold your hand. 

Dropping everything, you rush to the clinic with sweaty palms and greet the receptionist with a smile that screams please do not congratulate me. She gives you two pages of paperwork to fill out, but your hands shake too bad for your writing to be legible. 

It takes them twenty minutes to take you back to the exam room. The clinical assistant asks you questions, but each syllable sounds fuzzy on your eardrums. What are you here for today? When was your last period? Are you taking any medications? What makes you think you’re pregnant? She takes your blood pressure and notes that it’s a little high, and leaves the room to let you sit in silence. 

Another fifteen minutes pass before the clinical assistant returns and says your doctor wants to do an ultrasound. She leads you down the hallway and into a darkened room with an exam table and a woman sitting in front of a machine that whirs enough heat to make the room suffocating. She looks up at you from over her glasses, hands you a gown, then leaves you to undress. When the technician returns, she wastes no time getting to work. 

Her small talk makes your teeth ache. Maw grinding teeth into brittle dust, you answer her questions with short, sharp responses. You are not here to receive the joyous news of a child, or the prospect of becoming a mother—you are simply here to get answers. To look at your options. You grit your teeth throughout the entire scan as the sonographer presses the wand deep into your pelvis. Her eyes look dully at the monitor before her as she taps away at her keyboard; she reveals nothing. No pity for a tumor, nor excitement over a foetus. 

When the scans are done, she lets you clean up before leaving you to sit back in the exam room. The walls are adorned with paintings depicting motherhood and children. Each stroke feels like a punch to the gut as you sit with your hands in your lap. This room is a cell, and you are on death row. The weight of it crunches your shoulders until you’re bent forward—broken. Your trial was held without you present—fate decided long ago. 

Your doctor enters the room with a simple knock. Several papers and sonograms sit in her hands as she takes a seat in the rolling stool next to you. She asks how you are, and though you say you’re fine, you can’t rip your eyes away from the items in her grasp. 

“You’re pregnant.” 

There it is. The killing blow. The lethal injection. You’ve been strung up, noose tight around your throat, and you swing in the breeze to be laughed and gawked at. All the blood in your face drains elsewhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded. You place a hand on the counter next to you to steady yourself. 

“You’re about nine weeks along, judging by the scan,” she continues. She finally relinquishes them; sets them next to you so you can view the proof for yourself. There it is, floating inside of you; a clump of cells slowly morphing into something that will soon walk and talk. “Everything looks healthy, and there’s nothing to be concerned with at this time-” 

“This can’t be possible.” Your voice fractures. It slices your throat from the inside out as your fingers extend to touch the terribly tangible proof before you. “I-I can’t be… I haven’t…” 

Taking pity on you, her face melts into something softer—something understanding. “There are many options we can look at. We’ll help you through this.” 

As soon as you get home, you toss the sonograms and every pamphlet your doctor gave you onto the kitchen counter and out of your sight. Cupboards fly open as you fix yourself a cup of tea through the blur of tears pooling in your vision. You have been crying nonstop for the last four weeks that you’re impressed you have anything left to give. 

Your nighttime tea doesn’t taste as good this evening. It scalds your tongue, powdery and bitter, but you chug the whole thing despite the burn. You slam your mug down in the sink and promise yourself that you’ll clean it in the morning after you’ve glued yourself back together. You do not want to think—you do not want to suffer through this right now. Over countless years of failed medications and meditations, this has been the only thing that allows you to sleep through the night. 

Well, as long as Ghost doesn’t visit you. 

And he does—he always does. 

A quarter past ten rolls around, and Simon is unlocking the door to your apartment with the same clandestine care he always does. The key slides into the lock as silent as a moth's wings on the wind, and then opens up with a creak in greeting. He stands in the doorway for a moment, toes inching close to the threshold that bars him from you, and listens. Everything is stilly. Not a single sound reverberates along the walls. 

He finds you in the same place he always does—curled up in bed. Your duvet is tucked under your chin as you keep your arms pressed to your torso as if hugging yourself. Avoiding the creaky spaces in the floor, he creeps to the side of the bed before bending down and rubbing the pads of his fingers over the apples of your cheeks. Each inch of your face is silky on his roughened skin; it’s a sensation he wishes he could capture in a bottle and pour out from time to time so he can savor you. 

Despite his touch, you do not stir.

Leaning forward, Simon presses a kiss against your mouth through the fabric of his mask before getting to work. 

Tonight, he decides to let you stay on your side when he fucks you. The mattress dips beneath his knees as he straddles you, thick thighs caging yours. After working your bottoms down your legs, he presses one of your knees towards your stomach. You are nothing more than a ragdoll beneath his touch. Every whim he has, you obey—as if you ever had a choice. 

Pussy now bare and on display, he rubs a warm palm over your rump before working his thumb over your slit. There is no arousal to aid the entering of his fingers, but he presses forward anyway, collecting any stray slick before rubbing it over your cunt. Once he retrieves his cock from his trousers, he does the same to himself before lining his head up with your entrance. 

His eyes flutter shut the moment he sinks into you. Lips parting, he grunts the moment he bottoms out, then rolls his hips as his cockhead kisses the slick surface of your cervix. Even in your sleep, you pulse around him. Faint, fluttering little kicks as if to draw him in—as if to confirm how much you truly want him. When he pulls out, he watches the way your pussy clings to him, how he comes out glistening even in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 

He never drags this out for long, though he wishes he could. Putting work over pleasure, he begins to rut into you with meaningful thrusts as he keeps ahold of your hips. If he had more time—if you weren’t swimming in sedatives—he would start you off on your back. Legs held to the side, he’d bury his face in your cunt before letting anything prod at your pussy. He’d draw out every whimper he could, and leave you a writhing mess before even letting you set eyes on his cock. 

He would wait until you begged for him, then he’d force you to keep eye contact as he makes you take every inch. Eyes widening, back arching, he would refuse to hold himself back. After all, he’d have to give you what you begged for. Nails scratching, cock pumping, sweat dripping, teeth digging, jaw clenching, mouth parting—reverently, he’d take you and he wouldn’t stop. 

And he won’t stop. 

Not until you give him what he needs. 

When Simon comes, his forehead crashes against your shoulder as the muscles in his taut core begin to shudder. He ensures that he stays sheathed deep inside of you so that nothing goes to waste; that he has the highest chance of success. Once he’s softened inside of you, he pulls out, returns your bottoms to their rightful place, then leaves you tucked into bed without so much as a kiss goodbye. 

Sighing, he rubs at his face through his mask as he wanders back to the exit, body too warm beneath his jumper and jeans to be comfortable. His skin itches. Mites tingle and burrow into his skin with each step he takes. The air feels different in your flat than it usually does—thick with some lachrymose cordolium that whispers from the baseboards. 

He doesn’t understand why that is until something on the counter reflects the dim glow of the stove light into his eye. Detouring into the kitchen, he approaches your counter where he finds a plethora of pamphlets, discharge papers, and sonograms haphazardly bunched into a pile. 

Snatching one of the sonograms, Simon quickly raises it to the light and then freezes. There it is. A tiny, muddled creature in the mix of amniotic fluid. Beneath his mask, he grins as he beholds the very first image of his child—the baby he’s so desperately been wanting from you. Something swells inside of him. Pride; ardor. These last countless months have finally given him the fruit he’d sown long ago.

Enraptured by the picture, Simon almost doesn’t notice one of the pamphlets on the counter as he turns to leave. Still, he catches the title out of the corner of his eye: Abortion - Your Options and Right to Choose. 

His throat constricts. Whatever mirth he held on the tip of his tongue vanishes the moment he sees that. Indignation broils deep in his stomach at the thought of you ever considering doing such a thing to him—to his child. Deciding to choose for you, Simon carefully places the sonogram in the pocket of his jumper before snatching the pamphlet off the counter and marching off through the door. 

Once he’s locked it behind him, he begins to shred the paper to pieces before tossing it in the recycling bin on the corner of the street, leaving it far out of reach.

[yandere-wishes]

༻°₊ ｡I'm Sorry I'm Not Everything You Wanted｡ ₊°༺

⭒⌒★𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 ★⌒⭒

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི 𝓢𝔂𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓱𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲 𝓧𝓒𝓧 ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

⊹♡ 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 ��𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 ♡⊹

જ⁀➴Warnings: yandere behavior, older man younger woman (reader is over 18), identity crises but make it hot.

𐙚 Synopsis: You begged him to give you the mantel, to christen you as one of his knights, but the burden lays heavily across your shoulders, becoming heavier with each solemn glance.

・┆✦ʚ I couldn't even be them if I tried ɞ✦ ┆・

ʚ☆ɞ It has occurred to Bruce, that the last several nights, there has been a shadow observing him. Slithering through the darkness, perched, watching his every move. He feels studied, noted, like a frog with its skin pinned back divulging its organs for all to see. But when he allows himself a glimpse behind him. He is only ever met with the neon black landscape of Gotham's skyline.

ʚ☆ɞ Menace stalking menace, he is sure of it now. There is an existence haunting him, lurking just out of sight. Someone is stalking him, dissecting him. Their every breath synchronizing with his. He can not catch such a fickle thing, he can not step on this new shadow. It's only when he's half high off fear toxin and two-thirds through an adrenaline rush that he realizes what to do.

ʚ☆ɞ Batman claws at Scarecrow's arm. Nails sinking into straw and flesh. Pulling the sickly thin body above his head and flinging it into the darkness. He listens for the noise of the body hitting something solid. A pained holler piercing the white noise. Echolocation, there is a reason he's chosen the bat as his homage.

ʚ☆ɞ You are a tiny thing, lying beneath the unconscious man. Girlish and juvenile in every way. For a second he considers leaving you there, letting the danger of your ploy sink in. And yet before he can decide whether to offer a hand or turn away, you've already maneuvered out of your binding, pushing yourself up with a puerile skip. Balancing on tiptoes to examine the irritation in his dull eyes…

ʚ☆ɞ You've been trying to slip into the Batcave for the past week now. Batman's scoldings always fall on deaf ears. He's had to save you from his own creations, his own security, after every patrol. He's grown wary of delivering the same lecture. Now he merely awaits the day he'll find you sitting behind his computer with that sickly glib smile smeared across your pretty face.

ʚ☆ɞ It's a forced welcome invitation. You have a way of always being where you are not wanted, prying through steel and concrete until you've made it into the forbidden garden. He hates how much you remind him of Tim. How much you make his sons' presence vibrate through the empty cave. But it's not empty now, is it? He hears you the moment your sole graces the cave's floor, he lets you prowl behind him, awaiting knife and threat. Instead he's almost shaken when you wrap your arms gingerly around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder with a content hum.

"I finally did it."

ʚ☆ɞ For a second he remembers Don Quioxte, obsessed soul driven to madness. He can't help but laugh.

ʚ☆ɞ He knights you, Robin, not because he wishes to, but because you've left him no alternative. You trail behind him so openly. Spinning and twirling and punching. It didn't take long for Gotham to take note of your presence. "THE NEW CHILD-WONDER" the headlines read. Now there is no other excuse but to deem you sidekick, lest the News and GCPD begin to cavil.

ʚ☆ɞ You cling to his waist, and rest your head on his shoulder during patrols that have gone until sunrise. It's getting harder and harder to ignore the skittish patter of his heart when your weight falls upon him when your arms pull taut his muscles. When he's feeling bold enough to admit somber truths to himself, Bruce confesses that when your eyes flutter open from light slumber is when he thinks you are the most beautiful. Little doll returning to hell. It's cruel and loving all in the same breath.

ʚ☆ɞ And yet he only sees suffering and an early grave with your name inscribed upon the marble. He is doomed to watch his love die. Just like all those who love him are doomed to bleed out in hopes that he will save them…

He never can.

ʚ☆ɞ He will never see you as his equal, you know this, felt it in every shove and push as he huddles you behind his bulking frame. He gives you neither batarangs nor batclaws at first, he doesn't think you're ready for the burden of such weapons. Instead, he teaches you to punch, to kick, to dislocate bones from sockets, and leave men withering in pain. In the end, you find you like the batarangs most. They do more damage than your tiny fists ever could. Or maybe it's cause he'd held you so close once, lacing his fingers with yours to teach you how to throw.

You feel the ghost of his hand weighing upon yours every time you pitch one at the oncoming threat.

ʚ☆ɞ He's only ever known love when it's under moonlight. He's only ever known love in the form of missed bullets. Not I'll protect but rather, I'll teach you how to protect yourself I'll allow you to vanquish the threat before it arises. Maybe cause it's easier this way than watching your body bleed out on the sidewalk. Maybe it's easier to turn your loved ones into abominations than let them be killed by monsters.

ʚ☆ɞ He pulls you onto his lap atop Wayne Tower's edge. Holds your hips with the same grip he uses to crush Poison Ivy's flytraps. Too bruising, too vehement. He could dip you back, pluck your wings without you knowing, and watch you freefall onto the sidewalk. He could kill you, Bruce is sure it'd be so much less painful than watching his rogues dig into you. Gnaw on your organs and swallow your heart. He could save you by snuffing the air from your lungs. You could belong to him eternally…

ʚ☆ɞ You almost feel like Gilgamesh awaiting a miracle that will never come. Chasing after a daemon who knows not how to spare sympathy. You hear the melancholy and pride that lace his voice when he talks about them. The others, your predeceases, his robins. Their legacy lays like nectar in the back of your throat too thick to swallow, too vital to spit.

ʚ☆ɞ It's ironic how, since that fateful night so many moons ago, he's come to learn that there are countless, countless ways people can die. From bullets and neglect, from broken bones and souls, from ideologies to lavish to reside inside a human vessel. He's watched everyone he's ever loved die and die again. But when you pull on his cape and look into his eyes, when the moon's light hits you just right, casting shimmers upon your face, painting you as an ethereal angel who has fallen from the heavens so high. Bruce can't help but pray that you remain by his side until the end of times. Until Gotham's love finally kills him too.

ʚ☆ɞ He can't help but let his stone heart flutter, can't help but long to pull you closer. You chirp his name with an elysian smile, cling to him as he swings you both from rooftop to rooftop. You fit between his bones so perfectly. Bruce dreams of splitting his ribcage open and pulling out his heart. Caging his precious bird inside himself.

ʚ☆ɞ Sometimes you wonder if he knows how sharp the knife is. He speaks in cacophonies but they ever only sound monochrone to you. You mustn't tell your young what they can and can't achieve you think. You mustn't clip their wings till it replicates their antecedent's wings. There is a lecturer before every war, only for you to be sidelined for the next two. You count the pattern like stab wounds. One to the neck, two to the heart.

Batman expects replicas and regalias. You feel so invisible.

ʚ☆ɞ "I would gladly break my heart for you Batman." Bruce winces at the words. You're skipping across the edge playing some form of invisible hopscotch. "Thanks, but I don't need another broken heart on my conscience. I got enough of that already." He wonders if you'd teach him your game if he promised to let you punch Killer Croc this time.

ʚ☆ɞ "I do not understand the insults" you confess one night, He's crutched on a skyscraper awaiting the stampede of Two-Face's getaway cars.

"Are people so obtuse that they see not all the good you've done? Would they rather live in a city that can kill them a hundred times over?" Bruce sighs, a heavy noise that rattles the air. "it's easy to blame things on the one trying to fix them. People need scapegoats, they need to believe in the flaws of their heroes." It doesn't answer your question, not exactly but before you can pry, he's already swinging onto the street. You close your eyes savoring the rare solitude before jumping after him.

ʚ☆ɞ "I think you're destined to do this forever"

You speak through decades, through centuries. Bruce doesn't allow himself the privilege of cringing at the quotation. It had been one of the better things the Joker had ever said, almost like a mother reassuring her child that she would be there to pick them up after school. No, instead he focuses on the ghostly lite of your voice. How it reverberates with his sons' tones. Miscellaneous candances that sound nothing less than eerie. Speaking through time, through space. He is destined to make the same mistakes, destined to watch the same deaths.

ʚ☆ɞ "I think I'll be Lilith after I'm done being Robin"

"Who says you'll ever be done being Robin."

ʚ☆ɞ There is a part of him that thinks, believes, that if he just kisses you, feels the softness of your lips and the rigid bones beneath, then he will have saved you. The logic never sinks in, maybe it's just an excuse. The longing has started to grow teeth. It sinks them into his heart every single night. Bruce pulls you closer and lets his lips still over yours. If he could change something, anything this time around, then maybe just maybe he won't have to watch you die.

ʚ☆ɞ Bruce's kisses are suffocating, patronizing. Your tiny fists do little to deter them. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, his hands massage your hips. He knows exactly how to make poison feel like pleasure.

ʚ☆ɞ There's a bird inside a golden cage. She's pretty singing songs of misery. There will be a diamond ring on her finger soon, stripping away her dreams of being a hero.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

the summer moon was born from the waves to be loved

synopsis. you get pregnant and the ghost of university days past finds out five years later.

pairing. gojou satoru x f!reader (afab)

word count. 10.2k | masterlist

content warning. 18+ (mentions of sex but nothing explicit), college au (no powers), friends with benefits, pregnancy, hidden child trope, onesided feelings (unreliable narrator), use of y/n

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

a repost of an old favorite two-part story of mine. this story originally came about as a what if discussion concerning characters from jjk to tokrev to even bllk and the gojou idea was the most inspiring so i really ran with it. pt 2 will be posted later this week. this is filler while i work on my current wips

o. ghost

This felt like something out of a bad movie.

One of those “yeah, that’s me. The one looking like she just shit herself because the ghost of Christmas past just showed up” kinds of movies. The ghost of Christmas past whom you haven’t seen in the last five years.

The ghost of Christmas past that your daughter looks at curiously, wondering who put you in such a stupor as she asks sweetly, “who’s he, Mommy?”

The ghost of Christmas past whose face is unreadable as he looks at Itsuki before he settles his gaze on you. “Yeah, [First],” the ghost asks. “Who am I?”

Where did I go wrong?

A rhetorical question. 

A lot in life has to go wrong for a man you thought you left in your memories to show up at your doorstep but you can pinpoint the exact moment in time in which you screwed up. It’s all because you sat next to Ieiri Shoko in your mandatory calculus class. If it weren’t for that, none of this would be happening.

No, that isn’t it. Your gaze turns to Itsuki, who looks back at you with familiar light blue eyes and white hair. She may have gotten the Gojou Satoru eye and hair colors, but her hair texture and skin tone both pointed to you. If I sat anywhere else she wouldn’t be here. And even if you knew that sitting next to Shoko meant meeting the world’s most aggravating man you could have fallen for, you feel like you would have taken that path once again.

No, sitting next to Shoko wasn’t where you messed up all those years agoー it was telling her you were pregnant in the first place.

i. spring tide

When you met Gojou Satoru, you considered it a godsend.

Not because his eyes were a rare shade of blue that most would kill to have. Not because he was drop dead gorgeous and the last person you were expecting to see when your classmate Shoko invited you to eat lunch with her and a couple friends.

The reason was a lot more simple thatー he was the first person you’d met in years that had watched and liked Digimon more than Pokemon. I am so glad I sat next to that Shoko girl, you thought in gleeful disbelief as he told you his personal favorites before flipping the question onto you. “I’m basic,” you told him with a laugh. “I’ve been riding the wave of Gatomon love since I was 7.”

Getou Suguru, Satoru’s childhood best friend from what you’d gathered, groaned, “please don’t make him continue with your excitement.”

“Ignore him,” Satoru pushed Suguru’s face away with all the nonchalance in the world. “He thinks Digimon is stupid.”

“It’s a Pokemon bootleg!” Suguru shot back with a sly smile.

In unison, you and Satoru gasped in disbelief and offense. “Boy bye! You can talk all the shit you want about Digimon, I can rest every night at ease knowing if my house were on fire Agumon would be able to say ‘[First], your house is on fire’,” you sneered in jest at the man, Satoru clapping in agreement all the while at your defense. “You don’t get that kind of insurance with Pikachu! ‘Pika pika’ could mean so many things!”

“Where have you been all my life?” Satoru snickered, holding his hand out for a high five you reciprocated with complete enthusiasm.

“Watching Digimon by myself,” you laughed, whipping out your phone. You needed this man’s number stat. “The next time I have a Digimon rewatch, I’m inviting you over. Like, you don’t have the option to refuse, you’ve doomed yourself.”

Satoru’s eyes were gleaming from his lowered shades, “funny, I was about to say the exact same thing to you,” he glanced over at Suguru with a teasing look. “Friendship ended with Suguru, [First] is my new best friend,” the white-haired student declared as he typed his number into your phone.

He labeled himself Digidestined Satoru, sending a text to himself: This is coming from the phone of Digidestined [First]. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you were grinning as you looked at the message. “That better be what you put me in your phone.”

“Definitely, new best friend,” Satoru promised, whipping his own phone around to show your new contact in it. Digidestined [First] it was.

Despite the apparent disownership, Suguru looked amused and unbothered, “okay but see if your ex-best friend takes notes for you if you ever take off from class.” Suddenly your new brother-in-Digimon was singing a different tune, waxing poetic about how Digimon and Pokemon were brothers from different mothers. You rolled your eyes but you’re unmistakably giddy as you watched him talk with his hands.

“There doesn’t need to bad blood between the two,” Satoru ended with a grand bow. “As such, I declare that I can have more than one best friend.”

“How did we even get on the topic of Digimon,” Shoko asked with an amused look on her face, cracking open another beer. “That was so random.”

You grabbed your own beer with a light giggle, you felt rather light compared to how you started this day. “His sunglasses had a Metal Greymon-like pattern and I had to say something about it,” you say after a few sips. “Glad I did because now I have a new brother-in-Digimon.”

Blue eyes held your gaze for a moment and you clacked your cans together in celebration.

That was how your friendship started. Clothed in beer and Digimon. It took about a week before he swept over to your place, seeking out the promise to watch Digimon together. If you can really call what you did watching, you spent more than half of the time talking over the episodes about miscellaneous topics than actually watching Tai and the gang try to get back to the physical world.

He’d known Suguru since he was 5.

(“We got into a fight on the playground. I wanted the swing and he wouldn’t get off. So I kicked him and he threw sand at my face, we’ve been buddies ever since.”

“I have a lot of questions about how y’all went from trying to kill each other to being best friends.”

“Look, don’t question our methods.”)

He was a December Sagittarius, born December 7th.

(”Yeah, I can tell!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

He apparently started eating sweets to stimulate his brain but ended up with a sweet tooth.

(“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, did you get that shit from Death Note?!”

“…. no.”

“Oh my god, you did!”

“You literally got a tattoo of a butterfly because of a crush you had on Jolyne from Part 6, shut up!”

“Satoru, don’t play these games with me.”)

He sounded eerily similar to Bruno Bucciarati from part 5 of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.

(”Arrivederci!”

“Oh my god that’s insane! You do! Say something else!”

“STICKY FINGERS!!!”

“PFFT-”

“See? I could totally get away with saying I voiced him and no one would bat an eyelash.”

“Who else do you sound like?”

“I’ve been told I make a great impression of Kuroo from Haikyuu!!”

He did, by the way.)

And he was currently enrolled as a business major. 

(“My old man wouldn’t get off my back about it. You?”

“Marine biology.”

“We have that program here?”)

He had a natural charisma that just drew people in, yourself included. That’s why you think it was so easy being with him, he made it feel like you’d been friends all your life even if reality said otherwise. He made everyone feel like that, that’s why he’d always be surrounded by people.

Still, he’d find a way to make you feel special when his eyes would light up in recognition when he saw you wave across the room at parties.

How he’d jig across the room with those lanky limbs of his to grab you in a hug. “[First], you finally made it! Thanks for coming out of the bat cave you call a room to grace us with your presence!”

It made you feel special that you were friends with the person adored by everyone else. That’s why you could playfully push him off of you and say, “you mean the bat cave you crawl to when you lock yourself out of your room and Suguru isn’t in either?”

“I’m hurt, why are you being mean to me?” Satoru pouted batting his white eyelashes like a distressed damsel. “Don’t you know who you’re being mean to when you’re being an ass? This, this is who you’re being mean to,” he gestured to himself.

“Last week you ate my fries after I specifically said not to touch them because I counted how many I had left, I know exactly who I’m being mean to.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d count them again whenever you decided to eat them?” Your irritation from last week had long since passed though, that was why you could laugh it off with a shake of your head. Satoru was Satoru, it was what you liked most about him even if he could be a pain in the ass.

Suguru’s brown eyes twinkled as you joined the small fray of him, Shoko and Utahime in a corner of the room, “I’m just glad I’m not the only one dealing with him anymore.” Satoru suck his tongue out with a ‘rude’.

“Someone has to do the dirty work,” Shoko replied as she raised a cigarette to her lips. “it might as well be us.”

Utahime smacked the tobacco stick out of her girlfriend’s hands as she said, “I’d rather not be included in the list of people of doing the dirty work.”

“Et tu, [First], et tu?” Satoru asked when you made no effort to come to his defense.

You raised your hands in mock defense, “I have to be a little mean to you sometimes, Satoru,” you told him with a snicker. “It keeps you from getting too big an ego.”

Whether or not that was working was debatable.

The night went on smoothly until your favorite brand of beer had been noticeably picked off from the coolers.

That’s my cue to leave.

“Sorry gang, but my lips don’t touch anything but Don Equis and Asahi,” you said with an air of regality not suited for a party of college students. “Maybe Corona if there’s nothing else. I’m not drinking… whatever this is. So I’m gonna head out, there’s a 24 hour liquor store around here somewhere.”

A chorus of farewells came from your friends minus one. “You coming back?” Satoru looked over at you in earnest.

But you shook your head, “nah, I think I’m done for the night,” you told him truthfully. Your social battery was gone for the rest of the evening and home was the only place you wanted to be. “I’ll catch you guys later though,” you stood up with a stretch.

Satoru stood up with you, “I’ll walk you back to your place then.”

Which was how you ended up sipping beers at the park, laying on soft grass. It wasn’t truly quiet, not with the passing of cars and the occasional passersby but it was quiet enough compared to the welcomed ruckus of the party. “Satoru,” Satoru hummed wordlessly in acknowledgement. “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugged back pressed against the earth snuggly. “I never really got to think about it.”

He was an only child and as such the only one his parents’ turned their gaze to with pressure of taking over the family business. He confided in you ages ago how he hated it when you started seeing more sides of Satoru than the mischief-loving comedian he presented himself as.

You scooted closer to him to lean over his head, “well I think whatever you end up doing, even if it ends up really pissing off your dad, you’ll be great at it. You’re Satoru, that’s how I know you’ll be fine,” your voice held the tone of a promise. I promise you’ll be fine and you’ll be happy.

Thanks, [First]. You liked to think that was what that look on Satoru’s face meant. “I think you’ll make a great part-time aquarist, full-time whale researcher,” Satoru replied instead.

“You’re damn right I will,” you smiled warmly at him, moving a stray strand of his hair off his forehead. “Be careful I don’t disappear for months, spirited away by the sea folk on my Children of the Sea shit.” You took his sunglasses off, you had no clue how he was able to wear them 24/7. Even stranger was how he was still able to walk so easily at night despite having them on. Apparently the Gojou eye genes were built different; the colors of his eyes certainly were. “I’ll come back to shore occasionally, mysterious as the sea itself.” The sea you got to see every time you looked at his eyes, even if now they were barely visible even with the street lights.

Satoru looked back at you with a small smirk, “even if you got spirited away, I’d just go and bring you right back. Suguru’ll kill me if I try and make him watch Digimon Tamers with me again. You said it first, remember?” His voice was low as he recalled your exact words from your first meeting. “You’ve doomed yourself. There’s no ditching me now, not even at sea.”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I,” you smiled wryly. 

He didn’t say anything back, but you could guess that he was likely thinking something along the lines ‘yep, that you did. No take backsies.’ A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, his eyes staring up at yours. It’s then you swore you saw him glance at your lips from where he laid and just when you considered the idea of kissing himー the sprinklers turned on.

Even worse, in your surprise his head clashed into yours as he tried getting up with a start.

Then there was a dash of bullshit on the side when your beers spilled over into the grass.

Great, you thought as Satoru tossed your emptied cans into a nearby trash can after you got out of the line of fire. You shook your arms, droplets of water flying off your soaked sleeves.

You should have taken that as a major sign from the universe that you would be making a mistake of gargantuan proportions if you kissed that man.

Instead, the two of you looked at each other and laughed. “God I hate this park, why do we even come here? Nothing good ever happens when we do,” Satoru said with a shake of his damp hair.

“This is the first time we’ve ever even come here,” you snickered.

“And see what a great start we’re already having with it?”

“Come on,” you tugged him by the wrist. “Let’s just change at my place, you have some clothes somewhere over there.”

A smarter person would have left it at that once you got home and showered, placing your clothes in the wash. It could have been a pleasant end to the evening, the two of you crashing on the couch while watching some dumb movie you never heard of on Netflix.

But the same atmosphere from the park came back with you when he came out of the bathroom at the same time you planned to knock on it to ask if he wanted something warm to drink. “Oh, sorry-” you say when your fist lightly landed on his chest instead of the door. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted tea or something. I bought your favorite brand of honey.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” he answered but you made no move to go to the kitchen and he made no move to ask when you would.

Who kissed who first, you weren’t sure. It didn’t really hit you that you were kissing until Satoru tore his lips from yours with a pant, “hey how drunk are you because I really just wanna make sure-”

“I’m not,” you pulled his lips back onto yours and Satoru hadn’t wasted time in hoisting you up by the legs.

ii. neap tide

When does one stop sleeping with their friend? You suppose it is probably when you realize you have feelings for them.

You didn’t do that.

If it had been anyone else doing this to themselves, you would have told them to cut the cord while the feelings were still manageable.

Or maybe you at least tell the other party how they felt.

You didn’t do that either.

Maybe that was why it was all catching up to you one day when you woke up feeling like crap. The physical manifestation of your stress coming back to bite you in the ass. Right before the trip you were planning on taking with your friends, you started feeling like crap only exacerbated when Satoru was in your presence.

But you still went despite your physically manifested stress because you’re a pushover. Or more specifically, if it involved Satoru, you folded faster than Sunday morning laundry. You had to when he looked at you in concerned disbelief you were trying to drop out of your plans last minute.

“Satoru, it isn’t the end of the world if I stay home. It’s just a week long break.”

“A week long break from your friends? From me? Your best friend?”

You struggled not to laugh, “last week you said I was kicked from that position because I watched one episode of Love is Blind without you.”

Satoru scowled at the memory, “because that’s our show, we started that together, there’s no watching ahead,” he reprimanded you. “And clearly I’ve forgiven you since you’re back in that position because I can’t believe you’re trying to leave me to survive with a couple and Suguru for a week!”

You puckered your lips and shrugged, “if it’s any consolation, Suguru is your boyfriend like 95% of the time.”

“Well right now Suguru is that asshole Kenjaku’s boyfriend and Kenjaku is supposed to be coming and I do not want to fourth wheel that by myself.”

You flicked his nose softly, “so you want me to third party fourth wheel with you so you don’t have to be alone with two couples?”

Satoru grinned and you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. “Third party fourth wheel with benefits, yes.”

You stared at him for one, two, three seconds before you relented. “Look, I’m only going because I want the sex, not because I’m happily agreeing to fourth wheel with you.”

Satoru whooped regardless in his victory, “works for me!” He chortled as he went back to scrolling on his phone.

Silence fell over you as fiddled with your pointer finger and thumb.

“Hey,” Satoru spared a glance from whatever he was staring at on twitter. “What are we supposed to be?” Blue eyes grew to the size of saucers and you continued, “Classic no strings attached? Or is this supposed to be going somewhere?”

That made him set down his phone, “why,” he licked his lips before grinning, but it looked forced even to your eyes. “Why are you asking me that so randomly?”

You deserved an Oscar for how smoothly you delivered what came from your mouth. “Well what if the receptionist there is hot? I don’t need to make things between us awkward because it turned out we aren’t on the same page,” you thumbed behind you in the direction of the hotel. “‘What the hell, [First]’,” you deepened your voice, puckering your bottom lip as you whined. “‘I thought we had something special and you fucked the receptionist? What if they end up fucking with our reservation now?!’”

“First of all, that is not what I sound like,” Satoru stuck his tongue out at you but his shoulders were relaxed and subtle he tried to be, you could feel the relief rolling off of him in waves. “Second, fucking the receptionist does sound like a terrible idea because what if they do��fuck our reservation because things go south? Just find someone at a club like the rest of us. But fucking someone else is a non-issue, get all the ass you want.”

“Well glad to know I have the Gojou Satoru thumb of approval,” you smiled and Satoru grinned in return, giving you a nudge with his elbow and you nudged him back. Underneath the calm, you were a storm of turbulent emotions. You weren’t surprised, your feelings had been confirmed. This wasn’t a Disney movie. You weren’t Tiana and he wasn’t Naveenー you weren’t going to turn this commitment-phobe into something he wasn’t. Yet the pain of the confirmation echoed in your chest. “Well, not when it comes to the receptionist.”

“Because no one fucks someone with the power of their reservation at their fingertips, that’s like,” Satoru searched his mind for the perfect example. “Handing over the poison to a chef and that chef was the person you were planning on poisoning.” So is continuing to sleep with someone who didn’t want the same things as you.

You couldn’t help laughing at your idiocy, relieved that Satoru took it as a humorous dig at his less than perfect metaphor. “I’m still fucking the receptionist if they’re hot.”

“I hope they’re married and old, how about that?”

“I’ve always liked them with a little salt and pepper. I fucked your prematurely whitening headass, didn’t I?”

“First of all, this is all natural-”

You’ve doomed yourself.

iii. red tide

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

Those are the five stages of grief. It was certainly the steps that you experienced when the fact your period was late hit you while you were floating when Utahime gasped about the sea turning red.

Red tide, it was the first you’d ever seen it. But that excitement or concern about the possibility of what that meant completely subsided as you stared at the reddening shoreline when you realized a noticeable absence of red that week.

There was no way you were late for any particular reason. This was one of those flukes, your period always had a tendency to be finicky. It would be early or late at its convenience, never mind you being the one suffering. That’s why it was absolutely ludicrous that you left the beach to buy a pregnancy test.

And if you were the word you refused to think, it was your own damn fault for playing with karma the one time you decide to trust Satoru’s pullout game. Both of you were stupid, very very turned on and stupid and you should have just waited to get a condom.

But in the chance you weren’t pregnant, you swore you were going to remain celibate the rest of your university experience. You’d focus on other things, like journaling consistently like you said you would when you were writing your New Year’s revolutions.

Bargaining means nothing to biology, however, that was what you took as the universe’s answers when you were forced to look at the positive result staring back at you.

A lot of thoughts would run through a person’s head at an unplanned pregnancy resulting from a very ill-advised friends with benefits relationship.

Were you still in depression? Or had you reached acceptance yet? You weren’t entirely sure as you stared out the sparkling sea. Your sight blurring the stars above and the stars below did little reassure you as the possibilities ran through your mind.

What would you tell Satoru?

How would he react?

Would he think this was why you asked him about where your relationship was supposed to be heading?

Would assume the worst of you and accuse you of trying to trap him into a relationship when it was clearly supposed to be no strings attached from the beginning?

You didn’t know which unknown would hurt you more.

I should really decide on whether or not I’ll keep it to begin with before I start with all the scenarios, you inhaled deeply with shudder but you didn’t bother to wipe your tears. The blurriness was your own punishment. If I don’t, I never have to tell him anything. We can just cut this off and he’ll be none the wiser.

It was the most optimal scenario when you were still in college. You were barely handling the fees you currently had to pay for school, a child definitely wouldn’t help with that.

Was it too late to find something unhealthy to use as a coping mechanism?

“Yo,” you could have laughed bitterly. Of course, this is when Satoru shows up now. Right after you’ve isolated yourself away from everyone else on the more populated part of the beach. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice. “[Fir]- hey are you alright?”

Great.

“Yeah, it’s just, you ever see something so beautiful you want to cry? It’s one of those things,” when he looked unsure, you grinned widely and wiped your tears. You didn’t need him to suspect a damn thing. “Seriously, dude, this was the reason I wanted to go into marine biology as a kid. I saw a picture of it once and decided, I wanna see that too. It’s just a surreal moment for me.”

At your reassurance, Satoru sighed, “geez, don’t freak me out like that.” You snorted as he settled next to you and you couldn’t think of anything humorous to say.

“Pretty cool, right?” The blue of the bioluminescence was reminiscent of his eyes, the thought crossed your mind now that he was in front of you.

Satoru whistled, impressed, “yeah but what is it?” He slapped a foot down on the ground, whistling again at the additional sparkling at the stimulus. “You’re the marine biologist, explain the science to me.”

“Sea sparkle,” you told him with a snort, heart drumming all the while. “I never thought I’d see something like this in my life. Red tides are signs of algal blooms are going to happen. They can be harmful but sometimes, completely harmless. This is the completely harmless kind,” a sparkling wave rolled across your feet as if to prove your point. “Well, technically harmless, there’s some conflicting evidence on whether or not it’s okay to swim in. We shouldn’t touch or swim in it to be safe. It’s just been a childhood dream of mine to do this, so don’t tell my friends in the not-dumb-scientist community. And wash your skin really really well tonight before going to bed.”

A grin blossomed on his face in his usual expression of mischief, “I ain’t no snitch.”

“Good because if you do I’m telling Shoko it was you that ate her leftovers,” you stuck your tongue out petulantly and Satoru kicked a splash at your thigh.

“Anyways,” Satoru drawled, observing the glow of his footsteps in the sand. “How long will it last?”

“It depends, sometimes a week. Sometimes a month,” definitely longer than the two of you and the situationship you’ve maintained thus far. “Once the food source runs out, they’re out. But hopefully they’ll be here the rest of our vacation, it’s pretty cool, right?”

“Yep, pretty damn cool,” he repeated like you hadn’t already asked that question earlier.

Satoru wasn’t yours, nothing was going to change that.

iv. ebb

If I’m not going to tell him, I need to leave.

That was the conclusion you came to after ultimately deciding to keep your child. Gojou Satoru wasn’t yours to keep, that was more than apparent. You wouldn’t force him to stay by means of a pregnancy.

You weren’t the first single mother in existence, you doubted you’d be the last. You’d do everything, without his help. Everything would be figured out in due time, it didn’t matter the run around you would have to take.

It took a week after the trip for you to come to that conclusion, packing your bags so you could head home. You’d transfer to a different school, there was no way you’d be able to keep a pregnancy underwraps on campus. Especially not from your friends.

You tried to distance yourself from your friends slowly, but even an inch was noticeable.

You alright?

What kind of sadists are your professors if you’re this busy?

Just let me know if you need me to come over some kind of distraction. Sorry for coming over earlier unannounced, I shouldn’t have assumed. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Those were the texts Satoru sent you the most. If any your friends doubted you, it seemed Satoru doubted you the most despite your reassurance that once you got your workload more manageable you’d be more available. You told him things were fine, maybe he just doubted you because you never told him he couldn’t come over whenever he felt like it. That was how things had been since you became friends.

Your place was his place, his place was yours.

That’s why Shoko had to be at your apartment, arms crossed and looking thoroughly tired.

“What’s been up with you anyway?” Shoko barged into your apartment before you could stop her. “Satoru’s been driving me insane asking me to check on you.” So she said, but you saw the worry on her face even if she tried to hide it. “So what’s going on? He says he’s pretty sure something is going on and you don’t want to tell him. Are you failing a class or something?”

“Nothing,” you told her a little too quickly and the brunette gave you a look that said ‘girl, please’. If your attempt to look as composed as possible wasn’t doing you favors, neither was how messy your room was. “Seriously, Shoko, I’m fine. Satoru’s just being overdramatic. It’s Satoru, you should know this. He went to your clinic once for almost breaking a nail.”

Shoko rolled her eyes at the memory, “yeah but now he’s pestering me to see if you’re actually fine or if you’re just trying to shut him out,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before the concern peeps out of her face. “He said once in high school Suguru pushed him away and stuff went bad between them for a while. He felt like it was his fault for not trying hard enough to see what was bothering him. The rest of us are being chill about everything but we are worried too, you know. Just considerably less dramatically than others.”

That made your heart twist in both in the best and worst ways.

“It’s…” you took a step back and held yourself. “It’s fine. Tell Satoru he’s just being dramatic.”

“Then why is your suitcase out?” [Color] stared into brown as Shoko’s look told you that she wouldn’t drop it until you came clean to her. “Is it that serious? I won’t force you to talk about it, but I at least want to know how okay you are and it’s something you can manage on your own. That’s all, I promise I won’t say anything to Satoru if you really don’t want him knowing,” she’s the most gentle you’ve ever seen her. Only Utahime is privy to the softest of Shoko’s expressions but you can’t help but appreciate the look of worry she has. But I don’t want you to just up and disappear on us either.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I,” you licked your lips and sat down on your couch. “I’m thinking of transferring to another school.”

Shoko peers into your face, “and you’re worried about how we’ll take it?”

You shook your head. “I am worried about that but, I’m more worried about the why I need to leave. My parents will probably freak out too, but I’m going to promise them this isn’t going to stop me from pursuing my education.” Wide as her eyes already were, Shoko’s eyes were practically the size of dinner plates. You cut her off before she could say anything else. “I’m pregnant. I found out on the trip we took.”

…

“It’s Satoru’s,” it wasn’t a question.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“You’re plan was to transfer schools because you don’t want to tell him you’re pregnant?” Shoko’s eyes were wide and you looked away from her. “[First], you can’t expect me to not tell him about-”

Your eyes snapped back to look at her, “you can’t tell him about this.”

Shoko shook her head, “this isn’t just your kid-”

“I’m the one who’s pregnant, I’m the one who decides what to do with it! It’s none of his business!”

Shoko probably would have slapped you if you weren’t expecting, “it’s his kid too, of course it’s his business!”

“Fine,” you muttered coldly, fixing your friend with a cold stare. “I’ll tell him if you can tell me you genuinely think it’s going to go well. That you can really Gojou Satoru dropping everything to become a father for a kid he never planned on having with someone he never planned on being with. Mr. Heir of the Gojou Conglomerate Satoru,” you remember his genuine fear and subsequent genuine relief. “Hell, that he won’t think I tried babytrapping him because I asked him recently if he saw what we had going anywhere and he clearly didn’t want that. And even if he doesn't, do you think his parents would be happy with this? Truly?”

Shoko couldn’t say anything.

You shook your head with a humorless huff, “yeah, that’s what I thought too.” You paused to close your eyes and inhale deeply before looking at your friend once more. “I’m not telling him anything. I don’t need his help to raise this baby, I can do this myself.”

Shoko eyes are dark and you knew she was second guessing everything. “[First]-”

“You can’t tell him anything. Not even Suguru, especially not Suguru. He’d tell him right away.” Suguru was your friend, he was a great friend even. But you knew where his loyalties lied. He’d tell Satoru in a heartbeat. “Please,” you pleaded. “I’m asking you as your friend.”

Shoko reached for the pack of cigarettes sticking out of her pocket before dropping her hand to the side. Right, your pregnancy. 

You looked at her in desperation, biting your lip. “Please, I’d never ask you this if it wasn’t important. Satoru doesn’t want me,” your eyes stung at the admission even if you accepted that truth ages ago. “Not the way I want him.”

“I,” Shoko released a shaky breath. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

You dropped out of school without a word to your friends before the month ended.

v. moon

五条・五月。

Gojou Itsuki; you considered writing that on her birth certificate when she was born. Instead, it was your last name Itsuki received.

五, that was the only part of Satoru you would give her, the ‘five’ in Gojou. You promised that little girl you would love her five times as much for his absence.

vi. flow

That all brought you back to now in the present, Gojou Satoru sitting beside you on a park bench while you daughter looked nervously between you both. “Go on then,” you sweep your hand in the direction of the swings. “I’ll be sitting right here, okay? Have some fun with the other kids.”

Yet like moth to a flame, the man with snowy white hair is all your daughter can focus on. “But who is he?”

Satoru opens parts his lips and you beat him to the introductions, “he’s just an old friend of Mama’s, that’s all. Like Aunt Shoko. We haven’t seen each other in a while and we just want to catch up, that’s all. Right?” You shoot Satoru a pleading look.

“That’s right,” Satoru beams. “Maybe I can push you on the swings later.” That makes Itsuki grin back widely. She looks so much like him that there is no denying who she is to him. You know it and so does he.

The smile drops the moment Itsuki is out of an earshot. “You really never planned to tell me about her,” his eyes that normally remind you of crystal clear seas look more akin to frigid chips of ice as he looks at you. “You stop talking to me, you block me on everything out of nowhere and when you dropped out of school, I had no idea where you were-”

“Satoru, you have to understand,” you start, it sounds weak even to you.

Satoru looks at you with a look of pure offense. You can read his mind clearly, “What is there to understand?”

“This was the best outcome for everyone involved. You, me and Itsuki.”

“That isn’t the kind of thing you decide on your own, it takes two to make a child, [First]!”

“We’re not arguing in front of my daughter, Gojou Satoru.”

“No,” the smile that spreads across Satoru’s face is feral. You’ve seen that smile before, one he had whenever he was on the brink of swinging and starting a fight. Never before had that smile been directed at you. “She’s our daughter. My daughter. And I had to find out from Shoko five years after she’s been born that she ever existed in the first place!”

“Like you wanted to be a father anyway,” you hiss, glancing at the growing concern on Itsuki’s face.

“You didn’t even bother asking me what I wanted,” Satoru snaps back. “I would have helped. I want to help.”

“I didn’t want or need your help then and I sure as hell don’t need it now,” you stand up, swinging your wrist away from the large hand that tries to stop you. “You aren’t even her birth certificate,” Satoru flinches like you shot him. “Not your name, not your birthday, not anything. Itsuki’s never even asked about her father,” a lie. It isn’t nearly so frequent as to be considered a problem, but Itsuki did ask about the whereabouts of her father every so often. “It’s just us, Itsuki, I keep telling you that.”

“Do I have another mommy then?”

“No, it’s just us.”

Still, she asks. But Gojou Satoru didn’t need to know about that. “Just go the hell away and leave us alone. I’m not asking for your help, I’ve been doing this alone so far and I plan to keep it that way.”

You take Itsuki home, telling her not to mind the sad-looking man you left on the bench.

“Before you say anything,” Shoko starts when she answers the phone. “I know you’re pissed off.”

“No shit,” you all but seethe at your closest friend. Itsuki is asleep and it takes all of your willpower to not turn a firm but loud whisper into shrieks of hysteria. “Shoko, what the-”

“[First], I had to tell him,” Shoko sighs and you can practically smell the nicotine through. “I get it, you were scared back then but Satoru deserved to know he is a father. Itsuki deserves a chance to get to know her father!”

“You don’t get to decide what my kid needs,” you retort immediately. “We have been doing just fine without him in our lives and that’s how I wanted to keep it. Now she keeps asking about the man with the white hair and why he looked so sad and-”

“This isn’t one of those situations where you had a surrogate and did this all on your own, [First]. And he isn’t some random stranger you met some campus party years ago, this is a friend! Why on earth would you tell him that you never put him on the birth certificate.”

“Was. He was a friend,” you correct her. You push back the memories of late night study sessions gone awry by Satoru shoving his phone in your face to show you some video in his recommended list. You ignore the creeping reminders of sharing shit-eating grins, waiting for the moment Suguru learned that you changed his autocorrect for chocolate into something stupid. “We haven’t been friends in years, we’re just old school acquaintances at this point. You know why I never told him about her. And I said it so he would have an out; he doesn’t need to stick around to be her father.”

“And what if she gets tired of you skirting around her questions about him?” Shoko shoots back without giving you a moment to reply that you would handle it if it ever got to the point that it became a problem. “You might be able to skirt around it now but when she gets older she is going to ask and ask and askー and she is going to keep on asking before she does research of her own! There was no way you’d be able to keep this a secret for the rest of her life, what were you planning to do then?!”

“… I was going to figure that out by then.”

“Right and that was going to go by so smoothly and Itsuki wouldn’t feel hurt or betrayed you took away the choice for her to get to know her dad. That could ruin your entire relationship with her.”

“You couldn’t have at least asked?!”

“You never let me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and said things behind your back. I told him to at least let me call and tell you that he knew, but he wanted to meet Itsuki.”

“I just…” your back hit the wall and you slid to the floor, resting your head on your knees. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”

There’s silence when Shoko hesitates to reply to your tired voice, “look, I get it. As much as I can try to get it, anyway.” There is only so much that your child-free doctor of a friend can relate to when it comes to your situation. Things worked out perfectly for her when she fucked a friend, Utahime and Shoko’s names were written in the stars. You only admit your envy on lonely nights when thoughts of university days past make a reappearance.

“Satoru is a lot of things. He’s a clown, he’s insufferable and he’s Gojou Satoru that’s enough trouble as it is,” much to your chagrin, you can’t help snorting at her comment. “But he should have a chance to get to know his daughter. You’re a great mom, you’ve been doing great without him. I’ve seen you handle everything, you even went back to school to get your degree. You’ve got the job, everything. I’m not trying to say you need his help, I just want you to be open to the idea of letting him get to know her.”

You think of Itsuki and her questions and the look of hurt that graced Satoru’s face earlier that afternoon. “I don’t want Itsuki to get attached to him only for him to take off,” but a bitter taste fills your mouth at your words. I’m only using Itsuki as an excuse, you can only admit to yourself. The one who doesn’t want to see her father is me.

Fearful you may have been, it was no excuse to keep her away from her father.

“If he does that, I’ll kill him myself. But he wants to be there,” Shoko promises, her voice the softest its been the entire conversation. “He wants to get to know her. She looks just like him.”

She does.

You grab a baby wipe, rolling your eyes in amusement, “Itsuki, you’re getting syrup all over your face, hold still,” gently, you wipe away the sugary mess on her face before it dries and becomes even stickier. Itsuki always leaves the table looking like she’s been off to war. “You definitely don’t get your messy eating habits from me. Let me clean your hands and the fork too.”

Itsuki’s eyes sparkle curiously, “is Daddy a messy eater?”

You look at your daughter, her white hair pulled into pigtails by pastel knockerballs and her blue eyes that sparkle with hope that you’ll have some sort of answer as to the mystery of her secret parent she doesn’t realize she’s already met. “Yeah,” you whisper softly, the ghost of smile on your lips. “He got pretty messy whenever we ate.”

“Really?”

“Yep, and he would always steal the chips out of my bag whenever he thought I wasn’t looking,” you smile knowingly. He isn’t the only one guilty of such a crime. “Kinda like how someone always takes extra bites out of my pudding cups when she thinks I’m not looking.” Itsuki erupts into giggles as you pinch her cheeks now free of syrup. “You really want to meet your papa, don’t you,” you ask almost weakly, resting your hand on the table.

With a nod of excitement, Itsuki answers your question with an unmistakable yes.

“What if Mommy brings Daddy to pick you up from daycare soon? Would you like that?”

Itsuki gasps in disbelief, “Really?!”

Your nerves don’t show as you grin in return, “really.”

The first few rings you wait for Satoru to pick up the phone later in the day are painful.

I should have just asked Shoko to do this, you pace anxiously in the employee parking lot of your job. A childish part of you wishes you had asked your friend seeing as she had already spilled the beans to you. But you remember the more than subtle tone in her voice when she mentioned the other day that Satoru’s number hadn’t changed in all the years you spent out of his life. He’s the father of your child, [First], you scold yourself. Get a grip.

A second later when he picks up the line, you almost hang up in a panic.

“… Hey, [First],” he sounds like he’s grinning but it lacks his usual bravado. “You didn’t change your number.”

“Neither did you,” you reply nervously, fiddling with the fabric of your uniform as the expected awkward silence filled the air. Five years ago, Satoru was one of the easiest people in the world to talk to. Annoying and arrogant at times, most of the times even, but still easy. He spoke his mind clearly; it’s hard reconciling that person with the silence on the other side of the phone. “I shouldn’t have kept Itsuki from you,” you finally begin. “And I shouldn’t have said what I did yesterday, you have a right to be mad at what I did. I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s sigh is slow, “why didn’t you tell me in all these years? If Shoko never said anything, were you really not going to tell me about her at all?”

“Can we not-”

“No, I get to know why you didn’t want to let me know I had a daughter,” Satoru’s voice hardens and you know that running away isn’t an option. Old habits seem to die hard. “You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant.”

“I was scared, okay?” Scared and pathetically in love with someone who didn’t want you back. “I didn’t know how you were going to react… and I didn’t know if you would want to be part of the baby’s life if I decided to keep it. We weren’t even a couple. I freaked out and thought this was best course of action.”

“I would have helped, I would have been there. We were friends, [First],” you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad with your younger self’s line of reasoning. “You really thought I would have let you done everything on your own? I would have had your back from day one.”

“…. I’m sorry, I can’t take it back but I’m sorry,” you rest your back against the side of your car. The breeze on your skin doesn’t calm you as much as you’d like.

Satoru sighs again and he’s quiet, contemplative and your heart races wondering what is going through his mind. Would he curse you? Maybe he would take you to court for his parental rights. Instead, Satoru peacefully asks, “what’s she like?”

“Adorable,” your lips quirk slightly at the thought of your child. “I’m pretty sure Shoko’s probably shown you some pictures, so you probably know that already.” Painfully adorable and the entire world knew it, it’s a blessing she isn’t nearly as much of a troublemaker as her father. If she were, you don’t doubt Itsuki would get away with most of her ‘crimes’. “She’s a sweet girl, if she sees a caterpillar on the neighbor’s strawberries, she’ll pick it up and ask if we can take it to the park so it can eat there instead.”

You both share a laugh at that. “She’s smart too, she just sucks things up like a sponge. And she’s popular at daycare, you know,” she gets it from her father, that is easy to admit. Satoru definitely surpasses everyone you know, yourself included, when it comes to attracting people to him. Even when he’s annoying you can’t help but be drawn in. “She’s good at making friends, always looks out for the ones there who have a harder time connecting with people.”

“It’s nice to know she got all her charm and good looks from me,” Satoru chuckles smugly. “It’s a no-brainer the people love her, I expect nothing less from my kid.”

“Oh shut up,” yet you can’t deny his claim. She is Gojou Satoru’s daughter through and through. “She’s a lovable kid; Itsuki was born for it.”

“Was Itsuki the only name in the running?”

“It’s a pretty name, isn’t it? There were others in the running though,” you count down on your fingers the various options you ultimately decided against. “Itsuki stuck out the best.”

“What characters did you use to write her name?”

“The characters for ‘Five’ and ‘Moon’,” you answer softly, remembering the various combinations you could have gone with. Ultimately, there was only one that you could have gone with. “I got the idea from your last name, I… I wanted her to have a part of you with her even if she didn’t know you.”

There’s a pause then a shaky breath. “Gojou Itsuki,” Satoru says finally, sounding a million miles away despite being just on the other line.

“She has my name,” you tell him gently.

“I know,” Satoru replies softly yet there’s a tinge of emotion you can’t quite place. Melancholy? Acceptance? Perhaps a little bit of both. “I just wanted to try it out.”

Silence falls over you both again and you hug yourself despite the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Shoko is right, your secret wasn’t one that was sustainable. “Do you,” your lips suddenly feel too dry and you lick your lips. “Do you want to pick her up from daycare with me today? She wants to meet you, she always has. She even asked about you this morning.”

He does. It shouldn’t surprise you that he does and it doesn’t. Still, your heart pounds when you see him show up at the daycare your daughter spends a large portion of her time at. “Hi,” you greet him nervously.

“Hey,” even though he’s grinning, his smile is a bit off kilter. A sugary pink bag hangs from one his arms. “I uh, didn’t know exactly what sort of things she like but I got her a present. You said she’s really into whale sharks, right? So I got her a plush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him Itsuki already has five. She’d love his gift anyway. Maybe the one he got her would become her favorite.

“She might adore that more than you,” you joke but you give him a nod a beat later. “But don’t worry about what happened last time. She’ll be happy to see you in a better mood, she was worried about you when we left the park.” Maybe that was the father-daughter bond at work, or maybe it was your child’s empathetic nature.

Maybe both.

You already discussed things with him after he agreed to come meet her properly. He could get to know Itsuki, could even meet the daycare attendants. It would just be a while before you’d be able to trust him with being an emergency contact.

“Hey, Choso,” you wave at the man with pigtails. Intimidating as he looks, his daycare is surprisingly popular due to the low rates. He wanted a place where his youngest brother could grow up happily with his friends. “This,” you start before Choso can question you, gesturing to Satoru. “… This is Itsuki’s father. You’ll uh, probably see him coming around a lot more when I pick her up from now.”

There’s a lengthy pause.

“Nice to meet you,” Choso’s tone says otherwise. If it were possible, Choso’s face would be place right under the definition of judgement. He is definitely deeming Satoru a deadbeat that was finally crawling out from the woodworks.

Satoru ignores it with the air of confidence he didn’t have a few minutes ago outside, “thanks for looking after my kid while [First] was busy. I haven’t been around but I’m hoping to make up for all the lost time.”

You doubt that was meant to be a dig, you still take it as one. “Itsuki’s playing with Yuuji and the rest of their friends right now. You’ll see her at the playground,” he gestures at the infant in his hands. “I have a diaper to change.”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” you wave. “And tell Kechizu that he needs to stop cooking better than me. The other day Itsuki said she liked his lunches more than mine.” That manages to get a snicker out of the man. 

“Itsuki!” You call out once you’re on the playground and you see her eyes light up with recognition and a ‘Mommy!’ Even funnier is her little excited jig before she runs over to hug you although she stops as she recognizes the man beside you.

She glances between the two of you and you smile reassuringly. “Why are you getting so shy? Don’t you remember what I promised at breakfast?”

Itsuki’s eyes widen and her jaw drops wordlessly. You suppose she might not have truly been expecting you’d make good on your promise. At least, definitely not so soon.

“Itsuki, this is Satoru, your father,” you tell her gently, smile small. “Although I suppose, you already met him yesterday. It just didn’t go at all the way it was supposed to.” But what was done was done; Itsuki deserved to know her father. You wouldn’t take away that choice because of your own fears anymore.

“Daddy?” Itsuki asks Satoru, voice just above a whisper.

Satoru nods, settling down on one knee to look her in those familiar blue eyes. “That’s right, kiddo,”

“Daddy?!” Itsuki hops in disbelief, looking between the two of you before her eyes settle on yours again. “It’s really Daddy?!” You aren’t sure if Itsuki knows whether she wants to cry or run away in disbelief that this moment is finally happening.

You knelt beside your old friend, “say hi to your father, Itsuki.”

The tears suddenly well in her eyes but despite Satoru’s panicked voice, you can tell they aren’t sad ones as Itsuki throws her arms over Satoru’s shoulders. And if your eyes are warmer than they were a few moments ago, you don’t mind it as you watch you’re daughter hug her father for the first time.

Itsuki adores Satoru, that’s what you learn in the span of a single afternoon. And yes, she does love the whale shark plush he got her more than the other five you already purchased. She cried even harder when he hugged her back, softly promising he wasn’t going anywhere. That he’d always be there and he would come see her as much as she wanted.

She adores how he took her out for ice cream before dinner and how even after dinner, he purchased even more dessert. 

He was weak to her with no immunity built up over the past five years.

This was why he couldn’t say no when she pleaded he stayed over to at least watch a movie with her before bedtime. Not that you had any room to talk considering how easily you agreed.

“So she had to get Merlin’d?” Satoru asks incredulously as the credits roll across the screen.

“That is not what was supposed to happen, the beautiful girl is subjective to the one who got cursed!” You tell him, flabbergasted that that was the conclusion he came to. Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves is far more than a comedy. It’s social commentary! “Not to mention the body positive message it sends with the fact that shoes represent societal standards of beauty along with the objectification and idolization Snow experiences while wearing them which further supported the fact that had she had gone to the F7 as herself they wouldn’t have he-”

“Nope, too late. I like my idea better,” you could strangle this man.

“You’re going to ruin Itsuki’s perception of love,” you shoot Satoru a look of amusement and annoyance. At the very least, you know he enjoyed it.

“Good, I don’t need some snot-nosed brat trying to win over my kid that’s obviously aroace,” Satoru says firmly as he picks up your very much fell-asleep-before-the-movie-ended daughter. It’s almost uncanny how natural it looks to you, like he had been around from the start. He probably should have been. You were the one who took that choice from him and made him an unintentional deadbeat.

“Satoru, she’s five and doesn’t even know what that means yet,” you say instead, Satoru oblivious to the thoughts running around your head. One day you’d tell Itsuki the truth, once she was a little older.

“What? She told me she was aroace when I asked earlier today,” Satoru tells you petulantly, moving away when you try to hold her. 

“Only because you told her you’d give her ice cream if she agreed to be,” ice cream she wasn’t even supposed to eat because it would spoil her appetite for dinner in a moment you weren’t supposed to see. “It means you’ll love Daddy forever and think everyone else is gross,” Satoru happily exclaimed, holding a cup of Itsuki’s favorite salted cookie dough ice cream. The five year old happily obliged to his whims.

Maybe Satoru will be right in his hopeful predictions that romance will be the last thing on your daughter’s mind in the future thought. On the other hand, maybe he’d be dead wrong and forced to tolerate whoever she brings home in the future.

“They’re just like you, Dad, but they’re brilliant!” She’ll say, hearts in her eyes.

You almost wanted to manifest the opposite of his wishes, only to see the face Satoru would make. It is far too early to be thinking about such things however.

“I don’t want my kid to date anyone, sue me. So I’m manifesting early,” Satoru pouts as he starts takes her to her room to lay her across her bed.

“You’re so stupid,” you roll your eyes and shake your head in exasperation, but a look of fondness is apparent in your expression.

Maybe you were born to see this moment, the moment you could see that Gojou Satoru is absolutely smitten with his daughter. You can see it in how he presses a kiss to the temple of her forehead as he takes her to his room.

Itsuki was born to be loved, she makes it too easy just by being herself. Suddenly your fears from before felt unfounded. You knew underneath the rejection of Satoru in your life that he would have been there and he would have been more than happy to shoulder the burdens of parenthood even in a platonic way. You stop yourself from wondering what that path might have looked like. You made your choice and this is path you’re on now, there is no other way but forward.

“I’ll have you know,” Satoru points a finger gun at you smugly when he returns, child-free, “my kid thinks I’m the smartest man in the world. So one of you is lying and I know it’s not her.”

“Your kid is biased and spoiled from snacks and gifts,” you retort softly with a grin.

“I don’t hear the voices of the naysayers praying for my downfall, sorry,” you both release a chuckle at your exchange and a comfortable silence falls between you both. “I should probably get going I guess.”

You smile at him politely, “we should do this again sometime, I wanna see what else in our movie collection Itsuki will have you watch next.”

Satoru grins, “it better be the Digimon reboot DVD set I saw in the corner,” he pauses before asking you seriously, “our kid does like Digimon, right?”

“You’ll be happy to know that her favorites are Palmon, Kokomon and Wormmon in that order,” you tell him smugly. How could he think otherwise? Did he forget who you were? “The plushies are just in the toy chest she has at the foot of her bed.”

Your child had to be a fan of Digimon, she had no other choice.

translation:

五月 five moons (same character in Gojou as well as a radical in Satoru) ⤷ 五 ・ いつ - five ⤷ 月 ・ つき - moon

part 2 ->

[writingsbychlo]

LONG-DISTANCE LOVER | REGULUS BLACK

SUMMARY: regulus thinks his long-distance girlfriend might've forgotten him on valentine's day, but he couldn't have been more wrong. WORD COUNT: 2510 NOTES: valentine's day post number three! I hope you guys are enjoying these, I promise the other's aren't as angsty as these first three have been!

Drunk and miserable, Regulus kicked shut the door of his small London flat. He smelled like his childhood home, he felt like the darkness of it was still crawling over his skin from dropping off his brother to bed. He shucked off his coat as fast as he could, as though shedding the layers would scrape away the sickly feeling. 

It wasn’t often that he let himself get this drunk, or intoxicated at all, actually, but it had felt necessary. As the day had chugged on, his mood had grown more sour, until it was so bitter his face was scrunching up at the darkness brewing in his soul. 

Luckily, he’d found a kindred spirit in his brother. Not much did they have in common, anymore. Not since they were kids, in their matching shorts and suspenders, hiding behind the greenhouse to play with the frogs and escape their tutor had they had so much in common. But today, they did. 

Regulus had waited all day for word, for a card or an owl or anything from you, something to prove it wasn’t as dire as he thought, something to prove you hadn't forgotten the first Valentine’s Day spent apart. But nothing had come. Almost a year ago, your parents had decided to send you to a prestigious Wizarding university in the South of France, dropping the news on you just before graduation and shattering your shared ideas of a future. Your summer of plans had become a frantic, condensed two weeks of pretending like your separation wasn’t looming before you’d slipped through his fingers.  

Then you’d been gone, and he’d hardly seen you since, a few stolen days and a couple of secret visits over Christmas, but that had been it. You’d tried to give him an out, but he didn’t want it, he’d refused it point-blank and told you your relationship was strong enough to survive this distance. Now, alone on Valentine’s Day in the cold and dark of his flat, he couldn't help but wonder if you’d wanted the out for yourself. 

He hated to think that about you, but if you weren’t thinking of him, who were you thinking of?

At least Sirius had understood. Sirius, too, had been alone on this day. Unable to spend it with his boyfriend Remus, due to a number of reasons, he’d been just as miserable and moody as Regulus was. They’d gone bar to bar in London, and when they’d become too drunk to be conceivably inconspicuous in Wizarding London, they’d made their way to Muggle bars too.

Sirius had tapped out first, much to drunk Regulus’ thrill, throwing up in an alley somewhere in Soho, and he’d taken Sirius home and put him into the trustworthy hands of Kreacher. Sure, it was Sirius’ home now, and he’d stripped it away of everything that their family home as children had once been, but Regulus felt like the darkness was in its very foundations, he didn’t know how his brother could stand to live there. 

He’d been too drunk to apparate, and far too drunk to find a Floo safely, and so he’d taken the laborious Muggle way. Stumbling his way to the nearest Underground station, and patting down his pockets for the little plastic card with his Muggle funds on, until he could clear the security gates. 

With his head rested on the dirty windows and eyes closed, he’d let the rhythmic chugging of the Tube soothe the spinning of his mind, focusing on his breathing until he felt less like throwing up. The cold and rain of a British mid-February night had sobered him up considerably, until only a dull buzz was left in his veins, and a headache was threatening to start any moment behind his eyes. 

He stared at the coat on the floor, entirely having missed the coat rack he’d tried to hang it on, but he couldn't even be bothered to pick it up. He kicked off his shoes too, stumbling to the couch in the cold living room, but detouring the trolley holding enough bottles to put down a Hippogriff, to grab one. What better way to save himself a miserable hangover tomorrow morning, than to just get drunk all over again?

Sinking into the couch, he stared at the empty fireplace in front of himself, trying to will it into lighting, but he was too far gone to muster even a flicker of wandless magic, never mind a whole fireplace. 

Where was his wand, anyway?

A question for another time. Now, more whiskey. 

Popping the cork of the bottle, he let it roll to the carpet, staring into the dark fireplace again as he brought the rim to his lips and took a heavy swig. He was just going in for his second gulp when the fireplace roared to life. 

Hot, green flames licked through the room, sparking brought light that burned his eyes for a moment, before retreating just as fast into ash and smoke and leaving behind the blurry figure of someone standing in the dark. He rubbed at his eyes with a fist, a little too hard, leaving his eyes throbbing as he tried to clear them. 

“Reggie?”

Oh. He knew that voice. Snapping his head up, he listened to the soft click of heels across the floor, until a warm hand was brushing wet strands of hair out of his face. The room illuminated a second later, with real fire this time, warm and comforting, and the hazy glow of it lit the room enough for him to pull your features from the dark. 

“Mon amour,” He slurred, words blurring at the edges no matter how hard he tried to speak them clearly, “And here I thought you forgot about little old me.”

“Regulus.” You sounded disappointed, he hated that tone of your voice. So, he lifted the bottle to take another drink. The bottle never made it to his lips, he felt you slip it from his hand and heard it clink back into place on the trolley before your hands were back on his face. 

He liked that. 

“You’re freezing to the touch, Reg. And wet. Why are you sitting here like this in the dark, you’re going to get sick?”

“I was feeling—” He cut himself off with an ungentlemanly burp, chuckling to himself about how appalled his mother would have been to hear it, “Poetic.”

“Poetic, or stupid?”

He frowned at that, his mouth tightening it to a scowl, “Hey. You can’t call me stupid right now, this is your fault!”

“My fault?” Your lips twitched in amusement as you offered him your hands, and though Regulus was sure that somewhere inside he should’ve been embarrassed by this state, he couldn't find it within himself to care. This all felt a little too surreal as it was, perhaps it was just an alcohol-induced vision, and he’d come around from it soon. Might as well make the most of it. “How, pray tell, does that work out?”

You tugged him to his feet, and Regulus felt his stomach turn uncomfortably as he found his footing. You led him through his flat like you knew the way by heart, a painfully endearing action that he would tuck away to rehash in the morning when he was sober enough to hurt again. 

You placed him down on his bed, and he sat on the edge of it, watching you open and close the drawers to his dressers, searching for something. Fresh clothes, he reckoned. So long passed by in silence as you found him a change of clothes that it seemed you’d forgotten the question you’d asked, but it was still bouncing around in his whiskey-addled brain, echoing in his ears. It was only as you were pressing a kiss to the damn waves atop his head that he managed to find his voice enough to answer;

“You forgot about me.”

You reared back, re-entering his line of vision, and he choked down the swelling ball of emotions that followed the words escaping. It was little use, not as hot tears stung at his eyes, and he sniffled with his next inhale. “Reggie, what?”

His lip wobbled, and you crouched before him, cupping his cheeks so tenderly that it shattered his heart all over again. Your thumbs wiped across his cheeks, clearing away tears that were falling heavily, and he took a ragged deep breath. “You forgot about me. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you didn’t even send me a note. You have owls, patronus, and even the Floo! And nothing. We promised each other it wouldn't change things, but you forgot about me! You forgot about the person you’re supposed to love, on the day of love!”

Sobs were breaking free, and then your arms snaked around him, holding him close. Even though you were the cause of his pain, he was a weak enough man to concede that you were also the cure. He pressed his face into your neck as you played with his hair, and he cried. 

He cried for the raging, turbulent emotions of the day. 

He cried for every night he went to sleep alone, in a half-furnished home, because you were supposed to be here with him. 

He cried for the relationship staggered to a halt that seemed like it would never get back on track. 

He cried for his long-distance lover, who was supposed to be by his side, whom he missed every second of every day like a missing limb. 

He cried for every part of his pain that he normally suppressed, every emotional thought he’d never given voice to. 

“I’m so mad at you for leaving, do you know that?” He croaked, when the tears finally stopped and all that was left was his raw voice and the painful truth, “I know it’s just for a few years, but it’s killing me, mon amour. I wasn’t made to be apart from you, I was made to be by your side.”

You sniffled too, and it was then that he realised your pretty makeup was smeared, your cheeks were splotchy with colour like he imagined his own would be, and your eyes were rimmed with red. Raising a trembling hand, he brushed a lingering tear track from its shiny river along your cheek. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it when I blamed you.”

“I hate it too, Reggie.” You finally said, settling onto the floor in front of him, kneeling on the carpet and taking his hands in your own. You kissed his knuckles, each one slowly, and he felt a weight slip free from his chest. “I miss you every day. I think of you every moment. It doesn’t matter how long passes, I still look for you by my side every time I hear a funny joke or have a thought, and I still catch myself saying goodnight to you when I’m alone in bed each evening. I reach for you every morning before my mind catches up with my body. I miss you too, please know that.”

Your words simultaneously healed something within him while shattering something else, they settled a weight in his stomach but freed one from his shoulders. You were both struggling, but it helped to know his misery had company. 

“I didn’t forget about you today, Reg. I planned to come to you earlier this morning but couldn't. I’ve been working on this surprise since Christmas, since the last time we had to say goodbye and I almost couldn't leave again.” His gaze snapped up to find yours, lips parting to release a breath, and his heart skipped a beat at the smile that crawled over your face. “The Floo I had booked travel collapsed during the night, the whole chimney fell in on itself and it took hours to clear. And by the time it was done, you clearly weren’t home. You know the Floo doesn’t open if you’re not home, Reg. I’ve been sitting in the pub waiting hours, trying every thirty minutes!”

His jaw dropped, the cogs turning in his mind, even if they were operating at a lower functioning pace than usual, and his cheeks bloomed with heat. “You didn’t forget about me.” He whispered, more in confirmation to himself than anything, as he lifted a hand to tuck hair out of your face, and you smiled sadly at him with a sigh. 

“Forget about you, Regulus Black? How could I ever do that? Your soul calls out to mine, you are tattooed onto my very heart. I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

“Now who’s being poetic?” He whispered, sliding a cold hand onto your neck, and pulling you in. Finally, your lips met his, and everything in his world felt like it shifted back into place. When you kissed him back, a resounding click seemed to echo through his body, as it all locked back into place. 

You stood, he no longer had to look down at you, but up at you instead, as he kept up with your kisses, even as you moved. Your hands went to the hem of his damp sweater, tugging it up in a bundle with his shirt and dropping the pile unceremoniously to the ground. Your hands were hot against his skin, and he groaned at the loss of your mouth on his once again, as you directed him into a new, dry hoodie. 

Between kisses and reassuring touches, you had somehow managed to coerce him into dry clothes, tipping a hangover potion to his lips, before he even knew it. Because the next time Regulus found himself possessing clear thought and legible inner dialogue, was hours later. 

His lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, and his heart was steadily pumping in a way that reminded him of how happy he was to be alive. He was warm, uncomfortably so, wrapped up in layers of clothing and bedding, with your body smothered atop him, but he wouldn't move. No, he would stay where he was, he’d die of heatstroke if he had to, just for the chance to hold you a little longer. 

It would hurt him, cut him deep when he had to say goodbye to you once again after the weekend was over, but it didn’t seem so bad now. His heart wouldn't be the only one bleeding, he wouldn’t be the only one struggling. Soon, you’d be gone again, but it wouldn't be forever, and you wouldn't forget him.

It just meant delaying those plans for the future a little longer, but he could cope, he thought. 

Maybe not all of the plans had to wait, after all. He could have a home and a life waiting and ready for you when you graduate. He could get the ball rolling, and when you were ready, he’d be right here waiting for you. 

How happy he could make you, he thought, if you both just waited a little longer. You were worth the wait, that much he knew. 

[ultravi0lence14]

CORAL REEF

DEAN WINCHESTER X MERMAID!READER

WARNINGS: suggestive content, dean being so down bad for his lil mermaid

SUMMARY: after a couple of watery weeks, dean learns that he likes his girl with a back bone; or maybe he should say a fin bone.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

a good two weeks had past since you washed up on the shore of sam and dean’s lives, and to say that dean was getting a little tired and weary was an understatement.

both brothers didn’t know what to expect when they housed a recently changed mermaid to human, but they didn’t expect for the absolute drama queen that would come with the package.

when you weren’t in your room — doing god knows what, sam and dean decided not to ask when you came back home with a hoard of shells — you were bothering them in the library. either asking if they’ve found anything yet, and publicly pouting when they said no, dean was starting to lose his cool more as the days went on.

today was no different, and as you strutted towards the library in a pink flowing mini skirt, small white tank top, and flowers decorating the expanse of your hair, dean’s cool started dwindling even more.

yeah, that’s right, it wasn’t because of your annoying jabs and ‘look at me’ attitude that ticked dean off, it was because your beauty was bewitching, and your attitude was something he found himself being able to handle.

the notion of mermaids and other supernatural sea creatures other than siren’s were benign to dean. he didn’t know much, yet he was wondering if having an ethereal fucking glow around them 24/7 was just apart of the gig.

your skin was tanned, like a crust of gold had flaked over the expanse of your body. the beach waves in your hair alluding to your home being the beach, while pearls enveloped the wide berth of your eyes.

and right now, as you stood by his brother, with your hip jutted out and the long length of your legs on display in your skirt, dean felt his resolve cracking one splinter at a time.

he tried, he really did try to ignore you when you went over to sam and asked about his findings. but when his backstabber of a brother went up to go to the bathroom, dean was in the war zone by himself.

“dean.” you called out to him, frowning as he ignored you. “dean.” you tried again, growing agitated as you realized he was blatantly ignoring you. “deeaann.” you sung out, stalking over to him and flicking him on the head. “for poseidon’s sake, you big dope! i’m trying to talk to you!”

“and i’m trying to work.” he shot back, looking at your beautiful salt water tinged hair through his peripheral vision and shivering at the pretty sight.

god, he hasn’t been this whipped since he was a teenager.

gasping, you stuck a hand to your chest and narrowed your eyes at the back of his head. “i beg ur pardon? i haven’t been this offended since my childhood dolphin fletcher dropped me for another mermaid.”

dean did look at you when you said that, eyebrows raising with a smirk on his lips. “are you fucking with me right now?”

“no,” you shove your head vehemently, looking off with a sorrowful look in your eyes. “saddest day of my life, i swear!”

shaking his head, dean turned back to his book and started reading back up on sea urchins and their powers. he couldn’t look at you another second. he had the ever loving urge to haul you over his shoulder and keep you close in his arms for the rest of time to come.

a loud huff could be heard from somewhere in the distance, and dean always jumped out of his skin when his chair was yanked back, pulling him away from the library table.

“what the fuck-“ his words were cut off as you plopped down onto his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you stared at him with a pout on your face.

dean froze, his hands laid stiff at his sides as the sight of your skirt rising up on your thighs made his eyes widen. your chest was pressed to his, and the sight of your light blue bra through your white top had him stifling a groan.

twirling the pieces of dean’s hair in your fingers, you stared deeply into his eyes, enchanting him almost like a siren would. “what’s wrong, dean?” you asked, throughly confused on why he was acting like he was. “why don’t you like me?”

“fuck, sweetheart i don’t hate you.” he groaned out, hands rubbing up your thighs until they were latched tightly on your hips. “i could never hate you.”

“then why are you ignoring me?” you asked incredulously, hands tightening around his neck as you kept that blinding eye contact with him. “you can never look me in the eye, or talk to me for longer than five minutes. is it because of my background? because i can’t help if i’m a mermaid dean, it’s just who i am-“

“i can’t look at you or talk to you for more than five minutes because any longer and i’ll want to do something i will regret.” his words confused you, and the tilt of your head made him continue his word vomit. “you’re fucking beautiful, sweetheart, way too good for me. yeah, you’re a fucking drama queen, and a total spoilt princess, but i like that about you.”

your eyes widened to the size of pearly oysters, hands tightening on the back of dean’s neck at the realization of his words. he couldn’t bare to be around you because he had feelings for you, and that realization was liberating.

without even thinking, you pounced like a shark to it’s prey. sealing your lips over dean’s, it was like a wave crashing over you like a tide.

dean froze underneath you, but when he finally registered to what was happening, he reciprocated your feelings with a steady fervour.

a mermaid wasn’t like angel’s in the sense where they didn’t know anything about humanity. they were observant, sitting on their rocks and taking in as much human nature and customs as possible.

so when you shyly licked at the seams of dean’s lips, breaking them open and plunging your tongue in his mouth, he couldn’t really be surprised.

sitting up his seat, dean’s hand splayed across the expanse of your back, trailing up and down your spine as the other tangled in your hair.

the kiss was heated, a testament to how dean had been ignoring you for all this time, but truly wanted the opposite. hips grinding against each others, you felt an emotion you’ve never felt before.

just because you knew human customs didn’t mean you were 100 percent sure of it all. this emotion was something new, like a ripple of hot water scorching through your belly. it was all too much, and when dean pulled away, peppering kisses down your throat and collarbones, it got worse.

all you could do was clutch onto his shoulder’s, and pray to whatever sea god you believed in that this euphoric feeling would burst.

“c’mon, sweetheart.” dean mumbled, pulling up from the chair with you still wrapped around his body. “let me take care of you.”

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl @deanangel @sunsbaby @haunteres @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @figthoughts @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @ilovedeanwinchester4 @whump-loverz @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @djudy99 @ryngzmn @mochminnie

NAT BABBLES: i’m going for a summer roberts from the o.c meets riki from h2o with our mermaid queen🧜‍♀️

[rotagnus]

love/self-growth in march !! 🫐

my usual pick a pile is here, darlings. pick just as usual--if it doesn't speak to you, don't force yourself to choose. there are messages for you that lie elsewhere.

this reading deals with both platonic, familial, and romantic love. don't expect to get a certain aspect of love or the result you want.

-1. ooouu you're a bright person. probably very creative with a tendency to get stuck within your own head. as for love in march, i think that this month will focus on a connection that already exists. maybe you've been working on self-love, and that's what's growing. for some of you, you've adopted a pet recently and that connection is going to grow stronger. if you're crushing on someone right now, there probably won't be any change except for your feelings growing stronger. my advice to you is to decenter this because if you focus completely on that, it'll be really terrible. you are so full of beauty and flame and wonder, and you should harness this energy and create beauty, not look for it elsewhere. time will bring you everything. you deserve a love which knows no bounds, and whether this person is it or not, you must first find that love within. i know a lot of you don't want to hear this, but it's the truth. i would highly suggest trying to talk to this person, though--to find out what they really are. ask deep questions if you're already on a talking basis with them, if not--try to make a friend.

-2. now baby tell me why you've given up on love. it seems to be a sour topic for you that you shy away from. you've done a lot of self-growth in the past ~6 months, and you're farther along on your self-discovery journey than either of these two piles are. for you, you try not to love. a lot of the times, you feel like you are still unseen. this month will bring change to that. i'm not sure what kind of change, i can't exactly tell, but you'll feel a bit more seen than you did before. this may be to personal circumstances, or maybe another person does something--even a simple action--and you realize that, damn, maybe i really am seen. this month will deal with opening up a little bit more to let the love flow in. lol, for pile 1, it's not really time for love, but for you it is; but you've closed all doors to any possible encounters with love. 🤣 listen, i highly suggest doing some exercises for your vulnerability. it's a great step forward, and i think that it could benefit you. if a person comes into your life, let them. but don't be scared to set boundaries and not settle for less.

-3. you have rose-colored glasses, darling. now, don't take this the wrong way. it can be a very great thing, being idealistic--you at your heart are a ruthless optimist and honestly, a little bit naive. you've been dealing with both ups and downs, this past couple of months. there's been some trouble in your family, and in your love life. you're always the one making ends meet in order to benefit mass sums of people. you're awfully responsible and confident, but you're still...you. you still need rest. i feel like most of you are women--babies, you do NOT need to be the men in the relationship, if you're a masculine woman, disregard this. but for a lot of you, you're stuck in this disbalanced masculine energy. i don't really like talking about the divine feminine and divine masculine and whatnot, but for you i feel like it's important. girl, put yourself FIRST. i promise you there's a man/woman/person out there who's gonna bring you flowers every damn day of the week, you just gotta put yourself first. start to say NO. you might meet someone new in march. someone unexpected. i know you've been taught that change is bad, but in this case, just wait a little bit. baby steps, darling. baby steps.

[magic-shop-stories]

Hey there! I just read Yoongi as a father, and I absolutely loved the way you wrote the emotions—it hit me right in the heart! Your writing is so immersive, and I was wondering if I could request something? Could you write a scenario where one of the BTS members (maybe Yoongi or Namjoon?) finds the reader/OC completely at rock bottom like emotionally and physically drained, feeling utterly hopeless but instead of letting them push him away, he slowly helps them heal? I’d love to see that transition from heavy angst to the softest, most comforting fluff, with lots of patience, late-night talks, and maybe some found family vibes. Just something that makes the reader feel safe again.

No pressure at all, but I’d love to see your take on this! Thank you so much, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

💌 Reply:

Ahh, thank you so much for your kind words! I'm really happy that Yoongi as a father resonated with you, it means a lot! This request immediately tugged at my heart, and I knew I had to write it. There's something powerful about someone refusing to leave when you feel like not being saved. I poured a lot of emotion into this, and I hope it gives you that deep angst and quiet, healing comfort you were looking for. Sending you lots of love! 💜

REQUEST NAME:

when the silence breaks

↳ Yoongi x Reader (Platonic/Close Friends/More?); Angst with Fluff,

Rating: M

Word Count: ~3.7k

Genre: Angst with Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Slow Healing, Slow Burn

Warnings: Depression, self-neglect, suicidal ideation (implied past attempt), emotional breakdown, dissociation, guilt, recovery themes, strong language

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Platonic)

Featuring: Stubborn but deeply caring Yoongi, raw emotions, slow recovery, acts of service as love, quiet but unwavering support, and a hoodie that carries too much history

The last time you saw Yoongi, he’d snapped.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. But guilt doesn’t care about fairness.

You’d dragged yourself to his studio that night, a ghost in his stolen hoodie, the one he’d shrugged off weeks ago and never asked for back. The fabric still carried traces of his cologne, but now it clung to you like a second skin, sour with sweat and three days of unmoving air. Your hair hung in greasy strands, and your socks didn’t match, though you couldn’t remember when you’d last bothered to look. The walk there had been a blur of flickering streetlights and sidewalk cracks, each step heavier than the last.

Yoongi’s studio was a tomb of soundproofing foam and tangled cables, the air thick with the musk of coffee grounds and sleeplessness. He was hunched over his desk, fingers flying across the mixing board, eyes bloodshot. The monitors glowed like twin moons, casting his face in pallid blue. You hovered in the doorway, the hoodie’s sleeves swallowing your trembling hands, and waited for him to notice you.

He didn’t. Not until you choked out his name.

“Yoongi...”

Your voice was a rusted hinge. He jerked, pulling his earbuds out, and for a heartbeat, his face softened, the way it always did when he saw you, like you were a song he’d forgotten he loved. Then the deadlines came crashing back.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing his temple. A half-empty energy drink trembled near his elbow. “Didn’t know you were stopping by. Everything okay?”

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you mumbled about the therapy, the sessions that left your thoughts gauzy and your hands steadier, until they didn’t. “They’re… not working. I can’t... I keep...”

“Can this wait?” he interrupted, already turning back to the screen. “I’m up against a wall here, and Joon needs this track by...”

You didn’t hear the rest.

The world narrowed to the hum of his computer, the flicker of the waveform on the monitor, the way his shoulders tensed as he dove back into the mix. You stood there, shrinking under the weight of your own need, until the silence grew teeth.

Then you left.

The walk home was a fever dream. Rain slithered down your neck, but you barely felt it. Your phone buzzed once in your bag, a voicemail, you’d learn later, where his voice cracked over “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” but you let it die, buried under a crumpled tteokbokki container and a mountain of unopened letters.

Your apartment was a museum of ruin. The ceiling fan hadn’t spun in weeks. A coffee mug lay shattered by the door, its shards glittering like misplaced stars. You’d thrown it last Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday, when the silence got too loud. Now you curled on the couch, his hoodie pulled over your knees, and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. They twisted into shapes: a frowning mouth, a fractured heart, a question mark you couldn’t answer.

Yoongi had a key.

You’d given it to him after the incident, that night he’d found you on the bathroom floor, your fingers curled around nothing, the tiles cold against your cheek. He’d called 119, then held your hand in the ambulance, his grip tighter than the IV needle in your arm. “You don’t get to leave,” he’d hissed, voice raw, as if anger could stitch you back together. “Not like this.”

He’d never used the key without asking. Not even when you vanished for days, when your texts went gray and your curtains stayed shut.

Until now.

The door creaked open on a Thursday afternoon, slicing through the gloom with a blade of hallway light.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The hoodie’s collar muffled your breathing, but your heart—traitor, loudmouth—pounded like a fist against glass.

You were curled into the couch’s sunken cushions, drowning in the hoodie’s oversized sleeves. Light flooded the room, harsh and clinical, and you recoiled like a creature unearthed from soil, yanking the hood over your face. The fabric almost scratched your cheeks, rough with salt from dried tears.

“Jesus,” Yoongi muttered, his voice frayed at the edges.

You listened to him navigate the wreckage, the crunch of chip bags under his boots, the soft clink of glass shards being swept into a dustpan. His shadow stretched across the floorboards, warped and elongated by the naked bulb, and you braced for the inevitable. For the “Look at this mess” or “What the hell happened to you?”

But he said nothing.

Instead, he knelt. The floor groaned under his weight, and you felt the couch dip as he leaned closer. Calloused fingers brushed the hood’s edge, tentative, as if you might dissolve at his touch. You stiffened, but he didn’t stop, tugging the fabric down until the cold air bit your face.

His breath hitched, a sharp, wounded sound.

You knew what he saw. The hollows under your eyes, bruised like overripe fruit. The split lip you’d gnawed raw. The scar on your wrist, pale and jagged, peeking from the hoodie’s cuff like a whispered confession.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word cracking like ice underfoot.

You waited for the storm. For the guilt-tripping “Do you know how worried I’ve been?” or the frustrated “Why won’t you let me help?” that had driven others away.

But Yoongi wasn’t others.

He stood abruptly, the motion sending a half-empty ramen cup tumbling to the floor. Without a word, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

You watched through slitted eyes as he moved, methodical, relentless. He didn’t just clean; he excavated.

The shattered mug you’d hurled at the wall last week aimed at a memory, a voice, your own reflection, was swept into a bin. The mountain of takeout containers, some sprouting fuzzy green colonies, vanished into black trash bags.

When he reached for the pill bottle on your nightstand, you finally spoke.

“Don’t.” Your voice was a rusted blade.

He paused, the orange plastic clutched in his fist. “These expired two months ago.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” The pills rattled as he dumped them into the trash.

He returned the next day. And the next.

You stopped counting the times he barged in, armed with grocery bags and a stubbornness that outmatched your own. He scrubbed the grime from your windows until sunlight dared to creep back in. He replaced your threadbare towels with ones that smelled like fabric softener and home.

Once, he unearthed a sketchbook from under your bed, pages filled with frenzied scribbles of storm clouds and fractured song lyrics. You watched, throat tight, as he tucked it gently onto the bookshelf, beside his old production manuals.

“For later,” he said, as if later was a promise he could keep.

The fifth night, he found you shivering in a sweat-soaked hoodie, the broken AC leaking icy air like a betrayal.

“Shower,” he said, not a request.

You shook your head, curling tighter into yourself.

He disappeared into the bathroom. The pipes groaned, and soon steam curled under the door, carrying the faintest hint of your lavender body wash. When he returned, his sleeves were damp, hair mussed from scrubbing off your tiles.

“Now,” he said, voice softer now. “Or I’ll drag you there myself.”

You went.

He waited outside the door, humming a half-formed melody under his breath, the same one he’d played on your cracked keyboard last week. You stood under the scalding water until your skin turned raw, until the heat seeped into the cracks of your bones, and wondered when he’d learned the exact temperature you liked.

When you emerged, towel clutched to your chest, he was gone.

But on the couch lay a fresh hoodie, his hoodie, folded neatly beside a steaming bowl of kimchi jjigae. A sticky note clung to the rim:

“Eat. Or I’ll tell Jin you’re alive. He’s been texting me conspiracy theories about you joining a cult.”

For the first time in weeks, your lips twitched.

The feeling terrified you.

Yoongi’s visits became as predictable as the sunset.

He arrived daily at 6:07 PM, his knuckles rapping once against your door, a courtesy, not a request, before letting himself in. The first time, you’d flinched at the sound, burrowing deeper into the couch’s crevices. By the seventh day, you found yourself staring at the clock, counting the minutes until the lock clicked.

He never announced himself. Just slipped in, grocery bags, somtimes rustling with Jin’s aggressively labeled Tupperware -“EAT ME BEFORE I CRY”- scrawled in red Sharpie, and set to work. You cataloged his routines: the way he’d kick off his shoes by the door, always left aligned, laces tucked in, the sigh he’d exhale before tackling the dishes, the precise angle he’d tilt his head when scrubbing stains from your coffee table, as if decoding a particularly stubborn chord progression.

The hazards disappeared first.

You noticed the razor blades gone from your desk drawer, replaced by a box of colored pencils. The vodka and soju bottles under the sink vanished, its spot taken by a six-pack of water. The loose pills in your nightstand? Swapped for melatonin gummies shaped like tiny bears. He moved like a ghost, erasing traces of your decay, and you let him.

His notes appeared in unexpected places:

Taped to the fridge:

“Ate the expired yogurt. You’re welcome. P.S. Jin says hi. He’s 83% sure you’re not dead.”

Slipped under your pillow:

“Hobi made a ‘Sunshine Recovery’ playlist. It’s 90% Disney songs. USB on the desk if you’re brave.”

You found it plugged into your laptop, track one titled “Hakuna Matata (Sad Remix)”

Scrawled on the bathroom mirror in dry-erase marker:

“Shower. Please. You smell like Namjoon’s gym bag.”

You ignored them. Mostly.

But on day twelve, you caught yourself staring at the USB drive, its neon green casing mocking you from across the room. When Yoongi returned the next morning, he found it plugged in, the playlist paused midway through “Let It Go”. Hobi’s voice cracking spectacularly on the high note. He didn’t smile. Just nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less, and left a new note:

“Track 7 is worse. You’ve been warned.”

The breaking point came on a rain-lashed Thursday.

Yoongi found you huddled on the balcony, his hoodie soaked through, hair plastered to your skull. The broken AC had turned your apartment into a sauna, and you’d fled to the icy downpour, chasing numbness.

For once, he broke protocol.

“Up,” he barked, hauling you inside with hands that trembled, from anger or fear, you couldn’t tell. You stumbled, knees buckling, but he caught you, his grip firm around your waist. “Enough.”

He marched you to the bathroom, cranked the shower to near-scalding, and shoved a towel into your chest. “Now.”

You stared at the steam curling under the door. “Go away.”

“Try again.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and you realized with dawning horror that he’d brought a book, a weathered copy of Murakami’s 'Kafka on the Shore'. “I’ll be here.”

“I don’t need...”

“You don’t get to decide what you need right now.” He flipped a page, jaw set. “Shower. Or I read aloud. Your choice.”

You showered.

The water burned, but you leaned into it, scrubbing until your skin turned pink. When you emerged, towel clutched like armor, he was gone –again– but a fresh hoodie hung on the door, like last time, still warm from the dryer. His cologne clung to the fabric, a woodsy anchor in the storm.

That night, you found his Murakami book left behind, a receipt marking page 127:

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions.”

Beneath it, in Yoongi’s jagged script:

“Sandstorms pass. I’ll wait. -Y-

You slept with the book under your pillow, the hoodie’s sleeves wrapped around your fists.

The next morning, the AC was fixed.

You didn’t ask how.

It was Saturday 3 AM when the words claw their way out.

Yoongi’s on the floor, back against the couch, grading demos with his laptop balanced on his knees. The screen’s blue glow sharpens the shadows under his eyes, and you wonder if he’s slept at all this week, if either of you have. You’re drowning in his hoodie again, the third one he’s brought this month, its sleeves frayed from your restless picking. The scars on your arms itch beneath the fabric, a map of failures he’s already memorized.

He knows. Of course he knows.

He was the one who found you that second night, after all, your body limp against the bathroom tiles, fingers curled around an empty pill bottle he still won’t name aloud. He was the one who screamed into the phone for an ambulance, who held your hand in the ER with a grip that left bruises, who slept in a plastic chair for three days until your eyes fluttered open. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he’d hissed then, voice trembling with rage and relief. “Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

But tonight, the silence between you is a live wire.

You trace the oldest scar, a jagged line he’s never asked about. “You saved me,” you say, voice frayed. “That night, the other night....”

His fingers freeze mid-keystroke. The laptop fan whirs louder.

“You never thanked me,” he says finally, not looking up.

“Would you have wanted me to?”

“No.” He closes the laptop with a snap. “I’d have wanted you to fight harder.”

The words sting, but his eyes soften them. He shifts closer, knees brushing yours, and you catch the faint tremor in his hands, the same tremor he’d hidden when he carried you to the ambulance.

“I’m still here,” you whisper, as if it’s a confession.

“Barely.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and stares at the carpet like it holds the answers. “You think I clean your apartment for fun? That I listen to Hobi’s playlists out of charity?” His laugh is bitter, worn thin. “You’re alive. That’s the baseline. I’m waiting for you to live.”

The honesty hangs between you, raw and unflinching. You want to scream, to tear at the walls, to ask why he bothers, why anyone would. Instead, you blurt, “It’s hard. Wanting to stay.”

“I know.”

“How?”

He hesitates, then rolls up his sleeve. A faded scar runs along his forearm, paler than yours, older. “I was twenty one. Scared. Angry. Thought the world wouldn’t miss another nameless kid from Daegu.” His thumb brushes the mark, a habit you recognize now. “But the world’s full of shitty second chances. This...” he nods at you, at the space between you, “...is mine.”

You reach out, fingertips grazing his wrist. His pulse jumps, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’re not nameless,” you say.

“Neither are you.”

The clock ticks. Rain taps the window. Somewhere downstairs, a car alarm wails.

Yoongi leans back, eyes heavy but clear. “Complaining yet?”

“About what?”

“That I make it hard to want to die.”

You huff, surprised. “Asshole.”

“Good.” He reopens his laptop, the glow cutting through the dark. “Means you’re still here to insult me.”

Timeskip

Winter arrived with teeth, biting through Seoul’s streets and frosting the windows of Yoongi’s studio. Inside, warmth pooled under the glow of desk lamps, the air thick with the burnt-caramel scent of overbrewed coffee and the faint hum of a space heater fighting valiantly against the chill. You sat cross-legged on the floor, his hoodie swallowing your frame, its sleeves rolled haphazardly to your elbows. A notebook lay sprawled in your lap, pages crammed with lyrics scratched out and rewritten, margins filled with doodles of storm clouds and half-melted snowmen.

Yoongi was at his desk, scowling at a tracklist as if it had personally offended him. The studio was cluttered in its usual organized chaos, a framed photo of Bangtan’s debut days tilted precariously near his monitors, a wilting succulent Jungkook had gifted him –“Hyung, it’s indestructible—like you!”– clinging to life by the window. His fingers tapped absently against a coffee mug, the one you’d painted for him last month, a lopsided heart that read “World’s Okayest Producer.”

You’d come here often lately. Not because he asked, but because the silence between you had shifted, no longer heavy, but companionable. A refuge.

“Your hoodie,” he said suddenly, not looking up.

You paused, pen hovering over a line about fractured constellations. “Yours,” you corrected, tugging the fabric tighter. It smelled like him now, cedarwood and the faint smell of coffee.

“Keep it.” His voice was casual, but his shoulders tensed, the way they did when he was avoiding eye contact. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You snorted. “Liar. I’ve seen your closet.”

“Exactly. I need an intervention.” He spun in his chair, finally facing you, and froze.

A strand of hair had escaped your ponytail, clinging to your temple. You went to tuck it back, but he was already moving, slow, deliberate, like approaching a skittish animal. His calloused fingers brushed your skin, tucking the stray lock behind your ear. His thumb lingered, tracing the curve of your forehead, and you didn’t flinch. Didn’t dare breathe.

The studio’s hum faded, the whirring computer, the heater’s rattle, the distant traffic, until all that remained was the click of his chair rolling closer, the hitch in his throat as he leaned in.

His lips pressed against your forehead, a whisper of warmth, fleeting but searing. You closed your eyes, memorizing the weight of his hand cradling your jaw, the way his breath shuddered like he’d been holding it for years.

“Don’t make me write a ballad about this,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His ears were pink, but his voice held its usual gruffness. “Taehyung would never let me live it down.”

You laughed, shaky and breathless. “Would it be a good ballad?”

“The best.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone, a silent confession. “But you’re not ready for my masterpiece.”

Outside, snow began to fall, dusting the city in quiet. Inside, the space heater sputtered, and the succulent’s last leaf trembled in the draft. But here, in this cluttered corner of the world, you felt it, the tectonic shift, the faultline of before and after.

Yoongi returned to his desk, but his knee stayed pressed against yours, a steady anchor. You picked up your pen, the lyrics suddenly flowing easier, and wondered if this was what hope tasted like, bitter coffee, cedarwood, and the ghost of a kiss still burning on your skin.

Epilogue

Recovery isn’t linear.

Some days, the darkness still slips through the cracks. It pools in the corners of your apartment, whispers through the vents, and stains the edges of your thoughts. But now, when the weight threatens to suffocate you, you reach for your phone.

“Yoongs...”

“Be there in 10.”

He always is.

One morning, long after the snow has thawed, you find him at your kitchen table. Dawn bleeds through the curtains, painting the room in watercolor grays. Yoongi’s slumped over his laptop, cheek pressed to the keyboard, glasses askew. The screen casts a faint glow on his face, illuminating the track title: DAWN_CHORUS_FINAL.mp3.

You linger in the doorway, memorizing the scene. The empty coffee mugs, yours with chipmunk doodles, his plain black, clustered like survivors of a long night. The crumpled sticky notes littering the table-

“Bridge needs more bass,”

“Lyrics too vague?”

-in his jagged handwriting. The USB drive Hobi gifted you months ago, now plugged into his laptop, its neon green casing glowing like a tiny beacon.

His hoodie hangs on the back of your chair, threadbare and familiar. You slip it on, the fabric warm from the radiator he’d insisted on installing last month, and pad closer.

He looks younger in sleep, the crease between his brows softened, lips slightly parted. A strand of hair falls over his forehead, and you resist the urge to brush it back. Instead, you drape his spare hoodie, yours now, really, over his shoulders. He stirs, murmurs something unintelligible “…key change…”, and sinks deeper into sleep.

The laptop screen flickers. You glance at the track, curiosity overriding guilt. The waveform pulses gently, and you hit play.

His voice spills out first, low and rasping, layered over a piano melody you recognize, the one he’d hummed outside your bathroom door. Then your voice joins, lifted from old voicemails and late-night rants, stitched into harmonies you didn’t know you could make. Lyrics you’d scribbled in his margins weave through the arrangement:

“The dawn is just a chorus of all the nights we survived.”

Your eyes burn.

In the corner, the succulent Jungkook once called 'indestructible' thrives in its new pot, now at your place, its leaves plump and green. Beside it, the Murakami book lies open to page 127, a fresh note tucked into the crease:

“Sandstorm’s passing.Coffee’s on me today. -Y-”

You start the coffee, just the way he likes it, black, with a pinch of salt he’d begrudgingly admitted cuts the bitterness. As the machine gurgles to life, you open the fridge. Jin’s latest meal-prep containers stare back, labeled “RECOVERY RAMEN - NOW WITH 200% MORE HOPE!” in aggressively cheerful font.

Outside, the city stirs. A delivery truck rumbles past, and the first birdsong trills through the cracked window. Yoongi shifts, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder. You catch it before it falls, your fingers brushing the scar on his forearm, the one he’d shown you that night, the one that mirrors yours.

He doesn’t wake.

You pour two coffees, set one beside his laptop, and sip yours slowly. The bitterness lingers, but so does the sweetness.

When he finally stirs, blinking blearily at the dawn, you nod to the track. “You finished it.”

He grunts, reaching for his mug. “We did.”

“Cheesy.”

“Blame Hobi. He insisted on the harmonies.” He takes a sip, hides a smile in the rim. “You hate it?”

You press replay. The chorus swells, your voices tangled now, inseparable. “It’s tolerable.”

“High praise.”

Chuckles. Sunlight fractures through the window, painting his face in gold. The coffee steam curls between you, and for a moment, the world holds its breath.

Yoongi breaks it first. “Next track’s on you.”

“What’s it called?”

“Dusk Theory.” He smirks at your raised brow. “... gotta have a sequel.”

You throw a pen at him. He ducks, laughing, and the dawn blooms brighter.

END.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling - a year later

A/N: Well I guess none of you were expecting more Little Darling - I certainly wasn't expecting to write any more! But here's a fluffy little bit for @fluffbruary - taking the prompt hands although I think that was for about 7 days ago!

Little Darling masterlist is here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan

Word count: 812

TWs: None! Pure fluff and a little kiss!

Tegan almost falls into Elvis’ arms at the end of the training session, she’s so tired. She usually tries to keep a sensible distance from teacher, so she doesn’t get accused of getting special treatment by her classmates, but today’s lesson has been punishing. Probably her own fault for having a few weeks off really, having too much fun celebrating her anniversary with Elvis, but it’s really taken it out of her. 

“Well done today, honey,” he coos at her as he leads her over to the bench at the side of the room. “Ya look beat.”

She groans, taking her belt off and looking about for her things. “Remind me to never take three weeks off in a row again.”

He chuckles. “My fault, Tegan bach. Takin’ ya away on fancy vacations.”

Pulling on her socks and shoes, she looks around as the hall slowly empties, students waving as they leave. Elvis waves back, dropping the odd comment about how well someone is doing, how their kicks are coming along nicely or that they’re really getting the hang of the kata they’ve been learning. Tegan smiles to herself. He always has a kind word for everyone, no matter how long they’ve been there or how terrible they still might be at karate. It’s one of the things she loves about him the most. 

She leans her head on his shoulder as the last person leaves. “Mmmm. Yeah it was a good holiday though. I’d like to be back in the Bahamas right now.”

Elvis turns a little to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

Tegan sighs softly and closes her eyes for a minute. Her muscles are aching already. 

Elvis looks down at her lovingly. He’s been thinking lately that maybe he should stop teaching entirely, leave the Karate schools to Lisa or someone who wants to manage them, and take Tegan away to live somewhere tropical and beachy permanently. He’s not getting any younger. The more he sits here, in rainy Memphis, the more appealing the idea becomes. His eyes drift down to her hands, both resting on one of his thighs, and he notices the cuts and bruises there. Scooping them up one at a time, he starts to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. Her eyes flutter open again. 

“Oh!” She exclaims, softly. Not even realising her hands were damaged, she suddenly feels  a little overwhelmed at his tenderness.

“Sore, baby?” He looks up at her with those beautiful blue eyes and she feels like she could melt right there on the spot. Idly wondering if she’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. 

“Little bit.”

He smiles against her skin. “Am I helping?”

“Always.”

Finishing his ministrations, he carefully replaces her hands and then cups her cheek gently, looking into her eyes with a seriousness that makes her stomach twist. 

“I know ya love ya job, an’ yer apartment,” he begins. “But uh… that vacation jus’ made me think… I'm gettin’ old, Tegan bach, an’ I don't wanna live out the rest a my days here,” he gestures around to the empty hall, “teachin’ like this. I uh… I wanna retire an’ take ya somewhere warm ta live. Nice beach somewhere.”

His eyes shift around nervously. He knows how much she likes her life now, and values her independence. But he's been thinking this way for a while now. The vacation had just solidified the decision. 

Tegan bites her lip. The vacation had made her reevaluate a few things too. Part of her had been scared that despite everything they’d been through they wouldn’t last a year, and when they did and their relationship seemed stronger than ever, she had started to wonder just how long Elvis could keep up the travel related to managing the business. And how much she wanted to be away from him, insisting on keeping her job in case things went wrong. 

“Yeah I do love both of those things,” she replies. His face falls a little so she continues quickly, “but I love you more, ‘raur. And if you want to retire and take me to live on a beach with you… I think I can probably manage.”

His lips curl into that cute lopsided grin and his hand slips to cradle the back of her head. “Are ya sure?”

“Am I sure I want to live on a beach with the love of my life? Yeah I'm sure.”

“Oh honey I love ya so much,” he mumbles, as he presses his lips against hers. 

“I love you too, cariad,” she replies, a little breathless from the passion of the kiss they’d just shared. “I don’t want to waste any more time apart. Let’s go home and figure out which Caribbean island we want to spend the rest of our days on.”

Elvis chuckles. “I can’t wait, baby.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[leyavo]

Not the same

Soap x ex Medic/Soldier!reader

Summary: Johnny can’t help, but notice how different things are since you returned to the base and joined a different department. An op that nearly cost you your life has left you having to deal with an injury for life.

Hurt/angst/comfort [Masterlist]

Johnny Mactavish stared at the release papers on the desk, your signature scrawled along the dotted line. He sucked in a breath, gaze sweeping the locked room of the Armoury.

Empty, but that’s to be expected late at night. The same greying man behind the glass booth, sliding papers and weapons through the box to them give back to their owners.

You however were nowhere to be found.

Johnny knew something was off, the way Gaz offered to hand in the broken rifle and sign it in, on his behalf. How Price had enrolled him in more specialised training to fill his free time and Ghost, quite literally living up to his name and not being seen.

He wondered how long you’d been at the same base, tucked away from the same corridors you used to walk down together a few years ago.

It had been two years since you’d left him, no warning. Just a letter pinned to the fridge, short and to the point. I can’t do this anymore, sorry. He still has it buried at the back of his drawer, as if one day he’ll figure out why you really left.

He knows the last voluntary medic op nearly cost you your life. Hell he remembers watching you get wheeled through to the infirmary and how helpless he felt when he couldn’t ease your pain.

Johnny tried not to think about that day. It’s been two years, you’re both different people and he’s more than satisfied to leave all that in the past. Even you. Well that’s what he’s trying to tell himself.

So Johnny finds himself searching for you wherever he goes. Wonders if you’ve ever seen him from a distance and chose to avoid him.

It’s not till weeks later, does Johnny see you for the first time. You’re talking to Price, opening cases of ammo and weapons for their mission. Making a note of all the contents and numbering the supplies for them to take out with them.

The right side of your neck and jaw marred by puckered skin. A small chunk missing out of the top of your ear. He notes that you appear healthy, colour to your face that wasn’t there before you left. A smile playing on your lips as Price slips a dad joke into the conversation.

It’s been a long time since Johnny’s seen that smile. Even longer since it’s been directed at him.

“Approach her from the left,” Ghost said, clapping the back of his shoulder. “No hearing in her right ear.” He joins the captain and you, offering you a handshake and rolling his mask to rest over his nose.

So you never did get your hearing back, he wonders if that’s why you left. Your gaze dropping to their lips straight after greeting Ghost and Gaz.

And then those eyes fall on him.

“Mactavish.” You nod, fingers fumbling over the clasp of the last tactical box.

His chest aches, stomach twists at the short and clipped tone you use for him. No johnny, no Soap and definitely no more eye contact. Lips pressed in a tight line, brows furrowed as you struggled to shut the box.

He reminds himself that you’re not his anymore, not meant to take it to heart, but he does.

A German shepherd’s by your side, fur raised at the back of its neck as Johnny closes the distance. You’re none the wiser though, can’t hear the low growls until the dog pushes between your legs and nudges your thigh on the left.

Johnny approaching you on your right, too distracted by your presence that he forgot you wouldn’t hear his footsteps.

He doesn’t even think, it’s second nature for him to sweep in and ease the tension, palm on your back before he even realises what he’s doing.

You still under his touch, rolling your shoulders and slipping away from him, dog at your heels as you exit the room with not so much a glance in his direction. A nod to the captain and then you were gone.

Johnny lies awake at night thinking about how you’re stranger to him. He tries to ask the guys if they talk to you and if you’re okay, but he’s given the same answer. Why don’t you just ask her. That’s not his place anymore though.

The second time he sees you, you’re on the other side of the armoury. Picking apart a pistol and cleaning it on the table. The dull hum of your favourite band playing on the radio, that you’re unaware of the guy trying to talk to you.

Johnny notices though, notices how unbalanced your world is now. How even the simplest of interactions hold your whole attention, as if you have to piece it all together like a puzzle.

Ghost said that you’re still getting used to hearing from one ear and even then it’s still slightly muffled for you. A reason why you focus on people’s lips incase you can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

The guy next to you growing impatient, he rounds the table and chucks his hand gun on your work station.

“Are you fucking listening to me?”

You flinch, pistol clanging to the floor. Johnny’s halfway across the armoury, but Ghost’s beat him to it. The man’s face pressed up against the clear booth, breath fogging the glass.

Ghost taps the sign where the guy’s face is squished up against, “read next time dick head.” He shoves the guy away and gives him his gun back, telling him to come back tomorrow.

The hard of hearing sign in the bottom corner, for you and the old man that work there.

You’ve been spending more time with Ghost lately, he’s been taking the dog around the base to familiarise him with the place whilst you sit at your workstation most of the day.

The thought of you with someone else makes Johnny sick to his stomach, but you’re not his he reminds himself as he leaves Ghost to console you.

The third time Johnny sees you it’s on his on accord. He heard about the faulty flash bang grenade that went off in the armoury and he’s rushing to the infirmary.

Only to be told you’ve returned to your workstation. It can’t hurt to check on you? All he wants is to see if you’re okay.

It’s late, you’ve taken over the old man’s shift as he covered for you whilst you were getting checked out.

You’re standing in the middle of the armoury, staring at the marks on the floor. There’s something in the way you hold yourself, that makes him walk to you. Your arms folded over your chest, fingers digging into your biceps.

You seem so small, a shell of the person he knew and still loves.

He doesn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping your trembling form. Palm smoothing the side of your arm, letting you lean against him.

The familiar warmth spreading through his chest. The way your head tucks under his chin and your cheek against his chest. Your hands twisting in the fabric of his hoody, trying to pull him closer.

Johnny knows more than anyone what it’s like to witness the destruction of an explosion. It shook yours and his whole foundation, tearing you apart in a blink of an eye.

The nurse warned him, your hearing might be affected from the bang and it’ll take a few days to go back to normal.

That’s nothing compared to what it could possibly trigger for you though, he remembers how every little loud noise at home caused you to spiral. All the nights he held you, reassuring you that you were safe and that the roof wasn’t caving in on top of you. Hearing you run the cold tap at night as you tried to soothe the itchiness of the burns on your flesh.

He doesn’t waste his words, just holds you knowing that you needed him to ground you. Needed the weight to bring you back from wherever you’d gone.

And you let him.