#i wrote this in an hour on the train forgive any mistakes

[supernaturalgirl20]

Letting Go

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, cursing, light smut, unprotected sex, talking about the past, hurt feelings, Joel being mean, fluff. Contains spoilers for episode 6.

Summary: you think Joel doesn’t care, the problem is, he cares too much.

A/N: wrote this in an hour so forgive any mistakes. Still can’t get episode 6 out of my head and I had to write this.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

You knew his past. His losses. His guilt. How he shut himself off from the world once the outbreak happened and you were happy with your lot when a close partnership turned into something more.

Warmth on a cold night and a body to lose yourself in when shit got rough, which if you were honest with yourself, happened more times than not.

What you didn’t know was how he truly felt. About Tess dying, about Tommy leaving, about Ellie and the possibility of a cure, you didn’t even know if he felt anything for you beyond lust. Joel held everything in revealing nothing of the man he truly was.

You’d grown used to it. Used to him never showing an ounce of emotion other than anger. That all changed the night you made it to Jackson.

***

Ellie had stood, eyes flickering around the hall as she began to follow Tommy, abandoning the movie that was showing. Her curiosity getting the better of her as usual and unable to shake the anxious feeling that settled in your stomach, you followed her.

The cold air hit you like a frate train and your whole body shuddered as you emerged from the hall, pulling your jacket up over your mouth. Turning the corner onto the main street you stop in your tracks when you spot Ellie standing outside one of the small buildings, ears glued to the door.

Your gut told you that Tommy and Joel were inside and from the look on her face, they’d been talking about her. Suddenly she rushes off with tears in her eyes and you instinctively want to run after her, comfort her but you need to know what they were talking about.

Pressing your ear against the door, you can make out the muffled sound of Joel’s voice. He’s crying. A fact that completely tilts you off axis. Joel never cries. At least not that you’ve ever seen. Your heart begins to break.

“I just know that when I wake up. I’ve lost somethin’. I’m failin’ in my sleep, that’s all do. It’s all I’ve ever done is fail her, again and again.”

The strangled sob he lets out at the end obliterates whatever remains of your shattered heart and all you wanna do is hold him close until you’ve mended him. Put every broken piece of him back together until he can see his worth.

He asks Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies and you are suddenly hit with a wave of anger. How can he so easily let her go? You know she means something to him even if he is unwilling to admit it to himself.

Unable to listen anymore, you turn and march back to the house Maria had set up for you all. Maybe Joel could leave her but you couldn’t.

***

As soon as you open the door you can hear her sniffling from upstairs. With a glance around the house, you decided to make some of the tea Maria had left you and bring a cup up to Ellie. Your mom always said that tea solves everything.

Maybe not this, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Can I come in?” You ask as you stand outside her door, two cups of tea in hand. You're met with silence and just as you're about to turn and leave, Ellie slowly opens the door.

Her eyes are red and puffy from crying and you smile softly down at her as you hand her a cup. “Thought you might like some tea. It warms the soul or so they say.”

She smiles at you as she wipes the tears from her eyes and takes the cup from your hand. “Thanks.”

She moves away from the door but leaves it open, an invitation to follow. With the door closed gently behind you, you make your way over to the bed, taking a seat as Ellie sits in the window seat.

The room is quiet. Neither one of you says anything as you sip your tea. You want her to be the first to talk.

“You followed me didn’t you?” Her voice is strained from crying as she turns her gaze to you.

“Yeah, M’sorry I just-I was worried about you…”

“It’s ok. You don't have to apologise.” She quiets again and her gaze drifts back to the cup in her hands. Standing you make your way over to her and take a seat beside her pulling her close.

“He’s going to leave me. Everyone leaves me..” she trails off as she cuddles into you. “I’m not leaving you. I promise.” You squeeze her arm as you pull her closer and you both just sit like that for a moment until the sound of footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs.

The door opens and Ellie’s gaze snaps towards Joel. The expression on his face is hard to read but you know he knows that Ellie heard what he said.

He tells her how old he is and how she would only be in danger if she went with him. That she was better off without him. The whole time you hold her close to your side until she pulls away and storms over to him.

“I’m sorry about your daughter Joel, but I’ve lost people too.” You can tell from the set of his shoulders that she’s hit a nerve.

“You have no idea what loss is.” His voice is an equal mixture of hurt and anger as he towers over her. The urge to step in gets more prominent as the conversation continues.

“Everybody I have cared for has either died or left me. Everybody, fucking except for you.” She shouts as she pushes against isn’t his chest. “So don’t tell me that I’d be safer with somebody else because the truth is I would just be more scared.”

The room is silent for a moment but then Joel turns his gaze back towards Ellie, his voice void of emotions as he stares her down. “You’re right. You’re not my daughter. And I sure as hell ain’t your dad.”

He turns and storms out, slamming the door behind him and Ellie stands motionless as her gaze remains on where he had just stood. You walk up behind her and hug her close. “It’s gonna be ok, I promise. And I know Joel didn’t mean what he said. He’s just emotional right now. I think everything is finally catching up to him. Just get some rest and we’ll take off in the morning, ok?”

Your voice is above a whisper as you give her one last squeeze, Ellie’s nod confirming that she’d heard you and then you leave to find Joel.

***

It doesn’t take long. He had made his way into the other bedroom and was sitting on the bed with his head between his hands when you opened the door.

He didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t even lift his head as you slowly walked towards him, dropping to your knees and nestling yourself between his open legs.

Your hands rub along his arms as you pull them away from his face and when his gaze meets yours, you can see the unshed tears. Oh, Joel.

You reach up and wipe a rogue tear that has fallen down his cheek and his eyes close at the contact as he sinks his cheek into your embrace. “What’s going on Joel? Why are you just leaving her with Tommy?” You ask even though you already know the answer. You just don’t want him to know you heard his conversation with his brother.

“I’m old. I’m deaf. And I can’t shoot for shit anymore and you know that. She’s better off without me. So are you.” His tone has changed and you know that this is how he deals with his feelings. Buries them deep inside and pretends that he doesn’t care.

“And you think Tommy is gonna be able to take care of her? The brother who didn’t even care enough to tell you he was ok? Joel, you may be older but he ain’t gonna give a shit about Ellie, not like you. So when things get hard, and they will, he’s gonna cut loose and run home to Maria.”

His eyes darken and his jaw ticks as he stares down at you, the softness from a moment ago long gone.

“You don’t know Tommy. Hell, you don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve done. Not really.” His tone is angry now but you’re not giving in.

“And whose fault is that? We’ve been together for years and I’ve tried to get you to open up but every time you get close, you clam up. I know you blame yourself for Sarah.”

He stands at the mention of her name pushing you off him and moving to the other side of the room, trying to put as much distance as he can between you both.

“Don’t. Mention her name. You don’t know shit. And we ain’t together. You were just a warm body to bury myself in, Nothin’ else. Don’t go thinkin’ you mean anything to me, 'cause you don���t.” He snaps, his whole body tense as he breathes raggedly.

Your chest tightens at his harsh words but after hearing him with Tommy earlier, you know he doesn’t mean it. That he just wants to push you away.

“I know that you have done terrible things to survive because that’s what needed to be done. I know that Tess’ death hit you hard because she was like family. I know you care for Ellie like a daughter but are afraid to admit it because you think you’re replacing Sarah.”

You try to step closer but he pulls back. “Tess was family. Been with me since the beginning and she knew how it was. How I was. You thought, what, that you were different? That I’d care for you? That I’d love you? Well hate to break it to you darlin’, I don’t. Never have, never will.”

Your heart aches. Your chest hurts. And all you wanna do is cry. His words cut deep even though that small voice in the back of your head is telling you he means the exact opposite.

A strangled sob slips past your lips and your body begins to tremble. Something that seems to snap Joel from his trance. He moves fast. Wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he breathes you in.

“M’sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it…I didn’t…” his voice breaks as fresh tears roll down his cheeks and you run your fingers through his hair as you shush him. “It’s ok. I know. I know. Let’s just lay down, and get some rest.”

He nods his head as you pull away and guide him toward the bed, helping him out of his shirt and trousers, leaving him in only his boxers. He doesn’t argue that it’s safer to stay dressed because he needs to be close to you.

You help him under the covers before stripping off, throwing on his shirt and slipping under into bed with him. He pulls you close. His breath is hot on your skin as he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I do you know, love you.”

Your breath catches. You had long thought you’d never hear him utter those words. Turning in his embrace you kiss his lips softly. “I know you do. And I love you too.”

It’s silent as you take in the feature of his face, illuminated by the faint light coming through the curtains. “I heard you earlier….talking to Tommy. I didn’t mean to, I just….I know you blame yourself for Sarah but Joel, that wasn’t your fault. None of it was. Not Sarah, not Tess, none of it.”

You run your fingers along the stubble on his cheek. “I know you care about Ellie, that she’s like a daughter to you and Joel, that’s ok. It’s ok to feel like that. To care. I know I didn’t know Sarah but I know she wouldn’t want you to be like this. She’d want you to be happy.”

“I just can’t fail her. I failed Sarah. I can’t do it again.” His grip on your waist tightens.

“You won’t because you have me this time. I’m gonna be with you every step of the way. No matter what.”

His lips crash into yours as he lays you back in the bed, nestling himself between your thighs. You can feel him hard beneath his boxers and you know what he needs. What he’s always needed.

“I love you darlin’. M’sorry it took so long to say it.” His lips leave a trail of hot kisses along your neck as he pulls at the buttons in your shirt. His shirt.

You slip your hand between you both and beneath the band of his boxers, feeling the weight of his cock in your hand as you pump him slowly. He groans into your chest as his breathing hitches. “Need you, darlin’.”

“Then take me. I’m yours.” You whimper and he shudders above you as he shucks off his boxers. “Need me to get you ready, baby?” He asks through ragged breaths.

You shake your head. “Are ya sure?”

“I’m sure. Please, Joel. Need to feel you.” Pulling your panties to the side he lines up the head of his cock to your entrance and sinks himself into you slowly, groaning at the feeling of your tight walls stretching to accommodate him.

He moves above you, rolling his hips into you slowly, savouring the feeling of you wrapped around him. Something you don’t normally have time for.

Through soft whimpers and low moans, he works you through orgasm as he seeks his release, grunting loudly into your neck as he comes apart above you. Both too lost in each other to realise he’s come inside you.

The weight of the day begins to take hold and you feel yourself slowly succumb to sleep. You whimper as he pulls out, feeling empty without him as he walks through to the en-suite and grabs a washcloth to clean you with.

Slipping under the covers once more he pulls you flush to his chest, draping his arm over your waist. “We should get some sleep. Gonna be a long trek to the fireflies,” he mutters as he drifts further into sleep.

You can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. Turns out, Joel Miller does care.

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan25

[grippingbeskar]

Hiiiii I read your last Frank Castle fic and if it’s okay I’d like to request a wee something with Frank being observant enough to realize Reader has neck issues and offering to give them a neck massage? You write for our Frank so well and I would really appreciate it thank you in advance 🖤

warnings: references to smut, swearing, reader had a long day at work and that does need a fuckin warning oky

a/n: girl you got the kitty purring with this one. bad neck/back pain girlies rise up. this was such a good request tysm. i legit wrote this in 1/2 hour so if there’s any mistakes forgive me 💞🧎‍♀️

You are finally home. It was one of those days that felt like it would never end. One after the other, problems stacked up that apparently, only you could solve. Walking through the threshold of your apartment, you felt the weight of having to take care of everything physically lift off your shoulders, knowing Frank was waiting for you.

He’s sprawled on the couch, one arm over the back while the rest of him takes up three quarters of the cushions. There’s a spot just under his outstretched arm that you’ve claimed as your own, and you can picture yourself crawling into it as soon as your bags drop off your shoulder and you slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re home late, baby.” Frank walks over to you slowly, and instead of replying you just reach out your arms. He takes the hint, burying you under a crushing hug, and all you want to do is stand here and drown in him. “Long day?”

“The fuckin’ longest.” Your words are muffled with the way your head is tucked under his chin, and he laughs lightly, running his fingers down your spine with a gentleness that makes you shiver.

“You want some food? I made some pasta; chucked yours in the fridge. I’ll heat it up for you.” You sigh and squeeze him tighter. This is what you were talking about. He just took care of shit— you didn’t even have to ask.

“I am… when I’m not so exhausted, you are going to get the best blowjob of your life.” This makes him laugh loudly, the sound echoing around you in a welcomed ring. He kisses you lightly on the forehead, and your arms reluctantly drop from his waist.

“Alright, baby. Get you somethin’ to eat first.” He hooks a finger under your chin to kiss you properly, and when your head tilts up, you wince. Just for a second, a hiss of breath and a shooting pain up the back of your neck, but Frank couldn’t miss it if he tried. “What was that?”

“What?” You tilt your head slightly, trying to stretch it out and lean up on your toes to chase his mouth. He wasn’t giving up that easily, moving out of your reach.

It had just been a long day. Looking down at computers, reading things off papers and screens— you hadn’t even realised you were sore yourself until he did that. Yeah, it hurt, but not enough to stop you from kissing him.

“Your back? Your neck? What is it?” His fingertips brush your jaw, lightly so as not to move you. When he eases the touch backwards under your ear, you flinch unwillingly. “Tell me what hurts, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just spent a long time looking down today. My necks just a bit sore— I’m fine.” His hand wraps gently around the back of your neck, fingers dancing their way down to where it meets your shoulders. His face is trained— eyebrows furrowed, looking at the way you hold your face straight on to avoid the now numbing pain running up and down.

“Sit down. I’ll work it for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit, and I’ll show you.” He’s already guiding you to the couch as he talks, taking your weight and lightly shoving you down onto the pillows.

“Oh, you’re gonna show me? Show me what, exactly?” You raise your eyebrows, and he shakes his head, doing his best to look disappointed rather than turned on. You shuffle forward and try to look up at him, tempt him, but you screw your eyes shut again when the pain snaps a cord in the right side of your neck. “Ow.”

“Lay back. Let me take care of you.” His voice is liquid honey, dripping down into your chest where it warms you inside out. Especially when he talks so low and soft, something he only does when you’re alone.

When he disappears from sight, he takes his time. The anticipation has you squirming in your chair, and by the time you feel the warmth of his large frame behind you, you’re about to start begging he does something; anything at this point.

“Tell me how it feels.” He murmurs warmly, the words brushing the shell of your ear. You didn’t hear him get that close, so when his hands suddenly creep up over your shoulders, thumbs lightly kneading the knot at the base of your neck, the moan you let out is a little more audible than you’d planned. “Feels good, yeah?”

“F-fuck. Yeah— shit, Frank.” He hums in response, fire igniting in your stomach at the way he easily relaxes you. His hands are so big and warm, it’s the perfect combination to work out your tired muscles until they have no choice but to fold to him like the rest of you has.

He’s never too harsh; starting with small circles with his thumbs, and as he works his way upward, he uses his other fingers to massage in long lines. You’re practically purring— back arching off the couch when his hands run up into your hair, and sinking back down when he retreats to your shoulders.

He doesn’t stop at your neck. Once your rolling it with ease, he presses on your shoulders. He’s a little harder with this, but it feels so fucking good the way he does it. His palms smooth you out in an even rhythm, and when he speaks again it takes you several moments to piece yourself back together.

“How you feelin’, baby? Need more?” He moves his hands up again, a gentle kiss following the path of his hands.

“Please. More, Frank.” You moan again and he laughs quietly, but obliges. He keeps running up and down your neck until your chin is tucked to your chest. When he notices, he lightly threads his fingers up into your scalp and pulls you back upright. He’s slow about it, watching for any sign of pain, but you manage to let yourself fall all the way back to where your head rests under his pretty face, which is smiling down from above you.

“Hi.” He says when your eyes finally flutter open. Shit, you didn’t even realise they were closed.

“Kiss me.” You beg, and he’s leaning down in an instant. It’s awkward and upside down but you are so hungry for it that you don’t care. Any taste of him is enough right now— anything to soothe the ache in your core at the feeling of his gentle, capable hands.

When he pulls away you whine, and he moves around the couch much quicker than before. He hauls you upright, arms wrapped tight around your lower back as he kisses you again, and you lean up into him with no pain at all. He pulls away to see your neck bent to look at him, and smiles.

“Feels better now, huh?” He says, smirking.

“Yeah. Who would of thought you were so good with your hands?” He scoffs and you laugh, hands cupping his face and kissing him quickly. “Thank-you. I feel so good. So much better.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, and leaves you standing there as the buzzer for the microwave one’s off.

He’s already putting your dinner on a plate when you get the feeling to move your legs, and shit— just the image of him standing there. It’s what you think about all day, how fucking good he is to you. No matter how much you are relied upon anywhere else, when you come home to him, you know he’s always going to take care of you.

“You okay?” He says, and you smile, standing as close as possible to him behind the counter.

“I’ve never felt better.” You say, and mean it.

im scared of losing my last paragraph!!!

[thelastwarriornun]

Hi ashley!!! meeting on a train ride au for whichever ship might inspire you the most :)

Finally working my way through these several months later but I wrote this little Avatrice drabble to get back in the groove of writing for them. Thank you for the prompt Maddie :)

There's something to the solace Beatrice finds in train rides. It's one of the few times where silencing her phone goes with criticism, and she allows herself to simply observe the world around her. Not searching for any hidden threats or trying to read the room for feedback. 

Two trips, twice a week and three hours each way, and Beatrice has learned to pull every ounce of respite from them that she can.

The scrape of the compartment door slipping open is enough to break through her reverie, her fingers naturally ghosting across the blade hidden at her abdomen. The source of the intrusion is just as surprising as the intrusion itself. The door closing shut with a loud click of finality. 

"Hi, please don't freak out.  Is there somewhere I can hide? I just need to dodge the ticket master and I swear I'll be out of your hair."

The girl's a mess. Hair, short and messy, framing her face tinged red with embarrassment. She's also the most wildly attractive woman Beatrice has ever seen. So much so that, to her own embarrassment, words completely fail her. 

So Beatrice, cheeks flushed, does what any self respecting woman would when posed with the same opportunity. She pats the seat next to her, praying that the beautiful stranger will find something in her response to inspire confidence. 

The girl thankfully listens, taking her seat, just in time for a loud knock to sound at the door. 

"Sorry about this."  

The words are closer than Beatrice expects, and when she faces the woman it brings them face to face. Brown eyes already locked onto her own, and Beatrice shivers at the mirth she finds there. 

"Sorry?" 

Before Beatrice can press the subject lips are pressing against hers, warm and impossibly soft. 

"Ah my apologies Miss. Please forgive the intrusion. We had no idea she was a guest of yours."

There's a low hum in her ears, and it's all she can do to not merely blink owlishly at the girl before her, who has the audacity to wink before turning to the man. 

"My mistake I've never traveled by train before and I was embarrassed I'd lost my ticket."  

Words once again escaping her, Beatrice merely nods, tearing her gaze from the girl to wave off the attendant. 

"Won't happen again sir." 

Beatrice's gaze has already returned to the woman's before the now familiar scrape of the metal door and resounding click echo through the cabin. 

"Nice job selling that by the way."  There's a teasing lilt to the words, likely in part to Beatrice's palpable failure to act in any capacity. 

"Do you make a habit of breaking into people's compartments and accosting them?" 

"Only the good looking ones."

Beatrice scoffs, hardly masking her thin lipped smile when the girl bursts into laughter, a hand coming to rest against Beatrice's shoulder. 

"I'm Ava by the way."

"Beatrice." 

Beatrice offers a hand, and Ava takes it, holding it longer than customary. 

"Well what do you say? Can I take you to dinner? For saving me and everything. My treat."

"Don't you need the money? For a return trip perhaps?"

Ava laughs and Beatrice tilts her head curious at the response. 

"Not at all I could've bought this one. I watched a documentary once about men who used to jump onto trains and stow away and I thought it sounded fun. So I added it to my bucket list." Ava says this as if it's the most normal occurrence in the world. Totally unaware of the spiral Beatrice once again finds herself in. 

"You're joking."

"Absolutely not. We only live once, Beatrice. Take me up on that dinner offer and maybe you'll end up with a list of your own, or maybe we can stick to crossing off a few more of mine." 

Beatrice swallows hard at the implication. Finding herself once more agreeing to something well outside of her comfort zone at the bequest of the other woman. 

"In that case, dinner sounds lovely."

[coengray]

✦ THOMAS WEATHERALL, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ✦ COEN GRAY the TWENTY FIVE year old has been in Hidehill for FIFTEEN YEARS  and was a STRANGER to Ronnie Nilsson, the most recent shadow of Hidehill. Whispers on the streets are that the PODCASTER/PARANORMAL & TRUE CRIME INVESTIGATOR who lives in HARTLEY AVENUE are said to be CHARISMATIC and ROWDY but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves.

tw: biphobia/homphobia, domestic/parental abuse

The Gray family household had been one that was built upon love and support, which is why when it went up in flames, everyone seemed to surprised. Coen had the type of parents that were meant to always be together, the type that people wrote about and aspired to be. That was on the outside, however. Sure, his father was a loving, supportive man when someone was around to watch, but the minute any of them stepped out of his idea of a perfect family, his soft hands turned dangerous.

The first time his mother had made the mistake of forgiving, of writing off as a one off, like it wouldn’t happen again. He didn’t blame her for that; she had done an excellent job of teaching them all what values were sturdy enough to stand on. The second time was over dinner, he was ten, and he’d announced that unlike most boys in his class, his first crush was another boy, instead of one of the girls. Homophobia reared it’s ugly head, and before Amika had a chance to save her son, he was on the way to the hospital.

The saying always says fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Shame was what his mother had felt, especially when she realized that her eldest son would not only always remember that night, but he would carry a scar running under his right eye for it, too. Her guilt however, wasn’t even needed to see what she had to do. Within days they were out of the house, within months they’d separated, and a year later they were moving to America from home sweet home, Australia.

It was a culture shock to say the least, arriving in Hidehill, and without a father, if you could even use that word to describe the man that helped make him. But, Coen and his siblings had always been very adaptable, thanks again, to the teaching that his mother had given. They all seemed to find a way to come to terms with this new beginning, and the end of their lives in Australia. As he entered school, he excelled both in his grades and extracurriculars, easily securing himself a spot on the basketball team far earlier than any other freshman had before him; when he made it to highschool.

Thankfully, having come out as bisexual to his family before he even really understood how fluid sexuality could be, there was very little issue for him. Kids would always attempt to be bullies, attempt to talk their shit, but really, he tended to remain unfazed. Well, he remained unfazed and didn’t mind throwing a punch or two when it came down to it, not to mention he was very good at that, having trained hours in the gym, both formal and informal.

The most difficult thing about his time in school, was pretending he hadn’t fallen for someone that wasn’t nearly ready for the happy ending he wanted, as was. Oh, and how he had fell. He and Brandon had hooked up in privacy, just as they had fallen in love behind closed doors. While Coen would have never insisted upon his at the time boyfriend coming out, or even attempting to confront his sexuality, he knew he didn’t want to be someone’s dirty laundry forever. They fought for awhile before Brandon left for college, and Coen had never lost the love, but he did give it up.

After Brandon left, it was easy to indulge himself in the random hook up or even occasional relationship. He was free to do as he pleases, and someone always said that the easiest way to get over someone, was to get under someone else. Even now, the thought of that saying would make him grin uncontrollably. He wasn’t going to stand for slut shaming himself, and he wasn’t going to pretend he deserved to pine for someone who pretended he didn’t care to do the same for him, either.

Coen had always, through all this, been fascinated by true crime and the occasional tale of the paranormal. It had started (and stayed) with the reading of hand me down thriller books and horror movies. Eventually, it moved on; through investigative journalism and anything else that followed that bastardized sort of bloodline. So, he attended college for just that, on a basketball scholarship that he didn’t really care about, but needed as a means to an end.

Now, he’s interned and done tons of notable freelance stuff, but his claim to fame is the podcast and web series he currently runs. The podcast is called Crime&Coe, while the web series is simply called Nope&Coe. To date, his material has been used to aid investigators and families of both the missing and the victims to bring Justice and peace to themselves and their loved ones. Rumor has it, several large networks are interested in investing in the web series, and offering a two season deal, with 21 episodes per season. While he knows this is probably greatly due to the recent murders, he’s not entirely against taking the deal and continuing to use his instincts to both help the families, and support his own.

Connections page coming soon....

[goldencuffs]

pen pal

Laurent starts writing emails to inmates in Marlas Penitentiary in his third year of university. The only reason he considers doing it at first is because of Auguste, who writes in one of his weekly emails in the middle of a long, sour summer: These emails help, you know. They keep me sane.

The sadness Laurent feels at reading that is immeasurable. He has to go for a run afterwards, because running is more productive than crying. If Laurent starts crying, he won’t do anything else for the rest of the day. Or week.

He keeps writing to Auguste every week, but as he does so, he feels like he could do more.

A few weeks later, Laurent tells Auguste about it over the phone. Laurent never lies, or keeps things from Auguste. The last time he did, he ruined Auguste’s life. 

Auguste, as usual, sounds tired over the phone, his voice scratchy and low. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Laurent bites his lip, phone pressed against his cheek. He always makes his calls in his room, with the blinds drawn, the lights turned off, the door closed, so the room is washed in darkness. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to understanding how Auguste lives now. This is the only thing he doesn’t share with Auguste, because it would upset him deeply. Auguste always thinks he makes these calls in the open, with the sun beating down on him, the wind through his hair — the kind of life Auguste will never have.

Laurent is acquiescent. He says, “Okay.”

They talk about Laurent’s classes, the new neighbour who has really loud sex, and the cat Laurent is thinking of adopting. Auguste assures Laurent that he is eating and that no one has given him any trouble.

When the call ends, Laurent wants, desperately, to go out on a run. Talking to Auguste always does this to him; leaves him jittery, chest concaved, heart racing. The guilt swallows him. So Laurent punishes himself: he keeps himself locked into his room until the following morning.

Summer ends, but the heat in Marlas is relentless. Laurent and Auguste continue corresponding over email and phone, never talking about things that actually matter.

Laurent gets asked out on a date by Pierre, one of the men who lives in the neighbouring apartments. Laurent says no, and Pierre pushes him, hard, against the wall.

Laurent is left with a large bruise on his bicep. He’s fascinated by the colouring; the purple blends seamlessly in with the blue, which runs into the black. He can’t stop touching it all week, pressing his fingertips down on it until his eyes water.

Pierre is an affable man. He is always polite in the elevators, helps the elderly lady across the hall with her groceries and hosts barbeque parties in the communal area. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of man who couldn’t handle the word no. Then again, Uncle had been like that too.

On Friday, Laurent gets drunk for the first time in eight years.

The following day, he gets to talk to Auguste. Laurent is too hungover to hide his own despondence.

Auguste notices. Laurent doesn’t want to waste their ten minutes on something that will upset Auguste. He will eventually tell him; Laurent doesn’t like keeping secrets anymore.

As the call beeps, letting them know there’s only thirty seconds left, Auguste says. “Look, I’ve been thinking… I think it’d be nice if you sent some of the guys here some emails every now and then.”

Laurent perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Auguste, a smile in his voice. “But I’m going to send you a list of people, alright? I don’t want you emailing some creep.”

“Of course,” Laurent says, breathless. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love —” The line cuts off.

Auguste’s email drops in his inbox on Tuesday at eleven am, like clockwork. In it, he includes the names of other inmates that are reasonable, suitable. There are five names. Laurent request the email IDs of all of them and sets about writing.

He only gets two responses. One is from a man named Alexon, who says he isn’t interested in corresponding right now, and the other is from Ancel, who writes fuck of. Im not a cherity progect.

Laurent writes Ancel another email, assuring him he’s not a charity project, but that goes unanswered.

Auguste laughs — or Laurent assumes he does because his email says LOL! — when he tells him about it.

So, Laurent goes on the Marlas Penitentiary website. Underneath the How to contact loved ones tab, there’s a link that says: Become a Penpal! Change a life!

Laurent clicks on it.

There are, surprisingly, hundreds of inmates, all of their pictures shown in neat, square boxes, alongside their name, age, sexuality and religion.

Laurent scrolls through dozens of them. He makes note of the younger ones, the ones he might be able to carry a conversation with. He also filters his search to life sentence because Laurent doesn’t want to give someone the opportunity to demand to see him in a few months.

Near the end, Laurent sees him.

It’s hard not to be captivated by his photo. He’s one of the few people smiling in it, and it was obviously taken outside of prison. A large man with curly, styled hair and dark eyes grins at him, teeth white and straight, cheek dimpled. He’s wearing a suit, arms crossed over his chest, arms bulging, shoulders wide. Laurent has never seen someone so attractive in his life — didn’t think people in the real world could look like this, let alone end up in prison.

His profile says: Vallis, Damianos Theomedes. 27. Bisexual. I’m bored in here. I need to keep myself sane. Send me something if you can actually keep a conversation going. Thank you for taking the time to read through this. Sorry I don’t seem nicer. I used to be.

It’s definitely… different. Laurent marks him as a maybe.

Later, Laurent asks Auguste if he knows anyone called Damianos in Marlas. Auguste responds with a, “Nope. And I know pretty much everyone here. So that’s not a good sign.”

“Why not?”

“It either means the dude is a complete recluse, or that he’s barred from most communal activities. Like I said, not a good sign.”

But something about Damianos’ profile keeps Laurent intrigued for the next several days.

He isn’t sure what it is; the picture, of someone who once led an obviously lavish style, or Damianos’ words, I need to keep myself sane, an echo of Auguste’s sentiments. Also the Thank you had been unusual, as well as the I used to be nicer. Laurent used to be nicer, too.

Laurent ends up Googling Damianos’ full name that night.

There are about twenty articles to sift through. All of them detail a violent, horrific crime, where Damianos murdered his own brother in his penthouse.

But even that doesn’t deter Laurent. He remembers how the media, the court, the lawyers had presented Auguste: as someone vicious, cold and calculated, the complete antithesis of how Auguste really was.

The articles about Auguste had been eerily similar. All of them mentioned how shocking it was that a doctor at the top of his game could senselessly murder his own uncle, but very few of them mentioned why Auguste had done it.

They made it out like Auguste was some bloodthirsty maniac, bent on revenge, and not a caring, protective older brother who had been horrified by their Uncle’s actions.

It’s why Laurent decides to give Damianos the benefit of the doubt. If he does end up being a creep, or a weirdo, then Laurent has the luxury of never speaking to him again. He’s not being stupid about this.

His request is fulfilled two days later. Damianos’ email ID is attached at the bottom.

Laurent sends his first email that afternoon.

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Intrusions

Summary: Anakin intrudes on your alone time in the empty corridors of the Jedi temple, demanding to know why you can’t sleep. Eventually, you have to tell him

Pairing: f!reader x Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: 18+ smut, swearing, using pet names?, public sex

I wrote this over the span of a few months so please forgive me if it’s a bit incoherent and I have not had the chance to correct my mistakes x

‘What are you doing’, comes a voice from the darkness behind you, drawing out a quiet gasp from your lips as your eyes widen a fraction in suprise. It was posed as more of a demand than a question, as all questions seemed to be when they came from Anakin Skywalker. You had sensed a presence approaching even before you had heard his footsteps, and yet you still felt your heart slightly pick up speed at the sound of his voice. Your master never ceased to surprise you.

Having realised he had actually asked you a question, albeit his tone said otherwise, you tilted your head in his direction from where you were leaning against a cold stoned pillar. It was always dark in the corridors of the Jedi temple due to the evident lack of lighting, so the material world and its accompanying shadow all seemed to melt together into a general dull blue tone. But the gentle slopes and crevices of Anakin’s face were illuminated softly by the glare of the moon; you had always thought that the scar etched along his eye was beautiful. He did not.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ you finally replied, not really sure what else to say. It wasn’t a lie. You tried to go to bed, shutting your eyes and meditating with the hope of quietening your ever-clouded mind. It was a wonder you managed to have any control over the force with the number of thoughts passing in and out of your brain every second of the day. It was no wonder - there was always so much to think about. There was the mission you were assigned to go on with Obi-Wan, the galaxy - wide clone wars the Jedi were relentless fighting through, your training sessions with Anakin, the way Anakin fought, the way he spoke, the way he looked at you…

‘Why is that?’ he asked as he approached you in his nonchalant way, walking slowly to lean on the pillar opposite you, wearing a look of slight concern. He was now stood in a particularly bright beam of moonlight. You combed your fingers through your hair, out of your face and eyes as you looked up into his, now more clearly illuminated. ‘Just thinking about going to Corusant with Obi-Wan in a few days,’ you replied. Once again, it wasn’t technically a lie. It was definitely a prevalent thought in your mind. You had just decided not to disclose the whole truth to your young master. Anakin took a few steps forward to stand before you. Your eyes followed as his hand moved to gently touch your shoulder, in a gesture you assumed was meant to comfort you. It did not.

‘Something else is clearly bothering you. We didn’t get captured on Naboo and imprisoned together for weeks for you to now conceal things from me y/n. If somethings on your mind, you can tell me’, he chuckled slightly, with that rich, earthy laughter that filled you simultaneously with a sense of longing and dread. Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments. Everyone knew that. Love could be your greatest strength, but in the end your very downfall. You weren’t going to confess any sort of feelings to your master. It would be wrong in every way. And yet…

‘Hey,’ he whispered, reaching a hand beneath your chin and tilting your head up with featherlight touch. ‘It’s me. What’s going on.’ You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts just as you had failed to do so a mere half an hour ago. Shockingly, Anakin’s lips being just a breath away did nothing to satiate the increase in your lack of control, and you saw a shift behind his eyes as he somehow picked up on the way you seemed to react to his touch. The sudden change in his demeanour went unnoticed by you. What was going on in that maze of a mind of his? Instead of removing his hand, something seemed to register in his mind, and another part seemed to make a choice.

‘So that’s why’ he muttered, more to himself than anything else, removing his hand and yet not stepping even an inch away. ‘What?’ you questioned helplessly, eyes darting nervously around the desolate corridors, as if you would find an explanation to his behaviour there. ‘If you wanted me so badly, why didn’t you say so’, his voice came out more as a whisper than anything else, forced through a subtle smirk overtaking his features. You blinked. ‘I don’t know what you mean, master,’ you answered, feeling you legs border a state of collapse. ‘I think you do,’ his voice had lowered in pitch to a deeper tone that seemed to wrap around your every nerve. He tilted his head, looking down at you as if the answer was obvious. His hands moved down, daring to trail lower until they held you by your waist. He leaned down ever so slightly, face inches away from yours.

‘Why can’t you sleep’ he asked in his demanding tone once more, this time with a spark you hadn’t seen before behind it. ‘I already told you, I was…’ you tried to give him your bullshit explanation once more but his hands were snaking around your waist and moving impossibly lower into a very dangerous territory. Your breath stuttered, eyes momentarily looking up to his before immediately darting away. ‘Attachments are forbidden. You can’t develop feelings at risk of endangering…’ you tried once more before he cut you off once more. ‘So you want me to just…’ he started, removing his hands and holding them up in the air as if they weren’t wrapped around you mere moments ago, taking a step back. ‘…forget what is so clear to me now and pretend like I’m not aware of what we so clearly want to do to each other?’

The genuineness of his question took you by surprise. Yet again. ‘W…what we want to do to each-other?’ you breathed out, searching in his eyes for a lie. You could not find one. He rolled his eyes, looking down at you as he did before, this time with an unmistakable look of desire. Your brows furrowed as if in deep thought. ‘If you don’t want me to take you right here whilst the whole temple is asleep and make you feel things you couldn’t even imagine, then please. Do tell’. He finished with a shrug that could have sent you to your knees. You weighed up your options for what seemed like an eternity to Anakin, who was hoping with his while being that you wouldn’t send him away. After a drawn out silence, he was about to finally turn away and leave you to your thoughts before he found you tugging him towards you using the force, pulling him down by his robes into a long awaited kiss. His lips were warm and soft against yours, a welcome contrast to the cool pillar that Anakin was now pressing you up against.

You closed your eyes as you immersed yourself in Anakin’s every touch. His large hands found themselves wrapped around your waist once more, this time with an added touch of his knee pressing up between your legs making you feel euphoric. His kisses were slow and meaningful, a welcome contrast to his usual snarky coldness. Soon you felt his hands move to your thighs, pulling you up with outstanding ease to wrap your legs around his waist. Deepening the kiss, you tangled your hands in his hair, breathing in his scent and moaning quietly into his mouth when you felt his prominent bulge press against your core.

He broke the kiss, almost in surprise due to the small sound that managed to escape your lips. He opened his mouth for a moment as if to say something but apparently decided to withhold his comment, shutting it promptly, his eyes looking up into yours as he held you. ‘What?’ you demanded, looking down into his glinting eyes. ‘Nothing princess’ he tried, leaning in to capture your lips but you quickly moved your hand and tugged his hair sharply to tilt his head away from yours. You weren’t expecting the man to moan from the sting and your eyes widened when it was his turn to say ‘what?’ as he grinned up at you. ‘What we’re you going to say?’ you asked, raising an eyebrow, warning him not to lean in again until he provides you with a satisfactory answer.

He looked down for a moment. ‘Have you done this before?’ he asked softly, looking back into your eyes with a more genuine look, any traces of a smirk all but gone. You nodded. ‘Once, during my first year of training. Have you?’ He laughed at this, nodding in a way that told you all you needed to know. You felt a slight pang of jealousy and it must have seeped through your attempt at a careless look, as he quickly responded ‘not for a long time, though. Never with someone I actually cared for, until now. Fuck his god forsaken way of making you want to melt into a puddle right there, a blush creeping up your décolletage.

Before he could make fun of you, you placed you hands either side of his face and pulled him in roughly, feeling him slightly pull you against himself, grinding into you. Even these small amounts of friction over clothed fabric were making your head spin. You needed him all, right now. ‘Fuck me master, please’ you whined as you ground down on his dick particularly hard, causing him to groan. ‘You’re really gonna call me master right now and expect me not to fuck you?’ he groaned, making you laugh slightly at the way it seemed to turn him on in this context. But he quickly moved his hands to your waist, helping you back to the ground, towering over you with an air of hesitancy as he asked for the final time ‘you sure?’

You nodded furiously, trying to reach for his trousers but he caught your wrists, holding them in their place. It was a shame to say the action only turned you on more. ‘I need your words, princess’ he said in a somewhat serious tone, with the pet name doing nothing to ease the wetness growing down below. ‘Yes. Yes, fuck yes’ you reiterated, snatching your hands out of his loosened grip and scrambling to get his clothes off. He did the same to you, panting with impatience and soon there you both were; you were pressed up against the wall, the tip of his cock at your entrance, dripping with anticipation and staring deep into his eyes as if your life depended on it.

‘Put it in’ you whispered, attempting to mirror his smirk before it was wiped clean off, only to be replaced by your jaw dropping as his cock finally entered you. He was slow and purposefully careful with his actions, but with every inch that entered you your legs grew weaker. He picked up one of your legs to wrap around his waist as he got closer to bottoming out, pushing in impossibly deeper as you whined from both the pleasure and slight burn. He peppered kisses along your jaw and neck to distract you from the slight initial discomfort, praising you for being ‘such a good girl’ and ‘taking me so well’. Finally, he was all the way in and he rested his forehead against yours as he waited for you to adjust. You were both panting, relishing the mere feeling of being so close and intimate with each-other for the first time. When he finally felt you pull his waist in with the leg that was positioned around him, you swore you heard him sigh with relief as he began to move.

The first thrust sent you to another plane of existence. He felt so good and you were sure your incessant whines let him know just that. It didn’t help that he was kissing your neck, moving to your ear to whisper ‘you look so pretty like this, with my cock inside you. Squeezing me so well’. You wouldn’t have previously considered yourself as having a praise kink, but maybe it was a subject that needed to be seriously considered. He continued to pound into you, with you holding on to his broad shoulders for dear life. ‘Don’t stop Anakin…I’m getting close’ you whisper-screamed, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his pace nearly doubled with his thrusts feeling stronger and deeper with every passing second.

Your moans grew breathless and animalistic as he reached down to rub circles on your clit, stimulating you thoroughly both inside and out. Soon you were starting to feel overstimulated as you neared the edge of your release, swearing you could feel tears brimming your eyes which were tightly shut. ‘Fuck, feels so good…master’ you choked out, resulting in Anakin’s cock twitching deliciously inside you at the name. ‘Come for me, princess. I wanna see you come’ Anakin’s voice wavered in an almost whine as his lips brushed against your neck, moving to suck a mark there as a threatening reminder of your sins tomorrow morning. Just as you were about to reach your orgasm, you felt his hand clamping down on your mouth, a feeble attempt at muffling your cries of pleasure which you were surprisingly grateful for. You couldn’t stress enough how much you did not want Obi Wan to see your master fucking you, let alone a Jedi you weren’t close with. The movements of his dick reaching places you don’t think even you had ever touched, along with the motions of his hand on your clit and other hand on your mouth all swiftly pushed you over the edge and you came hard, walls clamping down on his dick, whining into his hand. You threw your head back against the wall, hands scrambling to hold onto something to ground you and prevent you from going insane at how good he felt.

Soon you felt his thrusts falter as you began to come down from your high, moving to comb your fingers through his hair as you felt the warmth of his cum fill you up as he reached his own orgasm. He groaned quietly as you panted, trying to not only catch your breath but also regain your grasp on reality. He pulled out of you as he began to soften, moving to kneel before you, to your surprise. ‘What are doing An…’ you started as his face neared your core before his tongue licked a clean swipe up your folds, undoubtedly tasting the mixture of his cum and your juices on his tongue. You wanted to stop him, cringing at the thought, but the way his tongue was moving had you going weak. You fought through the overstimulation as his tongue slid inside of you briefly, unwilling to push him away when you looked down to see the sight of your master on his knees. Just for you. Once he was done with apparently cleaning you up, he pressed a kiss to your oversensitive clit, causing you to shudder and press your back further into the cold wall.

He got up to stand before you regaining his full height, suddenly looking rather vulnerable. You watched him pull on his clothes from the heap on the floor, mirroring his actions yourself. If he hadn’t just been inside of you, you probably would have felt a slight pang of panic at the way he looked so unlike his usual cocky self. But it was completely silent. ‘I should get to bed’ you stated awkwardly to break the quiet, starting to walk off, but you felt a hand quickly catch your wrist, pulling you in flush against Anakin’s warm yet built chest, soft lips meeting yours in a quick but meaningful kiss. Anakin pulled back, sincerity filling his gentle gaze. ‘Thank you, y/n’ he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled at him genuinely, pressing your hand to his warm cheek for a moment, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. ‘Thank you, Ani’ you echoed, before quickly turning and moving swiftly down the corridor in the direction of the sleeping chambers in order to escape the now weird atmosphere that seemed to suffocate you. How the hell were you going to face your master tomorrow having now fucked him.

@petersniya

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

[kikyan]

You’re my favorite Human (Yandere Izaya x F! Reader x Yandere Shizuo)

Before ANY of yall say anything, I wrote this as a birthday special to an online friend I once had. If Izaya and literally anybody else sounds OOC, it’s because this was written back in 2018/2019 after I watched Durarara!! For a bit of background info, I first watched Durarara!! back in middle school when a friend admitted to liking the anime and well I decided to watch too. This show was too complex for my small ass mind so I dropped it. Then I met my online friend (we are no longer friends) who would always comment on Quotev where I was most active at the time. Well, I literally only picked up this anime again for said friend and the birthday request. I wrote this immediately right after the show so if it sucks ass, there is a reason for it. Anyway’s I promise to give them justice if I manage to write my spooky Slasher AU’s for them. Also if you somehow end up managing which ‘slasher’ Shizuo and Izaya fit I’ll write you a special one-shot within my guidelines for your birthday/Christmas depending on the time constraint. Here you go, for the curious peeps!  This story branches off to two endings, Izaya ending w/ Smut and a Shizuo ending because I became a hardcore simp over that man and will literally do anything he tells me to. Regardless, I will edit the links and such for their appropriate endings! This story is also unedited so. . .have fun IG 

ALSO THE READER IS A FEMALE BECAUSE THIS WAS A BIRTHDAY REQUEST THAT A CERTAIN SOMEONE DIDN’T LIKE SO YEAH FUCK THEM, BUT THEY WERE FEMALE AND WANTED THAT SO JUST REPLACE SHE/HER WITH THE PRONOUNS YOU FEEL MOST COMFORABLE WITH!!!!! I ALSO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE BACK THEN SO YOU’RE A GENERIC MC WITH A STUTTER PROBABLY 

God I sucked at writing fics so much back then. . .

"IZAYA!!" 

The blonde man proceeded to pick up the red vending machine stationed outside a random building, preparing to lance it at the black-haired male he called Izaya. 

"S-Shizuo!! It's not worth it!! Calm down!! Um- I know! I'll make some tea for you to calm down just please drop the vending machine!!"

"NO, I CAN'T! AFTER SEEING THIS PIECE OF SHIT I'M ALREADY FUMING WITH RAGE!" 

"Shizuo!! Please!! Milk! Yep, milk will surely calm you down just please Shizuo!! You're attracting too much attention and you don't like violence right!!" 

“Throw it Shizu-Chan. Or are you too weak to hold it anymore.”

"IZAYA!!!" 

Shizuo turned away from the (h/c) individual as he began to grip a stop sign before removing it from the ground and began to run towards Izaya. 

" Shizuo stop!! Geez, Izaya please refrain from edging him on! Shizuo don't give in! You're better, in fact, you want to be better!! You want to be stronger to have more control right!! Well. . . Don't give in!!" 

At the sound of this Shizuo stopped before tossing the stop sign to the side and grabbing the (h/c) haired individual and dragging you off with him. 

Looking back, the person Shizuo was dragging turned around to look back at Izaya before stopping in their tracks and bowing apologetically. 

" I'm sorry Izaya for the commotion we caused, but I hope you understand that Shizuo is a bit difficult but I'm sure he can change! You too izaya, you seem to try to edge him on and that reflects poorly on you! So please Izaya, I hope you understand too!" 

" Oi (Y/N), what are you apologizing for?" 

Smiling softly at Izaya and giving him a shy wave (Y/N) turned to face Shizuo and continued to answer his question.

"Well, I mean I didn't stop him from edging you on!" 

" I swear you really are the most optimistic, apologetic, and kindest person on this planet. You are one of a kind." 

Laughing softly (Y/N)  turned to Shizuo as they began to reply, " Thank you! It means a lot to me Shizuo!" 

Walking alongside Shizuo, (Y/N) proceeded to make small talk unaware of the lingering dark eyes upon her figure.

~~ 

"(Y/N), I swear I can't figure you out. No matter what you do or what happens you always apologize to everyone. Even that damn Izaya!" 

"Well, Shizuo I like to be positive!! Besides, I'm sure second chances must be given!!" 

" Hmph. Even those who commit the worst of crimes?" 

"Well, I'm not the one entitled to forgive them for crimes committed against another, but I believe if someone truly wanted to, someone could change." 

"Oh?" 

" For example, you! I mean you've gotten several chances, haven't you? You have a stable job, although you can get quite violent, you have friends, and you are trying your hardest to change! So, I feel like anyone could change!!" 

"Hmph. You forgot something. . ." 

" I did?" 

" Yeah, I also have the best person next to my side, you, (Y/N) (L/N)." 

" I-I-I-I u-um S-sh!?" 

" Heh, you get flustered all of a sudden and it suits your personality. I wonder how I got stuck with someone like you (Y/N). . ."

~~

Bodies were lying around Shizuo in the school field as he huffed in rage and looked to the side to see a (h/c) haired female with (e/c) eyes looking wide at the scene that laid before them. 

" Hmph, what are you scared?" 

Shizuo asked as he looked at the female before looking a bit confused as he noticed the expression on the girl changed. She was smiling and shook her head before answering his question. 

" Nope! I mean what you did isn't good but I'm sure you have a reason! Besides, I feel like deep down you regret it. I mean, although you are pretty violent, you probably don't want to be right?" 

"I... .hmph. Stop being odd and spouting nonsense." 

As the female turned to the bodies she bowed apologetically and began to speak. 

"I'm sorry! I apologize for his behavior! He doesn't mean it! He regrets it! Besides, you guys should know that violence isn't acceptable so please apologize for your actions as well! Fighting isn't acceptable!!" 

"HUH? WHAT THE HELL? WHO THE HELL YOU APOLOGIZING TO?" 

" W-w-well I am apologizing to them and you!! I mean you didn't mean too!! Besides, fighting is wrong! Both parties were at fault so I must apologize for it!" 

" WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT TO APOLOGIZE? YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

"W-w-well!! They are knocked out and can't speak, plus you won't apologize, you want to but you can't bring yourself to!!"

" OKAY BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?" 

"I-I’M SORRY!! I DIDN'T MEAN TO BOTHER YOU BUT I THOUGHT THAT WELL I-?!" 

"NOW WHY ARE YOU APOLOGIZING?!" 

 "I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN TO-!?"

"STOP APOLOGIZING!" 

"I'M SORRY! AHHH I KEEP DOING IT!" 

"YEAH. NOW STOP!" 

"I'M SORRY I'LL TRY! WAIT-" 

"OH JUST SHUT UP!" 

"I'M SOR-!?" 

"STOP APOLOGIZING! GOD DAMN IT!" 

"I CAN'T IT'S A HABIT!" 

"Geez, troublesome woman." 

" Ahhh!! What time is it?!" 

"Why the hell are you asking me?" 

"Crap I think I missed my train! Now I have to walk home! Wait, that's fine! I missed gym class to help the teachers so this will count for my exercise! Of course, I shouldn't feel down!" 

" You're unusually optimistic. I'd be pissed as all hell if that happened." 

"Well I think everything happens for a reason and besides, you need to see the bright side of everything! Anyway, I need to go! I have to walk for about maybe 2 hours till I arrive home and I do have homework to complete! I'm sorry for being a bother but I hope to see you tomorrow at school!" 

"Wait." 

 "Yeah?" 

"Let me, let me walk you home alright." 

"B-b-but!?" 

"LISTEN IT'S MY FAULT YOU MISSED THE TRAIN SO LET ME WALK YOU HOME DAMN IT!" 

"Ahh okay okay! I'm sorry for bothering you but thank you!!" 

"Yeah, yeah just stop apologizing and don't start again." 

"Alright! By the way, what's your name?"

" Shizuo Heiwajima. Yours?" 

" (Y/N) (L/N)!" 

As they began to walk side by side (Y/N) began to laugh as she asked Shizuo questions upon question leading to Shizuo answering them and laughing as he realized, maybe having someone not fear him, was a good feeling. 

"Hey, Shizuo?" 

"Yeah? What is it?" 

" Wanna go for Russian sushi?" 

Looking down at the girl Shizuo gave his usual smirk before responding happily. 

" Sure, why not?" 

~~

"Hey, Shizuo?" 

" Yeah?" 

Turning around he met with the female who became his best friend and possibly his crush. Smiling softly he turned to give her all of his attention despite the number of bodies surrounding him in the field of his high school. 

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to um, well. . ." 

"SHIZUO! I have someone I would like to introduce you too!~" 

" Huh?" 

Shizuo replied in his usual tone as to be turned to meet the faces of the young boy with glasses, brown hair and grey eyes whom he quickly recognized as his friend Shinra Kishitani but the other boy, had dark hair and matching eyes he did not. 

"What do you want Shinra?" 

"Oh? Am I interrupting you and your girlfriend~" 

"Girlfriend?! I-I-I’m j-just a friend!?" 

Shizuo looked to the side but quickly locked eyes with the boy. Shinra looking at Shizuo quickly turned to introduce the other boy. 

"His name is Izaya Orihara! He is in the same year and class as us!" 

Upon looking at Izaya, Shizuo quickly launched an attack towards him before Izaya leaped out and grabbed his knife before slicing Shizuo across the abdomen. Shizuo looked down noticing the wound before looking back at Izaya. 

"S-s-shizuo?! Are you okay? Oh, I'm so sorry this happened!!" 

"(Y/N) it's fine and stop apologizing! You didn't do anything wrong! Besides, it was him, Izaya. . ." 

"Oh? Come on Shizu-chan I haven't even done anything. . ." 

"I'm sorry!! I apologize that Shizuo charged at you and hurt you! He tends to do that a lot, but I apologize on your behalf! Shizuo, I apologize that Izaya cut you! I'm sorry I couldn't stop him from cutting you and possibly distracted you. So please, violence is not the answer! Izaya and Shizuo I apologize and I hope you may make up and be best friends!!" 

"Eh?" 

"(Y/N) YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! STOP APOLOGIZING FOR OUR MISTAKES!" 

"I'm sorry! Ah, wait u-u-um well I know you both didn't mean it!!" 

"Here we go again. . . (Y/N) STOP APOLOGIZING, ON TOP OF THAT TO THAT GUY!" 

Shizuo was pointing at Izaya with a hint of disgust written across his face as Izaya looked dumbfounded for a split moment before asking, "Wait? You serious?" 

"Huh?" 

"Did you just apologize for something you didn't do?" 

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you!" 

"I-, well it seems this took an interesting turn of events. Well, goodbye Shizu-chan, (Y/N) right?" 

"Y-yeah. . ." 

Shizuo stood in front holding his arm protectively (Y/N)  as Izaya twirled the pocket knife in his arms in a strange direction before smiling and whispering a small, “Interesting. . .” 

As Izaya turned to leave, Shizuo muttered a small “ That bastard makes me so damn mad” before turning to (Y/N) realizing she had something to say before you were both rudely interrupted by Shinra. 

“ Hey (Y/N) what did you want? You had something to say before that damn bastard arrived.” 

“ O-Oh I-I did. . . um, Shizuo I wanted to ask if you wanted to miss the last train again and... .walk me home, and get Russian sushi with me. . .” 

“ Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” 

Teasing (Y/N) slightly she turned red upon hearing that before nodding her head softly. With a sigh, Shizuo smiled and dragged the smaller female by her arm before muttering a “ finally you asked” causing the female to turn even redder at the comment. (Y/N) ran a little ahead and turned back to smile at Shizuo before whispering “ I love you Shizuo. . .” 

~~ 

Walking to the shared home that Shizuo and (Y/N) have, (Y/N) grabbed a small jug of milk before handing it to Shizuo scolding him for getting violent, but congratulating him on holding back and not letting Izaya get to him. 

“ I don’t know what I would do without you (Y/N), I mean it . . .” 

“ I’m just lucky this happened when we were walking together and not when you were working. Izaya can be a bit extreme but I’m sure he means well!!” 

“Heh, you always look on the bright side, don’t you?” 

“ Exactly!! Looking on the bright side is exactly what brought us together!! I mean after you dropped me off at my house we got to be great friends, that's also when you confided in me your secrets and feelings. Then you began to realize that I didn’t fear you and truly cared for you. Then we went on a date, and became a couple! Dating for a good 5, 6 years?” 

“ Yep, luckily we still love each other.” 

“ I won’t ever stop loving you Shizuo, because you accepted me for who I am. Now it’s time to let me accept you for who you are. . . I mean I already did but you can’t get it through that thick skull of yours can you?” 

“ What do you mean, I understand.” 

“ Yet, every time you encounter Izaya and I’m not around you come home quite sad and always ask me if I would ever leave you. Shizuo, I would never leave you.” 

“ Well yeah but. . .”

“ But?” 

“ You’re right. I should head to work. See you later (Y/N). Take care and don’t do anything strange.” 

“ I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t do.” 

“ That worries me.” 

“ I’m just going to talk to Celty or just hang around the park! See you later Shizuo!” 

“ Hmph. Later and don’t forget that I love you.” 

“ I should be saying that but of course! Love you too and later!” 

Shizuo smiled at the girl before heading off to visit Tom his friend and employer. They had another client that refused to pay up and Shizuo was going to “pay” him a visit to ensure he did. (Y/N) locked the door before going on her phone and texting Celty. 

‘ You busy Cel?’ 

‘ No, not really. Why do you ask?’ 

`` I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out and chat.’ 

‘ Sure. I’ll pick you up and we can head off to the park. That fine?’ 

``you read my mind Cel. Alright, I’ll get ready.’  

(Y/N) changed into a new set of clothing before waiting on the couch for Celty to pick her up and head to the park. Celty and (Y/N) got along well as well, (Y/N) always saw the bright side. When she and celty were close enough, originally being introduced by Shinra, Celty confided in her about not having a head and (Y/N) offered some light on the subject. 

“ Well, head or no head  I think you’re perfect just the way you are. For example, you can still do pretty much everything right? Aside from taste but still Celty! I think that is what makes you unique I mean, if you think about it, only those people who truly love and care for you will accept you no matter what. Take a look at Shizuo, he believed everyone feared him, but I didn’t. I love him! Just like I love you Celty! I accept you for who you are and you will always be celty with or without your head! So cheer up, I don’t like seeing my friends sad!” 

With that, a new friendship was born leading (Y/N) to be best friends with the fearsome headless rider. 

< - - - - - - - - - - - - > 

KANRA HAS JOINED THE CHAT

Kanra: Hey guys! I have a question about a specific person. 

Setton: A person? Who? 

TarouTanaka: Agreed. It’s quite rare to see you not having information on anyone. 

Kanra: Precisely, which is why I must know. Do any of you know a (Y/N) (l/n)? 

Setton: (Y/N)? Not personally but I’ve heard rumors. . . 

Setton: There’s not much I know about her, but I’ve heard rumors of her being in the Dollars.

Setton: Besides that, I’ve also heard she’s Shizuo Heiwajima’s girlfriend and possibly future wife.

TarouTanaka: Shizuo Heiwajima? As in THE Shizuo Heiwajima? Do you know the violent one? 

Kanra: That’s so scary!! Who would put up with him? 

Kanra: *Gasps* you don’t think. . .

TarouTanaka: Think what? 

Kanra: You don’t think she’s using him do you? I mean, having a strong boyfriend has its perks right? 

Setton: She’s not that type of person.

Setton: From what I’ve heard, at least.

Kanra: Oh? You seem to get a bit defensive. Are you sure you don’t know her? 

Kanra: I mean, think about it. What is so special about Shizuo that would lead someone like her to love him? 

Kanra: Honestly, I think she could be using him after all I’m sure there are more people that someone like her could pick from. 

Setton: Well everything is just based on rumors, but I doubt she’s a bad type of person.

Setton: Love has always been a confusing matter. All that matters is that they like each other for who they are.

Setton: It’s not our place to make assumptions.

Kanra: Love is indeed confusing. 

TarouTanaka: I agree with Setton, I am sure they love each other for who they are. Is everything alright Kanra? 

Kanra: Yes, but it still stumps me on how little information we have of his girlfriend. Not only that but we have little information on the relationship as well. Has anyone seen her? Know what she looks like? 

Setton: I’ve only heard a vague description of her: (e/c) and (h/c). I could pass her on the street and not even know.

Setton: But I’m sure she’s just a private person. We should respect that and try not to dig into her life.

Kanra: Oh fair maiden will I ever see you?

TarouTanaka: You sure you aren’t trying to steal his girlfriend? 

Kanra: ^ 0 ^ Never! 

Setton: This has been an interesting discussion and all, but I’m needed elsewhere.

Setton: Later.

< - - - - - - - - - - - - - > 

SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT

Kanra: Well I better head out too, later Tarou! 

TarouTanaka: Later! 

< - - - - - - - - - - - - - >

KANRA HAS LEFT THE CHAT.

TAROUTANAKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT. 

THERE IS NO ONE IN THE CHAT. 

A figure began to ponder and look outside with a pair of binoculars as a female with (e/c) and (h/c) walked by. 

‘ Oh? I think I should properly introduce myself to the fair maiden’ 

~~ 

The young girl walked out of her house ready to speak with the dullahan. Upon seeing the headless rider the young girl waved her hand signaling the rider. 

“ Celty! Over here!” 

The rider began to make its way to the female before hugging and typing away on its phone. 

“Oh good, I was worried I arrived too early.”

“ Nah! Even if you did, you would have more time to look around and notice life at it’s finest!” 

“Oh Y/N, still as cheerful as ever, huh?”

“ Oh, you know it! Now let's head to the park! I want to see Ikebukuro at its prime time at night!” 

“Of course, but as we’re walking let me ask: How’s it going between you and Shizuo?”

“ Well. . . I-I-I I think it’s going great! He isn’t getting as rowdy and violent so I think he is changing a little bit! He ended getting me a gift, a necklace to be exact for our 5th anniversary! It says his name! He also has one, one with my name!”  

“I’m glad to hear you guys are going great. I’m sure that nothing could ever break your relationship, right?” 

“ Exactly! He and I have never had a serious argument! Maybe a little scolding but it’s fine like this! I always end up congratulating him in the end! He is the sweetest! Every time he comes home he asks me if I love him which makes me sad because I hope he knows I do! However. . . he always ends up spoiling me in love! The real question. . . is how is it with Shinra?” 

“Oh. . . Well, you know how he is. We’re as close as we can ever be, especially now that I’m more accustomed to the whole headless thing. That doesn’t mean I’m not looking, though.”

“ You will find it Celty! I know for a fact you will find it! I’ll help you when I have time! Hey look it���s the park let’s find a bench!” 

[park bench scene]

“You know, Y/N, I heard that you and Shizuo were considering getting married. Is it true?”

“ Well, I-!?” 

“ Well, Celty! I didn’t know you were here? (Y/N) too! What a surprise too! Do you mind if I sit with you guys?” 

“ Well, not really! Feel free to sit Izaya!” 

“ Interesting, now continue what were we talking about?” 

“ Well, Celty asked about my marriage to Shizuo!” 

“ So it’s true. . .” 

“ Yeah! Celty we are! Sometime next week we were going to look for dresses!” 

“That’s wonderful Y/N! If you need anything, I’m always available to help.”

“ Of course!” 

“ Same here.  . . a wedding between Shizu-chan and (Y/N) seems interesting. . .” 

“ So (Y/N), why are you with Shizu-chan? What’s the catch?” 

“ Pardon Izaya?” 

“ I mean, why would someone like YOU be with someone like HIM? What are the perks of having Shizu-chan as your boyfriend?” 

“ Perks?!” 

“I know that you and Shizuo have an on-going rivalry, but should you be asking Y/N questions like that?” 

“ I was just curious Celty! Besides, do you have the answer?” 

“ Well, there are no perks.” 

“ Huh?” 

“ I love Shizuo, not for his strength or perks. I love him because he was kind to me. He accepts my optimistic side, even though it can be quite annoying and I accept his violent tendencies! He is doing so much to change and I will support him from now on! When we met, he kinda beat the entire team on the field and I apologized for the both of him! He got confused and I apologized for my behavior and we kinda got into a mini battle of him asking me to stop apologizing and well my apologizing even more! Nonetheless, I missed the train, but it gave me a chance to talk to him and as you can tell he walked me home! Since then, a steady relationship! So it’s not about the benefits, it’s what we feel for each other that motivates us!” 

“ Interesting. . . “  

“ I agree Y/N, it’s about love, not benefits. Might want to save a speech that profounds for your wedding though.

“ You’re right! Oh, I’m sorry Izaya for ruining the surprise!” 

‘ Interesting. . . she isn’t like every other human, she doesn’t seem to lie, hide things, and seems to be honest. She seems to be optimistic. Hmph, interesting that she isn’t like all the other humans I love, she’s different and I can’t wait to see her face, her entire being change as I pull the strings from behind! (Y/N), you are quite interesting, you are like my special, no my favorite human and I need to see your reactions to everything... .’ 

“ (Y/N)?” 

“ Ah, Shizuo! O-over here!” 

“ Celty’s here too and-?!” 

Shizuo stared at the black-haired male with such anger raging within them as he let out a growl before examining the area. 

“ IZAYA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” 

“ It’s a park? Am I not allowed to visit one?” 

“ IT’S WHO YOU’RE WITH THAT MATTERS! (Y/N) DID HE TOUCH YOU OR HURT YOU IN ANY WAY?” 

“ N-no! Shizuo we were only just talking! Besides, Celty was here with us! It was all friendly talk!” 

“ Celty, take (Y/N) and go to Shinra’s place. I’ll meet you there once I finish killing this bastard!” 

Typing away Celty nodded showing her phone with the message being, ‘Of course. Be careful before doing anything crazy, but please hear Y/N out first. Learn a bit about the situation before jumping into anything dangerous.”

“ Oh my Shizu-chan!~ So you are dating her. Isn’t that interesting. . . I say though it’s shocking, to say the least, that someone like (Y/N) would fall in love with you. Someone as fragile, beautiful, delicate, and forgiving like (Y/N) with a violent man as yourself, well I’d be damned!” 

“ I’m sorry! Izaya, I apologize for Shizuo’s behavior as he ended up attacking you without hearing my part, which I still have yet to say! However, I apologize on your part as well Izaya as you didn’t mean anything by chatting with us, but you asked some not so nice things. On the bright side, you know the truth and know that Shizuo isn’t a bad person!” 

“ (Y/N) . . .?” 

“ Shizuo! Celty and I were chatting when Izaya approached us, we were just talking! He didn’t hurt me, besides Celty would have put him in his place before I would have! Please believe me, Celty tell him the truth as well!” 

“Of course, there was nothing suspicious going on. Just a regular conversation full of small talk. Nothing shady or malicious between us and Izaya.”

“ Tch. Fine, but still take her to Shinra. I don’t want this bastard to find out where we live. I still want to kill him. . .” 

“ S-Shizuo! It’s fine, we don’t need to go see Shinra!” 

“ Aww, Shizu-chan you’re scaring her!~ Besides, what if (Y/N) doesn’t want to leave? You’re her boyfriend but you aren’t her owner. Besides, why do you get to keep her all to yourself, as you know I love humans, I can’t get enough of them! But she, she is quite interesting, as all humans I love her as well but aren’t you pushing it Shizuo chan?” 

“ Keep that damn mouth of yours shut!” 

“ I wonder, how long will it take you to screw up your relationship with her like you always do. Have you even proposed to her yet? Being the violent person you are you probably used someone's body as a foot stand before asking her to be your wife!” 

“ NO! That’s wrong! He proposed at Russia Sushi! We went out to eat as it was also our first date! See, even Simon took the picture and hung it in the dining area! You can see Shizuo’s fist but that was because he was embarrassed Simon took a picture and well he snapped, see how red he is? I’m the one crying in the background while holding the ring! It’s even my lock and home screen!” 

“ YOU DON’T NEED TO GO THAT FAR! WAIT-HE HAS IT HANGED? I NEED TO KILL THIS MAN FIRST THAN YOU DAMN IZAYA!” 

“ NO NOT SIMON! WAIT SHIZUO!” 

Running after Shizuo, (Y/N)  turned around one last time before bowing apologetically and smiling at Izaya before running after her fiance. Celty typing away on her phone showing it to Izaya. 

“Be careful about what you say around Y/N. I know what you’re trying to do and I advise you against it. It won’t end well for either of you.”

“ Whatever do you mean Celty?” 

“I’ve seen the way you look at Y/N; the way you observe her with that calculated glee in your eye. Even if you do separate her from Shizuo, she wouldn’t be happy with someone considered a homewrecker. She’s too optimistic for her good, she’ll easily forgive you, but she would never be able to forgive herself for hurting Shizuo. If you truly value her like you say you do, don’t try to meddle in her personal affairs.” 

“ I want to see every possible reaction from her, so this is quite tempting. Besides, Celty why do you care much about her? I love humans and I’m not willing to share, (Y/N) is no exception.” 

“Y/N is the best person I know. She’s kind no matter what and brings hope and joy to all of those that she comes across. She deserves to live the best life she can, one filled with no despair or tragedy. You need to learn to respect that and move on.”

Celty, displaying her anger towards Izaya, revved her motorcycle upwards causing several people to look in worry and walk away to avoid getting hit. Izaya stood unamused with his smug grin as he watched Celty chase after the couple to take them to Shinra. 

“ Celty, it’s a shame. All humans will experience despair no matter what, even our darling (Y/N). It’s just how long will it take for her to fall into despair that’s the real game and who the one pulling the strings will be.” 

Izaya began to walk away only to stop at Russia sushi and was quite intrigued by the photo that was taken. As he began to examine the image he saw (Y/N) smiling with tears rolling down her eyes as she turned to the camera holding the ring Shizuo had given her. On top of that, he saw Shizuo, quite red ready to punch Simon for taking the picture. 

“ Well well, seems she was telling the truth. I guess he didn’t screw it up.” 

“ Izaya, I heard about what happened.” 

As Izaya turned he was met with Simon the dark-skinned Russian who began to speak in his native tongue signaling that this was a private conversation. 

“ Simon, how’s it been?” 

“ Don’t ruin it.” 

“ Ruin what Simon?” 

“ Shizuo and (Y/N) found happiness here so don’t ruin it.” 

“ Oh? What makes you say that?” 

“ (Y/N) is special, the unpredictable happens around her but that doesn’t mean you should ruin what they have for the sake of your entertainment.” 

“ Special huh?” 

“ You like her don’t you? Leave her with Shizuo, she is not meant for you.” 

“ You see Simon, you’re right she is special but she isn’t Shizuo’s. I believe her to be one of the few people who aren’t on this playing field. She, like all humans, belongs to me. I won’t let Shizu-chan, Celty, or even that damn Saika blade have her.” 

“ Izaya, I know you don’t like losing to Shizuo but that does not mean you have to ruin this relationship. For once, let it go.” 

“ It’s Shizuo who needs to let her go.” 

With that Izaya left the place before walking away thinking about the girl. Since he met her years ago he realized how forgiving and optimistic she truly was. It shocked him, every human he met would be the same and oh so predictable. Shizu-chan and Simon would be the unpredictable ones spicing up his entertainment but (Y/N)? She was the most unpredictable one of them all. She took both sides of an argument and attempted to find a solution and she would keep Shizuo in check something that no one could do. On top of that, (Y/N) forgave anyone and you could never guess what she would say next, but her actions were always surprising. As he entered his workplace he was met with Namie Yagiri who looked at him in disbelief. 

“ It’s late where have you been?” 

“ Ah, Namie I was out with Celty and (Y/N) (L/N).” 

“ (Y/N) (L/N)?” 

“ Shizuo Heiwajima’s girlfriend, well fiance but not for long.” 

“ What do you mean, not for long?” 

“ Well you see, I intend to steal her away.” 

“ You never seem to bother with people’s love lives anyways. Why now?” 

“ (Y/N) (L/N) is a fascinating human! Here on this board, Shizu-Chan is the king and (Y/N (L/N) would be his queen, but the queen is one of the few people with free-range movement, in other words, the most powerful piece, nonetheless all are useful but the queen is the one who defends her king. If the queen is removed you’re pretty much set to fail and the king is left weak and ready to be dethroned. So, Shizu-chan is only strong with his queen, but this fascinating human being should be next to me, her God!” 

“ So you want to use her-!?” 

“ No! You’re not getting the picture! I am going to take the queen and leave her next to her god’s side! ME! With Shizu-chan weak I’ll simply kill him and fully take (Y/N) (L/N) as mine!” 

“ I thought Shizuo provided you with the most entertainment. . .” 

“ (Y/N) makes up for both of them, I don’t need Shizuo when I have his queen. . .” 

~~ 

“ Shizuo! Wait!” 

Shizuo was walking faster while dragging (Y/N) behind him as they proceeded to go to their house after staying at Shinra’s. 

“ What for?” 

“ I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of Izaya. . .” 

“ I’m fine, as long as it was you I didn’t mind.” 

“ You sure?” 

“ Of course, now let’s go home. I’m tired.” 

‘“O-Okay!” 

As they entered the home in which they both own Shizuo immediately grabbed (Y/N) as he held her close before asking her yet again, “ Do you love me?” 

“ Of course silly! I wouldn’t marry someone I don’t love! I love you to the moon and back Shizuo and I wouldn’t change that for the world! No one and nothing would ever split us apart Shizuo! You accepted me for who I am, now it’s time you realize that I accept you for you!” 

Cuddling closer with the (h/c) hair colored female he blurted out something that made her turn red upon hearing it. 

“ I want a baby.” 

“ A WHAT?!” 

“ A baby. I hope to be able to be a father once we wed.” 

“ W-w-w-w-what g-g-g-gave you that idea?!” 

“ We are both at a young age, once we marry I feel like we should have a child. I won’t rush or force you but I think we would be great parents.” 

“I...OKAY! Of course! After we marry, we can have as many children as we can!” 

“ W-Wait you serious?!” 

“ Of course Shizuo, because I love you to bits! Just like I will love this child, I'll make sure you both know how special you are to me!” 

“ I do wonder how I found someone like you (Y/N). . . I love you!” 

“ I love you too Shizuo!” 

As they both fell asleep in a lovers embrace Shizuo was reminded of how much (Y/N) loves him and was also reminded that she will never leave him. Izaya was wrong, (Y/N) loves him for himself and as Shizuo sighed in relief as he cuddled closer to the female, not being feared, but being loved was a great feeling, the best in the world. 

~~ 

“ Now. . . what should I make for dinner? I should make Shizuo’s favorite meal, but that means that I need to go shopping. Oh well.” 

(Y/N) pulled out her phone before sending Shizuo a quick text saying how she would be stepping out and would be home soon. After getting an, ‘alright. Be safe.’ text she immediately set out to the store. As (Y/N) was searching through the ingredients she came across a hand reaching for the same one, the last one. 

“ Oh, I’m sorry! You can take it!” 

“ No, no that fine! By all means, take it.” 

“ Izaya... .?’ 

“ Ah! (Y/N)! Isn’t that wonderful? I wanted to speak to you!” 

“ Same! Just let me finish shopping and I’ll go with you!” 

“ Here! I’ll help, by the way! Feel free to take it, I don’t need that ingredient as much as you do.” 

“ Thanks! Are you sure you don’t want it though, I’m making a meal for Shizuo but I can always go to other stores! If you want it you should take it! On the bright side, I can get my daily walk in by going to other stores and I might be able to browse through other items I may need!” 

“ Oh? A meal for Shizu-chan? Then, by all means, take it. I wouldn’t want to make him upset.” 

“ Thank you Izaya! You really care for him!” 

“ Well, I wouldn’t say that. .  . “

“ Well, we should get going! I think I got everything I needed!” 

Walking to the park in silence was a little awkward until (Y/N) lit up at the sight of ice cream. 

“ Hey Izaya, look it’s an ice cream truck! Do you want some? My treat!” 

“ Actually, it will be mine! Which one do you want (Y/N)?” 

“ (F/F) please!” 

“ Of course!” 

Upon getting the ice cream ( Y/N) desired and Izaya getting one for himself they decided to sit on a bench and she continued speaking with Izaya. 

“ Izaya, I have a question.” 

“What is it (Y/N)?” 

“ Well, why do you like edging Shizuo on? You know he is trying his hardest to change, wait, is it to push him? To see how much he needs to improve left?” 

“ You really are optimistic aren’t you? Not exactly, you see Shizuo tends to act differently from the rest. . . he truly is unpredictable so I just want to see every possible reaction from him. Just like you?” 

“ Me? I hardly think I'm unpredictable, I feel like you could read me easily.” 

“ You can’t and that’s the best part. I truly love all humans (Y/N), they are just so interesting! In the end, they all act the same yet it’s so exciting!” 

“ Interesting. You like the unpredictable more though right! I do too! It’s like a book, if you can predict the way it ends then it isn’t all the fun. However, if the book ends with a plot twist and catches you by surprise then it is fun! Every new day, every new day is something different for me! I feel like, when you look at a new angle you end up seeing things you’ve never seen. This could easily impact what you think or what you do! That’s what I try to do to make my day more interesting!” 

Izaya looking at her with insanity swirling his eyes grabbed her hands causing her ice cream to fall before laughing. 

“ You understand me! You see what I see! You truly do deserve to be next to your god's side! Tell me (Y/N), you’re very forgiving, aren’t you! Every god needs to judge and punish the sinners, BUT THEY ALSO NEED TO FORGIVE! THAT MY GODDESS IS WHERE YOU COME IN! WITH YOU BY MY SIDE, WE COULD TRULY RULE OVER THESE HUMANS! JUST AS I LOVE HUMANS, THEY SHOULD LOVE ME TOO! THAT INCLUDES YOU (Y/N), DO YOU LOVE ME?” 

“ I-?!” 

“ That’s enough!” 

Turning to Celty who began to write furiously fast on her phone shoved it in front of Izaya as he skimmed the words that were written. 

‘Shizuo is on his way, leave if you don’t want your ass kicked. I told you to leave (Y/N) alone! For once, listen to me!’ 

Celty grabbed (Y/N) and led her to the motorcycle before writing on it explaining that Shizuo was around the area and was planning on picking (Y/N) up from the store. Celty mentioned that she too was around the area and that she was asked by Shizuo to help him look for her as well. Nodding, (Y/N) turned around to meet Izaya smirking, despite all she smiled at him and bowed before apologizing. 

“ I’m sorry Izaya! I hope to talk to you soon and I apologize our time was cut short. I’m happy that you told me a little about yourself Izaya as I told you I like to see both perspectives before saying or doing anything. On the bright side, although our time was cut short I realized that you trust me a little and bothered to open up a bit! So I'm glad!” 

Indeed Izaya found his Goddess, she forgave all and will forgive all. Smiling a bit he turned and wished her good-bye before plotting a plan to take her from Shizuo forever and make sure his goddess was with him all the time. Besides, even if he committed a crime, his goddess, (Y/N) (L/N) would forgive him. 

(Y/N) was riding with Celty until they found Shizuo in which he expressed his concern for the female. He examined the ingredients and smiled realizing what she was planning on doing before ruffling her hair. 

 “ I still have a little bit of work left but I'll make it home in time for dinner.” 

“ Of course! I’ll get started on dinner right away!” 

“ Alright. See you then, oh (Y/N).” 

“ Yeah?” 

“ I love you.” 

“ I love you too!” 

~~ 

Getting out of the shower, (Y/N) proceeded to dry her hair with a small towel wearing (F/C) shorts and an extremely overgrown shirt, more importantly, it was Shizuo’s bartender shirt that he allowed her to wear. It fit more like a dress but no one was complaining. 

“ I better get started on dinner, Shizuo is going to arrive any minute!” 

Proceeding to get the ingredients (Y/N) was washing the vegetables when she heard a click signaling the door was open. 

“ Shizuo I’m not done with the meal-... Shizuo... .?” 

Examining the living room she noticed that the door was opened but no one was in the room with her, that was until she heard a familiar voice from her right ear. 

“ Good evening, My goddess. . .” 

“Iza-!?” 

With that Izaya knocked out (Y/N) cradling her in his arms before making his way to him home with the young girl, his Goddess.  

~ 

“ Wake up sleeping beauty~” 

Izaya was poking her cheek repeatedly hoping for the young girl to awaken sometime soon and luckily she did. 

“ Izaya, w-where a-am I?” 

“ Why you’re in our home my goddess~” 

“O-our? Goddess? Izaya what’s going on?” 

“ You will be living with me from now on~ You see I explained it to you, I love humans my dear (Y/N), you are no exception. However, unlike all the other humans you have an interesting personality and you are quite unpredictable making each new day exciting and something to look forward to! Someone like you should be by my side ruling alongside next to me! Just as I adore humans, they should adore us, as they should!” 

“ I-Izaya I’m sorry but it’s late and I need to get to Shizuo before it gets too late-!?” 

“ You aren’t getting it! You aren’t going back to Shizuo! You belong to me! Besides, Shizuo is weak right now! I could easily get rid of him!” 

“ He isn’t! Shizuo is quite strong! I know for a fact that he can overcome anything! Now, please let me go before I-!?” 

“ You aren’t seeing the big picture (Y/N) and it saddens me. You see the queen is the strongest piece in chess. Shizu-chan is the king and you by right, are his queen. If we take the queen away, the king is set up to fail. Haven’t you realized, everyday Shizu-chan asks you if you love him and to never leave him? Coincidence I know? I always make him doubt of this reality because without you Shizu-chan would be a violent monster! Think about it, you’re the only thing that can hold him back but you aren’t by his side! Shizu-chan does not want to be feared but he thinks it’s a fantasy, someone like you being in his life that he just needs to confirm if you love him too!” 

(Y/N) gasped when she came to notice her fiance's true feelings. Feeling down, (Y/N) looked to the side to examine the board Izaya kept close to see if she could find a pattern or attempt to figure Izaya out to create a plan.   

“ In fact! I think he is worried sick trying to find you, but he won’t! Even if he does, he doesn’t have the right to take my Goddess away!” 

In the meantime, Shizuo was frantically searching for where (Y/N) could be. When he arrived home he came to see the door open and no sign of (Y/N) causing his anxiety to spike up at the thought of losing you forever. Having enough he texted Celty and even the dollars home page alerting all members to keep an eye out on a female with (H/C) and (E/C) as she could be in danger. 

“ Celty! Have you found her yet?” 

“ No.... but I think I know where she is. I hope she isn’t though. . . “ 

“ Spit it out! WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?!” 

Shizuo was running out of breath as he looked at Celty with desperation as he saw her type away with incredible speed, but the answer both shook him and angered him to the point of no return. 

“ I think she is with Izaya. If so, we must hurry!” 

“ Of course! Leave this to me. . . I think it’s time that bastard met with his fate.” 

Shizuo walked away with anger as he began to prepare his fist to execute the man who stole his fiance.

IZAYA ENDING w/SMUT

SHIZUO ENDING

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa​. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome. 

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull. 

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them. 

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips. 

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right. 

To get it perfect. 

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury. 

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,” he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say. 

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers. 

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet. 

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh. 

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face.  You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile. 

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you. 

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence. 

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you. 

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract. 

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone. 

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive. 

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean. 

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt. 

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay. 

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry. 

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it. 

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control. 

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised. 

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift. 

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment. 

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner. 

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side. 

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end. 

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

[smoochkooks]

—golden boy (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, fluff, disney hercules au, meg!oc, hercules!jk

⟶ summary: jungkook finally has you all to himself. and oh, is he going to cherish the moment wholeheartedly.

⟶  word count: 2.7k

⟶ warnings: virgin!jk, switch!jk if you squint, exhibitionism (they do it outdoors but it’s ancient greece so it’s not even surprising), soft to kinda rough sex, heavy petting, oral (f receiving), slight dirty talk, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, jk in a man bun, pegasus cockblocking his partner in crime

a/n: i got cherry vodka drunk and wrote this in two hours. it’s jorny hours so please forgive me for the sins you’re about to read with your very own eyes. hercules is one of my favorite childhood disney movies and watching it today i just couldn’t stop imagining jk as the greek god. if you see any mistakes - please ignore them. it’s almost 2am. enjoy!! xx ps. I had some major difficulties with posting this one so if you were one of the first people to read it and sth was off: read it again now thank u

Jungkook thinks you're the most beautiful person in the whole world. 

He hasn't seen many goddesses in his life (hell, he's sure of it, judging by the short period of time he spent on Olympus as a newborn baby-god) but he's positive you would make his aunt Aphrodite jealous. You’re the epitome of his perfection, a walking daydream, his muse and an object of desire.

He could die happily staring at you, though it's impossible due to the fact he's very much immortal. He could travel back to Hades and fight every titan that rots in the pits of Tartarus, just to see you batting your long eyelashes at him or hear you call him ‘golden boy’ again. You quite literally have him wrapped around your finger, not even his father Zeus, the most powerful god in the entire universe managed to convince him to stay on Olympus and bask in the glory with the rest of his family.  

Jungkook chose to live his life with you, on Earth, and there's not a single smudge of doubt or regret clouding his brain. Not when he can finally hold you in his arms and kiss stupidi just like right now when it’s dark out and you’re sitting comfortably on the ground near a small pond.  

“You saved me once again, golden boy,” you murmur, fingers lazily threading through the dark locks on his neck. It almost makes him purr into your mouth.

“You weren't really in trouble the first time.” He bites your lip in return, eliciting a giggle from you.

“But am I not your favorite damsel in distress, Jungkookie?” You place your palm on his rock-hard chest and push, until he's laying flat on the grass, the starry sky above reflecting in his black orbs. “You're my hero, you know that, right?” you whisper, straddling his lap.  

Jungkook's been to Olympus and knows what heaven looks like but this: you above him, your hair cascading down your shoulders, dress bunching up around your waist and revealing smooth expanses of honey skin– is incomparable. It's sweet ambrosia on his tongue, the finest of all tastes, the greatest feeling in the world.  

“Am I?” he asks just to hear you say it once again. Instead of responding verbally you lean down to kiss him, your lips molding perfectly together. He groans into your mouth, two calloused palms itching to touch the bare skin of your thighs. Growing bolder, his hands reach further, cupping your asscheeks and pulling you even closer to him. 

You smirk into his mouth. “Someone's eager,” you tease but give in anyway, brushing your core over the hard length beneath his tunic.  

Jungkook all but moans at that and you relish in the sounds he makes, repeating the movement and slowly grinding yourself on his cock. His face twitches in pure ecstasy and you swear you've never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life– the son of Zeus being at your mercy, helpless to the pleasure you're giving him. “You're going to be the death of me,” he sighs, angling your head to kiss you again. You don't hesitate to oblige, accepting the tongue he slithers inside with a whimper of your own. 

“Thank gods you're immortal.” you say in between kisses.

He chuckles lowly, sending shivers down your spine. He bunches the material of your dress in his hands and lifts it off you in one, swift movement. Your nipples harden feeling the soft breeze fanning over your flesh. Looking down, you're met with Jungkook's blown out pupils. He looks so dreamy like this, the most perfect golden boy you’ve ever seen. His lips are swollen from your kisses, hair a little tussled and falling from his bun. A sight for sore eyes, truly.  

“You're so beautiful, love,” he murmurs, his palms engulfing your breasts. You moan when he sucks one of the nipples into his hot mouth, fingers threading through his hair and ready to pull. “My goddess,” he chants, switching to the other breast. He flicks the pebbled bud with his tongue and then bites lightly, making you cry out in pleasure. “I love the sounds you make. Want to hear you moaning for me. Give me more, love, please.”

He places his hands underneath your thighs and lifts you off him, laying you on your back. You don't complain about the change, not when he trails kisses down your chest and stomach, not when you feel his hot breath on your womanhood. He's determined to please you, it seems, so he mouths over your undergarments, alternating between kissing and licking you softly through the material.  

“Take them off,” you mutter, growing impatient. Jungkook looks up, a devilish smirk on his lips. Oh, how many sleepless nights you spent dreaming of him staring at you like that and practically devouring you with his eyes.  

“Won't you beg for me a little, love?” He's too cocky for his own good but you decide to let it slide for now, your urges getting better of you.  

“Please, Jungkookie, make me feel good.” you keen in saccharine sweet voice. He doesn't need to be told twice, ripping the undergarments off your body. “Oh, yes!” you moan when he gives you first, experimental lick up your slick folds. He swirls his tongue over your clit, making you choke out a, “Right there, darling, right there.”  

Jungkook's certain his newfound favourite place in the world is going to be between your thighs. He's already addicted to your taste, to your smell. He lavishes your cunt with passion, devouring you like the finest meal. He loves the sounds you make, love the little whimpers and breathy moans. He wants to listen to them forever. 

He groans into your heat when you pull his hair, pulling away from your pussy with a wet pop. “Do it again,” he rasps against your core and that's probably the hottest thing you've ever heard. You grant his wish, repeating it every time he delivers a toe-curling suck to your sensitive bud. “You're dripping, my love. Is this all for me?” Jungkook asks, lifting his head up enough so you could see his lips and chin glistening in your arousal. He’s getting bolder again but you’re too consumed with your own pleasure to pay mind to it.

“All for you,” you murmur, the pads of your fingers trailing through his locks lightly. He closes his eyes, lets you massage his scalp for a brief moment. “You're doing so good, darling. You're going to make me come.” 

He takes it as a sign to continue, diving right into your cunt. He shows no mercy, bringing you to the edge of release. You wonder how could he possibly be so good at this already but then you remember who exactly your lover is– a son of Zeus can only be either a fast learner or natural.  

With one, final flick of his tongue on your clit the coil in your stomach tightens and you're coming, more slick gushing out of your and coating Jungkook's face in translucent release. He doesn't seem to be bothered though, licking his lips and chin obscenesly and moaning at the taste. Your hole clenches, needing to be filled.

Jungkook discards his tunic and now you have a perfect view of his sturdy muscles, the byproduct of his training with Phil. You almost drool at the sight, running your palms greedily over the wide expanses of his chest. When your finger ever-so-slightly brushes his nipple, you feel him chocking out a tiny moan. Smirking, you repeat the motion.  

“Y/N, love, please don't tease me. I need to be inside you so bad.” he husks when your other hand travels down his abdomen and trails over his aching cock. 

“As you wish, darling.” With shaky limbs you manage to turn him on his backside again. Right when you're about to pulls his undergarments down, you hear something rustling between the trees. You stop abruptly. 

“Did you hear that?” you whisper, squinting your eyes to see better although there's no use for that during the night.  

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Hear what?” he mumbles and props himself on his elbows to look, but then you see it yourself. A glimpse of white fur that can only belong to– 

“That stupid horse!” you shriek, covering your bare breats with your hands.

“What?!” Jungkook yells, equally as shocked as you. He scrambles for his tunic to cover your modest figure. “Pegasus! Get out of here!” The magical creature neighs in response and peeks from between the bushes, looking at you pitifully. 

“Oh gods, he saw me naked!” you wail, mortified, as Jungkook gets up to scold Pegasus. “I'm gonna die from embarrassment!”  

Jungkook angrily gestures to the horse to leave you two alone, standing only in his undergarments. You want to laugh at how absurd this whole situation is. Pegasus nods with his head bowed down. Fulfilling the order, he spreads his wings and flies away somewhere. You hope far, far away from here.

“Hey,” You hear Jungkook's soft voice. He takes your hands in his and uncovers your red face. “We're alone.” he says, smiling apologetically at you.  

“I can't believe your stupid, magical horse almost watched us fuck."

“Keyword: almost.”

You cry out, burying your face in his neck.  “It's not funny!” you huff, punching him in the chest however you know he probably hasn't even felt it. But you did feel pretty much though; it hurts like you've hit a stone.  

Jungkook chuckles, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, rubbing your back soothingly.  

You look up to meet his eyes. “Do you?” you repeat with raised eyebrows.  

There it goes again, the damned sly smirk. “I'm still very much hard, love, and I'm afraid it won't go away that easily.”

“Yeah?” you murmur, thoughts about Pegasus and his prying horse eyes showed to the back of your head. “And what are you gonna do about it?” You push him onto his back, fingers grasping the material of his undergarments.  

Jungkook swallows before saying, “I'm gonna fuck you so hard you will never even think of leaving me.”

Biting your lip, you slide his undergarments down his toned legs. His cock is just as perfect as the rest of him–long, curved at the top and flaming red, craving to be touched. Using the precum that has gattered at the tip you smear it along his shaft, watching in awe as his face confronts in pleasure. He lets you play with him for a while like that, drive him to the insanity with your teasing.  

Just when you're about to position yourself over his cock, he stops you. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.  

“I did. Once,” you answer honestly. “But it didn't mean anything to me.” You slowly sink down on him, welcoming the slightly burning stretch with a satisfied moan.  

Jungkook hisses, digs his fingers into your waist and you're sure he'll leave bruising marks. “And what does this mean?” he asks, almost chokes out feeling your hot canal enveloping his length.  

“Everything,” you breathe out, lifting yourself off him just to slam down hard afterwards. “You mean the world to me.” you say; it’s priactially a whisper. As you're staring into his wide eyes, you can see your love for him reflected in them. It all feels like a dream you don't wanna wake up from.  

“I love you, Y/N,” he confesses and you know he means it. “From the moment I saw you for the first time I knew you would be the one for me.”  

A lonely tear slides down your cheeks and he catches it with his thumb. “I love you too, Jungkook.” you murmur.  

He smiles like a fool, opens his mouth to say more but you shut him up with a kiss and your hips establishing a steady rhythm on his cock. You pull away from his lips, saliva dribbling down both of your chins but you don't care, bouncing on him like your life depends on it. Maybe it does a little.  

“So good,” you whimper, the tip of his cock almost hitting your cervix with every stroke.  

Underneath you Jungkook looks like he might die right here and there, his chest sweaty and heaving with every breath he takes. He has a vice grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his cock. To your surprise you find yourself liking that side of him, the rough touch of his hands on your skin. You wonder what he's capable of if you push him a little further.  

“Oh, gods!” you keen when his cock brushes past the spot that makes you see stars. He fucks into you just in time for you to add, “Just like that.”  

As much as Jungkook enjoys seeing you bouncing on top of him, he grows tired of just laying still and taking it. In one, swift motion, he flips you onto your back. You squel after the sudden change of positions but that quickly morphs into a loud moan as he rams his cock inside your cunt.

He picks up the pace, making you feel every inch of him. He stares down where your body ends and his begins, watching his cock disappearing in your hole. You urge him to look at you instead, pull him down to leave a messy kiss on his lips. “Shit, you're so perfect,” he marvels, palms squeezing every part of your body he could reach. “Look at you, taking my cock like a good girl,” he spits, leaning to suck a mark on your neck. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I love it. Love your cock,” you say over the slapping sounds of your skin meeting his. “You're so good to me Jungkookie, so good.” As you feel another, powerful orgasm approaching, you slip your fingers down your body to toy with your clit.  

Jungkook catches it and snatches your hand away, replacing with his own. He rubs your sensitive bud fast and hard, making you cry out his name in a broken moan. “Are you gonna come for me, love? I want you to cream my cock like a good girl.” he rasps, slithering himself inside you with enough force to knock the breath out of your lungs. 

“Yes, yes!” you chant, feeling your cunt spasming around his length. He curses, fucking you through your high. “Kiss me, Jungkookie–please,” you nearly sob and he obliges right away, plunging his tongue inside your mouth to dance with yours. It's messy and wet but you're relishing in it.  

He pants against your mouth, his pace getting sloppy. “I'm not gonna last longer,” he stammers out. “Your pussy feels too good, I'm–”

“Shh,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks in your palms. “It's okay. You did so good, darling.” He moans at the praise, leans down to bury his face in your neck. 

“Oh gods, I'm gonna–ah, shit,” he groans, thrusts into your cunt a few more times and then he comes, spilling himself inside. “I love you, I love you.” he repeats, breathing heavily down your neck.

You wrap your arms around him, smiling to yourself. “And I love you.” you respond. “But please, for the love of Zeus, get off me or you'll suffocate me.”

Jungkook chuckles, lifting himself off your body. He props himself on his hand and stares down at you. You’ve never felt so happy. It’s right here, with him, that you feel the most acomplished. You wish to make it last forever. He places a kiss on your mouth, a sweet, quick peck before he crashes his body next to yours.

He pulls you to his side and you could feel his heart beating underneath the palm you placed on his chest. It beats with the love he has for you. 

“When do you think you will be able to go again?” you ask.

Jungkook cocks his head. “What? Are you proposing a round two?”

“Not exactly,” you quip, your nail ever so slightly brushing over his nipple. “Want you in my mouth this time.”

“You little minx.”

You smirk. If his already semi-hard cock is anything to go by, you have a long night ahead of yourself.

[nishisun]

couples therapy w/ KUROO!

pairing: kenma kozume x reader

summery: y/n and kenma attend “couples therapy” little did y/n know, there would be a rather pleasant suprised.

genre: just fluff and tiny angst

a/n: this is really rushed because ik y’all are waiting for another dorm buddies part so i wrote this in the middle of the night cause i was bored. i hope you like it LWNAJDHAJDHD. also, i hate reading my works so if there’s any errors i apologize

[recording. patients: kenma kozume & l/n y/n]

[kuroo] hello, kenma-san, l/n-san. how are you both doing today?

[kenma] why are we doing this again?

[kuroo] well KENMA, i already told you, this is good for my training and even better for my resume!

[kuroo] back to the question, y/n-san?

[y/n] (sighs) to be honest, i could be better.

[y/n] uh, kuroo, no need for the honorific titles.

[kuroo] right. kenma?

[kenma] i’ve been.. okay.

[kuroo] okay, so, one of your close friends, kuroo-san i think it was, scheduled you both for this session in which you both agreed to take, am i right?

[y/n] ... aren’t you—

[kenma] ...

[y/n] (looks at kenma, and then sighs and looks back at kuroo) uh— yeah, we did.

[kuroo] okay so, first, i want to know the reasons why you both are here, starting with kenma.

[kuroo] kenma, why are you here today?

[kenma] because you forced me to

[kuroo] ...

[kuroo] A for effort kenma! but that’s not the only reason.

[kenma] well, i’m here to... better this relationship.

[kuroo] okay, why?

[kenma] ... what?

[kuroo] why do you want to better this relationship you have with y/n?

[kenma] ... i don’t know.

[y/n] (scoffs) kozume, really?

[kenma] (shrugs)

[kuroo] so, you don’t know why you want to better this relationship?

[kenma] ...

[kuroo] well, if that’s the case, why are you here? do you want y/n to leave?

[kenma] ...

[y/n] (scoffs) kuroo, thank you so much for attempting to help, but i think it’s just best i go—

[kenma] no! wait. please y/n, wait.

[y/n] kenma, you know i’m trying my best to be patient with you, but it seems to me like you’re not putting effort! i’ve really tried. i did. all i’m asking is to at least put some effort.

[kenma] i know, i know you are. i’m sorry.

[y/n] it’s fine, kozume.

[kuroo] alright then, kenma—

[kenma] i want to better this relationship... because i care about y/n. a lot.

[kuroo] and?

[kenma] and..? (looks at y/n) and uh.. because she makes me happy. i feel.. happier when she’s with me.

[kuroo] thank you so much for sharing. now, y/n, why are you here today?

[y/n] i’m here because i’m willing to give kenma and this relationship a second chance.

[kuroo] (writes notes) that’s very good to hear. thank you for sharing that.

[kuroo] now, it has come to my attention that you both are currently not together, am i right?

(kenma and y/n glance at each other)

[kenma] ...

[y/n] uh, yes, that’s true.

[kuroo] okay. (shuffles through notes) now, a week before you both came here, i asked you both to come here with a video—

[kenma] kuroo, maybe the video isn’t necessary—

[y/n] video? i wasn’t aware of a—

[kuroo] ah, yes. let me rephrase that. i asked kenma actually, he insisted.

[kenma] you forced me—

[kuroo] not important!

[y/n] kenma?

[kenma] (sighs) i... made a video... apologizing because i didn’t think you’d want to see me.. and i’m bad at communicating... kuroo thought it was a good idea.

[kuroo] would you like to see the video, y/n?

[y/n] yes please

[kuroo] okay, i’m just gonna leave and let you both watch the video.

[kenma] maybe i should come with you-

[kuroo] no. (slams door)

——

“okay, it’s recording!” kuroo says behind the camera, giving kenma a thumbs up.

“kuroo honestly, this seems stupid. i don’t even know what to say.”

“say whatever comes in your head. this is a great way for you to realize how important y/n is to you.” he reassures behind the camera. kenma gives kuroo an unsure look as he plays around with his fingers.

kenma sighs and gives kuroo a bored look as he’s adjusting the angle of the camera and once he catches kenma staring, he straightens up and sighs as well. “kenma, you’re not good with words. yes, i know this. making this video is a great way for you to release emotions that you’ve concealed. i know you may think it’s stupid right now, but you’ll be suprised how much you’ve said by the end of this. even if you decide to keep this video to yourself, you’ll feel better. trust me.”

kenma nods slightly, still giving kuroo an unsure look as he readjusted the camera once more.

“pretend i’m not even here!”

“i’m trying to but you keep talking.”

“right. i’ll stop”

“uh.. hi y/n. if you’re seeing this, i want you to know that I’m... sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry for neglecting you in our relationship. I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize you were the one for me.” kenma looks down at the ground, pursing his lips and sighs. he looks behind the camera to see a smiling kuroo who’s shaking his head, signaling that kenma should keep going.

“I love you, so much. The truth is, I’m not very good at expressing my feelings, which you already know and you’ve accepted me for it. i just wanna tell you that i really do appreciate that. not a lot of people can handle someone like me and the fact that you could just proves how amazing you are.” kenma is looking everywhere but the camera. he looks up at the ceiling and smiles as he reminisces the first time he met you.

“When you first told me you loved me, I warned you, saying ‘You do know what you’re going to be dealing with, right?’ and you told me, and i remember, with a proud and positive voice you said , ‘Yes, I do. And i’m willing to have the best time with you, even if it’s going to end up being the best romance or the worst heart break.’” I laughed at that. You used to crack me up all the time. I missed that.

“Nowadays, I lay on my bed that used to be ours, staring at the wall for hours wishing you were there with me. Crazy, isn’t it? Because when you were with me I never wanted to do anything with you. Well, that’s not the case. It’s not that i didn’t want anything to do with you, i just... i don’t really know. As stupid as it sounds.. i didn’t think you deserved someone like me. You were— are still too good for me. I guess.. i always pushed you away because I wanted you to realize that.” kenma let’s out a silent laugh and sighs. He looks at kuroo for a brief moment and then looks away, fumbling with his fingers.

“uh... it’s been hard to do a lot of things without you lately. Remember when you’d always have to remind me to eat? Even though I pushed you away, you’d still try to get me to eat because you cared so much for my well-being. You always put me first and I hate myself for not doing the same when it came to you.”

“I miss you so much. I miss your voice. I miss everything about you and it hurts me so much that you’re gone... That I was the one that let you go. Everyday I lay in bed wondering if i should call you just to hear your voice. I wonder if you’d answer. Probably not. You probably hate me for letting you go. Trust me, I hate myself for it too. I hate that it took me actually letting you go for me to realize just how much i needed you.”

“It’s quiet at home. It doesn’t even feel like home without you, y/n. I miss the TV being on your favorite show at 9 in the morning as you’d sit on the couch with both our breakfast set on the table as you waited for me to wake up and eat with you.” kenma puts his hands on his face and sighs again for what seems like the hundredth time today.

“i’m an idiot.”

“kenma, no you aren’t. although you haven’t been.. the smartest recently, i’m happy you’re realizing your mistakes. you’re doing great by the way.” kuroo says, giving the faux blond a reassuring smile.

“thank you.” kenma nods.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you. When I broke up with you, I hated the pained expression you had on your face. I thought I was doing what was best for you without even letting you have a say. You were begging me to not do this to you, but I didn’t listen.”

“I’m not trying to make this video to seek your forgiveness.. i’m probably not going to show this to you anyway. i’ll keep this as a lesson to not let go of the one person you love the most because i love you, y/n.”

“is that it?” kuroo asks,

“uh...” kenma thinks for a second, and then shakes his head “yeah. i think i’m done.”

—

By now you’re already tearing up. Tears of joy. You know how hard this must’ve been for Kenma but the fact that he was willing to step out of his comfort zone for you spoke volumes. He was sitting next to you, as you stared down at the phone that had already turned off covering your mouth and it’s your hands. Kenma didn’t know whether to comfort you, scared that you may reject his touch.

“i’m... sorry—“

“dont, kenma.” you sigh. kenma has a pained expression on his face.

You wipe your tears off your face and look up at him giving him a smile. Out of nowhere, a sudden urge of confidence came through you and you basically tackling him in a hug.

“you’re an idiot, you know that, right?”

“yeah, i know.” kenma huffs out a laugh as you chuckle. he hugs you back, gripping you tight with fear that this moment might end.

“i’ve missed you.” kenma places his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he plays with his fingers that are wrapped around you.

“i’ve missed you too,” you break off the hug and sit up straight next to him. he’s looking at you— staring actually, you don’t think he’s aware of what he’s doing. “earth to kenma?” you wave your hand in front of his face and he rubs his eyes and chuckles.

“sorry.” he turns and faces forward, still having a small smile on his face.

“hey, what’s up with all of these apologies? are you gonna do something or not?”

kenma turns back to you in confusion, furrowing his brows and you cross your arms smirking, waiting for kenma to understand. Once he finally understands what you’re trying to say, he’s the one hugging you.

“will you take me back, y/n?” he asks— or mumbles. you don’t care though. he’s done enough today. what matters is that he tried. why wouldn’t you give him a second chance?

“of course i will, kozume.” you say, rubbing his back. “hey kenma,”

“hm?”

“a video, really?”

“shut up, i don’t want to talk about it. i just really missed you, okay.”

you laugh at that. you hear the door of that room open. it was kuroo, who was already having a smirk on his face. that idiot.

“a new couple in town, might i ask?”

“oh fuck off, kuroo.” kenma mumbles through your chest, you and kuroo laugh at how annoyed kenma seems.

“see kenma, i told you. chicks love romantic gestures.” kenma lifts his head up from where it’s resting in your chest and glares at kuroo.

“i wouldn’t say that was romantic, but it’s the thought that counts i guess!” you laugh, kenma turns back to look at you and you can’t help but laugh once again at kenma’s expressive facial expressions “but it was cute though. i loved it, baby.”

kenma drops his head back in your chest with a grumble and you caress his hair as kuroo crosses his arms and looks at you both with a smile.

“you guys are soulmates.” he says.

“you think so?”

“nah,” his shakes his head, “i know so.”

tags: @tazinva

[sanktnikolais]

Dearly Beloved

What’s a mortal man to a powerful Grisha who was now a living saint? Was he still even worthy of her?

He shook the thought away. Zoya chose him—and he chose her. Nothing else was powerful enough to change that. 

How could he make sure it would stay that way?

Or; how Nikolai came up with the plans for Zoya’s gardens and him being in love with her for 5k words.

Word count: 5101

Nikolai stared at the paper. On its surface, in a neat cursive handwriting, was a single line.

          You are the light of my life.

          He shuddered inwardly and crumpled the paper in his fist. The urge to burn it and the ones that came before it was strong. What had he been thinking when he wrote that? It was probably his fifth one, or maybe even his twentieth. Either way, he had already lost count. 

          He sighed, putting a hand to the side of his head as he threw the parchment to the growing pile beside his table. There wasn't a single idea that made sense to him for the past hour, and he considered himself to be a master of his craft. 

          But the thing was, he was never good with poetry. It was the one thing he admitted he didn’t excel at. He thought that he would try and be average on it so he could write something for her, and yet even with days of practice and Tolya’s grudging guidance, Nikolai knew he hadn’t had any improvement. And for her, he wanted it to be perfect. 

          There's no need for it to be perfect, Tamar's voice rang in his head during one late night he spent with the twins to practice his rather unimproved poetry skills. I'm pretty sure Zoya wouldn't mind if it wasn't. 

          But the stubborn part, the bigger part of him, wanted to do otherwise. Zoya deserved far more than what mess he had scrawled down on paper.

          Looking at the ground that had littered pages and notebooks all around, he took out another parchment from the drawer. He reached for his pen and ink, hand poised, ready to start scribbling again.

          Confidence washed over him as the tip of the quill touched the blank page. 

          But his mind couldn't come up with something new.

          “Saints, come on,” muttered Nikolai, moving to put down the pen. But due to his haste and frustrated movements, he knocked down the small bottle of ink to his right. He let out a panicked yelp. The dark liquid instantly drenched the parchment to black, as well as the other notebooks that were within reach. Some of it even dripped onto his rather expensive shirt. 

          But even as the ink soiled more important documents and files on the desk, his hand instantly moved to grab the blue ribbon and put it away from the trickling liquid. He checked the strip of cloth with worried eyes and careful fingers. Relief flooded in his chest when it didn’t have any stain.

          "What a great night,” he mumbled. 

          Nikolai sat back down to his chair, the ribbon still in his hand. The silk fabric felt smooth on his darkened fingers, and it struck him how contrast the colors looked like against his skin. A shade of blue against black. The clear sky behind the storm clouds looming over land. 

          The girl who had the raging seas in her eyes and the boy who kept a beast in his heart. 

          He could still remember the first time he had caught a glimpse of the ribbon, back when they were no one else but a prince and a soldier fighting tooth and nail for Ravka’s last stand in the Fold. 

          It was the day he felt as if he was finally seeing the end of his short life as he plummeted to the ground. The demon had just faded away from gripping his mind, freeing him from the vicious and primal urges to inflict violence on everything. But even when relief flooded through his chest, there were no words to explain the helplessness and fear he felt right after.

          The rush of air on his skin had been strong enough to bring him out of his delirium, and the next thing he could process was the ground closer and closer. It took him a second to realize that he was falling. Most likely to his death. 

          That was the time that fear set in. It wasn't like any other—it was the sudden helplessness that plagued his chest, a deep, hurtful emotion he was so familiar with, and he had vowed to himself that he would do anything to never have to feel it again. 

          And yet as he plummeted to his certain death, he realized that there were things out of his own control. Cruel as it had been, he wished, in the littlest time he had left, that he was able to think of all the people who had given their blood and life onto Ravka’s crumbling grounds, to honor them for continuing to fight for the country that failed them over and over again. 

          But there were so many names, so many lives. There was never enough time to mourn. 

          This country gets you in the end, brother. 

          Dominik's last words echoed in his mind, bitter and cold as the snow that seeped the blood from his wounds. Perhaps his old friend was right, after all. Ravka was never forgiving to anyone, not even to its king. 

          Nikolai was a fool to think that for once he’d be spared for trying to give it his all.

          The ground got closer, his fall going faster. He closed his eyes.

          Good riddance. 

          Then he felt it—the softest flutters of the wind that seemed to envelope his body in a gentle embrace that somehow reminded him of how her mother had used to hold him when he was younger. He almost smiled. Maybe there was a better place for him than where he once was.

          But the bitter part of him was heartless, the voice harsh in his ears as it told him that there was nothing at the end for him; nothing but the endless torment in his own hell, to remind him of the mistakes his forefathers had made, along with his own selfish intentions. 

          Maybe he wasn’t any different from the demons that would greet him at the end. They would welcome him with open arms and unkind sneers, and he would have to live by it. 

          The impact was abrupt. A bruising grip circled around his arm and stopped him from landing hard. The place where he had landed was comforting to say the least, but firm at the same time. It wasn’t the ground, and he was very sure that it wasn’t water either, as there wasn’t any nearby.

          His eyes snapped open. 

          The first thing he thought of was the seas. The relentless, unforgiving seas that had been his home for a few years. He longed for them, and it settled the ache in his chest. But as his mind came about and his eyes adjusted, he realized that he wasn’t dead. 

          He wasn’t dead. 

          A huff shook him out of his train of thoughts. He blinked frantically, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It took him a moment to grasp that he was staring back at a woman’s face, and the seas he thought he was looking at were actually her eyes. They sparked with sharpness that adorned her known ruthless personality, but underneath was a relief that Nikolai didn’t expect.

          Zoya Nazyalensky shook her head in disbelief. “About time you opened your eyes,” she said, her breaths catching in—exhaustion? Relief? He didn’t know. Her arm around his shoulders tightened as a smirk twitched its way to her lips. “Snap out of your daze. You’re alive.”

          For once, Nikolai Lantsov, the man who prided himself of being able to talk his way through everything, was at a loss for words. He only looked back at her, mouth half-agape in bewilderment. 

          You’re alive.

          Did he even deserve to be? She had saved him from the inevitable death that loomed over him just a moment ago. He was still breathing. He was alive. 

          Nikolai let out a breath, and it came out shaky as if he had taken a plunge in an ice-cold water and resurfaced again. “I—” he started, and then shook his head. His mouth opened and closed for a few more times, still trying to find the right words to say. A lot came in at once, and yet amidst the many possibilities that seemed reasonable, only one word breathed to life from him. “Why?”

          The raven-haired woman scoffed. “Can’t have the last member of the Lantsov bloodline dying on all of us now, yes?”

          A beat passed, and then a laugh of disbelief bubbled from his throat. Around them, the smell of gunpowder and blood and death was sharp, brutal enough to cut through the flesh of the reality they were in. And yet behind the unkind reminders of the war, something sweet still wafted through the air, an familiar scent that Nikolai couldn’t quite place. 

          Was it flowers?

          He looked back at the squaller who still had an arm around him. There wasn’t a time he could remember that he had been this close to her. They were of the opposite sides—he among the First Army and she among the Grisha. Even during the few meetings they were in the same room, a distance was always between them, whether it was from across the table or the farthest side of the room. 

          Now up close, Nikolai felt as if he was really seeing her for the first time. 

          Her eyebrows were drawn tight as she stared back at him, eyes narrowing slightly. There was still blood smeared to her cheek, and for a moment, worry twinged at his chest when he thought that it was hers. He let his eyes search her face for anything that would give away she was in pain. But when she merely raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze keen as if to scrutinize him, it was only then he was sure she was fine. 

          A thought clicked in his mind, its suddenness startling him. He looked back at the raven-haired squaller in wonder. Wildflowers, he thought. The scent from before, the one that pushed through the stench of the bloodbath of war, was of wildflowers. 

          Zoya huffed. The grip around his shoulders loosened, and her hand that was wrapped around his wrist let go. Nikolai almost stumbled back from the imbalance, but he braced an arm to the sand and held himself up. His ears burned in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to stare. 

          “If you were going to look at me for a long time, I suppose a few words of gratitude should come with it,” said Zoya in slight annoyance. She looked down at him for a moment, a scowl evident on her face. There was a conflicting expression in her eyes, and Nikolai thought she was going to walk away from him for acting strange. But then she sighed and offered a hand, and relief washed over him. “At least get up to your feet, will you? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want the others to see you this way, considering how egotistical you can be.”

          Despite the disdainful remark from her, Nikolai found himself laughing genuinely, and it surprised both him and the squaller in front of him. He never thought he would see himself do something out of sincerity when he had lived all his life hiding behind multiple masks that hid the scared boy underneath. It was pleasant to be reminded that he didn’t have to always pretend. 

          Bless her poison tongue. 

          With a slight shake of his head, he took Zoya’s hand and allowed her to pull him up to his feet. 

          Almost immediately, the world swayed underneath him. It threatened to tip him over, but the raven-haired squaller was already there to hold him up steady. Another laugh escaped his lips, but this time, it was out of embarrassment for having to rely on her yet again. 

          Nikolai looked up and met her eyes, fiery and bright, like a crackling lighting against the stormy sky. A smile found its own way to his lips as he gave her hand a tight squeeze. 

          “Thank you, dearest extraordinary squaller,” he said, and he had to laugh at the first words that he was finally able to say. “I am eternally grateful to you.”

          Zoya didn’t seem to like the nickname as a scowl was beginning to form on her face, but this only made Nikolai chuckle fondly. She lifted her chin up, her usual sharp look returning. It was only then that he realized that he truly hoped that she never lost her valor, the kind that burned behind her eyes and kept her head up high. 

          “I’m glad you know that to yourself,” she said. 

          This made him laugh once again. “I wouldn’t want to forget lest I want to get struck down by lightning.”

          He didn't know if it was fate that decided to put her in the right place at the right time to save him from his fall. But it was such a silly thought that he found himself shaking his head slightly. Maybe it was, or it wasn’t. There were a lot of possibilities. But out of all that, all he knew was that he was thankful to her for saving his life. 

          Ravka needed more people like her. He needed more people like her. 

          And as her hand clutched back at his to acknowledge him, Nikolai never would have thought that it was the start of the unbreakable bond that they had built throughout the years they worked alongside each other. 

          That, and everything in between that led up to now, with the both of them running as regents, suddenly made him feel as if he didn’t deserve her. 

          Aren't you past that thought? a voice said in his mind. You're together now. 

          He sighed and slumped back down onto his chair, the blue ribbon still clutched in his hand. It was during frustrating times like these that his lingering insecurity resurfaced. The thought was ridiculous itself, considering the current status of their relationship. And yet as true as their reality was now, a small part of him, the terrified boy who didn't want to lose the happiness he finally got, wanted to give her something to prove himself that he was worthy of her. 

          So what should he give to a woman who already had everything? He found that it was difficult to answer. Had he still been a king, he would have offered her plenty, and those words and sweet nothings wouldn't have been empty promises. But he was just Nikolai Lantsov now, barely having anything in his name besides the former royal title and the scars and nightmares he bore. 

          What’s a mortal man to a powerful Grisha who was now a living saint? Was he still even worthy of her?

          He shook the thought away. Zoya chose him—and he chose her. Nothing else was powerful enough to change that. 

          How could he make sure it would stay that way? Then he had a sudden urge to call out to someone, but stopped abruptly when he realized that they weren't there anymore. Nikolai sank back to his seat further, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. 

          Usually, Nikolai’s feet would drag him to the labs, seeing that it was still occupied even at the latest hours of the day. He would always find the Fabrikator there, hunched down and scribbling notes on the notebook at his side. David had never minded Nikolai storming in the labs with his still intact energy, and instead would immediately start talking about another idea that came up to his mind. Then the rest of the hours would be spent trading technical terms about their blueprints and Nikolai telling David to get back to his wife for the night. 

          But more often than not, their conversations shifted to personal ones, with David asking which option was better to pamper Genya with, and Nikolai would watch in amusement as the known quiet Fabrikator was suddenly in a jumbled mess of words and questions, all just to be able to make his wife happy. 

          Nikolai wished he had the man's knack for anything to gift to his beloved so he wouldn't have to be racking his head to come up with anything. 

          He let out a sigh, looking out at the window to his left. Snow fell in soft flutters outside, his windowsill coated with layers of white. A vase near the window caught his eye, the bright yellow color of the flower planted in it wasn't too difficult to notice. A thin sheet of snow had already lined its stem, and it took him a moment to remember that the flower wasn't supposed to be out in the cold. 

          In a rush, Nikolai jumped out of his seat and made a beeline to the window, quickly closing the glass pane. He muttered a few curses as he looked at the plant with careful eyes. 

          "They're called sunflowers for a reason, Lantsov. What are you doing?" he mumbled to himself, dusting the snow off from the flower's petals. He had totally forgotten to move it away from the window when he brought it out this morning. Then with a sigh, he said, "Sorry about that, pretty." 

          At least it didn't look wilted after being exposed too long. The cold was still harsh despite winter almost coming to an end, and he could feel that it wouldn't tone down any time soon. 

          He took the vase back with him to the desk, putting it on the far side and away from the spilled ink. A fond smile made its way to his lips as he touched a finger to one of the sunflower petals. It still was a bit bemusing to him when Zoya had handed it to him one night with the usual frown on her face but also with a faint redness on her cheeks. And for someone who had been used to having all the things he wanted, Nikolai was floored and at loss for words when he took the vase with shaking hands. 

          "I was tending to my garden earlier when I noticed I didn’t have that kind yet. So I figured—well, for a change of scenery in your office. It looks dull in here," Zoya had said in a grumble. Then she dropped her hands to her sides, averted her eyes. If it were still possible, he noticed that the flush in her cheeks only became more evident. "It reminded me of you too." 

          Nikolai couldn't deny the flutter in his chest over her words, his gaze softening as he brought a hand to her face and gently turned her to him. There was doubt pooling behind her eyes, giving away the terrified part of her over something new to her. And if Nikolai were to be honest, he himself was afraid too, with the exhilarating feeling of finally having the happiness and contentment he so longed for finally at reach, he vowed to do anything not to lose it. Not to lose her. 

          So he gave her a tender smile, the kind that he hoped spoke the assurance they both needed. "It's beautiful," he said. Just like you, his mind supplied after a moment, and he felt his ears burn in embarrassment for wanting to say such a cheesy line. Then he gently brushed a thumb to her cheek, lowered his forehead to hers, and whispered, "Thank you." 

          A beat passed, and Nikolai worried for a moment that Zoya might shrink back away from him. But then the doubt faded completely from her eyes, replaced by the softness she never often showed. She let out a relieved sigh and lifted a hand to touch his wrist. Turning her face to his palm, she pressed a light kiss on his skin that sent his chest fluttering again.

          "You're welcome," she whispered back. 

          Tears had stung at his eyes that time; his heart felt so full of her, and had it not been already hers from the start, he was sure that there still wasn't anything he could do if it suddenly decided to give itself to her. 

          Nikolai gave a breathless chuckle, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "Never fancied you to be a romantic," he said. 

          This earned a light laugh from Zoya, and he felt her toe connect to his shin in a playful kick. "Way to ruin the moment, Lantsov." She pulled away to look at him with narrowed eyes. "Just make sure you take care of it. Don't expose it to the cold that much. It prefers summer more than anything." 

          "Of course," said Nikolai, "I think they were called sunflowers for a reason." 

          Another kick to his leg, and he bit back a chuckle. "I'm serious. You can be dumb sometimes."

          "You wound me, dearest." 

          "It was actually my goal from the start." Then she paused, another sigh coming from her lips. "It's actually not an easy task, if I'd be honest. You'd have to tend to it everyday and make sure it's being taken care of properly. Protect it from the harsh cold of winters, and you'll see the wonders of it when it blooms in summer." 

          Ever the practical one. Nikolai chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to keep a close eye on it every day." He winked, and then with a playful grin, he added, "I got to say, I didn't know you can be poetic with your words." 

          A hand was shoved to his face, making him laugh as he took a step back. "Alright, I'm leaving," Zoya declared as she made her way to the door. 

          Nikolai followed her, the grin never leaving his lips. "Should I send you written reports about the plant's progress every morning?" he asked as he opened the door for her. 

          "Saints, you're insufferable," said Zoya exasperatedly, but she was fighting a smile on her lips. She looked up at him with a pointed look. "Make sure you don't forget what I told you. Don't let it get exposed too long in the cold."

          "Of course, dear," replied Nikolai. "Wouldn't want to forget such an important thing." 

          "Idiot." Then, to his surprise, Zoya stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. He blinked, feeling his ears burn. She gave him one of her rare, soft smiles, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. "Good night, Nikolai." And she was off. 

          Nikolai smiled fondly at the memory, his fingers brushing at the petals of the sunflower. He'd always known that Zoya wasn't the type to show affections through words; she showed them through actions instead, and whenever she did, it always left him floored and his heart fluttering. It sounded silly—he was acting like a lovesick fool. But perhaps he really was one, and he would always try to show his love for her in his own way as well. 

          This reminded him of his still nonexistent idea of what to give to her, and he slumped back down to his chair. He stared absentmindedly at the sunflower in front of him. What should he give to her? Jewelries, maybe? A necklace? A ring? Nikolai scratched the thought. It didn't sound too ideal to give her the usual kind of gifts. He wanted it to be meaningful, something like the sunflower she gave him. It was a part of her, a token that came from her heart. So what should—

          What if the winter is just too long and hard? What if it can’t bloom again?

          Zoya's former distressed question echoed in his ears, and Nikolai blinked. Then slowly, an idea started forming in his mind. He smiled softly. 

          She had given him a part of her heart, so he would give back a part of his. 

          Nikolai hurriedly cleaned up the table before scrambling to get a fresh new parchment from the drawers. All the possible layouts for his idea flowed continuously in his mind and he tried his best to remember it all as he let the quill in his hand glide easily on paper. 

          He worked nonstop for hours. He worried that it would stop his momentum if he took even a short break. Besides, once his mind focused on doing something, he wouldn't stop at anything until he finished it. 

          Eventually, the blueprints he had working for were done. It was only when he finally dropped his quill to the side did he feel the numbness starting to creep up at his hand and to his arm. But he didn't seem to mind as he looked proudly at the finished plans. They were probably the best ones he had for a while, and he'd make sure that they came to life once Zoya gives him the approval. 

          With a new burst of energy, Nikolai stood up and began rolling the plans one by one. He checked the pocket watch on his table, seeing that it was already half past the fourth hour in the morning. The last thing he remembered was it was only the tenth hour of the night, and he was sure he hadn't been sitting by his table that long. He shrugged the thought away. Not that it mattered to him, anyway. 

          Nikolai then carefully wrapped the plans with the blue velvet ribbon, holding the prints securely into place. A contented smile escaped his lips. He couldn't wait for Zoya to see them. But a thought occurred to him, and he clutched the papers in his arm. Perhaps he should leave it by her door so she'd see it the first thing in the morning. 

          It's already late, you idiot, a voice in his mind said. 

          But I'm just gonna leave it by her door, he reasoned out. 

          He decided to follow his impulse, and the next thing he knew, he was already making his way through the corridors of the Palace and towards Zoya's chambers. The hall narrowed to a familiar turn. Her door was already on sight, the insignia of the double eagle emblazoned on the surface. Nikolai stopped in front of it, looking down to the blueprints in his hand. A soft smile twitched at his lips. He hoped she'd like them. 

          But as he was just about to leave the papers by the threshold, he noticed that the door was left ajar, allowing a glimpse of the dim interiors of her chambers. He raised an eyebrow and pushed the door open. Zoya wasn't the type to leave it unlocked, even when there were royal guards patrolling nearby. She also wasn't the type to forget that easily, either.  Well, that's if she's exhausted to the point of not caring about anything so she could rest straight away. 

          When he stepped inside her chambers, the first thing he noticed was the still burning lamp on her desk at the opposite side of the room. The pile of papers didn't escape his eyes as well, and he was surprised to see that there were still documents left. Zoya had always been punctual with her work, doing it nonstop until she finished. It was both their bad habit they often reprimanded each other with, but as the stubborn people that they were, they couldn't seem to stop working themselves to the point of exhaustion. 

          Nikolai spotted her at the right side of the main room, sleeping soundly at the couch with a paper still clutched in her hand. A mug sat by the carpet near the furniture's foot, and it was most likely an unfinished serving of coffee. He let out a light chuckle as he approached her, careful not to make a sound to wake her up. She was still dressed in her kefta underclothes and even her boots were on. Had she gone through the paperworks right after her training with the Second Army? Nikolai’s eyebrows furrowed in worry. At this rate, she was going to get sick with fatigue. And as much as he appreciated her determination in finishing the task, he couldn't afford her brushing off her physical state just to get the paperworks done. 

          With a quiet sigh, he put the plans on the table and proceeded to unlace Zoya's boots. It was a bit of a challenge, considering how she was a light sleeper. She grumbled at some point and turned to her back, a tight scowl suddenly on her face. Nikolai stopped for a moment, but she didn’t move any further, and even started snoring softly. He couldn't help but chuckle. A sleeping Zoya was just as scary as instructor Zoya. He figured that he wouldn't want to have her wrath unleashed at him because he disturbed her sleep. 

          After another minute, he was finally able to remove her boots and he set them at the foot of the couch. Then he took the paper out of her hands, setting it on the table on top of yet another pile. Perhaps he'd take some of the workload off her shoulders, as he didn't have much on his plate. At least she wouldn't have to work late again. 

          Zoya shivered in her place before curling up into a fetal position, her arms coming to wrap them around her. Nikolai immediately got up and walked towards her bedroom to fetch some blankets, which he then draped over her shoulders, tucking them tightly around her. She sighed in relief and nuzzled further under the covers, yet the scowl remained on her face. 

          Nikolai looked at her fondly, brushing a stray hair off her forehead. He'd never know what he had done to deserve her, but he would always be grateful that their paths wove together at the end. Loving her was the best thing he ever did in his life. 

          Leaning down to her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his touch featherlight. "Rest well, my love," he whispered. 

          He reached for the blueprints from the small table and walked towards her desk to put them there. Then he took a note out of his pocket, placing it on top of the parchment. The words on it sounded cheesy, but it was the first thing he came up with and he was sure it's more romantic than anything he could think of. He considered himself a romantic, anyway. 

          Stealing one last glimpse of the still sleeping Zoya, Nikolai left her chambers with a smile on his face. 

          As he walked back to his own rooms, his mind reminded him of the words he had written on the note.

          I will always seek to make it summer for you. 

          And he would for her, always. 

*****

A/N: yeah it is i, and i came back to life and wrote a bit again ;-; 

After this mess of a fic, I just want to share my appreciation of this ficitional character that is Nikolai Lantsov. (Sort of tw: mentions of anxiety and depression)

It was during Crooked Kingdom when Sturmhond was introduced and I would have to admit that he already gave me a good first impression. And funny as it may sound, he reminded me of myself—the can’t seem to shut up kind of person, and I really thought “lmao is this me”. And even though his page time was really short, along with Zoya and Genya that I also absolutely loved instantly, I already appreciated his character so much.

By that time I was already starting a Tumblr account. I was going through the tags (bc I have literally low patience not to look for spoilers) and saw that Sturmhond was Nikolai Lantsov from the very first Gv book series.

So I read the remaining books of the Grishaverse, and became completely attached to its characters. But I knew Nikolai would be my fave. Honestly, I didn't find him rather very explosive in Shadow and Bone series than I did in their short appearance in Crooked Kingdom. All though I absolutely loved most of his annoying lines and bad jokes, there was no denying that he was a total ass in the first series.

And yet as King of Scars was released, I still wanted to read more abt this annoying dude. KoS have been dragging for most part, but knowing Nikolai, as well as Zoya, deeper really didn't disappoint. It was the book where I realized, "Ah, my kin" with the backstory he had.

The people pleaser. The lonely, ignored child who only wanted to make his parents proud. The kid who can't sit still. The annoying and talkative and insufferable person in the group. The person who would still try to smile through the pain. They were the ones I saw in him that I knew I had in me. That was why he became a personal fave, despite all the flaws he had.

Writing this fic again really helped a lot, as I was really spiraling down back to my depression for the past week. I've almost forgotten this one when I started it a month ago and the burnout really hit hard at that time. I lost the passion to write, and for someone who uses it to keep from relapsing, it had become really frustrating when I couldn't find my old self who had written so much.

So it was like a breath of fresh air to be able to write again, being able these overwhelming thoughts and anxiety attacks I've trying to fight off down to words, and writing about my fave character going through the same dilemma is something that can be personal. As much as it didn't mean that much to others, I really appreciate and love this ficitional character, and he'd be my very fave.

tl;dr I'm totally a Nik, and he'd be my forever fave character.

P.S.

To all who are going through tough times right now, whether it's sadness or burnout or stress over a lot of things, I hope you find your peace of mind soon.

To the ones that lost their passion in doing the things they used to love, may you have the inspiration and urge to do them again. No matter how slow your progress would be, no matter how much time it would take to get back, I hope you find the happiness you've felt in doing those things once again.

And to the ones who feel lost and exhausted and weary, I hope you find your desired path once again.

It was never going to be easy to push through it, but hey, you'd been there before and you got through. I know you'll be able to do it again because you're stronger than what you give yourself credit for. Never forget that.

Stay safe and healthy, always. 🥰

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 21 - SECRETS AND TRUTHS

Hello all, Finally the new chapter of Edinburgh to Boston is ready.

As I said in my update this has not been betaed. Therefore, any mistakes. lack of continuity or general mess-ups are all mine. I hope you will forgive me and overlook them. It took some re-writing when I read it over several times and I hope I caught all the mistakes.

This has been my baby for a long time and honestly, I think that was another reason that took so long to finish it as this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue to clean up some things that are hanging around.

Just because this is the last chapter, does not mean this is the end. I can't really let go of these two people. They are so dear to my heart. Besides that, as I wrote this I realized that I did not totally address the opening premise that I made. If you recall I said that Fate and Destiny had their hands in seeing these two come together. There are other stories to tell about how such forces brought them together. I do plan a Part II but how I will do it has yet to be planned out.

I can't thank you all enough for being patient with me during times of difficulty when it took so long to get a chapter posted. I am so honored that so many of you liked this story which I honestly thought was going to fall flat on its face. I never dreamed I would get the response to it that I did. I thank you all for reading, commenting, giving the story some love. I am truly overwhelmed by your kindness.

As always I need to thank my betas who helped me along the way and gave me the encouragement to continue when I didn't think I could do it. @scubalass you're the best.

Without further ado and a tear in my eye, I give you Chapter 21 Edinburgh to Boston.

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 21

Secrets and Truths

“Come On! Come On! COME ON!” Claire groused at the tardy lift. It really wouldn’t do to be late for surgery on her first day back to work. She wanted to give the damn thing a good kick but thought better of it since she would be standing for most of the day. The idea of standing on a sore foot did not appeal to her.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what is taking this thing so long? For a new building, you would think they would have installed a better lift system.” Finally, the doors slid open on the fifth floor where the cardiothoracic surgery department offices were located.

She ran down the corridor trying to free herself from her coat while hanging onto the bag containing her morning fix.

Claire ran through the building’s front door shouting a greeting to Eddie, the security guard on duty. She made a beeline for the Cafe to get her morning coffee before going up to her office. It would be a long and trying day and the caffeine jolt would serve as her means of survival.

Niall stood behind the counter and grinned at her. “Late Dr. B?”

“Whatever made you think so?” she replied rather dryly. Her face was flushed and her hair exploded out from her wooly cap.

“Just a wild guess,” he smirked.

“Humph!” she snarled. “I would love to stand and chat with you but I have surgery in an hour. I’ll have a…”

“Here it is Dr. B. Large black coffee with one sugar and a raisin scone.” Niall smiled showing her the takeaway bag with her name on it.

She looked flustered, “How did you…”

“Dr. Fraser came by earlier. He ordered for you thinking you might be...um, in a hurry.”

“You say Dr. Fraser’s here already?” Claire grimaced ashamed of her lateness. It seemed, however, that curiosity got the better of her. Doing her best to look nonchalant, she casually asked, “Um, how did he look? Tired was he?” Dark smudges rimmed her eyes from lack of sleep. Claire would have liked nothing more than to curl up in bed and pull the covers over her head.

“Nay, no’ at all. Dr. Fraser said he worked out in the gym first then ran here. He looked quite hale and hearty actually. A wee bit pink from the cold, but truly well.”

“Of course, he did,” mumbling with annoyance to herself, “the man is made out of steel.”

Opening her overstuffed slouchy bag, she began the ritual of hunting for her wallet.

Cocking his head to the side, Niall pushed the bag toward Claire, “Oh, and he paid for this too.”

“Thank you, Niall and I’ll thank Fraser when I see him.”

Grabbing the bag, she made a mad dash toward her arch-enemy, the lift.

As usual, the ride to her floor became an act of slow torture and unmitigated agony. Once the lift doors opened, she sprinted down the corridor shaking one arm out of her coat while juggling her purse and the bag with its precious contents in the other hand. As she arrived outside her office door, her other arm managed to jiggle out of its sleeve. Finding the key to her office would require a balancing act considering the disordered state of her handbag. Placing her coat between her teeth and the bag containing her coffee and scone between her knees, not the soundest of ideas mind, she rummaged inside her handbag. Of course, the key could not be found being buried in the deep recesses of the purse. Needing a little extra stability, Claire leaned against the doorway. The door swung open making her lose balance and stumble into the room. Her mouth opened, squawking in surprise causing the coat to drop to the floor. Flailing hands pinwheeled around trying to maintain equilibrium rather than land ignominiously on her arse. She managed to keep her footing but lost the grip on her purse and watched as the contents tumbled out spilling haphazardly around the room. By some miracle, the sack with the coffee and scone remained intact. Not a drop of the rejuvenating liquid spilled. Which, of course, was the most important thing.

Surveying the mess she had inadvertently created, Claire concluded it was going to be one of those days. No doubt about it. And to make matters worse, she would have to operate without Fraser. Not to have his strong capable hands there moving in concert with hers, well the thought just soured her stomach. Of course, Pound would be there to help, but he was still in training even if he was Chief Fellow and she would still have to monitor him.

Mumbling words that a lady should not use, Claire picked up her coat and tossed it on a chair. On her hands and knees, she crawled around picking up the scattered bits and bobs shoving them back in the purse.

Standing, she walked toward her desk and saw it. In the middle of the desk stood a small beautifully cut crystal vase filled with forget-me-nots, white heather, and baby’s breath. A handwritten card placed in front of the flowers was written in a distinctive script declaring, Tha gaol agam ort, J. Claire could not read Gàidhlig but she instinctively knew what it meant. Her eyes misted over as she touched the delicate blooms.

How do you do it, Jamie Fraser? You take a terrible day and turn it into something magical.

Claire put on her lab coat, grabbed the bag with her coffee and scone, and walked out closing the door behind her. She strolled toward her nemesis, the lift, smiling and humming happily.

****************

“Aye, that’s right. See how Dr. Beauchamp keeps her field clear. It gives ye an unobstructed view and prevents postoperative infection.” Jamie turned to look at his students and they all dutifully nodded in appreciation.

“Watch how Dr. Beauchamp creates the anastomosis. Then she’ll tie it off. See how she makes her knots! ‘Tis a thing of beauty, is it no’? Perfect technique!” Jamie praised. Peering at his beloved, he saw her eyes crinkle with pleasure and her cheeks blazed red above her mask.

He came alive while he watched her work. As a surgeon, she was smart, talented, and highly sought after. Not only because of her skill but because she deeply cared about her patients. Some colleagues thought her “too involved” or believed her gender would make her“too soft” to become a competent cardiothoracic surgeon. Other critics thought her involvement with her patients would undermine her professionalism.

They had made love. Legs twined together; her head rested on his shoulder while his arm curled around her protectively. Jamie turned on to his side just enough to allow him to see her nakedness gilded by the moonlight. She curled into him clinging to him like a limpet anchored to a rock. Her muscles tense where normally she lay in his arms boneless after their intimacy. Finding a particularly tight knot he massaged it and felt it go slack.

“Is something wrong, my own? Did I no’ please you?” he asked anxiously.

“No, you were wonderful, really, Jamie. It’s just me. I started thinking. I don’t know why. But it’s nothing at all truly. I’m fine, just fine.”

“Sassenach, I ken well enough what ‘I’m fine means. Why dinna ye tell me what’s upsetting ye.” Jamie pulled her closer, tucking Claire’s head under his chin.

“We need to go back soon,” she said in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “And I’m so happy here with you,” she looked up into those startling blue eyes. “Then I started thinking about what it took for me to get this far in my career. My residency. My Fellowship. And suddenly I wondered if it was all worth it. I wondered if they were right in the end.”

“Who was right, Sassenach?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Claire shared her trials as a cardiothoracic fellow. The competition for the position had been fierce. Only the top five candidates were called back to interview for the one open position. Even though she was highly ranked among the candidates for the fellowship, her prospective mentors suggested that perhaps she would be more suited to pediatrics, dermatology, or aesthetics as one of those specialties might suit her female sensibilities better. They had suggested cardiothoracic surgery might be too rigorous for a woman. The hours too demanding for a married woman. What would her husband say? Wouldn’t she like to have a family someday?

“The only qualification I didn’t have was I didn’t have a prick,” she said with some bitterness. She never expected an easy time. A distinct amount of sexism existed in medicine and women were not welcomed with open arms. She worked the worst schedule and given the most complex cases. Evaluations were harsh and judgmental. All done in the hopes that she would quit. Instead, it just made her work harder. And she turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to the mockery heaped on her. Claire succeeded where many others failed. She became their first female Chief Fellow; won several prestigious awards for her research. More importantly to Claire, her patients thrived.

“I am beginning to think they were right about some things. There is so much more to life. Much, much more,” she said drowsily. “And I want to have it. All.” Yawning, her eyes fluttered closed, and fell into a contented sleep.

“Aye, mo nighean donn, ye will. I’ll see tae it,” and leaned over kissing her brow.

Truly Claire is a woman of rare spirit, he thought. A woman who overcame many challenges and obstacles from an early age and was better for it. After all, she survived a plane crash that claimed the lives of her parents, lived like a vagabond with her archeologist uncle, and prevailed over a nightmare marriage. Many people would have been crushed under such hardships. But not his Sassenach; she endured. She managed to overcome them and emerge victoriously. A woman of rare spirit indeed. And one who deserved to be loved and loved well.

Jamie’s narrative kept pace with Claire’s every movement. Occasionally, he fired off questions at various intervals to his followers which they answered to his satisfaction. They remained throughout the entire procedure until skin closure finished and the patient made ready for transfer to the CSICU.

“Dr. Pound will accompany the patient to their room and start to write the postoperative orders. Please go with him. I will meet you over there.”

“Dr. Beauchamp, a word if ye please about yer next case,” called Jamie.

“Of course, Dr. Fraser. I would be delighted.”

The doctors exited the operating room on the pretext of being nothing more than two colleagues engaged in a discussion about a patient scheduled for surgery that afternoon. They approached an out-of-the-way corridor between the OR and the CSICU stealing down the passageway like two thieves in the night. Jamie’s head spun around looking for anyone who might have observed them. Deciding that they had not been seen, he seized her hand and pulled her into a little-used utility room. He locked the door behind them and drew her close, kissing her thoroughly.

“I missed ye.”

Claire cuddled into him resting her head on his chest. “I missed you too.”

Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “Come here,” she whispered as she tugged his head down toward her.

Claire kissed him once, then twice.

“No’ that I’m complaining but what’s that for?”

“One was for the coffee, the other was for the scone. This one,” her voice turned provocative, “is for the flowers.” Her mouth latched onto his giving him a proper thank you kiss. The kiss, a searing flame, igniting them like a match to dry kindling. It left them both breathless and wanting for more.

She pressed firmly against him. He could feel her nipples rigid and taut through the thin scrub top. He knew she felt him; his hardness pressed against her body. If only I were home with her I’d carry her off to bed. This thought, naturally, made things much worse for him.

“How did you manage it?” she asked, her voice a sultry husky tone.

“Ewan gets the credit.”

“Be sure to thank him for me.” Claire crushed her body closer to his taking in his warmth. She buried he nose against him absorbing his smell. His scent was masculine, with the tang of antiseptic and just a dash of laundry starch hovering around him. Some things completely stirred her soul.

Clearing his throat, Jamie asked in a shaky voice, “Will ye, ah, will ye… Christ Claire, I canna think with ye so close tae me. Will ye take yer lunch with me?”

“Yes,” she said breathily.

“Why don’t ye go dictate yer op notes while on check on Pound? I’ll meet ye in about thirty minutes.”

“That’s a fine idea,” she leaned forward giving him a quick kiss. “Don’t be late.”

Jamie opened the door enough to peek out and found the corridor remained empty.

“Ye go first, I’ll follow after ye shortly.”

Claire slipped through the door while Jamie watched as she left. He noticed a little extra sway to her hips as she walked away. Damn little vixen. She did it on purpose. Sighing, he closed the door and leaned his head against it. He would have a wait a minute or two until his “problem” disappeared. It was becoming truly uncomfortable as he sought to adjust himself. “She’ll be the death of me yet.”

***********************

Walking into the CSICU after completing a successful surgery always filled Jamie with a certain satisfaction. He felt overjoyed that he and Claire helped patients return to their life, their work, their family, and without pain. He would tell patients, when he first met them, that this surgery was “enabling”. It would enable them to return to the life they wanted and not become a bystander.

With that thought in mind and a large grin on his face, Jamie swiped his badge across the electronic keypad granting him entrance into the Unit. The sounds of controlled chaos greeted him, voices raised, ventilators whooshing delivering needed oxygen, the soft beeping of heart monitors keeping time with healing hearts, IV pumps clicking as they delivered medication critical to the patient’s recovery.

He walked briskly toward the nurses’ station with gladness in his heart for he was back where he belonged.

“Fiona, ‘tis good tae see ye. How have ye been?” he inquired of the Unit’s charge nurse.

With the sound of his voice all conversation, all activity ceased, and every eye fastened onto him. The silence in the room would have been deafening if not for the continued mechanical sounds. Jamie became keenly aware of the absence of sound and the staff rooted in position. And just as quickly as it started it ended with activity resuming at its normal pace.

Fiona MacGowen kept her eyes glued to her computer screen, deliberately not making direct eye contact with the doctor. “Oh just braw, Dr. Fraser, just braw. Dr. Beauchamp’s patient is in Room 10 with Dr. Pound, Elspeth, and Iona getting him settled,” she said with her lips slightly turning up in a smile. “They’ll be waiting on ye.”

“Thank ye, Fiona. I’ll go and see how they are getting along.”

Jamie walked away, stopped, and turned back to look at Fiona once more. He thought her behavior a bit strange. Generally, one would say Fiona was a gregarious person with the reputation of being a chatterbox. Today, however, she acted more like a nun under a vow of silence. But to be honest, as he gazed around the Unit once more, everyone’s behavior seemed strange. And he had yet figured out what to make of it.

As Jamie approached the room the sounds of busyness gave the impression of a beehive humming with activity. As he stepped into the entryway, activity ceased. Again, all that remained was the soft mechanical sounds made by the life-sustaining equipment.

Elspeth stood quite still and uttered a little gasp. Meanwhile, Iona took a step back bumping into the ventilator; her eyes round with surprise. Dr. Pound cleared his throat glaring at the two nurses. They resumed their usual pleasant expressions with lips curling up into crooked smiles.

Jamie looked at the three of them thinking his team had gone daft.

“‘Tis good to have ye back Dr. Fraser,” declared the Fellow. “The ladies and I were just finishing getting Mr. MacNichol set up.”

Pound grabbed one of the portable workstations and began reviewing the patient’s current vitals as well as the orders he had written with the surgeon. They discussed the ventilator’s and pacemaker’s current settings, and when to call Dr. Beauchamp with any changes to her patient.

“Well-done, well-done. Mr. MacNichol is in very capable hands,” he smiled at his team. “I am off to lunch. Ye ken how to reach Dr. Beauchamp or me.”

Jamie walked out of the room and on impulse turned back to see the three heads buried in whispered conversation. He shook his head and left thinking about having lunch with Claire wanting to discuss the staff’s strange behavior with her.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Jamie walked smack into his cousin Rupert almost knocking him down. Extending his arm quickly he caught his cousin by the shoulder steadying him.

“Sorry about that Rup. Doing a bit of wool-gathering I suppose.”

“Oy must be something awfully important to have ye so distracted.”

“I promised Claire I would have lunch with her and I dinna want tae be late.”

“Tae tell ye the truth, I am on my way tae find Geillis. We’re supposed to have a bite together too. Suppose ye two join us, aye?” He grinned broadly, “Twill be interesting to see if the plan

succeeded.”

“Sounds like a good idea cuz,” Jamie clapped an arm around Rupert’s shoulder as they strode off in search of the lasses.

************************************

Seated at one of the dictation corrals, Claire began her op notes. Her cardiac anesthesiologist, Geillis Duncan took the hutch next to her.

Dr. Duncan was a beautiful woman, with a trim figure, flaming red hair, and eyes as green as spring grass.

“Claire, ‘tis good tae have ye back. I’m sorry I dinna have much of a chance tae speak with ye this morning before the case. Did ye enjoy the conference?” Dr. Duncan gave Claire a sly side-long look.

“Wouldn’t you know it, Boston had a blizzard and the speakers weren’t able to make it.”

“No. What a shame. Ye flew all that way for nothing,” she sympathized.

“Too bad, right? Dr. Fraser and I were looking forward to hearing about those peripherally inserted heart valves.”

“Aye, but ye had the fox cub with ye. Perhaps it wasna so bad after all,” she leaned over jabbing Claire in the side. “Did ye maybe get tae share a room and have a go at him between the sheets, um?” She gave Claire a wicked smile. “I ken if I was snowed in with him, I would.

“Geillis!” Claire swore. She blushed from her hair roots to her toes.

Geillis gave her a sly smug smile. “After all, Georges X is an exclusive luxury hotel. Verra private, and verra, verra discrete. Or so I’ve heard,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “They have those flowers, all over the place. What are they? Orchids? she asked while tapping her nail against her white teeth feigning an attempt at recalling. I understand the lobby is decorated with a fortune in artwork. The rooms are quite grand, are they no’, with a fireplace, champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, fine whiskey. And I hear the bed is big enough to sleep an entire family. How could ye no’ entice him into yer bed, is what I want tae know?”

Claire glared at her friend, “What I want to know is how you know I stayed at Georges X. I know I never told you.”

Geillis chuckled nervously, “Why of course ye did. How else would I ken that?” Geillis became uncomfortable under Claire’s scrutiny.

“Spill it, Duncan. You know more than you’re telling.”

Geillis affected a look of innocence, “I swear tae ye Claire, I dinna ken anything.” She nervously scanned the area looking for any means of escape from further questioning. Her eyes latched on to Dr. Rupert MacKenzie ambling directly toward her, along with Jamie. “I need tae go. I promised tae meet Rupert for lunch. See ye later, Claire.”

Reaching out, Claire grasped Geillis by the forearm, “That’s a load of rubbish and you know it. I suspected there was something dodgy about that trip right from the beginning. I need answers and you have them, Duncan. You’re coming with me.”

************************************

The two male surgeons walked amicably through the corridor talking and laughing as Rupert entertained Jamie with tales of hospital gossip. As they approached the physician workstation, they noticed a loud commotion that seemed to be attracting a crowd. Jamie wondered what caused the kerfuffle this time. Most such squabbles centered around obtaining a certain OR room or available time for surgery. This behavior bordered on the ridiculous in his opinion.

As the men came closer to the center of the fray, they saw two female doctors engaged in a struggle. One of them had wild brown curls bouncing around her head. Claire? The second doctor had hair the color of flame. That head of hair belonged to the fiery Geillis Duncan. He quickened his pace needing to reach Claire.

“Claire! Claire,” he called, “What’s amiss?”

“‘Claire’ he calls her now. No’ Dr. Beauchamp,” Geillis snorted.

Claire’s posture had all the hallmarks of frustration and anger as she tried to drag her colleague toward the doctor’s lounge.

Claire’s eyes locked on Jamie, “It seems that Dr. Duncan knows a great deal about our trip. Particularly where we stayed and I want to know how.”

Rupert took Geillis firmly by the elbow and leaned over to hotly whisper in her ear, “Wha’ have ye done woman!?”

Cold green eyes glared fixedly up at him disliking his insinuation. “I may have spilled a bit of tea is all,” she said, wrenching her arm free of his grip.

“Sounds more like ye spilled the whole damn pot,” he growled at her. “Ye ken they were never supposed to find out, at least no’ this way. We were supposed to tell them gentle like. Now what?”

Dr. Duncan gave her shoulders the tiniest of shrugs. “Dinna fash. We’ll think of something,” and walked toward the lounge.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, “Aye, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Rupert held the lounge door open for his co-conspirator trying to usher her quietly into the room. Geillis, however, turned to observe Jamie and Claire huddled deep in discussion.

“Are ye both going to stand there all day blethering, or are ye coming? I’m hungry and I want my lunch.” she snapped.

The crowd lingered about waiting for the fuse to be lit and the fireworks to begin. Dr. Duncan had a very volatile reputation easily flying into pieces like an unstable explosive device. Whereas, Dr. Beauchamp was a genial person, kind and caring. But, the one thing she was not was a meek individual. When pushed beyond her tolerance limits, she could be as ruthless as a she-wolf defending her pups.

Jamie placed his hand firmly on the small of Claire’s back giving her a little nudge forward. The crowd began to murmur heads close in a whispered discussion, Some rudely pointed a finger at his hand on her back, while others outright stared. Jamie flushed. He should have known such an intimate placement of his hand would draw attention. They saw he claimed her. Not knowing how Claire would feel about this public display, he thought he needed to break up this crowd before someone accidentally said something.

“Show’s over everyone. Just a private meeting among friends. Nothing tae see here. I’m sure ye all have some work tae do. Patients are waiting for ye. Go on with ye.” Jamie said dismissing the loitering group.

Following behind Claire, Jamie entered the room and shut the door.

Claire wanted to get to the bottom of things quickly and stormed up to her colleague in a blazing fury. “Alright Duncan, spill what you know.”

“I already told ye. I dinna ken anything about ye trip. As I said either you or Jamie must have mentioned where ye were staying. Beyond that, I dinna ken anything.”

Jamie looked at Claire and shook his head signifying that he had never mentioned the hotel to anyone.

“Um-hm. Since when does this institution send a chauffeured car to pick up two staff surgeons? For the Chief certainly but not for ordinary staff personnel. And we’re supposed to believe that the hospital made five-star accommodations with all expenses paid for us? Hmm? I think not. Did I not say so, Jamie?”

“Aye, ye did. Several times.”

“Claire began to pace while considering the other strange occurrences surrounding their trip.

“And what about my clothes? I most certainly did not pack away that nightgown. It was a mere scrap of silk and lace. And that lingerie! Those panties and bras were not something I would have packed for a conference trip.”

“I’ll bet he enjoyed it,” Geillis muttered under her breath a sly grin curling up on her lips lighting up her face.

Jamie leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, staring intensely at the female doctor, “I am inclined tae agree with Dr. Beauchamp that the circumstances surrounding our trip tae Boston were, tae say the least, most unusual. I also had clothes in my suitcase that I ken I dinna pack and I’m wondering how they got there. Can ye shed any light on this mystery?”

As Jamie questioned Geillis, an acrid odor caught Claire’s attention. Being a very astute doctor, she was used to the various malodors emitted by humans and knew what they meant. She raised her nose into the air and sniffed delicately. The pungent smell seemed to be coming from the direction of Rupert. A light sheen of sweat glossed over his forehead and there was a distinctive musky odor about him. Fear. Anxiety. Her intense scrutiny seemed to worsen whatever internal conflict plaguing him. Unable to withstand the intensity of her stare, Rupert turned away not wanting to meet her eyes.

Claire jabbed Jamie in his side with her elbow gaining his attention.

“I think Rupert has something to add to this conversation.”

Jamie walked over to his cousin and stared at him intently. Rupert took a few steps back, feeling the unconscious need to put some distance between them.

“Aye, I think yer right. Rupert, ye look like ye have something ye’d like tae get off yer chest. Out with it man.”

Deciding that the best defense is a good offense, Rupert widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I dinna ken what yer talking about Jamie lad. As the lady said, I dinna ken anything about yer trip either. And dinna ask if I ken anything about how yer jeans, duck boots, and down jacket got into yer suitcase,” he replied, a self-satisfied look plastered across his face.

“Ye great dunderheid! Do ye ken what ye said?! Ye just gave it away,” Geillis shouted giving him a slap upside his head. “And ye were worried about what I said.”

“Wha’ are ye talking ab…” He had that startled look that one has when they realize they stuck their foot in their mouth. “Oh! Oh, shite.”

“Ye just admitted that ye changed Jamie’s clothes in his suitcase.”

“Dinna blame me for everything. You changed Claire’s clothes,” Rupert countered.

The two combatants escalated the argument going at each other nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball, tooth, fang, and claw.

“And whose ideas was this? Mine. Who made the hotel arrangements and spoke tae Joe Silverberg in Texas to get him on board with the plan should one of them call to discuss the meeting?” Geillis boasted as she swung her hair over her shoulder. A dreamy look took over her as she recalled the conversation with Dr. Silverberg. “I invited him to come to Scotland, ye ken. Told him I would show him the sights and a good time. Said he may take me up on that too.”

“Mmphm, so ye did,” Rupert grumbled with annoyance. He did not like the suggestion of Geillis showing the American surgeon a good time. “Ye forget I made the plane arrangements and got Kenny to print up the fake conference brochure. And who enlisted their secretary’s help to slip the vacation request under the Chief’s nose and have him sign it? Cost me a night out as payment for that,” Rupert griped.

The two doctors continued in their game of one-up-manship, oblivious to Jamie and Claire standing in the room.

Unable to take the bickering anymore, Jamie bellowed, “Haud yer weesht!!!”

Geillis and Rupert looked up in bewilderment having forgotten where they were and that Jamie and Claire stood listening.

“Do ye two realize that what ye did invaded our privacy? That ye had no right to interfere in our lives?” Jamie growled.

“So, that’s it then? The whole thing was a setup, some sort of game? None of this was real? ” Claire said as she looked at Jamie.

“I beg tae differ, hen,” Gellis walked over her expression softening and gently took hold of Claire’s hand, “it’s as real as it can get. We all saw the lovesick eyes, the secret peeks ye two gave each other, and the way ye fuss over each other. If two people were meant to be together it’s ye two. We just nudged things along is all, ” said Geillis.

“Aye, yer right,” Rupert chimed in. “‘Tis the truth that NO one could take watching ye two anymore. The whole hospital wanted tae see ye together.” Rupert smiled at Claire. He quickly turned his vexation on his cousin. “And if Fraser here was no’ going tae be a man about it and make the first move, well by God someone had tae,” he snarled at Jamie. “What are ye then, cuz, a man or a moose?”

Jamie ran his hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen his shirt that had suddenly become too tight. A shy crooked smile flashed over his face; his lip curling up on one side.

“Aye, yer right. I, ah, I… Well, tae tell the truth, I am a bit of a coward. Ye ken, I dinna think um, I dinna know if Claire felt the same about me.” Jamie turned and looked deeply in Claire’s eyes, “I was afraid tae lose ye. If being yer friend would be the best of it, then that would have been enough.”

“I was afraid of losing you too, Jamie. I’ve had feelings for you right from the start. Only now do I dare to admit them,” Claire turned toward Rupert and Geillis giving them a look of gratitude. Moving closer, placing her hands on his chest. “I love you and I always will.” Her arms went up around his neck, standing on tiptoe, she leaned in, and kissed him soundly.

The kiss finally ended, each blushing from making a display of themselves.

Geillis stood there making gagging noises as she watched their affection. Rupert looked at Geillis with a smirk on his face.

“What’s the matter, lass, jealous?” Rupert said with a grin on his face.

“Certainly not,” Geillis waved off that idea with a flip of her hand and turned away.

“Well then, ye won't be minding this. I've wanted tae do this for a long time.” Rupert turned her around, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

“And I dinna want tae hear about ye showing any other men a good time, either.” He gave her a look that told her he would not brook no for an answer.

Geillis, looking dazed readily agreed.

Jamie coughed loudly, reminding the other couple they were not alone.

Wrapping his arm around Claire and pulling her into his side, Jamie smiled at their friends, “We want to thank ye, both, for bringing us together. We are truly grateful.”

Claire nodded in agreement, forgetting about her anger with the unorthodox methods they used to bring her the love of her life.

“Since we are all telling the truth,” Rupert reluctantly admitted, “there’s a wee bit more to it.” “We were not the only ones involved in this. When other staff members heard what we about they wanted tae be part of it. And so...”

“And so everyone began to contribute money tae help pay for the trip. So that’s how ye had such fine accommodations and such.” Geillis huffed, “We told ye that people could no longer stand tae look at ye. They wanted ye two as a couple, no’ apart. Now can we stop havering about and get some lunch? My wame is empty. Besides, everyone is waiting in the canteen tae see ye both.”

“Oh, God,” Claire groaned as she grew red and buried her face in Jamie’s chest.

Jamie chuckled and rubbed her back in long soothing strokes.

“Are ye ready then, Sassenach? Let’s go give these good people their money’s worth,” he grinned.

“Yes. We should thank them all, don’t you think?” Claire replied, running her fingers through her hair trying to tame her wayward curls.

“Ye look fine, lass,” he bent to kiss her gently on the cheek and took hold of her hand.

Rupert and Geillis led the way, laughing and talking. Claire and Jamie walked behind them holding hands. Nerves were getting the best of her and her hands became sweaty. She surreptitiously wiped her free hand on the scrub pant leg.

“Dinna fash. Ye’ve faced worse and ye’ll no’ be doing this alone. We’ll face them as one.”

One.

ONE, he said. But. What did that exactly mean?

“What do you mean by that? Being one?” She held her breath waiting for an answer.

Jamie frowned, crease lines set upon his forehead.

“It’s like I’ve kent ye my whole life, even before that, if that’s possible. I mean yer part of me. I ken that sounds crazy, but I…”

“I know what you mean, Jamie. I feel the same way too. It’s hard to explain, but it’s there.”

“Aye, lass, it’s most definitely there.”

Approaching the canteen seemed a surreal experience. Normally, one would call the dining hall a lively place, with the sounds of laughter, chatter, mixed with the scrape of dinnerware against plates. Today seemed different. A thrum of excitement and perhaps expectation filled the air as if waiting for something to happen. As Jamie and Claire approached the door a steady vibration emanated from its core.

Geillis waved them back signaling she and Rupert would enter first. Rupert lifted his hand spreading his fingers indicating they should wait five minutes before entering. Jamie nodded and Rupert and Geillis entered the dining room.

Jamie and Claire waited in companionable silence. Who would think that five minutes could feel like an eternity? But it did.

Jamie looked at his watch; it was time.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?”

“Je suis prest,” she acknowledged.

Their fingers reached out seeking their mate bonded the two hearts and souls into one. Turning they gave each other a nod and walked through the door only to meet with absolute silence.

All eyes turned upon them and it became unnerving. Claire inched closer to Jamie, if that was even possible, drawing on his strength.

Then the cheers began along with the whistles and applause. Someone from the back of the room called out, “It’s about time, Fraser.”

“Och why don’t ye just give us a bit of peace, aye?” came his laughing response.

They were rushed by a mob of well-wishers. Men clapped Jamie on the back wishing him well. Others made jokes, at his expense, about his manliness for taking so long.

The women embraced Claire telling her how happy they were for her. Some gave her sly looks while others made off-color jokes causing her to blush.

Eventually, people began to amble back to their tables and lunch, and the couple discovered themselves alone. Finding a table in an out-of-the-way corner, they sat to eat.

“I guess we are out as a couple officially. It’s no’ how I would have wished it tae become common knowledge, but…” Jamie shrugged. “They are good people and they meant well.”

Claire nodded in agreement as she moved her salad around on the plate not eating.

“It’s a strange feeling. Knowing that someone orchestrated this relationship. I know how this will sound, but I feel like this happened to me, to us before.”

Claire looked up at Jamie, eyes pleading for understanding.

“Forget what I said, it’s silly.” She stabbed a particularly tender piece of lettuce and ate it.

“Nay Sassenach, it’s no’ silly at all. I feel it too. It’s as if I am drawn to ye as if I kent ye from another lifetime. Like we were meant to be together, bonded if ye like.”

“That’s it, exactly.” Claire looked at him with a sense of relief. Looking up, she noticed the clock on the wall, reading 12:55 PM.

“Damn, we have to go. We’ll barely make it in time for Dr. de Gascogne’s appointment for your hand.”

Jamie muttered something in Gàidhlig which Claire really didn’t want a translation of.

“I dinna ken why everyone is making such a fuss over my hand. It doesna hurt and it will heal in a few more weeks.”

Claire blew out a breath of exasperation, “You know very well why Dr. Fraser. Your one of the best cardiac surgeons in all of Scotland. Well, next to me you are,” she said teasingly. Besides, the hospital needs you, your patients need you but most of all I need you. So that’s why.”

“I ken, but I dinna like being fussed over.”

“Yes, I know; you’re a doctor and doctors make terrible patients. You think you’re supposed to do the healing and don’t like when you need help,” Claire said with a raised eyebrow. “Now, let’s get your hand attended to, shall we?”

They hurried through the corridors, making it to the appointment with seconds to spare. Jamie was whisked off for X-Rays then he and Claire were escorted to an exam room. He sat on the examination bed while Claire took the chair next to him awaiting Dr. de Gascogne’s appearance.

Jamie studiously inspected an anatomical chart of the hand and wrist hanging on the wall in the room.

“Ye said ye need me,” he said almost inaudibly. “Do ye mean as yer surgical partner or as something more?

Claire noticed him drumming his fingers on his thigh anxiously.

“I need you, Jamie, in every sense of the word. As my partner, my friend, my lover, my everything. I. Need. You.” Claire stood and walked over to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck pressing her forehead to his.

“Aye, weel I wanted to make sure, is all. Yer the prettiest lass in the hospital. Any man would want tae be with ye,” and gave her a shy smile.

“Jamie Fraser, you say the most…” There was a knock on the door, the knob turned and Dr. de Gascogne entered the room finding the lovers locked in an embrace.

She looked at the two, raised an eyebrow at Jamie’s hands on Claire’s hips, “Un jour, quelqu'un entrera dans votre vie et vous fera comprendre pourquoi cela n'a jamais fonctionné avec quelqu'un d'autre, mes chers. Et il semble que vous ayez. I believe congratulations are in order. My secretary tells me you have announced that you are a couple. You two made quite a stir in the dining hall?”

Claire jumped away returning to her seat cheeks and nose bright red. While Jamie’s ears went pink.

“Well, um, ah, yes. Thank you. I believe that we made quite a spectacle of ourselves and continue to do so, it seems,” Claire replied mortified having been caught.

“Ah, mon chéri never be ashamed to show that you are in love. We are born of love and seek out love. Many have sacrificed greatly for love even died for it. It truly is a treasure to enjoy. No?” Dr. de Gascogne said with a smile. “Now to business.”

Dr. de Gascogne opened the electronic medical record and began her inquiry. Jamie explained how he injured his hand - twice - causing Dr. de Gascogne to raise her eyebrows in total disbelief.

She reviewed the X-Rays; then removed the splints. She moved and wiggled the fingers finding them healing well and moving to her satisfaction. The splints were replaced and Jamie was dismissed with a caution not to hit any more people or trees. She instructed him to see her again in one month for a further follow-up.

The two surgeons graciously thanked Dr. de Gascogne for her time and casually left the examination room. As soon as they could not be seen, they bolted toward the operating suites as quickly as they could eager to leave behind another awkward situation.

The remainder of the afternoon went on as planned. Claire completed her second surgical procedure without incident. Jamie’s students doggedly followed him from place to place. Finally, the day came to an end. The surgeons tiredly returned to their offices, checked in for urgent messages and for their schedule for the next day. Each too exhausted to do much of anything else, except want the comfort of a bed, chose to go home. It was a short walk to Claire’s flat from the hospital and Jamie escorted her home. He wrapped his arm around her waist and she leaned into him. They spoke of this and that sharing different events of their day. Arriving at Claire’s flat, they walked up the stairs toward the front door. Jamie stood one step lower than Claire allowing them to be of an equal height.

A wave of fatigue washed over her, but Claire did not want Jamie to leave despite her tiredness.

“Would you like to come up? I have some soup in the fridge. Mrs. Bug made it. She’s quite the cook. Won’t take more than a moment to heat up. Or maybe a glass of wine or a dram? To help unwind?” she said looking at him hopefully.

He unzipped both their jackets and pulled her into the depth of his wrapping the jacket around her. He wanted her close to him and to share his warmth with her.

“Mo chridhe, yer completely knackered and ye need yer rest. If I come up with ye, ye ken neither of us will get any sleep,” he said pressing himself against her his desire completely apparent. “It’s no’ that I dinna want tae, but it wouldna do tae have ye fall asleep tomorrow during yer procedures.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worked with little sleep, just like you have, during residency and fellowship,” she pouted.

“Aye, but ye need to set an example for the students and fellows. And what about yer patients? They need Dr. Beauchamp at her best. They’re counting on ye.”

Claire luxuriated in the radiant heat of his body and the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But, she still did not want him to leave. For to be alone with Jamie was bliss but to be alone was, well, to be alone. She racked her fatigued brain for anything that would keep Jamie with her. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “I love you.”

“I ken ye do, mo nighean donn. I feel it every time ye touch me,” Jamie took her hand tenderly placing a kiss on her palm. Gently, he folded her fingers over to seal his kiss against her skin. “And when ye kiss me,” he brushed his lips over hers. “Most of all, when ye lie with me. I ken the truth of it in our lovemaking,” he pulled her even closer to him until no space existed between their bodies. “Woman, ye’re like a live wire. Yer body fairly pulses with yer love and it flows out from you into me. It’s no’ just lust between us. ‘Tis love that brought us together and binds our souls. ‘Tis a thing that I never knew I wanted or needed until I found ye,” his hand moved to cup her face.

“It’s the same for me. I never knew it could be like this. Especially, after Frank. I thought all relationships would end up like that one. I see how foolish I had been to keep myself closed. To close my heart from love. If not for this trip, this may have never happened. We may have never happened.”

“Mo leannan, I would have found ye somehow. Whether I found ye now or even if I had to wait two hundred years to find ye, I’d find ye. We are meant to be together. I ken it.” His forehead pressed to hers each inhaling the other’s breath.

It began to rain lightly; a mizzle he had once called it. Tiny droplets of water clung to his hair. In the light of the streetlamp, his hair looked like a ruby adorned with sparkling diamonds.

They stood locked in an embrace for several moments; neither truly wanting to part from the other.

“Sassenach,” he whispered into her ear, “go on up. Ye need yer rest. Yer poor wee eyes are closing and there are dark smudges around them. Go on then. I’ll see ye tomorrow.”

He kissed her on the forehead and she nodded her head in agreement. Claire walked up the last two steps and slid the key into the lock of the front door. She turned to watch Jamie as he disappeared into the night walking toward his home and it occurred to her that this was just the beginning of their life and of their story.

The End - Part I

Tha gaol agam ort: I love you. (As if you didn’t know already.)

Anastomosis: An anastomosis is a surgical connection between two structures. It usually means a connection that is created between tubular structures, such as blood vessels or loops of the intestine.

CSICU/Unit: Cardiac Surgical ICU.

Blatherer: Chatterbox.

Dunderheid: An idiot, a stupid person.

Haud yer weesht: Be quiet.

Moose: mouse

Un jour, quelqu'un entrera dans votre vie et vous fera comprendre pourquoi cela n'a jamais fonctionné avec quelqu'un d'autre, mes chers. Et il semble que vous ayez.: One day someone will walk into your life and make you see why it never worked out with anyone else, my dears. And it seems that you have. (Google translation. If it’s wrong I apologise.) The quote is attributed to anonymous.

Mo nighean donn: My brown-haired lass

Mo leannan: Darling

Mizzle: A light rain

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This Jamie and Claire will return. When I don't know. I also have several other stories in various stages of completion sitting in my files. I would like to give them a little attention too. And I still need to get through all the other stuff going on in my life.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. 🧡🧡🧡🧡

[hoboal87]

Sero

Title: Sero

Characters: Dean, Sam, John

Warnings: pre-series AU (Sam is 16, Dean is 20), angst, sads, major injuries, blink and you’ll miss it fluff(it’s miniscule). another warning will be in the tags

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: inspired by this post by @pyschicbi

A/N 2: I wrote this in like, less than an hour. needless to say, no beta and all mistakes are mine.

My Full Masterlist

It was a rough hunt, John knows that. He should’ve called Bobby or Rufus, not take his boys. Dean was still a little too cocky for John’s liking, some amount of self-assuredness is good, but Dean was starting to think he was invincible. Sam, Sam, he’s so far behind on his training, more focused on his school work than researching like he should be.

Bobby’s told him over and over, let the boys be boys, but John can’t do that, not if he’s ever going to find the thing that killed Mary. Sam wants to leave, John’s found more than one college brochure in his duffle, he doesn’t say anything, just tosses it into the trash. Later John’ll hear Sam accuse Dean of going through his things, and Dean, obviously, will have no idea what he’s talking about. They’ll make up after an hour or two, and the next day it’ll be all but forgotten.

Dean’s in the back seat of the Impala, John’s grateful now that he didn’t bring his truck, he and Sam would’ve never been able to get Dean inside. Sam took a nasty hit as well, but he was powering through, wasn’t whining or complaining, his focus, like John’s, was on getting Dean back to the motel so that they could patch him up.

John notices a wince from Sam as he helps Dean out of the back of the car, and he has to admit, he’s proud of him for putting Dean’s well-being over his own uncomfortableness. John steps to the other side of Dean, letting him take a majority of his weight off of Sam and onto him. Sam’s still there, supporting Dean as best he can, and the three of them slowly walk into their room.

Once the door is open, John steps away from his boys, clearing the bed, and grabbing their first aid kit. Dean and Sam hobble towards the bed, Sam makes a comment about Dean overreacting, and Dean lets out a breathy laugh before saying that John has figured out is their code for ‘I love you.’

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

John and Sam help Dean remove his jeans, revealing a large gash from where the wendigo tried to take him down. It’s not the first time that John’s had to administer stitches to either of his boys, but, this is a bit too much for him to handle on his own. Dean’ll need to see a real doctor, someone who can properly patch him up, but for now, and until he can go back and destroy the wendigo’s body, his rough hands will have to do the job.

John cleans the wound the best he can, before handing Dean a bottle of Johnny Walker and ordering him to take a swig, Sam finds John’s leather belt, and it seems to physically pain him to shove into his brother's mouth to keep his screams muffled. If John was any weaker, he’d stop, let Dean relax, but he knows the longer they wait, the more likely the wound is to get infected. Sam sits behind Dean and John doesn’t have to say the words for Sam to know he has to stay strong for his brother, and hold him down as John hastily stitches him up.

Even with the belt in his mouth, Dean’s screams pierce through the motel room. Dean thrashes until eventually the pain becomes too much for his body to bear, and he passes out. Sam’s wiping away at fallen tears as John finishes the last stitches, and then wraps his leg in gauze. They move him full onto the bed, and John finds a bottle of painkillers, tossing them to Sam and ordering him to give Dean two whenever he wakes.

Sam winces again and John raises an eyebrow, but Sam assures him that he’s fine, just sore from the fight, I’ll be okay, dad, it’s probably a cracked rib. John doesn’t question Sam, he has to go take care of the body before someone stumbles upon it, or worse, finish the job himself. John instructs Sam to keep a close eye on Dean; he’ll develop a fever, John’s not an idiot, but he makes sure Sam knows what to do if it becomes too high before he can get back. When I’m done we’ll get Dean to a doctor.

Sam walks him out the door and John wants to tell him how proud he is of him, that he did a good job, but he doesn’t. He can see that Sam’s still upset about the fact that once again he was pulled out of school and onto a hunt. He’ll understand one day, John thinks, they’ll both understand why I’m so hard on them. They each exchange a nod, and John tells Sam he should be back before sunrise.

The sun’s rising as John pulls back into the motel parking lot. He was right, the wendigo wasn’t quite dead, and he had to finish the job himself. When he walks back into the room the sight before him doesn’t surprise him. Sam and Dean are sleeping next to each other like they did when they were little boys. It was slightly amusing, Sam’s long limbs are practically hanging off the bed, and Dean has one arm thrown over his brother's chest.

John walks over and carefully checks Dean’s leg, it doesn’t seem to have gotten worse, which, in and of itself, is a miracle and it looks as if Sam had given him at least one dose of the painkillers already. Dean’s forehead has a slight sheen on it, John presses his hand against him, gaging that he has a slight fever and he’ll need to get him some antibiotics.

Once John is satisfied that Dean’s okay, at least for the time being he focuses his attention onto Sam. When his eyes land on Sam, he realizes it’s the first time he’s really looked at him since they arrived back at the motel last night. Sam’s pale, paler than usual, his skin lacking all color. John walks over to the other side of the bed and notices that he’s clammy as well, and his skin is almost cool to the touch.

He nudges at Sam, not too much to wake Dean, just enough to get him to open his eyes. C’mon Sammy, he whispers, time to get up. There’s no movement coming from Sam, only the delayed reactions from John pushing on him slightly. John’s heart starts to race, and he leans over his youngest son, letting his head rest gently on Sam’s chest.

John jerks away when he realizes why Sam isn’t moving. His hand flies to his mouth as he chokes back a sob, and for the first time since Mary died, he doesn’t know what to do. Sam was in clear pain, and John was so focused on Dean, that he ignored the signs that were right in front of him. He saw the hit Sam took, being thrown back into a tree, but he was up and talking, so John went to where he knew he was needed; Dean.

Sam’s dead.

Sam’s dead because he was too afraid to tell John he was hurt and John was being too much of a stubborn ass to pry further. John wants to pick up his baby, hold him tight and apologize for everything, tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to be a hunter, that they’ll find a way for him to go to college, that he loves him and Dean more than anything else in the world.

It’s too late. John can’t tell Sam how proud he is of the man he’s becoming, of the man he would’ve become, that Mary would’ve been proud of him. Instead, now he’s looking at the body of Sam and he doesn’t see the lanky sixteen year old, but his six month old baby who watched his mother die.

John paces the room, he can’t keep Sam next to Dean, he needs to move him, needs to take care of body. But John knows he can’t move Sam without waking Dean, and he doesn’t know how to tell Dean that Sam’s gone. That he’s been sleeping next to his dead brother for hours. John runs to the bathroom, empty his stomach over the porcelain bowl. Dean would never forgive him, he would blame him and John knows that now he’s lost both of his sons.

Feedback is appreciated! In the words of @cockslut-padalecki​  “Likes are gold, but feedback is golden!”

[cuppasunu]

stranger ⋮ doyoung

synopsis: after almost six months from a painful breakup, you decided to trust someone else .. by saying yes to a blind date.

warnings: none

pairing: doyoung x gn reader

genre: fluff | oneshot

w/c: 1,062 words

a/n: very cheesy, very cute a coffeeshop au !

— masterlist

»»————————-««

Blind dates always seem to be a hit or miss. Two weeks ago, you were furious that your friend gave your number to some guy, now here you are, agreeing to meet up for coffee. 

Coming out of a long-term relationship, saying yes to this date made you feel seventeen again. Although your communication has only been through text and calls, Jake was a lot of fun to spend time with. He was nice, very flirty, definitely sweet. Compared to the usual fighting the urge to drunkenly call someone at 2 in the morning, having someone to talk to felt like a good change. 

You thought maybe, things can finally change. Maybe, everything would just fall into place. 

 Sitting at your table, you declined the waitress’ offer for an order; you didn’t want to start ordering without your date. Checking the time on your phone, 6:30pm, he’s already half an hour late. Restlessly waiting for a text or even just a call just to let you know he’s going to be late, you start to feel nervous.  

“What the hell am I doing?” you whispered to yourself, staring intently at the small bear fixture on the table. Buzzing, your phone shows a call coming in.

“Hi J-”

“I’m sorry, y/n. Agreeing to the blind date was a mistake. Forgive me. I hope you meet someone better. Goodnight.” 

“What do you mean you’re not com-”

Jake hangs up, not giving you a chance to get a word in. The whole shop was filled with noise—busy chatter among customers, coffee grounds prepared, tea cups against the tabletop—but you can only focus on your deafening heartbeat. For a moment, you felt someone’s gaze at you. Suddenly, you start to wonder if it was obvious you just got stood up by your date. 

Glancing outside the coffeeshop, you see the snow gently falling down the pavement.

“This is too much,” reminded of the bitter failures of your lovelife. Putting your head down, Jake’s words start ringing in your ears, “tonight was a mistake.” You close your eyes, trying to regain composure and trying to convince yourself, it’s okay there must have been a valid reason. There must be. 

Then, you hear that familiar laugh. 

That laugh you used to hear everyday, the kind you would recognize anywhere. You notice the couple sit by the booth next to yours. Without thinking, you followed that sound, leading you to the next table where your ex, with the girl he left you for. His eyes widen as he notices you, gets up and starts walking towards your direction. Taking deep breaths, you firmly hold on to the hem of your sweater in hopes to keep it from trembling as you meet eyes with the man you used to love. He looked like he was about to say something but your mind is only shouting “No! Leave! You will embarrass yourself, stupid. If only you didn’t leave the house. If only you  hadn’t held on this sliver of hope. If only you didn-

“Hey babe, how long have you been waiting?” your train of thought was cut off by—w- wait bABE? 

At once, you looked to see who was talking. With mouth gaping, you watch as this cute stranger sits next to you, with food and coffee. 

“Why do you look surprised? Here I ordered your favorite, mocha cake!” 

“Oh yes, babe.. what took you so long,” you say riding with it. 

 “I’m so so sorry. I got caught by the terrible traffic on the way here.”

“Ahh, I just got your text!” Acting nonchalantly, you tried your best to avoid your ex’s table, silently thanking this strange man that conveniently saved from embarrassment. You looked around to see if he might have had the wrong person, but when you looked back at him, he smiled at you as he started preparing the food on the table.

An hour passes by and you keep on talking to your boyfriend this stranger, whose name you didn’t even know. So engaged in some random conversation that just whirled you away, you didn’t even notice your ex and his girlfriend leave. The sun had completely set as you two notice you’ve been talking all that time.

“Hi, I'm sorry I just kind of-” he nervously laughs, “I’m sorry let me introduce myself, I’m Doyoung.”

“I’m y/n. Nice to meet you, and uhh no worries?” You looked at his worried expression, afraid to have upset you. “I’m not mad, I promise. Just confused, how did you..?”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but it seemed like your date couldn’t make it, right? And the guy who sat at that table, do you know him?” 

“Yeah, I got stood up and met my ex along the way.” 

“I was planning to go home after buying my food, but my impulse led me to pretend and I wasn’t thinking but I couldn’t take it back I just hope i didn’t offend you or anything, I swear-”

“No, please thank you. Even for a little bit, you got my mind off of everything that just happened. You saved me from the most awkward situation and shared your food with me..”

After hearing that, he sighs in relief and beams at you with the brightest grin. As you started gathering your things and get ready to leave, Doyoung insists on walking you to the bus stop.

“Hey I know we just met tonight, but I had a really good time talking with you. Is there any chance we can do this again. For real this time, I want to get to know you more.. if that’s okay with you?”

You were reluctant to take another risk. But, a part of you is willing to take it again. Reluctantly, you nodded to him. After all, you’ll never know until you take a chance. Out of nowhere, he takes a post-it note and a pen from his backpack, jots down something, and asks you to open your palm to place it in your hands. 

“Goodnight, y/n!” he says as he starts crossing the street, in the opposite direction of where you're headed.

You melt at his ridiculously adorable gesture, then opening your palm to see what he wrote,

010-XXX-XXXX  you look so cute when you pout

Maybe this night wasn’t so much of a mistake after all.

»»————————-««

— masterlist

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Forgiveness is Divine

Ron Speirs x Reader One Shot

Requested by the effervescent @hbo-monster-bob​ (my first ever request oh my lordy!)

Summary: you get hurt and Ron loses his cool in front of the wrong people. Now he fears he may have truly lost you. 

Warnings: mention of injury, potty words, a bit more angst than initially intended, some good ole RemorsefulButTryingHisVeryBest!Ron Speirs, some shitty dialogue i probably should’ve spent more time on

~ ~ ~ ~

He’d really fucked up. 

Even as he had ranted at you, he’d known how badly he was fucking things up.

But you...you’d made him worry. You’d scared him.

While helping Malarkey and Bull drag a wounded NCO into a trench, a bullet had ricocheted off of someone’s helmet and buried itself deep into your left bicep. The shock of it had made you drop, unable to catch yourself between your unresponsive arm and your death grip on the NCO’s vest.

Ron had thought you’d died.

He’d been sure that he’d just watched you die in front of him and then he was being fired at and he’d gone numb and gotten himself and his men out of the line of fire.

Hours later, he’d caught sight of you at the med station with one of the medics fishing around in your bicep for the fragments of the bullet that had stained your jacket beyond use with your blood.

You’d initially given him the soft smile you’d always saved for him when he stormed in, the fact that you were alive and safe eclipsed by his rage that you’d made him worry so badly.

His mother had once compared his temper to a tsunami- wild and destructive and overwhelming to those foolish enough to cross its path.

“The only difference between you and your father is that you stick around long enough to see the carnage you’ve created. My only wish for you, my sweetheart, is that you learn to own your mistakes and make them right again…..”

Ron had disappointed both of you with what he’d done next.

He’d let you have it.

He’d shouted and scolded and criticized you for your ‘carelessness’, tearing into you for abandoning your position of relative safety in favor of ‘playing a hero’. 

Ron had called you incompetent and reckless and questioned your sanity. Your smile had slipped from your face and he’d watched as you began to close yourself off to him, eyes becoming cold and detached despite the pain you must be feeling as the medic tweezed the deeply embedded shrapnel from your bicep. 

If you had been alone he knew you would’ve snapped right back at him or (at the very least) told him to calm down and find you when he’d remembered how to behave like a grown-up.

This brought him to his second fuckup, he’d done it in front of people. 

No, it was worse than that.  

He’d questioned your competence in front of three of your superiors (and several NCOs….and six of the medics).

When he’d finally run out of steam, you’d stared at him with a cool indifference that he’d only seen you slip into when you were dealing with something/someone you loathed. 

It was a look he’d never had cast his way before. And now that it was?

Ron felt about two inches tall. He hated it.

After making him suffer your silent and baleful glare for an agonizing two minutes, you’d turned to the (incredibly uncomfortable) medic and let your hateful expression melt into your regular, relaxed one.

“Any instructions for me, Doc?” you’d asked politely, and when the man had given you some gauze to repack the wound later you’d popped down off the table you’d been sitting on and walked past him like he was little more than furniture.

His outburst had gotten you taken off of the frontlines- away from the action and away from him.

When he’d asked Nixon where they’d put you, the other man had scoffed and given him an answer along the lines of “somewhere where her ‘incompetence won’t put others at risk’. Jackass.”

Welsh was significantly more helpful, telling Ron they’d sent you to Battalion for some extended desk duty (after scoffing at him, of course. Ron hadn’t realized just how quickly word had spread about his outburst).

Not that knowing where you were made much of a difference. 

He could be sitting right next to you and you’d still carry on as if you were alone, and when you did look at him it was so detached that all of his words of remorse died in his throat.

It was horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

After reclaiming a hamlet on the airborne’s way to Germany, Ron had realized that you weren’t going to budge or relent in your indifference. 

Your willpower was clearly steadfast- you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t at least a little bullheaded.

He was going to have to come to you. 

He had to try to make things right, even if you hated him for it...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ron had knocked and not received an answer, he’d decided to come in anyway.

You didn’t look up at him as he closed the door behind him, keeping your eyes firmly trained on the typewriter in front of you as your fingers flew across the keys. 

A neat stack of (what he assumed to be) freshly typed reports for Sink rested beside your still-smoking cigarette on the table, and from the slope of your shoulders Ron could only assume that you’d been at this task for hours.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ease you into conversation.

“Want me to take those to Battalion for you—?”

“No. I don’t.”

Well, at least that was more than you’d said to him in the past week. 

Ron had never imagined he would ever be the sappy type to miss the sound of someone's voice. Of course, that was before he met you. Before he’d started to care for you in the way a man cares for a woman, rather than the care a CO has for his fellow officers.

Not that he’d told you that. Not yet.

And now he may never get to- considering you’d refused to speak to him for the last three weeks about anything other than urgent work matters…..

You brought your cigarette to your lips and pulled from it deeply as you read over all that you had typed so far, the angry tick of your clenched jaw the only sign that you knew he was still there.

Even as you despised him, Ron still found you beautiful. A vengeful divinity with a glare that could cut glass and a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

He walked over to stand behind you, reading over your shoulder and realizing that it wasn’t reports that you had been working on….but death notices

You’d once told him it was your least favorite thing to do, that you’d gladly take latrine duty for the rest of your life if it meant you never had to write another.

“Soul sucking,” you’d called it, a night when the two of you shared a cigarette while on patrol. Your nose had been red from the cold and your eyes a little glassy from unshed tears, but you’d given him a sad smile when you’d noticed the grim look he was giving you. “I can’t remember the last time I wrote something that didn’t begin with ‘We deeply regret to inform you…’

Ron used to know how you felt about everything, and if he were being honest with himself he liked knowing how you felt about things- good or bad. For all the men you were the consummate professional, bright and even-tempered and nurturing.

But with Ron, you let yourself be a person. 

A brilliant, passionate, driven person whose complicated thoughts and feelings complimented his own so well he’d briefly considered changing his stance on the concept of soul-mates.

With a grim weight in his chest, he realized that all of those feelings toward you may have to be changed to the past tense.

Stubbing out the cigarette with ink-stained fingers, you pulled the letter from the typewriter and added it to the pile. He watched as you picked up a pen and began crossing names off a list he hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten through three of the five pages and it was already two in the morning.

Guilt flooded him when he realized that you’d been having to do this for at least month. 

If he hadn’t understood your anger towards him before, he certainly did now.

“Y/N…” he began, not surprised when you sniffed and made to get more paper for your next batch of death letters as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s late, you should rest.”

Silence as you secured another sheet of paper in place and centered it.

Ron waited a few more seconds before he took another step closer to you, hand hovering over your shoulder hesitantly.

I owe my mother a few apologies if this is how she was ever made to feel with my father.

When he placed his hand on your shoulder you immediately stiffened, fingers freezing where they rested over the keys like you’d turned to stone.

He’d expected as much, yet it still stung.

Ron says your name again, more softly than he thinks he’s ever spoken to another person in his life.

“You need to rest—”

“Are you issuing an order, Lieutenant?” Your voice was sulfa powder on an open wound- searing and sharp. 

Your head has turned minutely in the direction of his hand on your shoulder, and if a glare could cause burns he’s sure his hand would’ve been ash by now.

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not.”

You seem to nod in acknowledgment, only stopping when his thumb kneads into one of the tight knots along your trapezius. Ron sees your jaw tighten again, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

Surprisingly, you’re allowing it to linger where it is as well.

“Good, Sink’s commands outrank yours anyway. Besides, it’s not as if I have to be anywhere in the morning. You made sure of that—”

You cut yourself off when Ron steps up beside you and crouches down, eyes trained forward so all he can see if your profile. 

“Please,” he whispers, moving his hand from your shoulder in favor of taking one of yours in between his calloused palms.

With an awful surge of hope, he decides to put it all out there, knowing just how easily you could reject him and leave him alone again.

Maybe I don't want to be alone, not like I used to.

“I thought you were dead, Y/n.”

You sigh ruefully at that, closing your eyes with a grimace.

“Hey, look at me—”

For the longest time you don’t, but just when he thinks you’ve shut him out again you let your eyes open and allow your doubtful glaze to fall on him.

You may as well have embraced him, considering the overwhelming relief he felt as he looked into your eyes.

“It, it was….I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did—”

“You didn’t speak to me at all.” You nearly hiss, the deep breath you took the only display of just how furious you were beneath the surface of civility. Ron’s chest tightened uncomfortably when he caught your lip quiver, yet when he made as if to comfort you, you gave him a look that shut him right up.

You weren’t finished yet.

“You were out of line, Speirs. You had no right to speak to me like that—”

“I know...”

“You fucking humiliated me! In front of Winters, Moose, and Sink- not to mention every single goddamned man in that tent—”

‘I know—”

“What in the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been getting them to see me as anything other than something to fuck or mock? Years, Ronald! All gone like that—!”

You cut yourself off again when you start to cry, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to regain composure.

You were right, he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. 

He’d never thought much about the immature comments he’d overheard from the NCOs and replacements, never considered that any of those childish innuendos had ever been said to you directly.

“I didn’t intend to…..when you got shot I wasn't able to do anything—”

You furrowed your brows at him and made a face. “I didn’t need you to do anything. I’m not even in your company.”

He feels as if he’s about to lose you again. The idea makes his throat feel uncomfortably tight and his blood is beginning to run cold.

Make it right. I have to make this right….

“I know you don’t need me to take care of you,” he says quietly, looking down at your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he’s speaking against the curve of your knuckles. “But I think I need to do it for me.”

When he looks back at you he sees that your eyes are wide, one or two of your tears have spilled over and down your cheek.

“Jesus, I’m….Ron—” you begin, but stop when he shakes his head minutely.

“You know.” He interrupts. “I know you’ve got to know by now….”

Of course you know. You’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. If anyone could read his true intentions through his blunt demeanor, it would be you.

But he’s glad that you don’t ask him to elaborate further. You seem just as content as he does to leave it unnamed.

You roll your lips together a few more times before taking a shaky breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like that.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Forgive me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a yawn catches you unaware and Ron can’t help but smile slightly at the simplicity of the action. 

When you raise your left arm to hide your yawn into your elbow you hiss in pain, and instantly Ron is anxious again.

“You okay?” He asks, and you nod despite your grimace.

“Yeah, yeah. I just forget sometimes.”

When you lower your arm he watches as you take a deep breath and turn back to your work.

“I’ll do them.”

You whip your head to look at him, another yawn interrupting your questioning gaze.

“What? No, don't be silly. I’m almost done….”

Something in the look he gives you shuts you up, and when he gives your hand a squeeze you seem to sigh in defeat.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I go to bed, are you?”

He gives you a smirk. “Good guess.”

Standing up from his crouch he gently coaxed you into a standing position, nodding his head away from the desk and towards the darker corner of the room where your makeshift bed is set up. 

You give him a tight smile. “Gotta rebandage the arm first….oh-kay then.”

The rolled gauze is barely out of your pocket before Ron takes it from your hand, pointedly looking down at your covered arm.

“Ron...you really don’t have to—”

“I know that, but I want to anyway.”

And because you’re infinitely more forgiving than any mortal being could ever hope to be- more forgiving than a beast like him deserved, you let him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

Sitting beside you on the floor, Ron was careful when unwrapping your old bandage, trying as hard as he could to keep his touch light.

The injury was red and bruised and angry but it was healing- just as the medic had promised. You’d have a scar, but you didn’t seem to mind that possibility.

You said his name quietly, and he realized he’d been staring.

When his thumbs ghost around the curve of your bicep you shiver, and when Ron looks back at your face he sees a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you say, exhaustion apparent in your voice now. “Stop looking at me like that—”

“Like what?” he says with a small smile, setting the clean bandage over your wound and feeling a pleasant tightness in his chest when you snorted a laugh.

“Like... like you’re a disappointed babysitter.”

Ron laughed at that, shooting you a look before starting to wrap the strips of gauze around your upper arm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he tended to your arm, and every so often you offered him your cigarette to take a drag from.

Things still felt somewhat precarious between the two of you, yet Ron also felt that something more significant had been established in the dingy office you’d been assigned to stay in.

In the morning, Ron would approach Sink and Winters and see if he could get you back from battalion HQ. Not as a man who cared for you, but as a soldier who’d made a mistake and grievously misjudged another soldier’s character.

Anything to ensure you didn’t have to sit in this room another day and write to the families of dead soldiers.

When he’d finished bandaging your arm, you gave him permission to help you maneuver it back into the sleeve of your sweater. He felt your eyes on him the whole time and he swore he’d never known a feeling so sweet.

Your eyes are heavy with slumber already, but you still try once more to discourage him from finishing your paperwork.

“I can do it in an hour or two, just a quick nap—”

“If you were this reluctant to sleep as a child, I’m starting to get why so many of your babysitters were ‘disappointed.’”

Ron lifts up the pile of blankets you’d reluctantly allowed him to find for you, and despite your protests, you scoot yourself underneath them and fold your arms across your chest like a petulant teenager as he tucks them around you.

“Children tend to mirror the behavior of those in positions of authority,” you say offhanded, almost sounding like you were directly quoting from some textbook on child psychology. “Maybe one should look within themselves and explore what unfavorable quality they may be projecting upon the blank canvas of youth….”

You laugh at the furrowed confusion on his face.

“You must be a poetic drunk.” Ron offers, and from the grin on your face he knows he’s on to something. “Go to sleep, before you start reciting Shakespeare or something—”

“Twelfth Night or Romeo and Juliet?”

“Y/N.”

Ron’s fingertips brushing across your cheek instantly quiets you, your eyes trained on his face as he allowed himself to openly admire you for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I know you are.” 

When he sees the obvious haze of sleep start to curl around your gaze, Ron knows he needs to let you rest.

“Wake me up in an hour?” you ask, something in your tone of voice seeming to acknowledge the slim chance of him agreeing to your request.

“Maybe. Sleep.”

With a half-hearted glare, you mumble something equivalent to ‘yeah yeah, okay’ and turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

Ron stays where he is, stroking at your hairline in the same calming way his mother used to do for him when he’d had a bad dream as a child.

If his mom were here now, he imagined she’d be proud of him.

Maybe he wasn’t fated to be distant and cold and cruel like his father.

For the first time in his life, Ron let himself begin to dream of life after all of this.

The only thing he knew for sure?

He’d do anything- everything in his power, to make sure you were a part of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ TAG LIST TAG LIST!

@mrseasycompany​, @itswormtrain​

(Love you guys! hasta la pasta, my dudes!)