#in this world i am a phone with buttons and my love is a person that discovered smartphone.

[katyspersonal]

I guess I've reached the point of being so useless that a close friend straight up dumps me when I put up a boundary and say I need to heal from what happened between us. Guess my use as "I don't have anyone else to listen to me and admire me anyway" expired entirely when they grew too comfortable with parasocial relationship. Of course, real people are pointless, they are too much hassle because they can't be perfect and can't meet ALL one's needs, right?

I mean this is my fault, what else I expected from a bond in which I am not because I am loved, but because I am "the only one who understands"? Never grow close with such people. Being "the only one" is a very weak glue. They will replace you with a newer tool very easily - if not with someone they actually like, then with paracosial bond if not literal imaginary friend that understands them even better.

[vicsnook]

Out of Oklahoma | Tyler Owens x Reader

word count: 3326

warnings: Tornadoes, Loss, Implied smut

notes: Hey y’all 🤠 I am back with some more content! When I tell y’all I was sat at that theater. Even my boyfriend was thirsting over Glen (specifically in the rain scene, iykyk). Anyways, hope y’all enjoy this one and please don’t forget to like and reblog 🫶🏼.

I crawl out of the hotel bed at 5, hitting the snooze button on the way to the bathroom. My reflection looks back at me less than thrilled for what’s to come today.

Apparently the world hates me because there is no coffee to brew when I check the kitchenette, so now my day’s gone from bad to worse. I check my phone and sure enough I have a million messages from my dumba-sweet brother Boone about how he can’t wait for me to meet his friends.

I'm not ready for that. But nevertheless I carry on and make my way to the airport to board a flight to take me home, to Oklahoma. It’s fine, I think to myself. It’s all going to be okay. But I know it’s a lie. Still I get on the plane and pretend I’m going somewhere tropical instead of the one place I swore I wouldn’t return to.

The wheels touch down roughly on the strip, startling me awake. Here goes nothing. The airport is packed but thankfully all I have is my carry on which holds what little I left to California with six months ago. So much for making a life for myself.

The old Ram is parked just outside the doors and I know I can’t put this off any longer. After what happened last year, I want to turn around and get the hell out of dodge but I can’t avoid him forever. Not when my family needs me, well what’s left of it. “Well, well, well, look at what the cat drug in.”

I sigh and look up, locking eyes with the one person I didn’t want to see ever again. Tyler Owens. My ex-fiancée.

“Tyler. Nice to see you didn’t get blown away by a Tornado,” I force out with the fakest smile I can muster. God knows I’d love to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, amongst other things, I shake my head dismissing the stupid thought.

“Y/N, good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. That all your luggage?” he asks, grabbing my carry on from me and placing it in the bed of the truck before I can even answer. “Yep,” I mumble, getting into the truck.

“So, where’s Boone?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

Tyler glances over at me and I feel my stomach do a stupid flip. Stop it!

“He’s at your Nana’s house dealing with some of the insurance people. I’m really sorry about what happened, Y/N.” he says. “We tried to warn them.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s not your fault, Tyler. You didn’t know it would turn and hit them directly.” I start to reach for his arm to comfort him but pull it back, the gesture feeling inappropriate after all that happened between us.

He nods and continues to drive on. Him and Boone blame themselves but I know there’s nothing they could’ve done. I just wish they’d see it that way.

-

The ruins of the home we grew up in come into view and my heart shatters all over again. The anger bubbling in my stomach as I see all the tornado took from us. Why!? Why us!? I want to scream at the sky as I walk up to my brother who I can tell is barely holding it together.

“Hey Boonie,” I whisper, hugging his back. His breathing shakes as he turns and pulls me into a hug, nearly suffocating me. “I tried sissy, I really did but they’re gone.” he says, “I was too late.”

I hold him as he finally breaks down and I try whispering reassurances in his ear but I know he’s not listening. My eyes make contact with Tyler’s as he heads towards the rubble and begins to sort things out.

“It’s not your fault, Boonie.” I say, holding his face so he looks at me. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

He nods quietly, pulling me in for another hug as the guilt consumes me for having left him behind. I should’ve never gone to California.

-

I follow Tyler to the entrance of the dingy motel on the edge of town, still holding on to Boone’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Y/N.” Boone says, handing me the key to my room. “Always,” I respond. Squeezing his hand one last time as he turns to go to his room.

“Where’s the rest of your crew? I haven’t seen them.” I ask Tyler as we head up the stairs since our rooms are on the second floor. “They’re helping some people downtown that got hit too. They asked me to give you their condolences.” He answers, stopping in front of my door.

“Um, thanks and thank you for all you’ve been doing for Boone. I hate that I couldn’t get here sooner.” I say. “California wasn’t all I thought it’d be.”

“Tried to tell ya.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Tyler.”

He moves a step forward and drops his mouth beside my ear, the distance between us almost non-existent. “Nothing to be sorry about, darling.” He drawls, pulling back, then turning around and walking into his room, leaving me in the hallway.

This man will be the death of me.

-

The weeks go by slowly as we deal with the insurance but somewhere along the way we finally get Nana’s ashes back. Boone and I take them out to the river, spreading them at the one place she loved most.

“So how are things between Kate and Tyler?” I ask Boone as we head back to the motel from the pizza parlor.

My stomach clenches, waiting for his answer.

He looks at me and grins. “Why you want to know Sissy? Any interest in getting back in that saddle?”

“Ew! No! I was just curious, Boone.” I say, glaring at him while he laughs.

“They never really were anything serious. She ran off to New York City the second she got her research. Oklahoma held too many painful memories for her or something.”

I nod. Pulling into the motel parking lot that we now call home. That is until the money from the insurance comes through and we can get to rebuilding Nana’s place.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Says Boone pointing at Tyler who’s getting out of his truck. The white shirt clinging to his chiseled chest because of the rain.

He really does look good in a cowboy hat. I think, quickly shaking my head trying to erase the thought. “Close your mouth Sissy, you’re gonna get drool all over yourself.” Boone teases and I playfully smack him, tearing my eyes off Tyler.

“You know Sissy, I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I ask, turning off the ignition.

“How y’all girls run away from that man. I mean I ain’t blind and I may be biased because he’s my best friend but his personality doesn’t suck either.” I sigh, knowing he’s not wrong.

“It’s complicated.” I finally say, and get out of the car. Heading for my room before Boone can add anything else.

-

“Where are we going?” I ask again for the millionth time. Letting Tyler and Boone blindfold me was starting to seem like a mistake the longer we were in the truck.

It also didn’t help that Tyler was playing the cd I burned for him back in high school.

“Almost there, Sissy.” Boone assures me, as the truck left the paved road and headed down a dirt road. Please Lord don’t let this be another one of Boone’s pranks.

Tyler helps me out the truck and leads me down a rocky path. My nerves increasing by the second and wondering where my brother had ran off to.

“Tada!” yells Boone, the bandana falling off my eyes as Tyler pulls off the knot.

“I know it ain't much Sissy but I couldn’t let you keep living in that Motel much longer.” Boone says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the tiny home that now sits behind where Nana’s new house will be. “So, you hate it?”

“No! Thank you so much!” I yell, pulling him into a hug. “You really didn’t have to do this Boonie.” Tears stream down my face as my brother squeezes me. Thank you God for such a good brother.

“I can’t take all the credit, it was Tyler’s idea after all.” Boone whispers to me. I nod, pulling away and wiping the tears off my cheeks.

Lord knows if things were different I’d be running to Tyler and giving him a big ol’ kiss right now. But they aren’t. I remind myself so I settled for just saying “Thank you, Ty.”

“Not a problem.” He says, turning to follow my brother to my now little home.

-

“Please work, come on!” I yell at the shower. My little home was nothing but perfect, well except for the water which always seemed to go out at the most inconvenient times.

I try calling Boone but I’m greeted by his voicemail which only leaves one other person to call. Sighing I pull up his contact and dial. Ignoring the contact picture that I never bothered to change.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um sorry to bother but I can’t reach Boone and my water went out again while I was washing my hair,” I say, already regretting calling him.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He replies, hanging up before I can say anything else. I pull on a bathrobe and tidy up before he gets here. I wince when I see my hair in the mirror, suds still in it but oh well. Tyler’s seen me how the lord made me so I doubt a little bit of suds will make me ugly.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by his knocking and I think as I open the door that maybe I should’ve thrown some clothes on. “Hey,” I say, stepping aside as he makes his way to the water heater closet to check there first.

The minutes pass and the silence is eating me alive. The temptation to say that I was wrong for ending things the way I did consumes me. So much so that I don’t realize he’s talking to me until he comes to stand in front of me.

“Earth to Y/N? It’s fixed. You shouldn’t have any more issues.”

“Thanks Ty. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” I reply, his eyes meeting mine.

“Live your life without fear of me dying everyday because of what I do,” he says, it's clear to me then that the wound is still very much open.

He starts to head for the door but I’m quick to get up and grab his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Ty, I’m sorry. I was wrong, okay? All I did was trade tornadoes for earthquakes. Happiness for misery. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have left the way I did.” I say, my eyes searching for his.

“You left me, Y/N. You packed your bags and left without saying a word, leaving all of us behind. So, no, sorry doesn’t cut it here. I’m sorry about your Nana but you made your mistakes. Live with them.” He replies, the anger in his eyes sending chills down my spine. I swallow the lump in my throat long enough for him to walk out and slam the door on his way out. What the fuck did I do and how can I even fix it?

-

** 6 months later **

Nana’s house is finished. It looks similar to the one the tornado tore from the ground but me and Boone know it couldn’t be more different.

We bring in what we could salvage slowly and try to make it look as closely as possible to the original one. Lastly, placing a picture of Nana, Boone, and I, that Lily recovered from the wreckage on the mantel.

“Close enough,” Boone whispers, sitting on the couches that Dani and Dexter got us.

“Yeah, I just wish she was still here.” I reply, sitting across from him. “You going chasing again today?”

“Yeah, but I promise we’re being safe sissy. We don’t do that driving into tornadoes and shooting off fireworks anymore after Nana,” He answers, sadness filling his features.

“Just be safe,” I mutter, taking a seat next to him and letting him pull me into a hug. “Always.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s not really mad at you. He’s mad at himself for not realizing sooner how far gone you were until it was too late.”

A sigh escapes me as he gets up, giving me a faint smile before walking out the door. Off to chase the very thing that took the last bit of family we had.

-

The rain came in buckets. All day it’d been so pretty but as soon as I stepped outside the grocery store, I saw how much the sky had changed. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as lightning struck.

Rushing to my car, I threw the groceries in the back seat but before I could throw the car in reverse I heard it.

The tornado sirens.

I threw open the car door and started sprinting back into the grocery store but a cry for help stopped me before I could make it in. Lord please protect them. I prayed quickly.

Debris was already flying all around me when I turned to look for the source of the pleas and then I spotted her. A girl who looked no more than 15 was on the ground in the parking lot, her leg in a cast and her crutches nowhere to be seen. “Please help me!”

I ran towards her. My body going into overdrive as the wind threatened to push me over too. “Please don’t let me die,” she begged as I threw her arm around me and hurried back for the door.

The wind picked up even more and the rain turned into hail as I trekked through the lot trying to make it back inside. The short distance seemed infinite.

I felt it before I could even turn. It was there. The loud roar filled my ears as I pulled the girl in front of me and with the last of my strength I had, I pushed her to where the door was.

Then my feet left the ground as the tornado sucked me in and I felt the world go black.

-

“Bo-one?” I rasp, my throat on fire and my entire body feeling like it’d been run over. The events leading up to this moment slowly coming back to me as I struggle to open my eyes.

“Hey, he’s just outside talking to the doctor, let me get him,” replies Tyler softly. My eyes adjust to the harsh hospital lights as he steps out the door and taps Boone on the shoulder.

My head pounds as I take in my surroundings. Scratches cover up both my arms. If I looked into a mirror right now I’d probably collapse.

“Sissy! Thank God you’re okay!” Hollers Boone as he comes to my bedside, careful not to hurt me when pulling me to him. “I thought I lost you.”

His tears wetting my hospital gown as I hug him back as best I could. “I’m okay, Boonie.” I whisper in his ear as he sobs.

“Is the girl okay?” I ask, worry filling me up at the thought that she didn’t make it.

“Yes, she made it inside just in time, Sissy. You saved her life.” Boone says, taking my head in his hands and pressing our foreheads together like we did when we were kids.

I close my eyes, nodding and thanking God that we were all okay.

“I need to go sign some paperwork but if you’re feeling up to it, we can take you home today. You got lucky,” Boone tells me while getting up from my hospital bed.

“I’d love nothing more than my bed.” I reply, shooting him a smile as he steps out.

I turn to Tyler who’s been quietly standing in the corner this whole time and I notice his swollen eyes. My heart squeezing at the thought of having worried him and Boone.

“Hey,” I mutter, and his eyes finally meet mine.

“Guess Boone isn’t the only tornado chaser in the family huh,” he jokes, still standing in the corner.

“Guess not,” I reply, chuckling but my throat is so dry that it turns into a cough and he’s rushing to my bedside with a glass of water in hand.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as I chug the water. Instant relief filling my throat. “So, can you fill me in on what happened after I got sucked into the tornado?”

“Uh, well witness accounts are that you pushed the girl inside and then got sucked in. Me and Boone had been chasing the tornado and pulled into the lot as it dissipated.” He stops, taking a seat on the bed and grabbing my hand. “The people in the supermarket started pouring out and screaming that you got sucked in, of course at the time we didn’t know it’d been you. Nevertheless we all started searching and found you passed out on top of a tarp in the baseball field.”

“Oh wow, that’s quite the distance. Saved myself some gas for sure,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Y/N, you could’ve died. You got out with scratches and a story but you could’ve died,” he says, a somber look on his face.

“Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t die. Nana protected me,” I tell him, tipping his face so his eyes meet mine. “I got a second chance to start over and,” but he cuts me off.

“I love you,” he says, then his lips crash into mine. The kiss knocks the air out of my lungs but as he pulls away, I recover and pull him back to my lips.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are teary but there is no sadness in them anymore. “I’m sorry for walking out on you, if you had died, I don’t know how I could live with myself, knowing how I left things,” he says, his words piercing my heart.

“Hey,” I say softly, “I’m here and I’m okay. I know there’s a lot we need to talk about but I can promise you this, I’m not leaving Oklahoma. Ever.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I whisper, leaning in to meet his lips.

But before we can finish our moment with a kiss Boone is bursting through the door.

-

** One month later **

“Ty! Dinner’s ready!” I holler, and I hear the sound of the shower turning off. Making my way to the living room I stop and pick up my Nana’s picture, thank you for saving me. I think to myself and put it back down.

“Ty! Come on!” I yell, quietly sneaking up the stairs to our room. Glad that Boone’s off with Lily at the fair.

“Coming!” I hear him yell from the bathroom. The towel is wrapped around his waist and drops of water make their way down his abs. Man, I’d sure love to be that towel. I think to myself as I watch from the door crack but am greeted with a smirk when I make my way up to his face.

“Hey darlin’, coming to see the view?” he asks cheekily, turning to me. Busted.

“Well you’re the one who says “if you feel it, chase it,” and I sure am feeling a lot of things right now,” I reply, letting my eyes trail down his chest.

“Oh, yeah?” he replies, coming closer. “Well you better start running.”

I giggle and turn to run but don’t even make it out the room before he’s tackling me to the bed. Dinner is gonna be real cold when we’re done here.

[ninguitar]

KISS ME THRU THE PHONE, 𓈒𓈒 aeri as ur gf with a twist.

pairing. aeri uchinaga x f!r genre. fluff wc. 600 idk notes. saw pinkselle and KNEW i had to make a quick dravble on her. also a quick little gift for my baefy @sed7ction >< MASTERLIST.

now playing ⋆ sunsetz by cigarettes after sex

WHAT STARTED AS A SIMPLE FRIENDSHIP, where you and aeri uchinaga, a former classmate, rekindle with one-another, eventually turned into more-than-friends relationship.

as the clock struck 4 in the morning for you, and 3 in the afternoon for giselle on a breezy, autumn night, you lifted your phone, immediately dialing giselle's number—just once more to hear the girl's voice.

after all, you missed the japanese girl.

you're met with a dark, black screen on your phone, aeri's voice ringing through your ears. "hello?" the girl barely audible.

you whisper against the phone, "gi? you there," afraid to wake up your roommate, who'd more than likely ramble on and on about needing her "beauty sleep," which often fell deaf on your ears.

"yeah, yeah, 'course i am," giselle drawls, and it was almost as though you could hear her ear-to-ear grin that stretched her lips.

"good, good," you mumble slowly, to which giselle almost chuckles, raising her volume button, "missed me, didn't you?"

ever since giselle went on her world tour with her members, you both had to cram in time to call each other, which in hindsight, was excruciatingly difficult.

"maybe i just wanted to see your new pink hair, that you never told me 'bout," you poked fun at her, your laugh barely above a whisper, but nonetheless, aeri couldn't help the way her heartstrings tug at your melodic laugh.

"whatever you say," the japanese girl simply chuckles, her eyes darting around your features—even when you were disheveled, in the dim room with only your phone illuminating your face, giselle couldn't feel more content seeing you, that it almost made her lightheaded, even.

"you should've let me inside your luggage, just like i suggested when you told me about going on tour," you giggle, heat curling on your cheeks.

aeri didn't think that, without a person in her life, she would be absolutely crushed; at every slipping moment while on tour, all she could think about was your presence—your warm, inviting presence that had her moonstruck.

"go to sleep, you big fool; you always say such corny things (that i love) when you're all tired," giselle quips, rubbing her temples dramatically, as your corny comments only make her flushed. god, she was helplessly in love with you.

you huff, protesting like a kid trying to avoid their bedtime, "wanna hear your voice, c'mon," making giselle scoff.

oh, how you just missed giselle's unwavering touch—her arms snaked around your waist, fitting perfectly and snug, her velvety, soft lips pressed against your temples to calm you down, and the way she just buried her head against the crook of your neck, inhaling the perfume she bought you.

and oh, have you missed the way giselle spoiled you rotten, no matter how much you protested that she was frugal in spending her money on you. though, of course, she'd buy her pretty girl the entire shop—with a beck and call, she'll hurriedly rush to your side, immediately buying it.

not to mention, the way her hands rested on her guitar, before strumming to a familiar beat, her angelic, melodic voice seeping through. the way she just secretly opens your playlists—which often consisted of aespa's songs—memorizing each and every song down to its notes to ensure its perfect, just to serenade you.

"how about i stay on call 'till you sleep, yeah?" giselle proposes, which makes you automatically nod, eager.

you throw yourself back onto your bed, your head buried against your pillows, before blissfully succumbing to slumber, your grip on your phone loosening, and turning the camera to your ceiling.

god were you cute, "goodnight, y/n, sweet dreams."

i wanna hear your voice

a love that nobody could destroy

[jiniretracha]

ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟗 ꕤ

Choi Soobin x fem!reader: phone sex

summary: Being far away from your boyfriend is hard...

warnings: smut, you being a minx, masturbation

word count: 1.3k

kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi

Touring for Soobin had always been exciting but tiring at the same time. He had dreamed of this for so long that he felt guilty for feeling exhausted at times. 

Ever since you started dating him, you always tried to fly with him to support the group in person, but due to your work, lately, it had been nearly impossible to keep up. Him and his group had dates practically all over the world and your boss had been riding your ass, loading you up with pointless paperwork. 

Soobin had just landed in Tokyo, Japan for the show he had the next day. He got inside his room and plopped down on the bed with a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. 

He sent you a quick text and shoved his phone inside his pocket. Soobin turned on the television to watch some pointless TV shows to soothe his boredom. A couple of minutes later, he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and he took it out. 

You: baby

You: did you land safely?

He smiled instantly at seeing your message on his phone. 

Soobin: hello love

Soobin: i did, honey.

Soobin: how are u? Work’s treating u okay?

He waited patiently for your reply.

You: so, so…

You: boss is being an idiot as always, and he’s loading me up with a shit ton of work.

You: i just wanted to go to tokyo with u 🙁

Soobin couldn’t help but giggle like an idiot at the message. He was just so in love with you.

Soobin: my love

Soobin: we’ll have countless opportunities to fly to tokyo together lol

Soobin: next time you get a free week, you’re coming with me

Soobin: or maybe i’ll write a note to your boss to tell him to stop messing with my girl

You: oh god, no, soobin

You: he already hates me without an apparent reason

You: plus…

You: with that cute face you got, you’re not scaring anybody lol

Soobin frowned and pouted like a little kid.

Soobin: i’m not cute

You: yeah you are, you big baby

He chuckled a little and sent you another text.

Soobin: so… what are you wearing, hm?

You: i-

You: i was actually gonna tell you off but…

Soobin’s eyebrows shot up to the crease of his forehead.

You: as we couldn’t really have a proper goodbye

You: i was planning on touching myself before you texted me

His eyes widened like plates and his hands fumbled with his phone. He frantically clicked the call button and placed the phone up to his ear. 

You answered a couple of seconds later and he could hear your giggle.

“You’re bad, you know that?” he asked you and you laughed even harder.

“I know, but I wasn’t lying. In fact, I was just about to stick my hand inside my panties and touch myself when you texted me, baby” you said with a sultry voice.

Soobin closed his eyes and clenched them. “You’re making this very hard for me, babe” he mumbled.

“Oh, am I?” you giggled. “Tell me, are you, now? Did the image of me touching myself because you’re not here made your dick hard, hm?”

Soobin looked down at his jeans and saw the tent forming there. “Yeah, I am” he moaned, undoing the buttons of his pants to find some comfort. “Are you gonna touch yourself for me?” he asked you.

You let out a hum. “I don’t know… do you want me to?” you whispered to him, playing hard to get. 

He could bet his whole fucking money you were biting your lip as you said that. You little minx.  

“Of course I fucking want you to” he rushed out. He gripped the tent inside his boxers and let out a whimper. “Please touch yourself. God, I fucking miss doing that”

He heard you shuffling on the other side and after a few seconds of silence, he heard you moan. 

“I’m so wet for you Soobin” your breathy voice made his eyes roll back. 

He quickly pulled down his boxers and gripped his cock, his thumb rubbing his mushroom tip, collecting the drops of pre cum oozing out of his slit. 

“What would you do if I was there with you?” you asked, rubbing on your clit, teasing your hole with your fingers.

“Shit… I would- fuck- I would rip off whatever you’re wearing, leave you fucking naked under me. I’d grab your tits, those perfect tits you have and freaking suck them” Soobin growled, his hand jerking himself quicker.

You inserted two fingers inside of you and started moving them in and out of you, curling them and pressing them against your walls, making you mewl and throw your head back against the pillow under your head. 

“Then, I would eat you out. You always taste so good, love” He whimpered, gripping his base and twisting his hand. 

“Yeah?” you moaned, your fingers moving in and out of you quickly.

“Fuck yeah, and after you come, I’d fuck you so hard, you’d only remember my name and only my name” 

You let out a loud moan that made him get closer to the edge. 

“Shit…” he whispered, his hips lifting up in the air to the point he started thrusting them against his hand. 

“Soobin, I’m so, so, so close” you whimpered, kicking your feet.

“Shit… I am too, honey” he whispered. “God, when I come back from this stupid city, you won’t be able to walk for a week, I swear. We’re not leaving the bed until we’re both fucking boneless” 

You let out a high pitched moan and came around your fingers, clenching around them and soaking them completely as you squirted, wetting the bed. 

Soobin jerked himself rapidly and came all over his chest, his cum wetting his hand as it came out in violent spurts. 

He let his head rest on the pillow as he finished himself off and heard you breathing heavily on the other side of the line.

“You okay, honey?” he asked you with a little chuckle.

You laughed back and let out a sigh. “Y-yeah, that was intense, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it was” Soobin said and let out a shaky breath. “I miss you” he simply said, feeling his heart ache about how he wasn’t able to hold you after her made you  orgasm.

You giggled. “I miss you too, my big baby” 

He smiled like an idiot. 

“When are you coming back?” 

“I’m flying home in two days” he replied.

“Oh…” you said and he knew you sounded disappointed. “That’s long”

“I know, I literally want to fly home right now but… duty calls” Soobin said. “But I promise those two days will fly, and we’ll be together in no time”

“I’m counting on it” you replied and he could sense the smile in your tone. “Well, I’ll let you sleep, darling”

“Yeah, good night, babe. Sweet dreams”

“Good night, love you!”

“Love you, too” he smiled and hung up the call. 

Soobin stood up with a sigh and took a quick shower. He couldn’t stop smiling as he rubbed the cum off his stomach and rinsed his hair from the sweat he had gathered from the earth-shattering orgasm he just had.

When he came back to the bed, he saw he had a notification pending on his phone.

Beomgyu: bro

Beomgyu: next time you’re gonna jerk yourself off

Beomgyu: pls give me a heads up or smth so i can put my headphones on on time

── .✦

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i apologize if i can't tag u :(

[daniswoso]

Short sight. (part 2)

Summary: Leah and r reconcile, but can they repair what’s broken?

Warnings: Use of Y/N, angst and fluff, happy ending, overthinking and hate on social media.

*******

Leah’s thumb hovered over the call button, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed it. She could’ve sobbed when she heard your voice, meek and tired on the other end.

“Hello?” You croak, phone shaking in your hand as you saw Leah’s name pop up on the screen.

“Y/N! Fuck, I- Can we talk? I know now. I know why you broke up with me. You’re so much more than good enough for me, please please don’t overthink that baby-“

“Lee-“

“Y/N I love you for fucks sakes nothing will ever change that and-“

“Lee!” You shout at her, trying to get her to listen. “We can talk. Tomorrow at our- your place?”

“Uh, yeah. For sure, absolutely.” She breathes. And without another word you hang up.

And sure enough, the next afternoon, you were at the front door of your shared- her apartment. Though you did not have the flowers you’d picked up on the way, as you had tossed those into a park bin on your journey there, realising it was silly and neither of you were, in fact, in secondary school.

She answered within a matter of mere milliseconds. She was breathless and the wispy bits of hair around her hairline were stuck to her face with a light sheen of sweat dusting her sunkissed skin. God, she was gorgeous. Presumably, she’d been working out, evidence supported by the numerous weights and freshly used treadmill in the corner of the living room.

“Shit, uh, that time already? Damn, sorry, Y/N, I- I totally forgot,” she sighs, sweeping a hand over her face and gesturing for you to come in.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase, ‘s that alright?” you swallow, guilt and a few emotions you shouldn’t be feeling for an ex swilling around bitterly in your chest.

“Uhm, oh, right, yeah,” she hums, seemingly somewhat… dejected? You’d have thought she’d have been thrilled not to have to deal with floods of ‘Y/N’s not good enough!’ in her comments now.

“I- I ended things, obviously, to uhm… to make it easier on you-“ you attempt to explain further but upon hearing the words ‘for you’, Leah’s temper seems to flare and her eyes narrow.

“And was I ever going to get a say in that?” she snaps, almost bitter at the revelation you weren’t even planning on letting her be even a minor part of the conversation.

“I figured that-” and she cuts you off again.

“No. No, dammit, Y/N! You don’t get to decide things for me! Because if it had of been up to me? I would’ve told you I think you are the most beautiful, incredibly talented person to have ever graced the fucking Earth!” she rants, her hands moving theatrically; a habit you had noticed previously and had always found ridiculously cute, though now the movement left a bitter stinging behind your eyes.

You force your eyes away from her form sheepishly, unable to look your former lover in the eye. Maybe you had been too hasty in your attempts to rid her of the plague you labelled as yourself. In your mind, you were just that: a plague… A burden. A pest that was to never leave someone alone. It was what you had been told, so by proxy, it was what you believed.

“I’m not good enough for you,”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“No, Lee. I’m not. I’m not as pretty as your exes, nowhere near as good at footy as you… You’re- You’re perfection incarnate, and I’m… Me.” you spit, your words coming out in a flurry of apprehension and hate.

Leah’s heart broke as she realised you did well and truly believe that.

“Ask me,” she inhales sharply, cupping your face. “ask me what I think you are.”

You roll your eyes, a warmth in the form of red, scalding hot tears bubbling behind your eyes, “What do you think I am, Leah?” you whisper, as if afraid.

“Perfect. Talented. The axis my world spins on, my world in general, actually. My moon, my stars… I would sooner swallow lava than let you believe otherwise,” she chuckles, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks as she rubs a calloused, yet somehow still oh so soft, thumb over your cheekbone.

“Please don’t swallow lava,” you chuckle, your voice breaking slightly as you attempt a joke.

She chuckles briefly before letting the joke go, “Do you get what I’m sayin’? Because I’m saying that you are everything I’ve dreamed for and more.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours, enjoying the intimacy she had longed for since you departed.

The house hadn’t been the same since you left. Everything bright was drained of its colour and everything that was the same shade of your favourite colour you loved was so painfully you it made her break down.

“I think so,” you sniffle, flinging your arms around her desperately, seeking solace in her. Her scent, warmth, toned arms around you. Anything her, really. You had just missed her.

You had missed her so much.

“God, I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry,” you choke out, your voice lodged in your throat uncomfortably, as if you’d accidentally swallowed a tennis ball. Your tongue felt dry, your eyes, however, did not as they allowed hot tears to be streamed down your face, mascara streaking like fresh chalk being washed away on a rainy day.

“Don’t you dare apologise. You let your anxiety get the better of you, I get it. But next time… just… just talk, okay? Talk to me, to anyone, as long as it means you don’t pull this bullshit again.” she chuckles, kissing the top of your head, burying her nose in the crook on your neck, craving your scent.

“Okay, I promise I will,” you sighs, wiping at your eyes and kissing her softly, your hands cupping the defined contours of her sharp - yet somehow simultaneously soft - jaw.

“Okay. Thank you,” she sighs shakily, wiping her own tears away.

“No problem, Red.” you smile weakly, the emotions you faced today proving to be quite taxing.

“I love you, Blue.”

“I love you more, Arsenal.”

“Fuck off, Chelsea.”

“You first.”

“Never.”

**********

A/N: figured that i need to write and use that as a coping mechanism before i just spend the rest of my life curled up in a ball sobbing my heart out! 👍🏼👍🏼

[the-cosmic-teapot]

To Be Loved By Nanami Kento

Nanami x reader

WC: 10,705

TW: Slight age gap (4 years), Canon-compliant, fluff, angst, canon-typical gore, big emotions, Nanami is such a gentleman, drinking, reader gets very drunk (Shoko), kinda steamy but no smut, marriage, family, Not a happy ending (ANGST!!!)

*Not proofread (my husband said his word limit is 5,000)

Summary: The story of how you and Nanami fall in love.

A/N: Hi pals, it's been a minute (like a couple months, oops)! This has been in the works for the majority of that time, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it until now. Let me know if you all like the longer fics or if I should break them up into parts instead. Also, I am looking for more proofreaders, if you are interested message me. As always, feedback is welcome!

P.S- The reader has a cursed technique that is using electrical energy and the gloves are what is used to conduct the energy. 

~Cosmic

June 2012

High school graduates are left with difficult decisions to make upon the end of their education. Differing from a typical student, graduating from Jujutsu High in Tokyo meant alternate career options; choosing to become a sorcerer, or leaving the world of Jujutsu for a mundane job. As you pack up your home of the past three years, you ponder this quandary as boxes of memories are put away one by one. On one hand, you were trained alongside some of the best sorcerers in generations, and, if we’re being honest, you’re one of them. Now on the other lives a normal life, and a normal job. One where you don’t face nearly as high a mortality rate. You could find love, have a normal family, and you could live in ignorance of your fellow sorcerers’ sacrifices.

Moving out of the dorms at Jujutsu High was bittersweet, you have a lot of memories with your friends, and even a sparse few with Gojo– as annoying as he can be. You found a nice apartment right outside of the business district in Tokyo and you were even up to get promoted to a grade one sorcerer. Things are looking up for you and your new independent life. 

Before you were able to fully get the rank of grade one sorcerer you needed to do a few missions with current grade one sorcerers, which is now what you were being sent to do.  Usually, you worked with Mei Mei because your personalities meshed well, unlike your fighting styles, but this time was different. Before you stood a tall, well-built man with blonde hair in a suit. The tan suit was a bit plain, but his bright blue button-down and patterned tie really stands out. Ijichi explained what grade-one curse this man and you needed to eradicate in an abandoned nursing home in Osaka. The man, Nanami, is to pick you up at the crack of dawn to catch a flight as opposed to driving through the night to get there. 

As you packed a small bag with a few necessities– the return flight was the following afternoon– you wondered why it took so long to meet Nanami. By the end of your second year, you had met most all of the grade one sorcerers from one gathering or another, but not Nanami. You had a few options now, you could look him up on social media or ask Gojo about the very muscular man. You decided on the former because Gojo would endlessly tease you for asking, plus you could stalk him online from the comfort of your bed. From your extensive research, you learned that there was not a trace of Nanami online other than a post from Gojo a year ago that tagged a deactivated account. Now you either have to ask Gojo or the even more embarrassing option of trying to make small talk with Nanami tomorrow. You were at a loss, was teasing from Gojo worth learning more about the undeniably attractive man? Nanami seems the type to not talk much, so small talk may not even tell you more about him. 

Your phone dings as the latest episode of a trashy show’s credits roll. You didn’t have the number saved, but you could quickly tell it was Nanami because of the overly formal language and punctuation of the message. He asked about where he should pick you up and if you wanted him to grab coffee before getting you. As you respond you also internally scream as this man keeps getting more attractive and you’ve met him once. Is it weird to be this attracted to a man you’ve just met? You suppose it doesn’t matter much, it was just a superficial attraction at best now. 

The following morning you wake up and get ready as usual, skincare, a little makeup, and finally getting dressed. You grab the overnight bag and your backpack for the trip there and head down to the lobby to wait for Nanami. After doing one final look over to make sure you weren't forgetting anything you finally leave and lock up your apartment. When you get to the lobby Nanami is already there holding his phone, probably about to call you.  

“Ah, good. You’re punctual, do you have all of your equipment ready to go?” You give a quick nod knowing you placed your sleek black gloves in the front pouch of your backpack. “Good, let’s go then,” Nanami said. He was in another suit, not a hair out of place. Without another word, he took the overnight bag and began to walk out to his car. 

He placed your stuff in the trunk of the modern black car and got the passenger side door for you. God, he truly is a gentleman. The interior of his car is clean and smells like a new car scent. You noticed a pastry on the middle console and two coffees in the cup holder after getting comfy for the quick trip to the airport. 

“I got you a strawberry Danish, as well as the coffee, I hope you like it,” Nanami says as he buckles in and starts the car. He adjusts his glasses, and checks before backing out of the 20-minute parking spot. 

“Actually, I’m allergic to strawberries… but thank you for the coffee and thinking of me!” You said with an awkward, tight-lipped smile, feeling bad that he wasted his money on you. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nanami spoke. “I’ll keep that in mind next time” You give him a small ‘hump’ as acknowledgement. 

The drive to the airport is quick, the bright lights of Tokyo pass by in a blur together in a rainbow of color. You wonder what this mission will entail, this was a grade-one curse, so Nanami could handle this alone if needed; theoretically, you should be able to do the same. Being this close to Nanami was strange, it felt almost intimate in the dark morning. You could smell the cologne he was wearing and the heat coming off of his body. He smelled amazing, woody and smokey, with notes of whisky. 

Soon enough you notice Nanami pulling into a parking garage and getting a ticket and finding a parking space. Getting out you go to grab your overnight bag but Nanami already has it in hand with his.

“I can get my bag if you want.” You said quickly. “You really don’t need to.” You say to the back of the tall man as he walks away. 

“It’s fine, it’s not heavy.” He said plainly, walking towards the walkway to the check-in desks. His steps are quick and driven by efficiency. You could tell he will be much more professional than Mei Mei, and way harder to get a read on. 

~~

As the plane lands you listen to the flight attendant about the typical unloading procedures, you worry about the mission and whether you will make a fool out of yourself in front of a grade-one sorcerer, especially one as attractive as Nanami. You remember this feeling when working with Mei Mei for the first time too. After you get your backpack from the floor you reach into the overhead compartment for your other bag but Nanami already has it in hand. 

“I told you I’ve got your bag, '' Nanami says, bending down to get his bag on the floor. You shivered at the thought of him being so close to you. 

“Okay, if you really don’t mind,” you say blushing slightly, moving to get off of the plane trailing after Nanami. 

When you leave the airport the sun is shining and there is a small breeze. It ruffles Nanami’s hair making him look even more divine than he already does. He hails a cab to go to the hotel so you can check in and go over what intel you have on the cursed spirit. The cab ride was uneventful at best, but your anxiety was through the roof. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat and the sweat covering your palms. 

You zone out sitting on one of the chairs with your and Nanami’s things while he checks into your rooms. Suddenly, he appears in front of you with a disgruntled look across his sharp, perfect features. He explains that the hotel screwed up and only has one room (and one bed) available at the moment, he runs a hand through his pristine hair and sighs.

“We can look for other hotels in the area if you are uncomfortable sharing a room, or I can sleep on the couch,” Nanami says in his usual tone. “The woman at the desk said that the former may be unlikely because there are a few conventions in town.” He runs a hand through his hair again, staring down at you through his glasses. 

“I don’t mind staying here, but I can take the couch.” You say it is not fair that he has already done so much for you. “I can sleep almost anywhere.” You say, which was a little lie, but it’s one night. Plus, you are considerably smaller than Nanami, he towers over you and he is broader than you because of the bulk of his muscles. 

“We can talk about sleeping arrangements when we get settled tonight.” He says after a moment of silence. Nanami walks away back to the desk and finishes checking in.

He comes back with two keys in hand and moves to get your bags. You look up at him and take the cards so he has his hands free for the bags. The walk to the room was silent, as was moving around to get settled into the nice room. There is a sort of living room then a small hallway with the bathroom on one side and a closet on the other and finally, the bedroom section was at the back. The bed is massive, most likely a king, and there is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the foot of the bed. You stand at the window taking in the view of the city and ponder how this mission will go. Taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves you move back to the living room area with Nanami sitting on a comically small couch. 

“So, the nursing home isn’t far from here, we can walk there,” Nanami said, looking at the packet with all of the information gathered for this mission. He moved over and motioned for you to join him on the couch. As you sit next to him you realize how small the couch really is, it’s more of an oversized armchair. “The curse shouldn’t take too long to exercise, but there are bound to be more, lower grade curses.” He adjusts his glasses and hands the packet to you as he moves to get up. 

You look over the packet and see that the building has been abandoned for a few years after the owners were convicted of selling deceased residents organs without the families’ knowledge or approval. The building has recently been the site of the disappearance of teens, which has made more teens want to break in and do whatever teens do when they break into buildings. The local police have put locks on the doors and tape up to discourage more teens from entering, but this did little to dissuade them. This is why Nanami and you were called here, the 10 missing teens were concerning and the confirmed presence of a curse made this case a top priority for the higher-ups in Jujutsu society. 

~~ 

Nanami lowered the veil over the condemned building and you slipped your gloves on, as you both took in the large structure. It was at least three stories high and there was mention of a basement for laundry from the packet. The smell of mold and mildew hit you in the face as soon as Nanami opened the door. There was graffiti all over the place and vines and weeds sprouting up from the cracked concrete and broken windows.

You mention splitting up to make the search go quicker, Nanami told you to focus on looking for the missing kids while he looks for the grade one curse. Of course, this is not how the mission goes, you run into a horde of grade three and lower curses in the basement hallway. As you fight them off you begin to hear the sobs of a few girls. You make your way to a locked door where you very clearly hear crying, knocking on it, and saying you were here to help. When the door opens about five girls no older than fifteen are trembling and latching on to you for dear life. 

You introduce yourself to them and tell them that your partner and you will try your best to get them out safely. They all mention seeing some of the others they were with being dragged away but not killed in front of them. You shoot a text to Nanami about the girls you found and begin to lead the shaking, but not crying, girls out of the basement and to the outside of the building. Nanami joins you a few minutes after getting the girls out and mentions how you did well. 

Going back into the buildings after talking to the girls a bit more to gather more information about the groups they came from. After another hour of searching you find the bodies of three of the boys, all drained of blood leaned up against a wall on the ground floor. It was shocking to see that a curse did not mutilate the young boys. You move on to the next floor where you run into Nanami and he mentions finding two boys on the verge of death that he brought outside and tended to their wounds. 

Wandering around a bit more you finally come across the grade one curse, its cursed energy was intense. The spirit looks like its melting bodies together, one pile of flesh with multiple eyes and appendages. The largest of their eyes is brown and vertical in the center of the mass and quickly takes notice of Nanami and you and begins to attack, flailing arms and legs towards you and Nanami. You were first to strike the curse with a zap of your cursed technique directly to the center eye. Nanami, quick to follow, slashed a few limbs off with his blunt sword. Flowing through the motions of a fight, zaps, a few punches, and maybe a kick to the curse was the easy part. The more difficult part was knowing if you were doing enough to impress Nanami or at least not look like a complete idiot in front of him. With a final right hook into the curse imbued with your technique, the curse jolted back and collapsed into a disintegrating heap on the dirty floor. 

“Good, you did well,” Nanami says calmly while swiftly dispelling the blood from his blade in a singular smooth motion.

~~

The walk back to the hotel is significantly less awkward for you mostly because you were actually talking now, and not weird small talk. This was an actual conversation, about what you enjoy, what books you like, and so forth. You had a lot in common with the stoic man, you both enjoyed cooking and reading, much preferred over going out. You were beginning to toe the line between a schoolgirl crush based on superficial attraction into a full-blown crush, born from knowing his brain. There are a few outcomes, all but one of which will fragment your heart into millions of pieces. This is dangerous territory you are beginning to tread. 

Back at the hotel you shower and take time to get the sweat and blood off of you. The hot shower felt like heaven on your sore muscles and the steam began to fog the mirror. You wash your hair with your shampoo and conditioner while you think about the day. The thoughts quickly drift from the nursing home and the teenagers you saved to the dashing man sitting outside. He is hard to not fall for, he’s charming and his looks could rival that of a man sculpted by the gods. In addition to his stunning looks his personality seems to be a perfect fit for your own. The list of Nanami’s attributes just seems to grow with the amount of time you spend with him. 

Meanwhile, the blonde man sitting outside on the couch begins working on the report for the case. He begins recounting the day’s events, typing it all out in the correct format. All of the events from what was known to the final death count of the curse. Once again, Nanami’s life became mundane; getting sent on missions, exercising the cursed spirit, typing up a report, and repeating. When he got off of work he would make dinner, maybe try a new wine, most nights were the same for him. Being sent away from Tokyo was a nice change, but not much of one, now he would just have dinner out. However, now there was someone else with him. Someone who he wants to get to know, someone who he can see as a friend. 

He has thought of dating, but with his re-entrance into the world of Jujutsu that will be difficult. There is no way for him to have a “normal” life when he faces death every day. He cannot put someone he loves in a position to mourn him, he has been down this road before and it hurts. Honestly, part of the reason Nanami left after graduation was because he didn’t want to see more of his colleagues fall; moreover, he did not want to see his juniors fall even more so. Despite this, he found himself back in the world of Jujutsu; sitting here with you in the shower. 

When Nanami was told he would be paired with a semi-grade one sorcerer he thought the person would look more intimidating, not the small, cute form he met the day prior. He was pleasantly surprised this morning when you were right on time when he came to pick you up. In the car, he could smell your hair products– vanilla and jasmine– as well as notice how you anxiously fidget with your hands. You were efficient in the airport, which he admired very much, as opposed to Gojo, who would stroll in an hour before his flight with little care about missing it entirely. 

Nanami finishes the report and he hears you step out of the shower. He stands, stretches, and then heads for his bag to gather his clothes to get ready to shower. As he makes sure he has grabbed all of his necessities– underwear, pants, and a top– his phone dings. Sitting back on the bed with his stuff sitting neatly on the dresser he reads a text from Gojo asking about how you both were getting along. Nanami opted to send a short, nondescript text on how you performed today.  

When you finally leave the warm, steamy bathroom you see Nanami sitting on the bed tapping away at his phone, presumably texting. You move your stuff into your bag as your stomach growls very loudly. In your squatting position, you make eye contact with Nanami who now has his clothing in hand to shower and clean up for dinner. 

“I’m going to excuse myself, I’d suggest looking up where you want to eat,” Nanami says standing to his full height, making you feel smaller as he has to tilt his head further down as he does. 

“Okay, I can do that,” you say, zipping up your bag and grabbing socks and your bag with your wallet and other necessities to go out. 

As Nanami stepped into the still-warm and steamy bathroom he could smell your lotion and perfume. Everything smelled like you, even the other towels that are folded under the sink; it’s a smell that is just as intoxicating as the most expensive bottle of wine he’s sampled. He peeled his blue shirt off his body and began the shower, the hot water and steam fogging up the mirror again. Slipping out of his trousers and underwear he steps into the shower with a sigh. He could smell you even more in the shower, the hot steam lifting the remnants of your hair products to his nose directly. 

Nanami thought about the day and Gojo’s text. As with most things, Gojo most likely had another intention than the one Nanami initially interpreted. Nanami could not let himself wonder what it would be like to pursue you in any capacity other than friendship; not even for a moment. There is no denying you are attractive and he could tell that you shared a lot of his interests. He pushes these thoughts of what can never be out of his mind so he can finish his shower and get to dinner. 

~~

You go with a small sushi place with good reviews online and Nanami truly did not mind you picking. Initially, you had given him three options and he was indifferent to all of them. This was new to you because when you went with Gojo he would insist on going to his pick, given he always paid so you had no qualms. 

Walking alongside Nanami was strange, his muscular frame towered over yours and looked ten times more intimidating than you with just his resting face unobscured by the armless glasses he wore. The evening air was cooling down from the high temperatures of the day and a soft breeze flowing and it made Nanami’s hair flow slightly from its perfect position atop his head. He was in a light green sweater and light-wash jeans, which was such a change from his typical suit and tie. Casual suited him, as well as his scent without cologne, it was fresh and kind of minty. 

Getting to the restaurant you seat yourself at a nice table near the window. A server stops by to give you menus and welcome you to the establishment. As you look over the menu you fail to notice how Nanami looks at you. Your hair was pulled back with a few strands falling out around your face, framing it nicely. He thought about what a normal life would be like, how it would be to be in a relationship without the threat of death, and most of all what it would be like to be loved by someone. He once again found himself pushing these thoughts out of his mind. 

The night flows seamlessly from dinner to a little cafe for coffee and dessert. Conversation hardly stopped from when you sat down for dinner to now, in this cute little cafe with cat-themed decor adorning the walls. You were the last two in the cafe with the barista cleaning the counter and display case. This is a night you didn’t want to end, everything has been amazing, from conversation to food, and finally Nanami. The more time you spent with Nanami the more you wanted to spend with him. His presence is intoxicating. 

As you walk back to your hotel there is a light air between you both. The moon is bright and shines on the pair of you. He is close, very close, his arm is close to brushing with yours. To an unsuspecting eye, you looked like a beautiful young couple.

~~

Getting back to the hotel room faced you with the dilemma of the one bed. Nanami initially said he could sleep on the couch, but seeing how large he is compared to the overgrown armchair that had to be out of the question. You could take the couch, but something told you he would never let that happen.

Nanami once again let you take the bathroom first. You dug through your bag for your shorts and oversized tee shirt to get changed into. When you open the bathroom door you see Nanami’s toiletries on the counter opposite your own. What would Nanami be like to live with, being able to see your things with his? He seems like the type of person who has a solid routine and rarely deviates from that. After washing your face and undressing you fold your pants and top neatly to put on for the trip home. The silky shorts felt nice after your legs had been confined all day and the tee shirt fell over the hem of them perfectly. 

Nanami is waiting on the bed with his sleepwear folded neatly beside him. When he looks up at you his hair falls away from his face, most likely from the lack of product. He is so handsome in the dim lighting of the hotel room. You both begin to speak only to stop when you realize the other wants to say something. You smile slightly at the usually awkward situation. 

“You can go first,” Nanami said, standing to his full height. His hair shifting subtly with his change in position. 

“Oh, um, I’m all done in the bathroom,” you said, fidgeting with your clothing you still have in hand.

“Ah, I was going to say that you can take the bed because I really don’t mind,” He said in that deep voice. The voice that could make angels weep. 

“That couch is too small for you, if anything I can actually fit on it to sleep,” you say as you move to place your clothing on the dresser opposite the bed. “We could also share the bed if you really won’t let me take the couch,” you say without thinking of the implications of what this fully means. 

The air seems to stand still as you both process what you just said. Nanami is a man you just met no more than twenty-four hours prior, and you mentioned you could share a bed. If this were anyone else you would call them crazy for how risky that is with a strange man. Given, Nanami is not entirely strange, he seems to have some set of moral compass given how he is dead set on taking the couch. Your face is completely flushed red and Nanami is sporting a light pink blush as well. Why did you have to say that?

“I, um,” he paused, coughing a little, “I don’t mind taking the couch,” Nanami says, slightly blushing at the thought of sleeping next to you. The smell of your soap and lotion still stuck in his nose and mind, the sweet notes of vanilla and the floral ones of the jasmine would keep him up all night. Nanami also knew he would be too stressed trying to be respectful of your space that he would not sleep at all if he had to share a bed with you. “The couch will be okay for one night, I promise I will be okay there.” He finishes still sporting a faint blush across his sharp cheeks. 

You take a breath trying to calm down. “Are you sure?” You asked for a final time, still feeling guilty he will probably not get any sleep on the couch. 

“Yes, I would not have said so if I didn’t mean it,” Nanami says firmly, looking at you directly.

You both hold eye contact for a moment, the air thick between your bodies. It feels like you both want to say something, but words don’t come to either of you. His hazel eyes are intense as they still don’t leave your face. You feel your heart rate spike from being under his gaze. Your face could rival a prize-winning tomato for how red you are; Nanami is faring better, at least on the surface. All of his thoughts from earlier, all of the thoughts of a normal life were flooding back into his mind and he couldn’t shove them away fast enough. You are dangerous because there is something about you that makes Nanami feel like he could be with you in that way. 

The moment is ruined by the phone ringing in the other room, flashing with the extension from the front desk. Nanami takes another second, keeping your gaze before he answers. You are not paying attention to who is on the other end because you are trying your hardest to calm down. It feels like you’ve just run a mile without prep with how you need to catch your breath.

“That was the front desk,” Nanami cuts through your thoughts with his clear, stern voice. “Another group canceled their reservation, so a room on the second floor is now available,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I need to go to the front desk to sort everything out, but now we both have a bed,” he says walking to put his shoes on. 

Nanami is gone for twenty minutes, but it feels like an instant. You try to resume your nighttime routine while he is gone, but you keep getting distracted by your thoughts of that moment. Your flushed cheeks and his intense stare seared into your mind as if it were branded there with a hot iron. 

When Nanami comes back into your room he silently packs his things to move into his own room. You observe him, being as still as you can, scared to move too quickly as if he will disappear like a stray cat. Once all his things are packed he stands tall in front of your seated position on the bed. His posture is impeccable, as he tells you his room number and how the hotel comped one of the rooms because of the inconvenience. As you look up at him his hot gaze is already on you, as if he were studying for an exam. You quietly respond with a soft ‘okay’ and ‘Good night’.

~~

When you wake the next morning you feel calmer, more at ease than the prior night. You were so warm up last night that you took another shower just to try and calm your buzzing body and mind, not that it did much. Nanami was not much better, he was thankful to whatever deity granted him a room away from you. His thoughts were muddled and the clarity he was used to was gone. As he finally drifted to sleep he thought of how the atmosphere shifted in that instant before the phone call. 

Nanami let you know he would meet you in the lobby around 8 to catch your 11 o’clock flight. As you leave for the airport you do a swift look over of the room to make sure you didn’t forget anything. The room felt so much more empty sans Nanami, his large frame taking up physical space, but his aura taking up infinitely more. His presence is warm and calm, much unlike your own anxious one. 

The morning trip to the airport, as well as the airport itself, passes by in an instant. Now you sit at the gate waiting for your flight home; Nanami is on the hunt for coffee, as the hotel only had drip coffee. You are wasting time staring at the pages of a book you weren’t reading, too lost in thought. As a hand with a take-out coffee cup impedes your view and the smell of fresh pastry hits your nose. 

“I got peach this time,” Nanami says with a small smile, handing you a bag along with your coffee. He is back in his jeans and sweater from last night, much as you are in the same outfit. 

You take the coffee and bag and give thanks to the man now eating his own. The rest of the morning goes much like this, quiet and at ease. There is no tension between you, and you wonder if this is what it is like to date Nanami. Are all of his mornings quiet and tranquil? 

~~

Nanami drops you off at your apartment and, as the true gentleman he is, gets your stuff out to hand to you. As you walk away from him you can feel his warmth leave you. This trip was a whirlwind. Nanami is attractive and his personality is unmatched by anyone you’ve met, but he is a coworker now. Plus, he gave no indication that he is interested in you, outside of that moment. That moment could have been anything and he is hard to read so you chose to match his level of professionalism. At this point, the best you can do is friends, which is okay. 

~~

April 2014

So much has changed in the past two years after graduating high school. You’ve gotten to know yourself more, honed your fighting techniques, and become better friends with former classmates and coworkers. Soon after your mission with Nanami, you were promoted to a full-fledged grade one sorcerer, you gathered from Gojo that Nanami’s recommendation was glowing. 

Currently, you are sitting opposite Gojo in a cafe as you both talk about your plans for your upcoming birthday. The lanky man sitting across from you suggested going all out, after all, you are now an actual adult who can drink. Your speed was more like a small group of people and dinner, not the rager Gojo was already planning. Try as you might Gojo is truly an unstoppable force, and his party planning is quickly getting away from you. 

“Gojo, I am not having a massive party, my apartment is only large enough for a few people,” you sigh. “I’ll have dinner with a few friends, but nothing more,” you sternly say to the white-haired man. 

“But that’s so boring, we did that last year,” he whined as if your birthday was supposed to entertain him. 

Most of your afternoon went on like this because Gojo is, well, Gojo. On the bright side, he did pay for your coffee and treats. You have some paperwork to finish, but other than that you are free for the weekend. Gojo drops you off at your office muttering something about leaving it for Monday. 

As you quickly work through the sparse papers on your desk you hear a firm knock, clearly Nanami. Gojo would just burst in and Shoko’s knocks are short and quiet. In the nearly two years you’ve known Nanami, and in that time he has become one of your closest friends. He is the one you go to new museum exhibits with and the one you try new cafes with after said museum outings.

“Come in,” you say, not looking up from the last form you needed to fill out. You sigh for a moment as Nanami’s footsteps enter your office. 

“Hey, I saw you were still here and I wanted to see if you wanted to leave together,” Nanami says, looking down at you with a peacoat draped over his arm. “That is if you are almost done.”

“Oh, umm, yeah,” you say, still not looking at him. “I just need to sign off on this and submit it,” you say sighing as you stand to get your stuff. “Where were you wanting to go?” You ask, finally meeting his eyes.

“I was thinking of that new ramen place near yours,” He says holding his hand out to take your bag, “but I am up to suggestions.” 

“Great, I just need to run by Yaga’s office to turn these in,” you say smiling at him as you turn off the lights and close your door. 

The walk to Yaga’s office is the same as it always is, hallways blurring together. You are looking through the papers making sure everything is in order and Nanami is lost in his own mind. In the time Nanami has known you, you’ve nestled yourself into his life seamlessly. After that first mission in Osaka, the pair of you worked on a few more local missions until you were a full-fledged grade-one sorcerer. Even after that, you made a point to spend time with Nanami, to be his friend. That is something he admires about you, you put so much effort into everything you do; sometimes to your own detriment.

You have an aura to you that draws him in, something that makes Nanami want to know everything about you; not just the superficial things anyone can figure out, but the more intimate things like what your nighttime routine is and how you look when you first wake up. These things are small, but he wants them; he wants you in your entirety, mind, body, and soul. 

Nanami came to these conclusions one night after drinking with you, Gojo, and Shoko. He initially turned down Gojo, but when you asked he couldn’t find it in him to decline when he looked into your bright, beautiful eyes. While going out is not his preferred way to spend a night, especially on a Thursday, he thought your presence made it bearable. Especially when you would join in on teasing Gojo with Shoko after a few drinks. After that night Nanami vowed to keep his feelings to himself because you didn’t deserve him, he is a broken man who cannot promise you tomorrow. In his mind, being your friend was better than not being in your life at all. 

~~

You were finally able to talk Gojo out of a big party at a club in exchange for dinner at your favorite place and a few drinks afterward. Music is loudly blaring from your phone as you get ready in the bathroom, hot water running over your figure. You think of what to wear, taking into consideration the temperature and the cute-to-comfy ratio of your outfit. When you step out of the shower, you go through your normal routine, taking more time on makeup and hair. Now you stand in front of your closet wondering what to wear. You could go with jeans and a sweater, but that’s what you wear when you normally go out; this is a special night, so maybe a little discomfort is okay. You pick out a short, light pink dress with poofy mesh sleeves and a flowy skirt. You also opt to put stockings with a criss-cross pattern on them under your dress. As you situate the stockings at the top of your thighs your phone dings and lights up. 

‘Hey, I was thinking we could head over to the restaurant together so you don’t have to walk alone’ read the text from Nanami. It is not unusual for Nanami to pick you up to go somewhere, but it doesn’t happen as much as you’d like. 

After that first mission with Nanami, you were thankful he seemed to want to be friends too, but never anything more. In the past two years, you’ve only grown to like the tall blonde more. He makes sure that you don’t overwork yourself, but rather that you get paid for the work you complete. When he can he also delivers coffee and a pastry. With every coffee delivery, you felt yourself fall a few more meters, you have yet to hit the ground. 

You shoot a short ‘yes’ and go about finishing your look for the night. Thinking of Nanami makes you heat up, more than usual that is. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason being you’ll look like you’re going on a date walking to the restaurant together. That thought alone made you squeal like a schoolgirl. 

A curt knock rings through your apartment, signaling Nanami’s arrival, and pulling you out of your head. As you answer your door you notice Nanami has a gift bag in hand, presumably for you. You signal for him to come in and greet him, mentioning something about not being quite ready yet. Digging through your jewelry box for a necklace you ramble about your day to Nanami, who responds with grunts and nods, not that you could see him as he is in the living room. 

~~ 

Nanami fills you in on how his day has been as you walk side-by-side to the restaurant. He is self-conscious, something he has not been since high school, because you look amazing, and he just has a dark grey sweater on with nice pants. The dress is just short enough to see the upper parts of your thighs, but not so short that it is immodest. Nanami tries to not stare too much, but he really can’t given how well the stockings hug your things. The plush fat of them bludged slightly from the restriction from the stockings. This outfit is driving him insane– you are driving him insane. Just for a moment, Nanami allows him to wonder what it would be like to have you look this good for him, and him alone. 

As you reach the restaurant you stop Nanami just shy of the entry, so as to not obscure the entry. He gives you a questioning look, and you just stare back at him with wide eyes. Words fail to escape your mouth as you look into his dreamy eyes. You try to start a sentence multiple times, but nothing ever reaches your mouth. Of course, he looks amazing, the sweater with the collar from a button down underneath. As you finally find the words to say Gojo begins yelling from down the block. You break away from the moment with Nanami and turn just in time for Gojo to pull you into a hug. Shoko is not far behind the lanky man as she holds two gifts, one hers and the other probably Gojo’s. 

The host seats you all at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and lights dim for the atmosphere. You slide into the space next to the wall and Nanami follows suit, sitting close to you at the smallish table. Gojo is directly across from you and Shoko is across from Nanami. Conversation flows, as do some drinks with dinner, and the food comes and goes. You feel a light buzz from the two drinks– one from Gojo and one from Shoko– as you prepare to pay your bill. The waiter comes back to divide up the bill and you all hand in your cards and discuss where to go next, as the drink portion is to appease Gojo. 

The bar Gojo chooses has soft music playing and comfy sitting areas, the best for conversation. Nanami offers to get you a vodka cranberry, your drink of choice, while you find somewhere to sit. Shoko, being the woman she is, kept getting round after round of drinks. You are certain that you are mostly alcohol now, you cannot see straight and you didn’t want to try walking, in fear that your choice of platform boots will make you fall over. 

Nanami can tell you are out of it, your eyes are not focused on anything in particular, and you are no longer talking in more than one-word answers. He closed out at the bar and told Gojo and Shoko he was taking you home, so as to not cause you more harm in the morning. 

As you focus on Shoko complaining about some of the new changes to her duties from the higher ups you feel Nanami’s warm hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern, not that you can particularly tell right now. His deep voice is calming and rich, like the most decadent chocolate as he bids Gojo and Shoko goodbye. He makes sure you have everything, including the new mug from Gojo and the two wine glasses from Shoko.

When you step outside with Nanami still holding on to you the cool April air hits your face, causing you to shiver slightly. Nanami opts to hail a cab, mostly because he is not sure how far you can walk. As one pulls to the side Nanami puts you in the back and walks around to the other side for himself. You cling to him as soon as he sits, and you are not wanting to let go. He tells the driver your address and just lets you cling to him as if he is your lifeline. 

This is nice, your hair smells just how it did when he first met you. Nanami once again lets himself think of what it would be like to have this all the time; you pressed against his body while you go to a shared home. He thinks back to what you were trying to say before dinner, before Gojo ruined it– typical. 

The ride to your building is quick. Nanami pays and tips the driver and practically hoists you to stand. He can tell you are close to crashing, your body heavy, and your movements lethargic. At this point, he thinks about carrying you, as it may be easier than standing at an awkward angle holding you up, but decides against it so as to not cross any boundaries.

When he opens your door you struggle to take off your shoes and leave them in a pile on the floor, a problem for later you. You drunkenly stumble through your apartment with Nanami in tow as you try to undress. The zipper on the back of your dress seems infinitely further than when you zipped yourself into the dress. You break down and ask Nanami, who is standing outside as you change, to help you because you just want to go to bed. As he opens the door he sees you sitting on your bed swaying slightly. He unzips your dress and turns around to give you more privacy, but your perky butt and back are displayed in the full-length mirror he is now facing. You stand still for a minute, in your stockings and lacy pink panties with a matching bra before stumbling into the bathroom. A red-hot blush expands across Nanami’s face as he tries to not stare like a pervert, but there is something about how your ass looks in the lace panties that makes him insane. 

Nanami leaves to sit on the couch, so as to not invade your space, trying to calm down from seeing you in such a state of undress, after all, he is just a man. For a third time tonight, he finds his mind wondering what it would be like to see you like this for him. What would it be like to undress you and feel how your soft body would squirm under his touch? What noises could he pull from you? How would you sound moaning his name? He shakes his thoughts away and busies himself with getting aspirin and water for you in hopes of getting rid of his little (massive) problem. 

As you reemerge from the bathroom you have no more makeup on and are now in an oversized sweatshirt that reaches the tops of your thighs. You move to lie down and get comfy as Nanami has water and some aspirin in hand for you in the doorway. He gives you the pills first, then the water and you mutter a thanks while yawning. Making sure you don’t need anything more from him, Nanami heads for the door when he hears you, in such a soft voice, ask him to stay. In his tipsy state, he almost misses it, but not quite. 

“What was that?” He asks, making sure his ears are in working order. His eyes intently search yours as you answer.

“Can you please stay with me?” you ask again, this time a little louder. “You don’t ha–” He cuts you off with a very quick acceptance and begins to make his way to the other side of your bed. 

~~ 

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and unbelievably dry throat. You reach for the water on your nightstand and gulp what’s left down in a hurry. Taking a breath, you take in your room, and the large man still asleep next to you. He shed his sweater and button down and is now in a form-fitting white undershirt. Sitting up next to this god among men you take a moment or two to admire Nanami’s form; his massive arms holding one of the cutesy stuffed animals you keep on your bed. Oh to be that stuffed cat. 

You get up to get more water and scrounge something to eat from your sparse pantry as your memories trickle back. Your face heats up when you set the tea kettle on the stove as you remember practically begging poor Nanami to stay with you. Given, he wouldn’t have done something unless he wanted to, that much you knew. Does this mean he sees you in a romantic way? Or was this more of him wanting to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit?

Nanami wakes up and quickly realizes he is not in his home, but rather your home. He also realizes you are not in bed with him, but your spot is still lukewarm. The smell of toast and tea wafts into the room as he sits up in bed. As he looks around he sees the stuffed animals strewn about the room, most likely his doing as he slept, as well as the cute white cat he currently holds. You consume his thoughts, millions of them racing in. Why did you ask him to stay? Why did he stay? Could this mean you wanted him too? 

Sitting at your small table you have tea and toast, with a cup and plate on the counter waiting for Nanami. You have to talk about last night, but more so how you feel about the typically stoic man. There is no going back to before he slept in your bed, his warm body feeling like the missing puzzle piece in your life. He looked so peaceful sleeping with the sun peeking through the curtains of your room and landing on his sharp features. 

Nanami walks into your main living space in his light blue boxers, looking like a Calvin Klein ad. You offer the tea and toast on the counter to the god of a man standing in your home. He takes the seat opposite yours and just looks at you. Your hair is pulled back with a clip with a few pieces near the front falling out, framing you in such a beautiful way. The sun softly shining into your home makes you look ethereal, your beauty outshining Aphrodite. 

“I’m sorry,” you say as he takes a sip of the tea. “For last night that is,” you finish avoiding his eyes. You take a deep breath before continuing, “You should know, I like you,” another breath, “in a more than friendly way,” you say, feeling the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes. The weight of your words and emotions sit on you like a stone as you await Nanami’s rejection. 

“Can you at least look at me when you tell me you love me?” Nanami asks with a small smirk on his pink lips. His eyes meet yours, which are full of sorrow. 

“What,” you respond, taken by surprise at his comment. Your brow furrows as you ponder what he could mean. Your sorrow is replaced by confusion. 

“For such a smart woman you’re quite dense, aren’t you?” He said still teasing you. “I want your mornings, afternoons, and evenings.” Nanami stands and moves to stand in front of you, his large body looming over you. “I want to be the man you look for in a crowded room, the one you get all dressed up for. I want you– all of you.” 

You stare up at him, confused at his sudden burst of affection. His usual stoic demeanor was gone, now replaced by a soft expression on his sharp features. He holds your eyes, waiting for your response.

“Nan-” you stop yourself, now would be the time to use his first name, “Kento, I do look for you in every crowded room, you’re the one I want to give all of my time to.” You stand, still dwarfed by Kento’s massive frame. 

Neither of you says anything for a moment, rather just processing what just happened. He leans closer to you and you meet him halfway, having to stand on your toes. The kiss is tentative as if you are both scared that this is some form of a cruel dream. Once your lips touch his everything feels at peace, you have no thoughts other than Kento and his soft lips on yours. As you pull away from the short, but sweet, kiss you both cannot stop the smiles that threaten to break your faces. 

He goes in for another kiss, this time with more assurance and passion. His lips are hot and needy as his hands begin to roam your body. Kento’s kisses get more needy and his hands pull at you more and more. Large hands grab at your plush ass as he lifts you to his hips, instinctively, you wrap your legs around his muscular waist. You continue to make out while Kento carefully moves the both of you to your bedroom. 

~~

The next few weeks are filled with getting to know Kento in a deeper, more romantic way. As time passes with him you fall even deeper in love, as does he; the only difference now is that you are not scared to hit the ground because he’s there to catch you. You get to see him, who he is at his core, what makes him tick and it is a true honor. There are so many things that are uncertain in your life, but you know Kento will be a constant. 

Kento does not believe in soulmates, there is no reason this cruel world would give people that luxury, but you are the closest thing to his. He never thought he would be allowed to have you in the ways he wanted you, but here you are in his arms. The Morning sun shines through his blinds causing you to snuggle closer to his chest. Kento debates getting up and making you breakfast, but decides against it in favor of holding your naked form against his own, just for a little longer.

~~

August 2016

Kento finishes tying his bow tie and does a final look in the bathroom mirror before turning off the lights and leaving to find you. You are in the bedroom sitting at your vanity in a pretty white dress, something shorter because of the less-than-traditional wedding celebration. The dress has short sleeves with lace detailing at the ends that match the lace on the rest of the dress. You look up at Kento as you finish putting your makeup on and smile at your soon-to-be husband. 

“The car is almost here darling,” Kento tells you, offering you a hand, a smile matching yours. “You look stunning,” He says, leaning down for a quick kiss. 

“So do you my dear,” you say drinking him in, his white form-fitting shirt and light gray suit make you drool at the thought of taking it off of him later tonight. “Ready?” 

“More than anything else,” Kento says, the smile still not leaving his perfect features. 

~~

The ceremony is short and intimate, just what you and Kento wanted. Nothing too extravagant, but still filled with love. After the ceremony, you and Kento go to a late lunch at your favorite restaurant and just enjoy the day as a married couple. You both sit in a cute little cafe with coffee and dessert. Every once and a while there is the soft clink on Kento’s mug from his ring, the one that matches yours. With each clink, your stomach does flips because you actually got to marry this man. 

The rest of the evening is something out of an old film, the couple strolls through the city streets, lit by the moonlight and shop lights. Kento’s hand in yours, you talk about something while he looks like a lovesick puppy. He has an uncharacteristic soft smile across his features because of you. The walk back to your shared apartment is serene and feels right. Nights like this are what you live for, they are simple, but it’s the small moments that make you fall even more in love with Kento. The way he makes sure you have at least two meals a day that are nutritious or the way he makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world– because to him you are.

~~

November 2017

Nights with Kento are quiet and beautiful. On this particular night you lie on his bare chest post-coitus as he strokes your hair gently. You fidget with his wedding band that matches yours, just content to be with him at this moment. 

“Hey” Kento says in a soft voice to grab your attention, “how would you feel about having kids?” He asks, looking down at you. “Mine specifically” he clarifies. 

“I would love to have your kids, but do you really think we’re ready?” you ask not knowing if you were ready for such a big change to your life. “I mean, we would need to get a bigger place and work seems to never stop.” You ramble on for a little about your anxieties of parenthood and Kento just looks at you with admiration. 

“We have enough to buy a townhouse or condo if that is the biggest concern,” Kento says, softly petting your hair.

~~

October 30th  2018

You are abruptly awoken by a loud cry from down the hall of your pristine townhouse. The noise is not foreign to you, as it once was, but more of a routine, a signal to get up and prepare to feed or change the small girl, Yukie, lying in her crib. Kento usually handles the random 3 AM cries, but he has been so worn out recently because he has been training another student, as per Gojo’s request. As you get out of the warm embrace of your husband he grunts and moves to his stomach. 

Just a few doors from your own is your daughter’s, who is in the cutest pink and green flower onesie. You pull her from her crib and get situated to feed her in the comfy chair in the corner of the obscenely pink room— Kento’s doing. The monotony of feeding pulls you into your own thoughts now that your bundle of sunshine has quieted down.

Having a kid with Kento has made you want more because of the attentive husband he was during your pregnancy and how amazing of a father he is. He never complains about getting up in the middle of the night or having to do his errands with her strapped to his chest (seeing him in the baby bjorn for the first time almost made you jump him in the middle of the kitchen). Kento is truly the ideal man to have your children with because of his evercalm disposition, which you saw crack when he held your daughter for the first time in the harsh lighting in the hospital room. 

~~

In the morning you feel light and airy, as if you are floating a few centimeters off the ground as you are making eggs and toast. Kento and your daughter having tummy time in the living room; her bright laugh and babbles are followed by Kento’s soft chuckles and coos encouraging her. Mornings like this are the ones you live for, even if you are exhausted and have bags the size of checked luggage under your eyes. The quiet mundane life is all you need to feel complete, to feel at peace with yourself and the world. 

Kento’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “Love, I have to work tomorrow night.” He says strapping your daughter into her high chair. “I know you had some cute costumes and plans for Yukie’s first Halloween, but this is unavoidable.” Disappointment evident in his voice as he runs his hand through his hair. 

“Is everything okay?...” You trail off wondering what is so important that they would call Kento in when he’s supposed to work less because of his daughter. “I mean, I know there are more curses active around holidays, but do you really have to go in?” 

“Yaga said almost everyone active is needed, not much else though.” He says looking at you while Yukie plays with his fingers. You can’t help but feel anxiety creep up in the back of your mind. 

Thoughts are coming in from all over the place, what’s going on that Kento needs to work? Of course Kento is one of the best sorcerers, but is this a mission he needs to be on? What is going on? 

~~

The following evening you make a quick dinner so Kento has something on his stomach for what will probably be a long night ahead of him. As the rice noodles are finishing Kento walks into the room with his suit and tie on. He looks as good as the day you met him all those years ago. Kento gets two plates down with utensils and glasses for himself and you, as well as mashed peas and carrots for Yukie. 

This domestic bliss will return after this mission, at least until the next year, when Kento needs to go back full time. Yukie is giggling as Kento is tickling her on the floor before getting her into her chair for dinner. He is her favorite person in the entire world, she will always reach for him when he comes home, drop everything the second he comes into her line of sight.

As you set the plates down on the small dining room table Kento comes with Yukie’s bib and food in hand. The rest of dinner is filled with babbles from Yukie and light conversation as you and Kento dance around the elephant in the room. Kento brings up wanting to take the last two weeks in December off to finally travel to Malaysia; which you fully agree with because you could both use a change in scenery. 

Kento starts to gather his equipment and leave after Yukie is put down for bed. The house is silent, and you are stuck in your head again. It is highly improbable that Kento will get seriously injured or killed, but that is always a fear you have given your shared line of work. 

“I should be home by tomorrow morning, dear.” Kento says, bringing you back to Earth in his calming smooth voice. He pulls you into his chest as he holds you close for a little while, planting kisses to the top of your head occasionally. 

“Just come home to me Nanami Kento.” you say looking up at him with a small smile playing on the corners of your mouth. 

“I love you.” He says before letting you go. 

~~

You fill the rest of your night trying to not stress over the mission Kento is on, but most of your attempts of trying to relax are futile. The one thing you find does help is propping up with your laptop in Yukies room with a small lamp giving off a soft yellow light and looking up Malaysia hotels and tickets to surprise Kento with when he gets home. 

As the hour shifts to around 3 in the morning you feed Yukie one more time before heading to bed. Knowing Kento he will be upset if you screwed up your sleep schedule just for him. You quickly shower and change into a silk pajama set before lying down and falling into a dreamless slumber quickly. 

You wake up around 9 to the sound of your doorbell ringing. Kento is still not home, but maybe he is getting ahead on his paperwork so he can spend the rest of his time with you and Yukie today. The house is cold, as you slip a robe on to answer the door. When you get down the bell rings again as you open the door to Ijichi, who is already fully bowed down. 

“I’m very sorry to inform you…”

[theeternalwombtarot]

their last dream of you ☁️🔒

Y’all know how obsessed I am with King George and Queen Charlotte and I’m equally as obsessed with period pieces, especially romance ones. I watched the whole show some time ago and I loved it so much and I felt it really resonated with me and reminded me of my divine masculine and I’m so tempted to watch it again because it’s so beautiful and they love each other so much against all odds so that’s why I chose them for my banner today and chose to use hands with loving energy from period pieces for my pile choices. I’m about to start giggling lmaoo, I’ve got all this bubbling nervous energy about this reading I know it’s going to be a good one. Okay, enough of my useless rambling, I talk too much feel free to skip over this! Love you, enjoy! 💛

***

i.

Omg, I'm gonna start yelling!! I haven't even shuffled out the cards but someone part of this collective as well as their person is very sentimental. Someone really loves someone in such a timeless manner. In every lifetime, in every era, in every universe, a great love is shared here. Like I feel that ache in my chest that you get when you really really love someone and want to be near them. I really want to say buttons are significant, someone collects something or is prone to or has a tiny habit of holding onto things, even the tiniest most minuscule of things because it's in their nature to hold on and not let go. Someone could have a level of childhood trauma here too, a lack of instability makes them feel unsafe or they may struggle sometimes when they don't have all the answers or don't know what all is going on because it makes them feel very afraid and anxious and I hear someone is going through this right now.

You could be in separation with your divine counterpart and your person is mirroring you. I'm hearing “Don't misunderstand them. Don't judge them harshly or hold their actions to their spirit.” just because they're not speaking to you right now or just because things aren't extremely clear doesn't mean they don't love you or want to be with you and wouldn't go to the ends of the world for you. You know them as you know yourself because they are you. Show them mercy. Offer them compassion because I know how you love them and I know you couldn't really truly be upset with them even if you tried because you love this person so deeply and if you ever are upset it's only because you're afraid of not receiving the outcome you desire.

Oh, and you know what in the show Queen Charlotte there's this really cute part where George says that he's good with buttons. This person is good at the things you have trouble with, and this person really compliments and completes you, I'm hearing from this message that this person also wants to tell you that they appreciate everything you do for them and they think everything you do is perfect and beautiful. You could make no mistakes, you could do no wrong you're this person's angel. I haven't even shuffled the cards yet, this energy is SO strong I'm channeling from the heart to you. Ceramics, arts and crafts, or a fondness for aesthetics and the arts (music, dance, singing, etc) can be very significant to this group. Your person wants to enjoy the things you enjoy. I can't stop channeling, this person has so much they wanna say to you. HELP!!! 🆘!! Okay. I’m gonna actually start. Doing it in the form of a channeled message from your person about their last dream about you.

This person wants to speak to you through music by the way or they speak to you through music and through lyrics this person wants to tell you, especially if you have a playlist about them or if there’s music you’ve shared with them or they’ve shared with you to listen to it because they’re listening to it. “Please listen to it.” Something is coming in about the way this person talks to you on the phone or the things they call you “my love.” There was a time you talked to this person on the phone and their voice, their words, almost took you out the game. I had to get it off my chest I’m sorry! They’re like wanting to say so much.

This persons message about their last dream about you:

“I dreamt that I finally learned how to follow my heart and that I was finally the man (person) I wanted to be all this time for me and for you. In my dream, I finally got away from all the things that kept me away and kept me hurt and drained. Everything was changing. In the past I tried so hard to control my feelings for you and how things went because I was too scared to lose you if I tried to come to you and really put my all into us and our connection. I dreamt that finally was strong and I was able to come towards you and I did, everything was possible, everything was okay and I made things right. I said I was sorry and I told you how much I love you and how much I want to be with you and I did exactly that. I made a choice to be with you and it was the best choice I ever made.

I was free. I found freedom. I finally got away from all those karmic people and karmic cycles that I had trouble getting rid of in my waking life and I made time to focus on you, to focus on us. We spent lots of time together, and we went out and did things and learned things together. In my dream, we went to go do art together and we sat on the beach together and we just held each other and it was beautiful. And you looked so beautiful like you always do when you come to see me. I felt your skin, I could feel your breath on my neck when you hugged me, I could hear the sound of your heart when I laid down on your chest, and I heard your voice. And you laughed with me and you told me how much you loved me and about all the things you wanted to do together and I felt so loved and appreciated. I know that nobody loves me the way you do, I understand now.

In my dream, I finally had the courage to stop living for others and start living for myself and go after the things I want. I dream of you every night. Every day, I walk around in a dream state, thinking of you and you're motivating me even though you’re not here, I know I love you because you aren’t doing anything and I feel so drawn to you. While I’m asleep, I can feel your kiss. I feel the warmth of your lips on my mine and I miss it. I miss kissing you and holding you. I’m so afraid that you’re moving on from me or that you’re going to leave me. Please don’t leave. You’re my moon. I feel so blessed to be loved by you. In my dream, I dreamt that we were happy and we were married and had children together and had all the things you told me you had wanted. I remember all the things you said. In my dream, the past, those people, old versions of our connections, the pain, the fear, was all gone. It didn’t exist anymore.”

About to start crying for real. This person feels like crying, they've been crying. I'm like at a loss for words I'm typing one single letter per minute right now- hold on to your hope pile one. Justice is coming.

***

ii.

Pile one was so big, I feel so guilty, I feel like I spoiled them. But anyway, I'm gonna do this in the form of a channeled message, your person is going to tell about their dreams of you. I'm getting immediately that this person really craves you pile two or they crave your touch. This person has deep romantic undertones for you, so much gentleness, compassion, and love but recently something has really made them wanna get down with you. I didn't think any of these readings were gonna take this turn but I just see this person fast asleep late at night thinking of how close to you their gonna get when they get the chance. I see this person really missing you. They may feel you spiritually and they may really love you emotionally but they want so badly to hold you, to be near you, their losing their minds trying to contain themselves waiting for the next time they see you in person. You've stirred up so much love in this person that they have nothing more to do with it than put it on you. They can't think of another way to show you their appreciation except to show you just how much they appreciate you.

I hear this person thinking to themselves and even telling others in the past or trying to describe to you the way they feel when they're near you and it's impossible. You light a fire within this person. They don't know what to do with all of it because there's plenty. This person could burn entire cities to the ground with the amount of fire they have within themselves because of you. It's greater than arousal. Don't get me wrong, this person is very much attracted to you, very much wants to be intimate with you but this person feels that heavy sensation in their chest about you, they feel their sacral chakra begin to activate, they feel the heat rising. If you've ever heard the song Melting by Kali Uchis. And I’m hearing this person saying that nobody can make them feel this way. This person wants to fuse souls with you. This person knows that you’re their person. You could’ve not seen this person in a long time, even if they’ve seen you recently I hear them telling me it’s all the same. They cry when you’re not around, they don’t like it when they can’t see you. “Why do I cry” by Margo Guryan is a good representation of this persons feelings.

This persons message about their last dream about you:

“I dreamt that we finally reconciled and decided to try to have everything we’d ever dreamed of with each other. I dreamt that we talked and we had forgiven each other. You’d forgiven me. I’d forgiven you. Our past was behind us and we finally were ready to move forward and see things from a different perspective. We saw that everything we’d been through, everything we feared, all the pain we felt, and all the times we were in separation were all a part of the divine plan all along and for a good reason. I dreamt that finally, we loved ourselves the way we loved one another, I dreamt that we were confident and we had finally come into ourselves and our power and knew what we came here to do and knew that we loved each other and would not ever want to spend our lives or our time with anyone else.

I dreamt that finally we were in alignment with each other and the disconnection had ended and we didn’t have to struggle anymore. Outside of each other, with other people, outside of ourselves with our fears and our beliefs and feelings. I dreamt that we were finally doing everything we said we’d do and that we finally had it within ourselves to put all of our ambition and all of our dreams to good use in all aspects. I dreamt that you had abundance and you’d found your happiness and your purpose and I dreamt that I overcame all my fears and finally was able to do what I was meant to do and achieve all my goals. I dreamt that we were abundant and happy and successful. All of our dreams and wishes came true. And in all, we had each other and that’s what mattered most.

I dreamt of how beautiful it felt to be loved by you, I dreamt of being made love to by you. I dreamt of your kisses, of your touch, of your body heat. I felt your eyelashes against my cheek, I could run my fingers through your hair, I remembered in my dream what it felt like to look into your eyes and how nervous and flustered that always made me. I remembered how much I love you. How you made me feel. How irreplaceable you are. I remembered how much I needed you for me. How unable I would be to ever be satisfied and content without your love and your presence. I miss your hands. I miss holding your hand. In my waking life, I wonder why you haven’t texted or called. When I wake up from a dream about you I find myself calling out your name or expecting you wholeheartedly to be there because the dream of you is a very real and vivid experience that can’t be denied. I’m sad when I wake up in the morning and you’re not there. It makes me feel like I’m in love with a ghost. I feel you, I hear you, but I can’t see you.

I feel you so strongly. My intuition tells me you’re near. I can’t shake the feeling. All I feel is raw emotion. You’ve left a big gaping hole in my heart that nobody else can fill the shape of but you.”

Let’s all just sit down together and cry. Pile two, your person is giving off this nervous energy. Their so nervous it’s like they’re almost embarrassed by how much they love you and how attracted to you they feel. This person is just a little melty puddle around you. That could be significant. Them melting into a puddle lol they may have told you something like that before. Ugh. Breathe. Take deep breaths!! Everytime I finish the channeled message for a pile, I almost don’t want to start the other group. I don’t want to leave. I hear this person hides from you pile two, they hide how much they feel or they hide the effect you have on them because you make them so nervous. This person may look away from you when they speak to you because if they look at you they'll cry. Or this person really loves your eyes and the way you look at them makes them feel so vulnerable and weak in the knees. This is def a music group. Getting “weak” by SWV. Ugh. Unhand me immediately y'all are making me so nervous. I don't wanna talk to you anymore.

***

iii.

GirlUH! -, I had to take a deep breath and go scroll around on TikTok and consume a bunch of nonsense just so I can have a break and pull myself together after piles one and two. Forgive me. I feel like I've been ambushed.

This person could really feel like they miss you or haven’t fully been able to let you go. I’m getting “still think bout u” by A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie. This person could've been hurt by you in the past or experienced a lot of heartbreak in your connection but still hasn’t fully been able to release your relationship and let you go although you and this person may have been broken up for a while here if you and this person are separated and not together. I feel very antsy and nervous energy coming through with this person but it’s so strong that it almost makes me want to ignore it or push it down out of fear. This person may suppress or repress their own emotions and then try to up-level themselves or spend time with other people or throw themselves into work to try and make themselves feel better when they’re in pain. Their technique is to be productive and I hear this isn’t working for this person. This person wants to see you pile three they feel like they have no other choice but to be with you even though you hurt them because that’s the only way they see the pain going away.

There’s a complicated energy here and for some of you, you’re like “…” like you don’t want to hear from this person because they may have broken your heart too or caused you pain too and you’re like over it but you feel them tugging on your energy or manifesting you... you may know this person is going through shifts here or isn’t the same and they sense that within themselves or the people around them sense that they aren’t the same. They keep looking for ways to take the edge off and not have to think about you anymore and it’s not working. This person may reflect on memories you have together or the happiness and safety they felt when you were around despite some sort of hardship within your connection. This person is conflicted and is sending you their energy for you to feel because they want you to feel it with them. I avoided starting this pile for a fat minute too. Like I was like “I'm not ready, I'm not ready.” You have this person nervous...

You and this person could’ve hurt each other or not have ended well or there was something that happened that left this person feeling bad about themselves and feeling unhealed and unsafe. I see a situation where they might’ve been vengeful and tried to get back at you for something or could’ve done something bad or deceptive and you called it quits and this person didn’t really expect you to leave for real or leave things so quickly and wash your hands of the situation. I'm SICK!! LOL, this person is sick, you're sick or you were. Sick of this. Sick of the way they feel.

This persons message about their last dream about you:

“I dreamt that I was working and trying to balance out my life and take things and myself seriously. I dreamt that I was a better man (woman). I want to be a better man (woman). I want to feel secure in whole within myself. I dreamt that Id achieved all the things that id been manifesting, everything physical and tangible but still I didn't feel fulfilled and I remembered all the things you'd told me about how the things we want aren't really about the things we want and the feelings that we’d feel if we had them. I'd dreamt that even in all my accolades love was missing and safety was missing and you represent that for me even though you hurt me and I caused you pain too. And in my waking life, I sometimes think about you and I sometimes miss you even still, even after everything but I know you're done with me and it’s best I just stay away. I've been sending you messages, or trying to manifest you so that you could remember our relationship and the good things we had and maybe forgive me and miss me too but I feel your resistance. I feel that you know my presence in your mind is not your own doing.

I dreamt that my manifestations were successful and that you came to me and told me that you missed me and wanted to talk to me again even after all this time apart. In my dream, you told me that you felt the same way like all the work you've done so far had been for nothing if we didn't have each other, and that you wanted to grow with me and work on what happened between us and that we would be together this time and be happy with each other. In my dream, you felt in your heart that we were meant to be and so you were motivated to come forward. To come to me. There was so much possibility for improvement. I was so glad. And we talked about our memories together and our experiences together and they weren’t all for nothing. They meant something to you. They meant something to us.

In my dream, any competition that existed, anyone who you were with you decided you didn’t want to be with anymore and you wanted to be with me and we were going to build together and be successful together. And I told you how I understood everything you said to me before and how much I had learned from you and how much you meant to me all this time and I told you how sorry I was and how hard for me it was to try and replace you and be happy without you. We were gonna be together. Everything was going to be okay. You had forgiven me. We’d forgiven each other.”

I hear this person having a lot of wishful thinking, they have this fantasy in their minds of what things could be like if they wanted to settle down and be in love and I think that you played a huge role in being a primary example of what that was to them but I think they let you and your relationship slip through their fingers perhaps. They may not have been the best to you, may have closed themselves off or cheated on you or broke your trust due to you accidentally causing them pain or giving them a hard time in the past. And I think this person is still very much attatched to you and the idea of you and in their own minds they love you. And I say in their own minds because I don't believe you believe this pile three after their behavior.

What's really interesting is the significance of pride and prejudice coming up. You could’ve watched this movie with this person or tried to share this film with this person during a rough time in your relationship and the way they reacted to you or the film may be significant but I also think that the characters are significant. Mr. Darcy has a horrible way of showing that he loves someone and communicating and he does things that can be really hurtful and do hurt Elizabeth and she’s like absolutely completely expressive that she does not want to be with this man under any circumstances (even though she does) and his half-assed attempt to come towards her and express himself (even though it was really good for his character because you know..) turns out being successful and Elizabeth ends up giving him a second chance and marrying him just as he had asked her to because she loves him but like you’re not Elizabeth and you’re not going to settle for the bare minimum and be like WELL, he said he was sorry!! BOO! YOU WHORE! 🍅🍅🍅! I love pride and prejudice I really do but at the same time. Elizabeth deserved more. Anyways anyways I’m getting carried away.

***

Hope these were enlightening and you enjoyed these. Def gonna need a nap to recover from these. I love you so much and I appreciate all the support I've gotten with the readings and me sharing my gifts with you. I racked up a decent following on here off of opinions and aesthetics but I hadn't realized how much of myself I’d been hiding away. I'm excited for what more I can share. Anyways, if you ever want a personal reading from me you could go to my Instagram either @cooki3face or @cookiefacetarot on Instagram and click the link in my bio <3 bye, my hands have permanent dents in them now from typing for so long!

[alexiabae]

ONE DAY; fridolina rolfö x fem!reader

Summary: frido calls y/n after the semifinal match against spain.

Warnings: sad frido, fluff. short.

Note: English is not my first language.

Frido bites her bottom lip, sitting far away from her national teammates. She unblocked her phone and saw a lot of missed calls from her family, friends and Y/N.

She leaned her back on the wall, hearing the distant quiet chat between some of them. The blonde pressed the button to start a FaceTime call. She wants to forget everything that happened right now and talk with her favourite person.

"Hii, love." Y/N's face approached after a few seconds. She was giving her a sad smile, her eyes looking red, accentuating her colour eyes.

"I'm the only one who loses. What is your excuse?" Frido asked in a raspy voice, a tiny smile decorating her lips.

Y/N shakes her head, chuckling softly. "Well, my excuse is seeing you cry." She confessed, shrugging.

The blonde bites a little too hard on her lower lip, holding her own tears for this confession. Something really hard to do when she cried recently.

"Sorry..." Frido muttered, closing her eyes briefly and inevitably a tear rolled for her left cheek.

"You don't have to apologize, mi amor. You have the right to cry and feel sad." Y/N said firm in a soft voice.

Frido gives her one of her famous smiles, showing all her teeth, this time adorned by her tears. "I told you how much I love you?" She asked, watching between her blurred vision how Y/N shakes her head slowly.

"Something I heard..." Y/N giggles. "Frido... I know you are disappointed," Y/N started to say, looking at her with a serious but soft look. Frido swallows, nodding with her head briefly. "You were hopeful and I'm not gonna lie... I was too. I don't care if I am from Spain or not. You know what I think about Spain in this tournament..." Y/N bites her bottom lip, not wanting to let out any tears right now. "Just remember this encounter and make a promise to come back and do it until the final. Because I know you can. Sweden can do it." Y/N finished, clearing her throat to swallow the lump formed there.

A sob escapes from Frido's lips, hiding with a hand her eyes, letting all the tears out. "I p-promise you t-that." She stammered, wiping her tears with the palm of her hand that covered her eyes before.

"I know. You won the League's title, nationals cups, you just won the champions league... Do you think that you can't win the euro or the world cup? Because I'm sure if it's not the two, some of them could be." Y/N reassured her, smiling widely when Frido chuckled.

"We can be like Irene..." Frido trailed off, a silly smile playing on her lips. She saw how her girlfriend frowned, confused. "With a toddler around us." She clarified, enjoying the new colour on Y/N's cheeks.

"Do you not have enough with your young teammates?" Y/N whispered, making Frido laugh.

Frido shakes her head, still smiling. She stopped crying at this point. "Nop."

"What about Lucy?" This makes her laugh more. "She's like a child."

"I know." Frido said between laughs. "I'm not saying that it needed to happen. But, I see myself with you and a little you." The blonde admitted, shrugging.

"Well, I prefer a little Frido." Y/N admitted too, a new shape of red decorating her cheeks.

The Swedish blonde smirked. "I like these new propositions."

"I'm in love with an idiot." Y/N muttered, earning the laugh from the striker. Then, the Spanish looks up.

It's when Frido pays attention to where Y/N is. Well, she didn't know where she was, and Frido is trying to figure it out.

"Where are you? I don't recognise it." Frido asked, curiously.

Y/N looks down again, looking briefly at her sides. "I'm going to my mom's." Y/N lied, trying not to show her surroundings. "I need to hang up now. I will call you in a few minutes." She announced.

"Okay...?" Frido said, a little confused. "If you don't call in said time, I will." She said, making Y/N laughs this time.

The Spanish hung up and walked into the tunnel, accompanied by Pernille. "She is so in love." The Danish woman hummed, smirking mischievously.

"Shut up. You are too." Y/N muttered, looking down.

"From your girlfriend?" Pernille asked, smugly.

"No! Y-You understand me." Y/N stammered, hitting Pernille's arm, making her laugh.

"Yes, but I love teasing you." The forward admitted, approaching the door they were searching. "I'm going to text Magda." She said, grabbing her phone.

Y/N waited by her side, watching the people walk up and down the tunnel. For her luck, the Spanish girls are in their changing room, celebrating the pass to the final.

The door opening behind her, gained her attention. Magda opened it, her face displaying all what she was feeling in that moment, but a tiny smile grew up when she saw Y/N.

"Nice to see you again, kiddo." Magda said in a raspy voice, wrapping an arm around Y/N's shoulder and hugging her.

Y/N rolled her eyes, hugging her too. "You are older than me for only three years"

"Whatever you said, kiddo." Magda said, separating from the hug and pecking Pernille's lips.

"You two are insoportable." Y/N muttered, crossing her arms.

The couple turned to look at her with teasing smirks and smugly expressions while they were still hugging.

"Let's go inside." Magda said, taking off her arms from Pernille and grabbing her hand, she gets inside, Y/N following.

Y/N saw how devastated the girls are. Some of them are sitting together, giving each other encouragement words, others just comforting each other and others are alone. She saw how Hanna raised her head and crossed her gaze with hers, a look of surprise decorating her features.

"Hello." Y/N greeted, waving with her hand.

"Hey..." Hanna greeted her, still shocked. "Sorry, I'm in shock. I'm not waiting for you at this moment." She laughed nervously. Then, the blonde wrapped her arms around her neck. Y/N wrapped her arms around her too, giving a soft pat on her back.

"I believe in this team." Y/N simply said. She gave her an apologetic smile when they separated, wiping Hanna's tears.

"She is over there." Hanna muttered, indicating with a move of her head in the direction.

Y/N thanked her and kissed her forehead, walking slowly towards the young Swedish said. She saw Frido sitting on a bench, both elbows leaning on her knees, her face hiding by her hands. She walked towards her and sat down, watching her.

Frido noticed someone sitting next to her, but she doesn't pay too much attention, she just keeps trying to focus on another thing while she waits for Y/N to call her. Her knee bounced a little.

Y/N passed her tongue to her lips, a funny expression on her eyes. "You know... It's a little rude for you to not show interest in the person who sits down next to you."

The blonde blinked a few times while raising her head to look at the new voice. "W-What are you d-doing here?" Frido asked, looking astonished.

The Spanish shrugged and soon a squeal escaped from her mouth because Frido lifted her from her seat to her lap and proceeded to hug her, hiding her head on Y/N's neck and wrapping her arms around her torso.

"You don't answered me." Frido said in a muffled voice.

"I came to surprise you. I don't tell you because when I landed here, you started to play. So I contacted P and Magda and we agreed that P would come for me at the airport." Y/N explained.

"I missed you." The Swedish whispered, kissing her neck and raising her head, she was met by Y/N's gaze.

"Me too." Y/N muttered, looking at how Frido's blue eyes lit up. When the blonde travels her gaze towards Y/N's lips, the other decides to not lose time and break the little space.

It was slow, a chaste kiss. Y/N putting on her hands on Frido's cheeks and when it intensifies, a groan escapes from their mouths.

"Please, the public affection that you two are showing kept it in private!" Magda exclaims with clear intentions to tease her friends.

Frido without saying anything, stood up, making Y/N to wrap her legs on her waist and without breaking the kiss, the blonde walked to an empty cubicle. Some whistles were heard by her teammates.

"I'm not going to have sex with you, here." Y/N murmured on her lips, pecking it a few times.

"I can wait until we are alone." Frido said, smiling by Y/N's kisses on her face. She leaned Y/N's back on the door when she closed it.

"How are you?" Y/N asked, caressing Frido's cheeks with her thumbs.

"I will be better." Frido muttered, closing her eyes and enjoying Y/N's touch.

Y/N pecked her nose, seeing how the player scrunched her nose.

"I like that jersey, by the way." Y/N commented, leaning her head aside with a lipped smile.

Frido looks down to see her new jersey. "Forget about it. The only colour you would see me in red is when I wear a barça jersey. Yellow always."

"Is maroon. Not red." Y/N hummed, laughing when she saw how Frido rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, you understand me." Frido shut her kissing her again.

"Couple, we need to go now." Pernille interrupted them from the other side.

"Would you come with me to Sweden?" Frido asked, ignoring the warning by her friend.

Y/N nods. "Yes, but only a week. Later I need to come back to Barcelona."

Frido pouted. "No! You will stay with me until I come back to Barcelona." She stubbornly said, frowning.

"They are ignoring me." They heard how Pernille commented to someone. Y/N bits a laugh when she sees how Frido groans softly.

Y/N, still with her hands on her face, bring it towards her and give her a long kiss. "Definitely later we will search our first child." Frido comments, laughing hard for Y/N's reaction.

[kiwriteswords]

Tonight, you’re on my mind, so you’ll never know…

Chapter Two Out of Four (Possibly Five!)

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 7k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical themes, sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, pining, mutual pining, spoilers for Criminal Minds seasons 1-12, friends to lovers, first-time, loss of virginity, grief, trauma, timeline of 8 year old!Hotch—Post CM!Hotch–please let me know if I am missing anything!

Sypnosis: Years have passed since you and Aaron Hotchner first crossed paths, but the connection you shared has never truly faded. In the wake of personal loss and career demands, your lives have taken different directions, leaving unresolved feelings and unspoken words lingering in the background. As fate pulls you back into each other’s orbit, you must navigate the delicate balance between duty, grief, and the possibility of rekindling something you thought was lost forever. In a world of danger, distance, and emotional walls, will you and Aaron finally confront the past—or let it slip away once more?

When Haley died, not long after you saw him, you felt the earth shift beneath your feet. 

You had known Aaron long enough to understand how much he loved her, how fiercely he had fought to keep her and Jack safe. The news of her death reached you like a punch to the gut, and you knew—without a doubt—that Aaron would never be the same.

You couldn’t bring yourself to go to the funeral, though you thought about it, agonized over it, until your hands shook with indecision. You wanted to be there, to offer your support, to let him know he wasn’t alone in this unbearable grief. 

But every time you imagined standing among the mourners, watching Aaron from a distance, you felt like an intruder on his pain, an uninvited ghost from his past.

Instead, you sent flowers—a beautiful, understated arrangement of white lilies and roses. You knew it wasn’t enough; it could never be enough. But it was all you could bring yourself to do. 

You wrote a simple note to accompany them: Thinking of you and Jack. I’m so sorry for your loss. – Y/N. 

As you sealed the envelope, you wondered if he’d even know they were from you, if he’d understand that behind those few words was an ocean of sorrow and regret, that you were mourning for him too.

The truth was, you never stopped thinking about him. You thought about him constantly—especially at night, when the world was quiet and you were left alone with your thoughts. You wondered how he was holding up, how he was managing to be strong for Jack when his own heart was shattered. You imagined him sitting alone in the dark, trying to keep it together for his son, and it broke you in ways you didn’t have words for.

The business card he’d left for you all those years ago was still tucked away in your desk drawer. Every now and then, you’d pull it out and trace your finger over his name, over the number that you’d never dialed. 

There had been so many nights when you’d come close, phone in hand, his number half-dialed, your thumb hovering over the call button. But each time, you hesitated, thinking that maybe too much time had passed, that maybe reaching out now would only complicate things, reopen old wounds.

You were terrified that he’d think you were only calling out of pity or obligation, not realizing that you never stopped caring, that you never stopped wanting to be part of his life. 

So, you let the moment slip through your fingers, again and again, convincing yourself that staying silent was the best way to honor the memory of what you’d once had.

You could confidently say you were strong on all accounts, but the heartbreak that haunted you like a ghost caused by what could have been was a bear you did not want to poke or agitate more than already occurred. 

What you didn’t know was that Aaron had been waiting for that call. He’d left his number for you because he thought—he hoped—that maybe you still felt something, that maybe you’d reach out when the time was right. 

But as the days turned into weeks, and then into months, with no word from you, he took your silence as a sign of disinterest, as confirmation that whatever feelings you’d once had for him were buried and gone.

He convinced himself that you had moved on with your life, that you were happy and content without him, and the thought of that hurt more than he ever let himself admit. He buried his feelings for you the way he buried everything else that hurt too much to face—deep inside, behind walls that even he couldn’t always tear down.

In the days after Haley’s funeral, Aaron Hotchner’s world felt like it had been turned inside out. He moved through the motions, numb and detached, his focus entirely on Jack and keeping his son’s shattered world from falling apart. Grief clung to him like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every breath. It wasn’t until the house finally emptied of well-meaning guests, leaving him alone with Jack’s quiet sobs in the middle of the night, that he allowed himself to truly feel the weight of it all.

Amid the sea of sympathy cards, casseroles, and flower arrangements that had been left behind, there was one that caught his eye—a simple, understated arrangement of white lilies and roses. 

Something about the elegance and restraint of it made him pause, a flicker of recognition passing through his mind. He reached for the card tucked into the blooms, the handwriting familiar in a way that made his breath hitch.

Thinking of you and Jack. I’m so sorry for your loss. – Y/N.

Aaron stood there, the note trembling slightly in his hand. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He read those words over and over again, feeling each letter like a whisper from a life he’d tried so hard to bury. You had sent them. 

Of all the people who might have reached out, it was you. The person who had once been his anchor, the one who always seemed to understand him in ways no one else ever could.

He ran his thumb over your name on the card, his mind swirling with a thousand thoughts he didn’t know how to untangle. Behind those few words, he could feel everything you hadn’t said—an ocean of sorrow, regret, and something deeper that he’d never been able to fully let go of. It was all there, hidden between the lines, like a message meant only for him.

He thought back to all those nights when he would sit alone in the darkness, the crushing weight of grief threatening to pull him under. He had tried to be strong for Jack, to hold it together for his son, but there were moments when the pain was too much, when the silence of the house echoed with memories of Haley and all the things he couldn’t change. 

And now, in the midst of that grief, knowing that you were out there somewhere, thinking of him—mourning with him—made it all the more unbearable.

The truth was, he had been waiting for something from you. Anything. A sign that you still cared, that he wasn’t alone in his grief. 

He had left his business card with you all those years ago, hoping that maybe you would reach out when the time was right. He had clung to the idea that you’d still feel something when you saw his number, that you’d dial it when you were ready.

But as the days turned into weeks, and then into months, and still he heard nothing, Aaron convinced himself that your silence was his answer. That whatever feelings you’d once had for him were buried under the weight of time and lost chances. 

He told himself that you were happy, that you had moved on, built a life that didn’t include him. It was a thought that hurt more than he’d ever let himself admit—a pain that he buried deep, behind walls he couldn’t afford to let crack.

What he didn’t know was that, in the quiet of your own nights, you held that same business card in your hands, your fingers tracing the letters of his name over and over again. That there were countless moments when you almost called, when his number hovered on your screen, and you hesitated—not because you didn’t want to reach out, but because you were terrified of what you might find on the other end of the line. That your silence wasn’t indifference, but fear of reopening old wounds, of complicating a life that seemed to have settled without you in it.

As he stood there, looking down at the lilies and roses you had sent, Aaron felt a wave of regret so intense it threatened to break him apart. He wished you had fought for him, wished you had asked him to pick you back when he still had the chance to choose. He had always believed that if you’d only said the words, if you had only asked him to stay, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

But now, in the quiet aftermath of his grief, he realized that he had been waiting for a sign from you all along—a sign that never came. And in its absence, he’d built a life that looked whole on the outside but felt empty on the inside. A life where the memory of you was always there, lingering just beneath the surface, like a song he could never forget.

He stared down at the flowers one last time, his fingers brushing over the petals, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He had spent so much of his life building walls, hiding the pain behind a stoic facade. 

But now, in this moment of raw vulnerability, he let himself feel it all—the longing, the regret, the love he’d never quite let go of. And he knew, with a clarity that cut straight through his grief, that the only thing worse than losing Haley was knowing that he had lost you, too.

Because he had loved you then, in ways he never fully let himself admit. And a part of him still loved you now, even if it was too late to say it.

It did not take much to snap him out of the moment, though. Duties called--ones far greater and more significant than anything a badge could offer: Fatherhood. He knew he had to step up to the plate as a father, but more so now, trying to fill the very empty shoes Haley once wore. 

After Haley's death, Aaron found himself sitting in the dim light of his office late at night, the house silent except for the faint sound of Jack sleeping down the hall. 

He stared at his phone, your name already typed into the message field, his thumb hovering over the keys. The grief was suffocating, pressing on his chest in a way that made it hard to breathe, but you were the only person who had ever made that weight feel lighter. 

He started to type, the words fumbling through his mind—I don’t even know how to begin...—but then he stopped, his hand trembling as the memory of Haley’s last moments flooded his thoughts. 

Haley had been there through every transition, through the chaos of law school and the early days of his career. With her, things made sense. Their relationship was built on stability, on a history that he didn’t have with anyone else.

Even now, sitting in the quiet of his apartment, he knew that choosing Haley wasn’t just about love—it was about the life they had built together. It was about Jack, about providing a family, about keeping the promises he had made. Haley was his constant, the person who helped him stay grounded when the weight of the world felt too heavy. 

With you, it had always felt like a choice he couldn’t afford to make, because choosing you meant tearing apart everything he had already built.

It wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t ready, and maybe, he told himself, neither were you. 

With a quiet, resigned sigh, he deleted the message, tucking the phone away as the loneliness of the night settled back in.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself in the same shoes, your finger hovered over Aaron’s contact, hesitation gnawing at you. Before you could overthink it, you pressed the call button. After a few rings, someone answered, but it wasn’t Aaron’s familiar voice.

“BAU, Agent Morgan.”

You froze for a moment, taken aback. “Hi... I was looking for Aaron. Is he available?”

“He’s not here right now, he’s overseas on an assignment,” Morgan replied, his tone polite but measured, offering no further details. “Can I take a message?”

You hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. “No, that’s okay. Please don’t tell him I called. It’s nothing urgent.” 

As you ended the conversation and the call, a sense disappointment washed over you. Your thoughts were taken over by your door bell ringing. The guy you decided to give a chance--the nice guy who looked good on paper, you finally agreed to a first date. 

Here goes nothing, you thought.

The next time you saw Aaron was years later. By then, you were the head of trauma surgery at a major hospital near the BAU headquarters. 

You’d built a life for yourself that you were supposed to be proud of—rising through the ranks, saving lives every day—but even with all your success, something always felt like it was missing. You told yourself that you were over Aaron, that your feelings for him were relics of a past life. But some part of you knew that wasn’t true.

You had moved back to D.C., you couldn’t stay away. The call to return too great to ignore. In some weird ways you wondered in the back of your mind if that pull was him. 

Then, one afternoon, you got the call that changed everything. Agent Hotchner had collapsed, from internal bleeding and he was being rushed into your ER. The words echoed in your mind, your world narrowing to a single point as you tried to process them. 

Your hands shook as you gave the order for your team to take over, citing a conflict of interest that left your colleagues glancing at each other in confusion.

You looked over his chart and felt as if the years you had missed were being connected through Aaron’s traumatic medical chart. Damaged hearing, a stabbing…it was all too much. 

You watched from just outside the trauma room, your eyes fixed on Aaron’s pale face as your team worked to stabilize him. 

Your heart ached with the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and unconscious, so different from the strong, composed man you remembered. The urge to be by his side, to hold his hand and reassure him, was almost overwhelming. 

But the weight of all the years of silence, regret, and missed chances pressed down on you, keeping you frozen in place.

After a few tense moments, you saw the rest of his team gather in the waiting area, anxiously watching their fallen leader through the glass. They looked worried, their bond with him clear in their expressions. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you decided you couldn’t leave things unfinished, not again.

You approached them slowly, the sterile hallway stretching out before you as you made your way to the gathered group of agents. 

Your white coat felt heavier with each step, like it carried the weight of your past along with the present. When you finally reached them, you offered a small, professional smile, even though your nerves were betraying you.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Y/N L/N," you said, your voice calm and steady despite the swirl of emotions beneath the surface. "I’m the head of trauma surgery here. I wanted to let you know that we’re doing everything we can for Agent Hotchner."

The team turned their attention to you, a mix of relief and curiosity flickering in their eyes. Penelope Garcia stepped forward first, her expression softening with gratitude and something close to desperation. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, her voice tinged with raw emotion. "He’s… he’s one of us, you know? We’d be lost without him."

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze drifting to the floor before looking back up to meet their eyes. 

"I actually know Aaron," you said, the admission almost surreal after all this time. "We go way back—grade school, actually. We lost touch for a while but reconnected in college. We were close for a time before life took us in different directions."

As soon as you said those words, you noticed the subtle shift in their expressions. David Rossi’s eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of recognition lighting up his features. He exchanged a knowing glance with Derek Morgan, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. Rossi’s lips curved into a small, intrigued smile.

"Wait a second," Rossi said, his voice carrying that signature blend of curiosity and understanding. "You’re the one from that photo on Hotch’s bookshelf, aren’t you? The old picture from his college days. We always wondered about the story behind it."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, caught off guard by the revelation that they knew about the photo. The same picture Aaron had kept all these years, the one you didn’t even know was still a part of his life. You nodded, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. 

"I guess I am," you said quietly, your voice tinged with a touch of nostalgia. "We were close once, a long time ago."

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth dropping open slightly as she glanced back at Rossi and then at you. 

"Oh my gosh," she said, shaking her head slowly. "We’ve all seen that photo a million times and tried to guess who you were. He never talks about it—never mentioned you, not once. But I guess that’s typical Hotch, huh?"

You gave a tight smile, your gaze softening as you thought of Aaron’s habit of keeping his deepest feelings locked away, even from the people closest to him. 

"That sounds like him," you said, your voice laced with a fondness you couldn’t quite hide. "He’s always been good at keeping his mystery."

There was a moment of silence as the team absorbed the significance of what you’d just shared. It was as though a small piece of the puzzle that was Aaron Hotchner had suddenly fallen into place for them. They knew he didn’t open up easily, and to learn that you were someone important from his past felt like they were being let in on a part of his life they never fully understood.

With a slight hesitation, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper with your personal phone number written on it. You held it out to Penelope, feeling like you were offering up a piece of your own heart.

"When he wakes up," you said, carefully controlling the tremor in your voice, "could you give this to him? Just tell him that I was here and that I thought he might want to reach out, if he feels like it."

You knew you could call. Life seemed too chaotic for Aaron and you did not want to be an inconvenience. You wanted the ball to be in his court--you wanted him to make the move. You didn’t want to burden him. 

Penelope took the paper from you with a tenderness that surprised you, her eyes softening with empathy. She looked at you like she understood more than she was letting on, like she could see the layers of unspoken history between you and Hotch. 

"I’ll make sure he gets it," she said, her voice warm with kindness. "And, for what it’s worth, I think he’d want to know you were here."

You offered her a grateful nod, but the moment felt heavy, like you were leaving something unsaid, something lodged in the space between who you were and who you used to be. With one last glance at the group, you turned and walked away, each step feeling like you were tearing yourself from a past that refused to let go.

You stood just outside the hospital room, your hand resting on the doorframe, watching through the small glass window as Aaron lay unconscious. 

Every instinct told you to go in, to sit by his side, to be there for him like you had been so many years ago. But something held you back—something more than the sterile walls of the hospital. 

It was the weight of everything he had been through. Haley’s death. Raising Jack alone. His life was already so heavy, and you couldn’t bear the thought of adding another layer of complexity to it. 

Was it selfish to want to see him? To reconnect, knowing how much he had already lost? 

Your pulse quickened, your heart warring with your mind. You weren’t sure if stepping back into his world would heal old wounds or tear them open again.

Inside the room, Aaron stirred slightly, but he didn’t know you were there, just beyond the door. 

Even in the haze of pain and medication, his mind circled back to Jack—his first thought always his son, as it had been ever since Haley’s death. 

He had built his life around being a father, and any decisions, even those tied to lingering feelings for you, had to take that into account. He had pushed his emotions down for years, focusing on what Jack needed, on what the job demanded. 

But lying there in the quiet of the hospital room, his thoughts kept drifting to you. What would it mean to let you back into his life, to let himself feel again, after everything he had lost? Could he afford that risk? Jack needed stability, not more upheaval, and Aaron wasn’t sure if he could be both—Jack’s anchor and someone who opened his heart again.

You lingered for another moment, torn between wanting to reach for the handle and the fear of disrupting a life that wasn’t yours to complicate. 

In the end, you stepped back, leaving the connection between you suspended, unresolved. You weren’t sure if it was the right decision, but you told yourself that staying away was what Aaron needed, even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

You waited until Aaron was stable and as you left the hospital that night, your mind raced back to the picture Rossi had mentioned—the one of you and Aaron from those college days. The fact that he’d kept it all these years, through everything, felt like a thread that still connected your lives, no matter how far apart you’d drifted. 

But when you went home to your fiancé—a man who was kind and stable, the kind of man you thought you needed—you couldn’t shake the image of Aaron lying in that hospital bed. And you realized, with a dull ache in your chest, that a part of your heart had never really stopped waiting for him to come back to you.

As the night wore on, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your carefully built defenses. You were living a lie. You couldn’t marry this man, not when your heart had always been tied to someone else, someone who still held a piece of you after all these years. 

You broke it off with your fiancé, your voice shaking as you told him that he deserved someone who could love him completely. It was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but you knew it was the right decision.

When Aaron Hotchner finally woke up, the bright lights of the hospital room made him squint, his head pounding with the remnants of his collapse. As his vision cleared, he saw Penelope Garcia sitting by his side, her face lighting up with relief the moment his eyes opened.

"Aaron, thank goodness!" Penelope exclaimed, her voice wobbling with emotion. "You scared the hell out of us. Don’t you ever do that again!"

He offered her a faint smile, trying to sit up despite the weakness in his limbs. "I’ll do my best," he said, his voice hoarse. "What happened?"

Penelope filled him in on the details of his condition, but then her expression shifted, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Oh, and by the way, you had a visitor," she said, a little smile playing on her lips. "Dr. Y/N L/N, the head of trauma surgery. She was here when they brought you in. The one I looked up for you all those years ago!"

Aaron’s breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of your name. "Y/N was here?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. 

Hearing your name again, spoken aloud, was like a rush of warmth and memories flooding back into his chest. Memories of college, of late nights and soft conversations, of what could have been.

"Yep," Penelope said, her smile widening. "I didn’t realize she’s the one from the photo in your office. She even left her number for you to call her when you’re feeling up to it." She handed him the slip of paper with your number on it, and he took it, staring at it like it was a lifeline to something he thought he’d lost forever.

But before he could fully process what this might mean, Penelope's face softened with a hint of guilt. 

"Okay, confession time," she said, wincing slightly. "I may have done a little updated cyber-stalking on Dr. Y/N, and well... she’s engaged, Hotch. To some guy who looks like he has an investment portfolio and a golf handicap. You know the type."

Aaron’s heart sank, the hopeful flutter in his chest turning to a heavy thud. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, your number staring back at him like a taunt. All those years ago, he’d left his number for you, hoping you’d reach out, hoping you still cared. When you didn’t call, he’d told himself that you’d moved on, that you were happier without him in your life. The flowers to Haley’s funeral were welcomed, but that time in his life was such a blur, yet he can still remember the arrangement if he closed his eyes long enough.

And now, here you were, engaged to someone else, seemingly on the brink of starting a new life that didn’t include him. It felt like history was repeating itself, like he’d opened himself up to the possibility of you again, only to be reminded that maybe it was never meant to be.

He tucked the piece of paper into his pocket, forcing a tight smile onto his face for Penelope’s sake. "Thank you, Garcia," he said softly. "But I don’t think I’ll be using it."

Penelope looked at him with a trace of sympathy, understanding the hidden hurt in his eyes. "You sure, Hotch? She seemed really worried about you. And... I don’t know, it felt like there was more there."

His fingers tightened slightly around the slip of paper, and for a moment, he was tempted to crumble it up, to discard the hope that had briefly flickered to life. But instead, he carefully folded the paper and placed it on the small tray table beside his bed, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks for letting me know, Garcia," he said simply, his voice steady and controlled, giving nothing away.

Penelope nodded, her usual chatter subdued as she took in the calm but distant look in his eyes. "If you need anything, or if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me," she offered, her voice softer now.

Hotch gave her a small nod, a flicker of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I appreciate that," he said, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to say anything more.

When Penelope finally left the room, Aaron lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he kept locked away. 

He thought about you—about how you always seemed to show up in his life when he least expected it, like a constant he could never quite shake. The thought of you engaged to someone else, building a life without him, was like a knife twisting in his chest, but he would never let anyone see that pain.

More time had passed since you last saw Aaron Hotchner, and you had tried to bury the memories of your connection deep within the responsibilities of your demanding career. You had almost convinced yourself that he was a part of your past, that life had moved on without him. But then, fate threw him back into your life once more.

The ER was filled with its usual chaos when you caught wind of the commotion coming from one of the trauma rooms. The sharp, familiar voice drifting through the slightly open door stopped you in your tracks. It was a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime, but one that still had the power to make your pulse quicken.

"No, I’m fine," you heard Aaron Hotchner say, his tone clipped and full of irritation. "I don’t need to be here; I need to get back to my team."

"Sir, you need to be evaluated," the attending doctor insisted, exasperation clear in their voice. "We don’t even know what drugs you were exposed to."

You pushed open the door to the trauma room, your gaze locking onto Aaron almost immediately. He was standing there, stubborn as ever, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. His suit was disheveled and dirty, his tie hanging loose, and a laceration marred his otherwise composed face. Despite everything, he still looked like the man who had once held your heart.

"Excuse me, Doctor," you said, stepping in smoothly. "I’ll take it from here."

Aaron’s eyes shot up to meet yours, the annoyance in his expression softening into something else entirely—something that looked like relief mixed with surprise. 

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth despite the circumstances. "What are the odds?"

You ignored the flutter in your chest as you gave him a stern look. 

"Sit down, Hotchner," you said, crossing your arms. "Let me do my job, or I’ll sedate you myself if I have to." 

He let out a small, resigned huff but obeyed, lowering himself onto the examination table. 

"I see you haven’t changed much," he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

"And you haven’t changed at all," you replied with a grin. "Still as stubborn as ever."

You began checking his vitals, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist as you took his pulse. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding himself together, like he was fighting to keep control. 

"Tell me what happened," you said, your voice more clinical now as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

He sighed, "The unsub we are dealing with," He shared the minor details of the case--what he could, filling you in on all he could share. It flowed easily talking to you though. Easier than it did over the years trying to tell Haley--or even Beth some of the gruesome details of his job. It was as if he knew you could take it--you were a different brand of strength than they were.

You gave him a pointed look as you adjusted the blood pressure cuff around his arm. 

"Humor me," you said, arching an eyebrow. "Let’s make sure there aren’t any lasting effects before you go charging off to save the day."

He opened his mouth to argue but then shut it, watching you work with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer that he didn’t quite let reach his eyes.

You ordered a few tests to identify the drug in his system, then turned your attention to the small laceration on his face. You took out a suture kit and began to clean the wound, your touch gentle but precise.

"Hold still," you said, focusing on your work. "I’d hate to be responsible for ruining that beautiful face of yours."

A ghost of a smile crossed Aaron’s lips, a rare lightness in his expression. "I didn’t realize you cared so much about my looks," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Just trying to keep the world’s best profiler looking his best," you shot back. "Can’t have you intimidating the bad guys with a face full of scars."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a warmth through your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. For a moment, it was like you were back in college, bantering over late-night coffee, before life got so complicated.

As you finished the last stitch, you gently dabbed the area around the wound. Your hand lingered on his cheek just a second longer than necessary, and when you pulled back, you could feel the shift in the air between you—like the unspoken words were almost too loud to ignore.

"There," you said, taking a step back, your voice a little shakier than you intended. "You’re good to go, Hotchner. No excuses now."

Aaron held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a vulnerability you weren’t expecting.

"Why didn’t you ever call?" he asked, his eyes never leaving yours. "All those years ago, I left my number for you, and you never called."

You felt the words hit you like a punch to the gut, all the memories and regrets rushing back in a flood you weren’t prepared for. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got tangled up with your emotions. You hadn’t expected this moment, hadn’t expected him to ask.

"I—" you started, then stopped, taking a breath to steady yourself. "I wanted to, Aaron. I really did. But I convinced myself it was better this way, that you had your life with Haley and Jack, and I didn’t want to complicate things."

He watched you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to read every thought, every hesitation you’d ever had. 

"You never complicated anything," he said quietly. "You were the one thing that always made sense."

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "I was afraid," you admitted. "Afraid that maybe I missed my chance, that too much time had passed. I over thought time and time again, the email I sent…or the time you didn’t call me after you collapsed." 

It was as if you were rambling now--the once confident and sure doctor now felt small and worried over details of what could fill a book with you and Aaron as the protagonists. 

Aaron reached out then, his hand covering yours where it rested on the table. His touch was warm, grounding you in a way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for the two of you.

“I suppose we were both hesitant,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a steady intensity. “But it doesn’t have to be too late. Not for us.”

You looked up at him, your heart in your throat, the weight of all your missed chances hanging in the air between you. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope—that maybe this time, the universe would finally let you and Aaron Hotchner find your way to each other.

And in that moment, as he held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, you knew that this was far from over—that there was still so much left to say, and that this time, you weren’t going to let him slip through your fingers.

Aaron’s hand was still resting on yours, his eyes holding yours with a kind of intensity that made it impossible to look away. For the first time in years, it felt like the universe was giving you both a moment to finally be honest with each other, to close the gap that had always seemed to stretch between you.

But then, just as you opened your mouth to say something, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment. Aaron’s eyes flicked downward to the screen, his face softening slightly when he saw the caller ID.

“It’s Jack,” he said, a mixture of warmth and concern in his voice. You could see how quickly his priorities shifted; everything about him changed when it came to his son. There was a tenderness there, a fierce sense of responsibility that never wavered, even in the face of all the chaos around him.

You offered a small, understanding smile, even though your heart sank just a little. You were reminded of being there--seeing Aaron the day Jack was born. What, was that nine? Ten years ago? 

“Go,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “He needs you.”

Aaron hesitated, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer. He seemed torn, like he didn’t want to leave without making sure you both knew where things stood between you. Finally, he gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin.

He answered the call, turning slightly away from you as he spoke to Jack. His voice softened, the way it always did when he was talking to his son, full of patience and love. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his tone gentle. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m at the hospital, but everything’s fine. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

When he hung up, he turned back to you, his eyes searching yours with that same intensity that always seemed to cut right through to your soul. “I have to go see Jack,” he said, and the regret in his voice was undeniable. “He needs me right now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, knowing that this was who Aaron Hotchner was—a father first, a protector. It was one of the things you’d always admired about him, even when it meant he had to walk away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Go be with him. He’s lucky to have you.”

Aaron took a step toward the door but then stopped, turning back to you one last time. His expression was conflicted, like he was fighting to find the right words. Finally, he asked the question that hung in the air between you like a lifeline, a chance to reach out for something real.

“What next?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, but heavy with meaning. The vulnerability in his eyes was raw and unguarded, the kind of look that left you breathless.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized that this was it—the moment you’d both been waiting for, the chance to finally lay all your cards on the table. 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice cracking slightly. “But I want to find out. I don’t want to keep missing our chances, Aaron.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face, like the answer you gave was exactly what he’d been hoping for. 

“Me neither,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m tired of being out of sync with you.”

For a heartbeat, you both stood there, neither of you quite willing to break the connection, even as the reality of his world and yours pulled at him. You could see the weight of his responsibilities in his eyes, the knowledge that his life would always be complicated, always full of shadows that might pull him away at any moment.

He reached out, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek, a gesture so tender it made your heart ache. 

“I’ll call you,” he promised, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “This time, I won’t let it slip away.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, knowing that you’d hold him to that promise. “Be safe,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking.

He gave you one last lingering look, the kind of look that spoke of all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. Then, with a reluctant smile, he turned and left the room, his figure disappearing into the chaos of the hospital corridor.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, your heart still racing from the intensity of everything that had just happened. And even though he was gone, you felt a sense of hope that you hadn’t felt in years—a feeling that maybe, this time, the timing could finally be right.

As you turned back to your work, a small smile played on your lips, the warmth of his touch still tingling on your skin. You didn’t know what was next, but you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t going to let him slip away this time. Not without a fight.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙙

featuring ⨳ nikolai gogol, gn!reader + oc!daughter

contents ⨳ fluff, slight slight angst, reader isn't mentioned a lot, established relationship, the daughter is oc

notes ⨳ this is from the conversations in discord with friends who have collective baby fever and thirst for dad!nikolai in one random day

Nikolai is more than happy to pick up his daughter from kindergarten. Usually, you would pick her up since you have a small break just enough time for you to grab your daughter, buy her food and send her home. Nikolai's not home usually at four, busy with his shady business. So when you call him to go and pick up his daughter, he is over the moon.

He is already waiting by the car, eyes looking for his adorable daughter walking out from the gate. He is just casual, with a white button-up, rolled-up sleeves and a pair of black pants. But that's still enough for some people to take several glances at him.

Nikolai ignores their attention — he's only thirsty for the only person he loves the most, his beloved — you.

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally sees his daughter walks out of the gate. She is looking at the ground. Her white braid is hanging low and her green eyes are dull. She is clutching her red schoolbag, a bit tense.

Nikolai is a sensitive person — especially when it comes to emotions. So he certainly notices his daughter is acting weirdly. Yes, she's visibly distraught with her thoughts when she accidentally walks past Nikolai's car.

“Mari,” he calls.

His daughter, Mari, flinches out of her thoughts and turns around. Nikolai smiles and before he could crouch and opens his arms for her, she already runs straight into him, bumping into his legs.

“Papa!”

Nikolai chuckles, smiling affectionately. He pats her head — she is short, obviously, just reaching his knees. Nikolai crouches and hugs her, giving a smooch on her cheek.

“Papa pick me up?” Mari asks as her tiny hands hold his face. Nikolai coos, overwhelmed with the adoration in his heart. He nods.

“Yes, malyshka,” he replies as he pinches her cheek, making her whine in annoyance. Nikolai only laughs before he stands up again and opens the car door. He bends to help Mari to take off her school bag. There's a charm of red pompom hanging on her bag, similar to Nikolai's hair tie.

He puts the bag under the seat and then he picks her up, getting her onto the seat. He reaches for the seatbelt, putting it on her. “Comfy?” he asks and when she nods, Nikolai smiles proudly to himself. Before he closes the door, he kisses her forehead once.

He gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. He drives out from the kindergarten area, sometimes taking a glance at his still disturbed daughter.

“Rough day at school, malyshka?” he asks.

“Hm...” she nods a bit, stroking her braid sadly —that trait is very similar to what Nikolai would do when he's sulking towards you.

“Wanna tell me?”

“Papa... am I... am I ugly?” she asks, lips quivering and Nikolai almost brakes abruptly at the question. He frowns and immediately parks his car on the side of the street, looking at his daughter.

“No. No, you aren't ugly. What nonsense! Mari, you are the cutest girl in the world! The most adorable, the prettiest, the most glamorous!” Nikolai says. “Who said that?”

She's smiling at her dad's words but she's starting to sob. “T-These boys in my class... called me ugly and weird... They say meanie things! And... and then they touched my cheeks and...”

“They what?” Nikolai grips the steering wheel and has to internally exhale a deep breath without sighing out loud to his daughter.

“They say bad words to me... And they touched my cheeks...”

“.... Did they hurt you?”

“O-One of them... like... pinch it...”

“Does the teacher says anything?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you know their names? The boys?”

She says three names.

“Alright.”

Nikolai takes out his phone and types something in it. But not long before she tugs his sleeve. He turns to her and she looks scared.

“Papa... are you angry...? Y-You're scary now...”

Nikolai purses his lips — bad habits come up again. He suddenly remembers the frustrated words from his colleague — “Gogol, can you behave well? Your whole presence is scaring my customers. My God, why are you here in this casino anyway?”

Nikolai swallows hard. Of course... He was a very dangerous person several years ago. He made horrendous, gruesome and grotesque crimes. He killed people left and right. All to just reach his extreme ideals.

And now he's here, almost ten years later, having a family. Does he deserve this? After murdering a lot of people, taking them away from their families — and now he is having one, himself. Does he even deserve to have a family? Is he deserving of this future he's trying to live in when his past is constantly trailing in his shadow? Will this guilt follow him to hell and eat him slowly from inside? Will he find himself caged again? Will the freedom be out of his reach?

“Papa!”

Nikolai jumps at Mari's high-pitched scream. He looks at her and she's crying — she looks worried and she is panicked when she sees her dad being silent. She doesn't know why but she cannot help but feel a very scary feeling from his silence.

“Papa, a-are you sick? P-Please, I'm scared..!” she cries and Nikolai's heart breaks at her tears. He realizes he just daydreams about his inner chaos while his daughter needs him. This feels just as hurt when his beloved spouse is crying to him. Nikolai unbuckles her seatbelt and carefully picks her up to sit on his lap.

He hugs her, kissing her head.

“I'm okay... I'm okay, shh... Don't cry, okay? I'm not sick, alright? I'm just distraught.” his voice is soft and soothing as he strokes her hair — just the same as his. Her eyes are also just like his, except her face resembles her mother more.

“I just don't like what the boys did to you. I promise, I promise they won't hurt you or touch you or call you names anymore.” Nikolai looks at her and she stares before slowly nodding back. He smiles at her again.

“If they touch you anymore, you say what?”

“I say 'No'.”

“Good. Then, what else? What did papa teach you?”

“Then... you say.. uh.. I have to... kick their balls!”

Nikolai laughs and his laugh is contagious enough for the spirited girl to giggle. “Yes, you got it right! And then, if they touch your cheek, you will do this...” Nikolai forms a loose fist and slowly gestures it to her cheek, poking her skin with his knuckles. “Pow.” he says, playfully.

She grins, looking at him contently and follows his step. She clenches her tiny fist and pushes it to Nikolai's cheek. Though Nikolai does not even feel a thing, he purposely turns his head sideways, according to the direction, just to show Mari that she 'punches' him.

“Good girl! Yes, like that. And do it harder to them! Like really hard! That's called, a punch.”

"A... pun. Pun!”

Nikolai cackles, eyes almost close at how hard he smiles at his daughter's cuteness. “Okay, malyshka. That's close enough. Now, do we wanna get desserts? To cheer you up? Ice-cream or waffle?”

“Both!” she claps her hands excited. She's already imagining a thick waffle with drizzles of chocolate sauce, and two scoops of vanilla ice-cream topping the delicacy.

“Okay, let's go! I know bestest place for a waffle and ice-cream! Anything for you, okay?” Nikolai says before he puts her back to the seat and buckles her seatbelt.

BEEP!

“Goddamn!” Nikolai looks in the mirror, seeing a car honking at him before passing him. He clicks his tongue. “What the hell is his problem, dude?”

Mari gasps and slaps his hand. He looks at her, pouting, already he can listen your voice scolding him for saying bad words in front of the kids. “Bad words! Baddie words! Papa cannot say that!”

“I did not say anything.”

She gasps. “Gaslighting!”

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[lost-in-fandoms]

I know maybe you're not in the mood right now but any thoughts about Tarzan!Max? I'd accept thoughts about any of your pics because everything is amazing tbh but there's something about Tarzan!Max discovering a new world through Daniel and discovering how amazing is to fall in love.

Does Daniel take him to his farm? I think Max in Daniel's farm would be hilarious, amazed by everything and finding a family in Daniel's family too.

babe i am always down to talk about my boy in all and any situations! sorry this took a while, i took a little nap and then couldn't think about anything but!!!

(the first thing I thought was like..how do you get a whole person through customs. obviously max doesn't have a passport or any form of id so would they have to go through a sort of immigration procedure? but he's not emigrating from anywhere???? i guess i'll leave that problem to them sdfbdjhbf)

I love the idea of Daniel taking Max to his farm.

I'm imagining like. The jungle is Max's home right? But I imagine he's a little less in contact with his monkey pack. He likes to wander around and he has his own little hidey holes and his own places to sleep. So when he imprints on Daniel, he sees Daniel's "pack" as his new family. (and I am now thinking about Max trying to "groom" Daniel or Josh or whoever, gently raking his fingers through their hair and fiddling with their clothes and cleaning dirt smudges away after licking his thumb).

So when Daniel asks if Max wants to go with them, both because he can't imagine leaving another human being in the jungle and because he can't imagine leaving Max behind, Max goes. And in whatever way they manage to do it, Daniel brings him to his farm.

He understands that Max will probably never be ready to live in a city or close to a lot of people, he needs to be close to nature, and even if the nature in Daniel's farm is different from the jungle, it's still better than most options.

I imagine at first Max will struggle to adapt. He is used to have a lot of space to roam, to have trees to swing from, a whole different climate, a whole different diet. and now Daniel asks he wears at least underwear and a tshirt most of the time, he has to eat different foods, it rains so much less? where is the rain? how is he supposed to be clean if there is no river?

Daniel has to really help him through a lot. it helps that Max is learning to communicate more and more every day, but sometimes they bump into a new roadblock that they weren't expecting, and Daniel is reminded about how different Max's life has been so far. (would love to explore an overstimulated-by-electronic-noises max when i have more energy maybe. or a deeply-sad-because-where-is-my-jungle max)

But I think Max also really enjoys learning new things. He is delighted by some of the simplest things, which makes Daniel look at life in a different way too. How did he never realise how amazing forks and knives are? why does he think so little about how incredible it is to be able to make ice in his own freezer? the wonders of a ceiling fan???

I can picture Max spending long minutes just staring at things. Clocks, the washing machine, the fan, the turned off television, the kitchen sink tap. turning lights on and off. flushing the toilet over and over. And I can also picture him taking apart stuff and then (try to) put it back together, like the toaster (was never the same), the blender (was left with several pieces on the counter), the tv remote (tried to eat the buttons).

Max being terrified of Daniel's phone and then, when he gets used to it, absolutely fascinated by it. Asking so many questions about everything that Daniel doesn't know the answer to and forcing him to look them up because Max will simply not stop asking until he has a satisfying answer.

On the other hand, Max taking care of the vegetable garden and the animals. Being so incredible at it that it becomes mainly his job. They're different from the animals he's used to, but he is amazed by the chickens and loves them so much. Sometimes he likes to just sit with them and pet them softly. He becomes best friends with the donkey and the alpacas. maybe Daniel gets him bunnies and at first he's worried Max will kill them when he's hungry, but Max is so so gentle with them and loves them all so much.

And in all this, Max loves Daniel. He does his best to make Daniel food, gives him little "gifts" (eggs from the chickens, tomatoes from the garden, a clean sweater straight from the drier, a glass of water with clinking ice), curls up around him at night because he always refuses to sleep in his own bed. He's very protective of Daniel and gets upset when Daniel needs to leave the farm for errands or other things.

And Daniel shifts from I am very fond of this weird jungle boy to I would very much love to sleep in your arms for the rest of my life with a side of oh my god when is this beefy jungle guy gonna rail me. He sees how gentle and sweet and smart Max is, how quickly he learns about things and adapt to this new life, how interested he is about everything, how he takes care of Daniel, the farm, the animals, and can't help but fall in love with it all.

And the first time Daniel kisses Max at the farm, they're on the couch, Max watching something on the tv, almost without blinking, and Daniel watching Max. He calls his name and when Max turns (because Daniel will always be more important than anything else, even if the guy in the tv is cooking beef and Max is kind of hungry) Daniel kisses him. Max stays still for a bit and then when Daniel pulls back Max licks his cheek in response. It's not perfect, but Daniel can teach him. and Max always learns.

[askinkiskarma]

my andra baby 💕 a thought just crossed my mind, and if there's anyone who can write it, it's you. imagine neteyam and you using the throat microphone device one night, getting all needy and talking dirty, thinking no one else can hear you when suddenly, you’re interrupted by lo'ak, who accidentally fell asleep with the device on and is regretting all his life decisions upon hearing you two. just imagine 🥴

my lana the fact you came to me??? :((( i will cry real tears, i hope you enjoy my love x

also wow, that did things to me right before bed, my GAWD

wc: 950 words

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up!neteyam x reader, smut, strong language, phone sex, the tragic realisation that someone heard your phone sex, that's about it.

Na’vi compendium: tìyawn - love, tìlor - beauty

Being in a secret situationship with a Na’vi, the Na’vi, your beautiful, strong, tall, blue, mouthwatering Neteyam… it had its moments. So many moments, so many good, good moments that made your eyes roll in the back of your head at the mere memories of them and your back arch in futile anticipation and ruin yet another pair of lace panties at the image of his body hovering over yours, his length slipping past your dripping folds, filling you up until you were so full you finally felt whole.

Being with Neteyam also had its challenges and conundrums, and the one that bothered you the most in the moment is your desperate ache for relief that only he could give, that he demanded only he provide for you. Neteyam was an overachiever, and he always aimed to please, and please you he did with every opportunity that presented itself, with every opportunity he made for himself. Neteyam heard a quote from Norm once that went something like “I am a man of fortune, and I must seek my fortune.” Neteyam always took that to heart, ever since he was a child, and he never took it more seriously than when he talked about the fortune of being in between your legs.

Alas, he wasn’t here, much like he couldn’t be most days, your biological differences enough to keep you from each other in two places that felt like worlds apart, especially tonight. But, with a smirk, you picked up the little radio choker and receivers quietly resting on your nightstand, that were intended and created for entirely different purposes, but which came in handy in… sticky situations like this one.

Sprawled on your mattress, a hand softly reached for one of your breasts, caressing it softly, catching one bud in between your thumb and index fingers and pinching, imagining it was his touch instead, the one you craved like air. The other hand went to the button resting on the choker, and with a slight pressure, you pushed it, whispering into it.

“Neteyam… are you still awake?”

You knew everyone would be asleep so far into the night, and none of them wore their radios to bed, except for one person, the one person whose tent you’d much rather be in right now, whose voice would have to suffice in this moment that seemed to drag on forever.

“What are you doing up so late, tìyawn?” Neteyam knew very well the answer to his own question, his voice almost a purr as his imagination of your state, the vision of your naked body all on display on your bed rushed the blood to his now rock hard cock, that was begging for a hand around it, for any release, as it was tugging at his loincloth uncomfortably.

“I need you, Teyam.”

“What do you need from me, baby?”

“Y-you… your touch, your voice. Please.”

“Does my pretty girl need me to make her cum? Do you need me to tell you all the ways I’d fuck you until your body trembled and writhed under me?

Your loud, inhibited moans egged him on, and with a soft, languid bob of his fisted fingers on his length, he continued.

“How I’d start off slowly, kissing your irresistible lips and your neck, down your collarbones and chest, how I’d suck on those amazing tits until they bruised, until I marked you, how i’d move slowly south, down your navel and your hips until I’d settle in between your thighs. Fuck, those thighs, and that pussy, they could drive a man to his knees, my love. If I ever for a second doubted Eywa, all that doubt would vanish looking at you, at your body, and the way it reacts to me, because no chance of the universe could have created something as perfect as you by accident.”

His words made you mewl into the mic, as your fingers found your folds, that were dripping in your slick as pressure build in your core, and while your touch wasn’t his, not as skilled nor as yearned for, it helped you build upon the imagery he created to reach the peak that would drive you to indescribably pleasures, that you would still share with him, despite the distance.

“Do you want me to tell you what a good girl you are as you’re taking my cock, in that pretty pussy, in your perfect mouth? What do you need, tìlor? To hear my groan as you squirt all over me, as you coat my tongue in your sweet juices? Is this what you need, pretty girl?”

Neteyam was pumping his cock harder and faster with each second he was picturing you in these scenarios that you’ve been in a thousand times before, in all the positions he would make you cum in, with each second he heard the whines and moans escaping your lips, and all the enticing noises as you were fingering yourself dumb, imagining it was him doing it instead.

“Neteyam, I’m - fuck! So c-close!”

“Me too, baby girl. You want to let go for me? Be a good girl and co-“

“COME THE FUCK ON!!! YOU DO REALISE THIS IS A FREQUENCY THAT THE WHOLE FAMILY HAS ACCESS TO, YOU PERVERTS?! I WAS HAVING A BEAUTIFUL DREAM ABOUT RIDING AN IKRAN AND IT TURNED INTO A TERRIFYING NIGHTMARE ABOUT YOU TWO RIDIN-“

You turned off the radio before Lo’ak could finish a sentence that you were sure was going to be the driving nail in your coffin of embarrassment, that might as well have been made out of lead, because you didn’t think you were ever coming out.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @yagirlheree

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key to Your Heart - Track 1

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably.

Word Count: 1.9K

Series List: Here!

Thank you for checking it out :) let me know what you think. I made this probably more wordy and personal than I should've... OOF.

The clock was nearing 4 AM when, with a sniffle, you closed the app you were on and clicked the power button on your phone. A single tear ran down your face as you rolled on your side and hoped that maybe in your dreams you could experience the love you craved so desperately. For the past few hours, and every night you didn't have work in the morning, or had free time before bed, you would read fanfiction. You knew people had a lot of poor opinions about fanfic, but the best thing about them is that unlike other stories, you were in these. You could imagine it was you in the story spending time with your favorite characters.

The worst part of fanfiction, however… is when you realize it isn't real and won't ever happen. Sure, you can imagine it, and you can feel the emotions and even give yourself pleasure at the thoughts, but when it wears off, you realize that it's just you. You're alone, and not your mind, nor your hands, can give you what you truly want. What you need.

You aren't so dumb or delusional as to think it's real, or to think you have a chance. If your own mind didn't tell you that enough, your family and friends would remind you plenty. At the mention of your crush, you'd get comments that had a playfulness, or childlike connotation at the idea of you crushing on someone famous. If not that, you'd get pity, or told you should put yourself out there and find someone you actually have a chance with… as if you chose to have these feelings. Why would you choose to fall in love with someone you have no chance with?

For a while, you could pretend it was just a crush and that you couldn't be in love with someone you've never met. But ultimately you accepted that it wasn't true. This isn't the first time, and you're sure it won't be the last. With the previous crush lasting several years, you knew you'd just have to wait it out. 

This time around, the crush was on Pedro Pascal. Current heartthrob of the world, starring in some of the most popular franchises of the time. If people didn't know his name, they certainly knew a character of his; unless they lived under a rock. 

With this information in the back of your mind, the fact that everyone knew him and everyone loved him and he could have anyone he wanted, you sighed, hoping it would finally get through your head, and rolled over to your other side. Unable to sleep, you pulled out your journal to write down your feelings before eventually drifting off, pen in hand.

Letting out a groan, you awoke too few hours later to your dog Skipper crying in your face. "Gotta pee, buddy? Alright.." You climbed out of bed and he spun in a circle before galloping through the house towards the patio door. Humming a song you don't yet know, you sit by the door and think about what you wrote the night before. It wasn't uncommon for you to write songs, and you found it comforting to play instruments and sing your feelings out into the lyrics. Although you often recorded and purchased the copyrights to your music, you never posted it.  Maybe someday…you always told yourself, pondering with the idea of some extra money. 

After letting the dog in, you sat at the piano with last night's journal and wrote a song which spilled your feelings for Pedro. You recorded it and went about your day, but it kept nagging you. Finally, after another sleepless night, you posted it onto some music streaming websites. Using a stage name of just your first nickname, you added the song, which you titled "Imaginary Love." It never mentions Pedro by name, only talking of the strong feelings you have for someone famous that you'll never be with. 

Once that was out of the way, you didn't check your accounts for several days. Eventually, however, you began receiving emails. Radio stations wanted to play your song, record companies wanted to sign you, they wanted an album. Your head swirled, and you agreed to put out an album with other songs you've written, still maintaining your stage identity. I'll just be like Hannah Montana, you thought, with a laugh of disbelief. 

About a month later, you and your music were still a mystery to people. People loved your song. People related to it. But of course, there were critics. Negative impressions spurred about you being childish, immature, naive, and silly. Others just wanted to know the gossip. Who were you? Where did you come from? And WHO were you singing about?!

Trying to ignore the chatter, you noticed a new interview of Pedro being posted, as advertisement for his newest film. Finally something to look forward to and get your mind off of this! Flicking on your television, you broadcast the interview of Pedro from your cell phone. Your heart skipped as you looked at him, his messy brown curls falling near his ears that held his large black framed glasses. His brown eyes twinkled as the interviewer talked to him about his work.

Eventually they broke into more casual conversation, discussing current favorite movies, what he last saw in theaters, what he's binge-watching, last concert he saw, and finally… the current song he can't stop listening to. 

"Oh, man… I can't stop listening to "Imaginary Love," he answered without hesitation, hand on his heart.

Your stomach lurched. Your heart stopped. You forgot how to breathe. What. The. Fuck. Shit shit shit shit shit. This can't. Be real. You rewound the video. This HAS to be a dream. But it wasn't. "Imaginary Love," he said. Oh. Crap. You replayed it several more times, but it didn't make it more real. The interviewer replied "oh… here we go. The song everyone is talking about! I am curious though, what are your thoughts on it? Who do you think it's about?" Pedro's smile faltered a bit at the man's tone, but he remained his usual genuine, sincere self when he answered. "I… I'm also curious about who she is and who the song is about, but I think that ultimately it's up to her whether she decides to reveal that. I think we can all relate to the pain of love, especially unrequited, and I think it's brave of her to share that level of open vulnerability with the world. I can't expect her to share more than what she already has."

Your heart fluttered.

Yet the interviewer continued. "Don't you think it's a little… I dunno… naive? I mean, you get it, you're in show business. The average kid really doesn't have a chance, and even more so, isn't it a little… creepy? The way she's put this guy on a pedestal? Claims she's in love with a man she doesn't even know?"

Pedro's fingers twitched around the base of the microphone, his eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly nodded while pondering his response. I can't watch this anymore.. His pause felt like a lifetime, and you couldn't handle the tension. The interviewer was an ass, but his words were nothing new. He was probably right... You are creepy and naive. You reached for the remote to turn off the television. It had only been a few seconds, but you couldn't bear the potential heartbreak that you knew would come. This is exactly why you haven't revealed yourself or the subject of your lyrics.

Pedro cleared his throat before speaking. "You're right… I am in show business and I get it. I get that in order to get what you truly want in life, we all seem a bit naive. I've spent my life trying to make it as an actor, sometimes struggling if it hadn't been for the help of my friends. I was naive, and I suppose a bit delusional. Obviously this is a bit different though. Unlike jobs, we can't choose who we love. I think we've all had celebrity crushes at some point in our lives."

Your breath was caught in your throat and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. He doesn't even know you, and he's somehow able to reach into your lyrics to understand exactly how you feel without the judgment or pity you often feel from those who know you personally. And yet… the asshole interviewer kept on. Seriously dude… how long are you going to drag this on? Talk to Pedro about his achievements. Quit ranting. The interview has completely gone off the rails. "Okay.. I gotta ask though.." Ugh what now??! He continued, "this girl is a fan. The only thing she knows is what's made public. She's keeping her identity hidden but doesn’t seem to wonder what her so-called “love” is hiding from the world. Would you, as a celebrity, genuinely consider someone like her, a fan, if she came out and said the song was about you? I mean, would any of you out there? We're not just talking about a normal person, or even a slight fan. We're talking write-a-song-about-him level obsessed."

Pedro answered without hesitation. "Sure I would consider it. You can already feel her emotional vulnerability and passion. I think she's deserving of happiness just like anyone." If only you knew.. It is you, Pedro.. But your negative thoughts filled your consciousness. Like he'd want you.. he's almost twice your age.. look at yourself. He can have anyone he wants. He'd never actually choose you. Look at your blemishes. Your big stomach, flab, and stretch marks. Nobody has ever wanted you. You've never even been kissed, you fool. A grown adult.

You frowned and finished watching the interview, swept away in your self-hatred. You slunk onto the floor, cuddling your dog, seeking the only comfort you're able to receive. This is why I prefer animals, you think. They love you no matter what you look like or who you are.

A few days later, the events of Pedro's interview went viral, spurring both negative and positive responses.

"Pedro Pascal Defends Unknown Artist"

"Mandalorian Actor Slams Interviewer"

"Watch: Pedro Pascal Interview Gets Heated"

The headlines get more and more dramatic, acting as if fist fights broke out or a gun battle ensued. It was all pretty tame. A simple conversation of differing opinions. However… you still couldn't help but feel guilty that he put his own reputation on the line for you in a way. He doesn't even know you. What was in this for him, that he felt the need to defend you?

It was at this moment that you decided to log into Instagram from your stage artist profile. Hopping into the message section, you typed out Pedro Pascal and clicked his profile, writing out a message. "Hi Mr. Pascal! I recently watched your interview and I can't begin to express my gratitude towards you. I feel terribly guilty that this is beginning to weigh on your own image, but I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for your defense, thank you for your support of my music, but most importantly, thank you for seeing my lyrics as they were meant to be… from my heart. Thank you for your kindness."

You tapped send and waited with bated breath. After ten minutes of staring at the screen, you decided you needed a break from the internet, dropped your phone, and went for a walk with Skipper.

Meanwhile, from the couch at home, your phone lit up with a notification.

Instagram

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk): replied to your message

Thanks for reading!! Interested in track 2? Read it here!

[pedrostylez]

Something Else-Pt. 1

pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

chapter summary: You're dragged out to a night at the bar by your friend Anna, remeeting her boyfriend and his friends. But this time, they've brought another friend that you're pretty sure they are trying to set you up with

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 3.9k

warnings etc: Frankie w/o a daughter, triple frontier movie plot has happened but is not mentioned as of yet, eventual smut (not this chapter but it will build), fluff, pet names, friendships, jealousy, competition, drinking, 2nd person pov, no use of y/n

A/N: Hi there! I'm very excited to be putting this story out there that I have been thinking about for a while but wasn't willing to write down until I had more of a plan and some organization. I am not at the point where I know how many parts it will be, BUT fun things are planned regardless. Let me know what you think :)

Anna is your prettiest friend. To be honest, you envied her, always pulling guys that you silently had your eye on, confidently going through life without a care in the world. She was talented that way and unintentionally attracted everyone around her to her realm. You wished you could be like her in some ways. 

You loved her like a sibling and wanted nothing but to make her happy; except to maybe go to the bar with her tonight. “Please, honey? Santi is bringing a couple friends.” She whined, looking at you through the mirror as she was applying the last of her lip gloss. Her dress was tight-tighter than you had ever seen her in before, pink and ruched over her abdomen like she stepped right out of the 2000s. You had never really thought about wearing a dress like that. 

You sighed heavily, adjusting the shirt that you had already put on for the occasion to cover your belly button. You were willing a couple hours ago, but as it got later you started to think it wasn’t worth it anymore. The way your bra dug into your side, the way your underwear was never really in the right place so that it didn’t show lines under your jeans made you want to take it all off-and seeing her dressed the way she was made you feel inadequate.  “If we don’t leave in the next 10 minutes I’m bailing. I want to be in my pajamas and eating popcorn, not…standing around watching you make out with your boyfriend.”

Anna tried to hide her smile in the mirror, but you knew she was satisfied, standing up and fluffing her hair once more before grabbing her purse. She seemed to be on a mission you weren’t privy to yet, and quickly turned around to you. “Perfect, because we are leaving now.”

Holding back the eye roll was a job all on its own. 

The prep in the back of the taxi made you more nervous. You had met Santiago before-referred to as Pope by his buddies Will and Benny. It had been at this same bar you were going to that you had first met Santiago, and had given him a strained smile before leaving and not seeing him again for months. It was not lost on you how many times Anna had suggested going out again, wanting to reminisce or some shit at this same place. It was always a hard pass.  

Something about the bar you were heading to was going to make you dizzy. Maybe it was the way it used to be a dance hall, and the sweat of past people lingered in your nose, or maybe it was how it was too dark, even with the strobing lights. But being prepped for it in the back of the taxi made you want to hurl. “It will be Santi, Will, Benny and they are bringing Frankie,” Anna says nonchalantly, staring down at her phone and typing out a text message. 

“Who’s Frankie?” You asked quietly, looking out the window as the taxi slowed down at the red light just before the bar. There was a line out the door and standing and waiting to go in made you want to get out now and start walking back. 

“He has come the past couple of times, but he was on the same team as Santi.” Anna brushes off, looking down at her phone again before smiling like a giddy child-must be Santi on the other end. 

The same team. Great. 

It was nothing against Will and Benny, but they were…characters. All three of them, Santi, Will, and Benny together were overwhelming. Benny and Will were polite, kind and would speak to you while Santi and Anna were all over each other, but they had their sights on other people. Not that you wanted to be with them-the brothers were intimidating. Will had given you the most amount of attention for a couple of times you had been dragged along, but it wasn’t interesting to you.  And that is what you assumed Frankie would be. Friend groups that were formed in the military and called themselves a team seemed like a disaster. 

Stepping out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk was simple enough, especially when Anna squealed and started running toward Santi. His arms were open, smiling, and ready to catch her as she launched herself into his arms. Adjusting your shirt again to cover your stomach, plastering a smile onto your face, and greeting Will when he gives you a wave. His arm is quick to get around your shoulder and drag you forward, a one-sided hug squeezed into you. “You tagging along tonight?” He asks quietly, looking down at you. 

“Yeah, figured I would try to be fun for once. But Anna only got me here after I threatened to stay home if she took too much longer.” You laugh out, looking up to Will and over to Benny. You see a baseball cap just behind him, who you assume to be Frankie. 

“This is Frankie!” Anna screeches, scrambling out of Santiago’s grip to grab onto Frankie’s arm. She motions over to you and introduces you to him, smiling widely. 

The men around you are silent, watching you and Frankie smile politely at each other. This suddenly feels…planned. “They drag you here too?” You ask quietly, watching a blush creep up his cheeks as he takes a hand out of his pocket and scratches the back of his neck. 

You feel Will push you forward, letting go of your shoulder and nonchalantly pick up a conversation with Benny. Anna is still watching on, smiling and giddy and you just know this was her idea. “Uh, yeah. They said it was fun.” Frankie says just as quietly, clearing his throat and looking over at Anna puzzled. 

Santiago swoops in, grabbing Anna around the waist and lifting her off her feet. “Let’s go, gang, the bouncer knows us.”

You look at Frankie knowingly, patting his arm and stepping in front of him to trail behind Anna. This seemed like it was going to be a longer night than you had originally intended, but at least you weren’t the quietest of the group. You miss the look that Will gives Frankie once you’ve stepped in front, and how Frankie pushes Will out of his way to trail behind you. 

Frankie had not wanted to go out. Will had hit him up with a “wanna get laid tonight?” and Frankie had rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood to deal with Will’s antics. 

But when Pope called him shortly after, said he was bringing his girl and one of her friends, that she wasn’t interested in Will or Benny but that Frankie would be perfect to get her to be less uptight…Frankie sighed and said sure. 

This always seemed to happen. The boys would set him up with some girl that none of them liked so that they could pursue other options. Frankie didn’t mind-he rarely slept with them, and the girls were always beautiful. They were just never his type. Frankie was used to being the babysitter of the group. 

Standing around and waiting outside the bar made him anxious for some reason. He had never been to this bar and was being coached by Benny on how you acted. “She’s tough. She gives no leeway. Will tried to swoop in with her twice now and both times she has just left. She buys her own drinks too, don’t even bother.”

It piqued Frankie’s interest that Will had gone after you and you had turned him down. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a babysitting scenario. 

When you stepped out of the taxi completely calm, watching Anna beeline it for Santi, Frankie slid behind Benny. You were, in fact, gorgeous. And the way you smiled at Will didn’t convince Frankie that he was totally off limits. The way your hair slid over your shoulder as you looked up at Will; the small smile you graced him with made Frankie want to melt into a puddle. There was no way he would be able to carry a conversation with you. 

And then you spoke to him so softly. “They drag you here too?” As if you didn’t dress for the part, or look like you were meant to be dancing in a club. And the way you touched his arm as you passed him had him frozen in place, eyeing Will with that knowing look. They set him up and he wasn’t sure he was mad about it anymore. 

An hour had gone by and you were people watching from the bar. Will and Frankie were behind you as you spoke to Benny. “Don’t you think I can go home yet?” You whined, dizzy from the tequila shots that Will had supposedly bought for Anna, and forgot that she didn’t drink tequila. A rum and coke sat in your hand, swirling the ice and taking another sip. You were feeling warm, sweat on your hairline that made you wish you had brought a hair tie.

“Why would you go home now?” Will yelled in your ear, sweaty hand touching your shoulder to get you to turn around. You spun too quickly, feeling Will’s hand tighten around you for an instant to make sure you were okay, smiling at him as a silent thanks. You locked eyes with Frankie for a moment, his stare burning into your skin. 

“You guys are boring.” You smiled sweetly, laughing when Will scoffed and bumped Frankie in the shoulder. 

“Can you believe that? She says we’re boring.” He yells again. 

You reach up to your ear and rub at your jaw, the sound of the bass hurting your inner ear. You glance over to the outside deck area that is relatively unoccupied and has an exit stair to the sidewalk below for quick escapes. It’s tempting to slowly make your way over there, maybe make a run for it and hail a cab before anyone notices. Anna wouldn’t be too mad-it’s not the first time you’ve just left after giving it an hour's chance? You glance back to where Will has removed himself, bopping into a circle of dancing girls, and see Frankie sliding up the bar to you. His arm is warm against yours, the smell of his cologne tickling at your nose. Citrus? He leans in to say something, but you can’t hear him. 

You shake your head and tap at your ear again, crinkling up your face as a sorry. He pauses and looks to be debating something before grabbing your hand, motioning for the outside deck. His hand in yours feels rough but gentle, a quick squeeze to hold your attention. You nod, smiling at him for reading your mind. 

You can’t help but notice how broad his shoulders are as you trail behind him, his hand still holding on to your hand to lead you to the deck. His shirt is tight across his arms, his small nod to excuse himself through the crowd before he turns around to check on you. When he opens the door for you to step out ahead of him, the sound immediately drops away into the sound of cars passing by. “Oh, thank god.”

“It’s too loud in there to have a conversation,” Frankie says with a small chuckle, shutting the door behind him and taking a sip of his beer. He stares at you for a moment, unsure what to say next.

“Easier to escape too.” You sigh, sitting on one of the stools and looking at him. It’s the first time you’ve been able to actually look at Frankie straight on. His shoulders are screaming to be out of his shirt, and his hair is curling at the edges of his cap sitting firmly on his head. It could be the alcohol currently in your system, but you want to reach out and touch one of them. 

He takes a step over to the stool next to yours, bumping your arm gently before looking out onto the street below. “I tried asking in there if you had been to this bar before?” He sounds nervous, and you plaster on a smile to ease his tension. 

You nodded along, sipping again on your rum and coke. “Yeah. Anna said you had come along the past couple of times?”

Frankie’s eyebrows furrow, looking over at you and then blushing. “I uh…I’ve not been here before, no.” He laughs, taking another sip of his drink. “This is the first time I’ve met Anna, actually.”

You tilt your head at him, curious about his answer. “You’ve never met her before?” 

When he shakes his head no, your brain takes longer to catch up than usual. But looking back into the bar and seeing Will, Benny, and Anna all looking back at you, scrambling away from the window, tells you that it was all a ploy. “We were set up, it seems.” You mumble, slightly annoyed. 

Of course, Anna was setting you up with a complete stranger. Sure, Frankie was cute but you didn’t know anything about him beyond his broad shoulders and his blush. Why did she assume you couldn’t take care of yourself? You turn back to him after sipping down the rest of your drink. “Sorry, they dragged you into this.”

Frankie’s laugh relaxes your annoyed expression, his eyes bright with humor. “Don’t worry about it.” He sighs and faces you again. “Benny was telling me that you’ve turned him and Will down twice.”

You scoff, finishing off your drink. “They haven’t asked!” You exclaim, smiling when he chuckles. “Both times I’ve met them they have walked off to talk to other girls.”

“Did you want them to talk to you? Will seems pretty interested.” Frankie amends, motioning to the window again where you can see Will grinding on some girl, Benny shaking his head at the bar at his brother in slight disgust. “Well…not when he’s doing that.”

You laugh, hiccupping at the end before facing Frankie and shaking your head. “Maybe I’m just tipsy, but he’s kinda boring.” You admit, shrugging. “And if they think they’ve tried and I’ve not noticed then I’m not sure it would work out anyways.”

Frankie hums, setting his beer down. “What makes you notice? When someone is trying, I mean.” He says quietly, his hand laying on the bartop between you, fingers outstretched casually in your direction. 

You shrug, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s hard to pinpoint. I guess I have to want the attention too.” You admit. Curiosity gets the better of you and you look at him again. “What do you do to show you’re interested?”

Frankie doesn’t move, squinting his eyes slightly before tipping his head back and forth. “Depends. I’m not…not usually very loud about my intentions. Not dancing up on someone,” He motions to where Will is still grinding, now with another girl. “But I like having private conversations. Seeing what someone is like.”

Your eyes trail down Frankie’s neck as he’s talking, his neck muscles moving as he motions to the rest of the bar, the way he’s leaning. When he stops, you look back up to his eyes to see this quiet smirk gracing his face, as if he caught you checking him out. “What am I like?”

He smiles fully, teeth white under his plush lips before he shakes his head. “Well, you’re…something else. I haven’t figured you out yet.”

You hum, tapping your finger on the bartop before coming to the conclusion that you do want to leave, but want some company. “Would you want to walk me home to find out more?”

It’s like Frankie is frozen, unsure of what move to make. You’re suddenly worried that you shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have offered and you’re about to take it back when he says “Of course.”

Frankie is really nervous. Like, he’s not sure if he should have offered to walk you home-not because he doesn’t want to, but because he thinks he is going to make a right fool of himself on this walk, no matter how many shots you’ve had. 

You’re swaying as you walk, bumping into him every once in a while and giggling when you do. He wants to wrap his arm around your shoulder like how Will did when he first greeted you, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries. He mumbles out a “careful" with a chuckle after the third time, making you blush bright red. “It’s alright, cariño. Do you need my help?”

You nod at him and wrap your arm around his middle, leaning your head against his chest and allowing one of his arms to wrap around your shoulders. “This is embarrassing. I was fine at the bar.” You mumble out, your jean-covered leg rubbing against the side of his as you both take steps. 

“It’s alright. You just direct me to where you want to go.” Frankie smiles, rubbing his hand up and down your exposed arm to bring some warmth to you. You feel good under his arm, wondering briefly how far away you live. 

His phone in his pocket vibrates, and he pulls it out to see a text from Benny. 

You dirty dog

Frankie rolls his eyes and shoves it back in, continuing on your trek down the sidewalk. “How far do you live from here?”

“Only a couple blocks, I swear.” You say quickly, snapping your head up to him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, is this too long of a walk?” You hiccup, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk with him. 

Frankie can’t help but laugh, rubbing his hand up your arm again and giving you a squeeze. “No, it’s okay.”

You nod along, allowing him to get you moving again. The streets are familiar, and the cool air is helping you be less dizzy. When you finally arrive at your front stoop, you reach in your pocket for your keys that you swear were there. Frankie watches you with a critical eye, wondering what you’re fumbling for. “I…can’t find my keys.”

Frankie stands there while you continue to look, reaching into every pocket again and then searching through your purse. He hides his smirk when you shove your purse at him for him to dig through, coming up with nothing more than a pack of gum and a few extra pens you are carrying around. “What do you want to do then, cariño?” 

The sight of you biting your lip has Frankie let out a big huff that you interpret as him being annoyed. “I’m so sorry, I uh…I don’t know what to do.” Your eyes are filling with tears quicker than he realized, his worry getting the better of him as he brings his hands to your shoulders. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll text Pope to ask if Anna has your key.” Frankie says quietly, moving the hair that has fallen in your face out of your eyes and behind your ear, pulling you to him to support you. “It’s alright, don’t worry.”

You nod solemnly, laughing at yourself briefly. “I don’t typically act like this, I swear.” You sniffle, pulling away slightly and smiling. “I wanted to stay home tonight and watch a movie but Anna had insisted–”

“Don’t worry.” Frankie amends again, bringing his palm to your cheek and feeling how you lean into him. He’s taking a chance, but he wants to spend more time with you. “Do you want to go to my place and watch a movie? That way we don’t have to wait for Pope?”

Your eyes are glazed over as you stare at him, contemplating what he has said. “Yeah…okay. I think that’s okay.”

Frankie is just so nice. You had never really come across someone that was just so plainly a good person. Sure, you were sure Will, Benny, and Santiago would have offered for you to go to their place and crash on their couch too, but they had met you a few times. 

Frankie just met you and is giving you an extra shirt and pair of sweatpants and has already told your friend where you are. He’s turned on his TV and set it up to automatically turn off after a few hours, and he’s sitting on the other end of the couch with his hat still on, his jeans changed for matching sweatpants and is intent on staring at the screen. He’s set a pillow and a fluffy blanket on the coffee table in front of you both, enticingly soft looking.

You were able to look at your phone and see that Anna had messaged you multiple emojis that held innuendos, but you’ve been unable to answer with a definitive of whether or not those emojis would even be accurate in the morning. You glance over to Frankie as he adjusts his leg, eyes locking with his briefly which makes him blush. “You uh…you’re very polite.”

Frankie lets out a quick chuckle at that. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You nod, a smile barely raising before a yawn escapes and you lean farther back into Frankie’s couch. The leather is warm under your fingers, sagging with you as you lean back and enveloping you in its warmth. You close your eyes, feeling the alcohol still move through your bloodstream like it is on a mission to keep you drunk. You faintly hear the TV, not thinking much about it before nodding off fully. 

You vaguely wake up when you feel calloused hands on your shoulder, mumbling incoherently. “Cariño? Do you need help?”

You think this is a strange question until you open your eyes, seeing Frankie in front of you without his baseball cap on, and a small smile. “What?”

Frankie brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumbs coming up to smooth your eyebrows over and over again in a soothing motion. “It’s clearly time for bed.” He chuckles out, eyes searching your face before looking back into your heavily lidded eyes. “Do I need to carry you?”

You don’t really understand what he means until he has lifted you over his shoulder, laughing when you grunt out in surprise. You’re being walked through his apartment, the hallway dark, and the TV light only showing bits and pieces of the living room. He sets you down gently on cool sheets, laying you back and pulling up the covers. “I thought I was sleeping on the couch.” You say quietly, looking up at Frankie again. 

He pauses for only a moment before pulling the blankets higher, up to your chin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He scoffs, pushing the hair on your forehead away again before giving you a final smile. “The bathroom is just across the hall.”

Frankie shut off the lights on his way out the door and turned to see you had already shut your eyes again, mouth falling open as it had on his couch when he had turned to see your reaction to the joke on the screen and found you asleep. 

He releases a sigh as he sits down on the couch again, reaching for his pillow and blanket that he set out and arranging himself to continue to watch what was mindlessly playing. He can’t stop thinking about how you leaned into him when he would touch your face, or how you began tearing up when you thought he would be upset with you. 

His eyes begin to droop, wondering what made you think he would react differently, and hoping you would let him show you otherwise. 

tagging @meveispunk because she wanted to know when this would be posted :) if anyone else wants to be part of the updates just shoot me a message!

[javiddenkins]

Javid Denkins is not interested in answering questions. 

It's 9:30 in the morning and I'm sitting across from Denkins in a conference room at the AMC Studios offices. Denkins declined to meet anywhere more personal than this beige and glass room, impersonal Muzak buzzing through the speakers, windows overlooking an empty studio lot. There are posters on the wall but none, strangely, for Blow the Man Down, the runaway hit Denkins conceived, writes, and now showruns. 

Blow the Man Down, or BTMD as it's frequently referred to by fans and journalists alike, is a workplace comedy set in the Golden Age of Piracy. This unusual premise would be interesting enough even without the top-tier leads brought on by AMC to play opposing pirate captains Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur—Oscar Issac and John Boyega light up the screen and bring surprising comedy chops to the pirate-filled stage they share with such talents as Michelle Yeoh ("Zheng Yi Sao") and Sam Neill ("Captain Benjamin Hornigold"). 

But beyond that, BTMD seems to be that rare thing in mainstream media: a slow romance between two middle-aged men finding love for the first time. The first—and so far, only—season ends on a cliffhanger, our heroes separated by an ocean but determined to reach one another, and their love story—if it is one—stays unresolved. 

Usually an interview like this—between seasons, after renewal and filming but before advertising—would be the perfect opportunity to delve into the mind behind the magic and attempt to tease out hints about what's to come. 

But Denkins seems determined to ignore Hollywood's traditional playbook. 

Whether this is the standard conference room used for interviewing reluctant showrunners, or if Denkins picked it especially for the purpose, I'll never find out. I've already been waiting half an hour, uncertain if Denkins intends to join me at all. When he does finally arrive, he makes his position clear. 

"I'm only doing this because you agreed to my terms," he says. 

I'd describe what he looked like, if he had a coffee or a snack or a smoker's twitching nerves, if he sounded tired or amused or angry—but I can't. If you see a description here, it's because Denkins decided, for whatever reason, to approve it. Otherwise, sharing my impression of Denkins is off the table, one of many terms and conditions my editorial team and I had to agree to before Denkins would accept this meeting. 

Denkins doesn't want to make my job easy. Photos of him do exist from the few red carpets he's attended; enthusiastic interviews with the cast, writers, and production team of BTMD definitely paint a picture that belies Denkins's apparent efforts to avoid perception. But here and now, in the oppressive air conditioning of the AMC offices, I am contractually obligated to interview a cipher.

If he can be all business, though, then so can I. I hit a button on my phone's recording app, set it down between us, and ask what made him decide to tell the story of an obscure pair of pirates like Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur.

He shrugs. "Why does anyone write anything? This is my job." 

It's not the kind of answer I was expecting. Something must show on my face, because he follows with, "That's unsatisfying, isn't it. No definitive answer."

"It's not what I expected," I hedge.

"What did you want to hear?"

I try to gather my thoughts, but I'm definitely stalling, uncertain that this is what Denkins intends. "I did a little research," I say. "Not as much as I imagine you did, but I found some of Bellamy and Levasseur's history together and, later, apart. Bellamy's ship is the only fully authenticated Golden Age shipwreck in the world, so it makes sense that the wrecking of the Whydah is an important turning point in season one. Levasseur, on the other hand, is best known for the mystery of his encoded treasure map, flung into the crowd at his hanging and only ever partially solved, which you seem to have used as a foundation for the coding and decoding motifs throughout. But for a show that seems determined to discuss the consequences of fame and reputation, it's fascinating that you've chosen two men most casual viewers have never heard of."

"Outside the narrative they built for themselves," Denkins corrects. "Is there a question in there?"

I remember again that Denkins isn't here to make this easy for me. "Why not choose one of the more well-known pirates of the era? Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, and Blackbeard are all arguably more famous both now and when they were alive. What made you choose Bellamy and Levasseur for this story?"

"I think," Denkins says, "I just answered that. There's a difference between how you perceive yourself, and how the world perceives you. Those famous pirates retained their notoriety even after death. Sam and Ollie did have reputations when they were alive, but if people today know them at all, it's typically for reasons completely unrelated to whatever little fame they achieved in life."

"And that fascinates you?"

Denkins looks irritated. "It doesn't matter what fascinates me. That's the story, that's—look, I don't know how to write a puff piece like this," Denkins says. "I don't know if it would really sound like this, if anyone would bother caring enough about what I want to get this far."

"Excuse me?" I say.

"Do you honestly think," Denkins says, "there's a single journalist out there that would actually agree to these interview conditions? This is a fantasy, a what-if, and it still doesn't work."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," says Denkins, "I didn't even give you a name."

And that's true, I realize. I don't have a name. 

"Right," says Denkins, as if hearing my thoughts—and I suppose, in a way, he does. "And you don't know how you got here, and you don't know where you'll go after. I made you up. I made all this up."

I look at my recorder, which isn't a recorder. I look at the room, which isn't a room. 

"Okay," I say. "So what did you want to happen?"

Denkins taps my phone's screen to stop the recording. Denkins imagines me noticing that he taps the screen, and so this must have meaning. There is no room for junk words and actions in prose, and even less in television. Whatever's on the page has to have meaning, or it's wasted space, wasted time, a moment that could have been useful now gone and never coming back.

Denkins shoves my phone back to the center of the table and says, "I wanted to see if I could just talk about the story without making it about me."

"But you're part of it," I point out. "You have to be. It came from you. It was something you thought was important, and then you put the effort in to create it. The story exists because of you, in relation to you. That's why people, why fans, want to know more about you. They love the story, and you made it, so they want to love you, too."

"I don't like that," says Denkins. "Rephrase it."

"They love the story," I say, parroting back at my creator, "and you made it. They want to know about you so they can know more about what the story means."

Denkins's chair creaks as he pushes it back, puts his head in his hands. I wonder if he's doing that in the real world, too, in the place where he's imagining this interview that will never exist. 

(Except I'm not the one wondering. He is. He's wondering what an interviewer would think of him if he allowed himself to show this weakness. Rephrase. Show this ache. Rephrase. Show this.)

"I'm not a story," Denkins says, face still hidden. The Muzak piped into the room seems too loud, too discordant now. Maybe that's what the world sounds like to him. "I'm not imaginary. I'm not a specimen to study under a microscope until every part of me is uncovered and connected one by one to every part of the show." He drags his hands back down and I think I can say that he looks very, very tired. 

"Yes, maybe I put some of myself in Blow the Man Down," he continues. "Maybe I did in season two as well. Maybe I put something in The Gang, and maybe I'll put something into whatever else I make for the next fifty years. And what I put there is—will be—has to be—my choice. All things I chose to share. But this?" He waves a hand at the nonexistent conference room, at nonexistent me. "This isn't a choice. It's a demand. I'm being held hostage for answers, as if me keeping my boundaries somehow ruins the show, ruins the story."

"Because you're not a story," I repeat back, watching for confirmation. "Because what you choose to reveal is the only story the audience should need."

"Yes," says Denkins. "That's it."

That's not it, though. I know this, because I'm him, talking to himself. Thinking all this through. 

"So you cut yourself off," I say. "No one can know anything about you, because they're already clawing for what you're not willing to share—so how much worse would it get if you gave them a chance to come closer, right?" 

"To take, and get it wrong anyway," he says. "Or get it right, but not like it. Not like me. How I'm perceived might change how the story is perceived. And even skipping over the whole art of it all—this is a business. How the story is perceived affects dozens, if not hundreds of people and careers. And all of it can get destroyed in an instant if there's some aspect of me that the audience decides is wrong."

Denkins pushes back from the table, stands up as if to leave. I'm not done yet, though. He's not done yet.

"Sounds lonely," I say.

"Sounds like something a fan would say," he shoots back, and I shrug.

"Blame yourself for thinking it and making me say it, then. It sounds lonely. It is lonely. It's lonely to think there's no way that you could open yourself up, talk about who you are and what your art means to you, without feeling like someone, everyone, will take advantage of that vulnerability."

I pause, and in that pause I find something to latch onto. "You've imagined me," I say. "You've imagined this scenario, where you stay cut off and oblique and hidden." I pick up my phone from where it's placed between us, and I shut it down completely—not because it exists, but because it's a symbol he understands. "What would happen if you imagined being part of the story?" I ask. Rephrase. "What would happen if you imagined being free?"

We look at each other. The tinny music of this artificial space comes to a sudden halt.

Denkins leaves the room. 

I am—

Denkins comes back. He sits down. He looks at me.

Time doesn't exist in the beige and glass room. But behind him, now, there is a poster of Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur, a drilled coin on a cord stretched taut between them. And the Muzak hasn't restarted.

Denkins looks different. Or maybe he just feels different. Those things are functionally the same, here.

"You know the old movie trailers?" Denkins starts, not really a question. "The ones that start with 'in a world…'"

I nod. 

He smiles a little. "Okay. In a world where Blow the Man Down doesn't exist. Let's say there's something else instead. Let's say it's called Our Flag Means Death. It's a workplace comedy, it's the Golden Age of Piracy, the works. They even manage to kiss in the first season, though the cliffhanger is worse. And in that world, there's a different guy who runs it, a guy named David Jenkins, who seems nicer and more outgoing and shares a lot more of himself than I do. And I think it goes mostly okay for him, except he has to scrub his social media, delete most of his Instagram, and never gets to name his wife anywhere in case a fan might notice and start following her around."

"Sounds grim," I say.

He shrugs. "It's another way of handling it. David, in that world, has made a choice to draw the enemy fire toward himself, instead of hiding away and letting it scatter at random. It seems to work okay for him, and maybe it would for me too, but, you know. Maybe that's a little of myself I gave Ollie. Because I also like the idea of testing something first, all the way to destruction."

A little of myself. This—this is personal information. Something that, in the negotiations that never happened, he said he'd never give me.

My phone, with its blackened screen, is right there. I keep my hands still, folded together, decidedly not reaching for the phone. Denkins watches, sees. His shoulders loosen; neither of us, I think, realized how tense he'd been.

"In that world," he says, "there's a second season coming that no one knows anything about and there's a fandom going feral. Echo chambers that feed off their own theories because there's nothing new to add to the pot. Just like our world, right? In the absence of good data, overwrought ideology works just as well.

"And in the middle of this, to provide a distraction, maybe, or to draw that enemy fire like he so often does, David Jenkins says he'll get a Tumblr—you know, one of those not-really-social-media internet places. And maybe he does. He doesn't tell anyone his username, so it's a mystery whether he really did it or not. But someone opens an account. And someone says they're definitely not David Jenkins."

Javid Denkins is holding a cup of coffee. So am I, now. We take sips, mirrors of each other. The coffee tastes like it has seven sugars in it.

Denkins swirls his cup gently, not looking up at me. "When you're trying to figure out something that's terrifying," he says, slow and careful, "and enraging, and so big and so much that it feels like you'll collapse under the weight of it…sometimes you need to find a way to conceptualize it more abstractly. Make it manageable. Put it in bite-sized chunks. 

"So instead of me, dealing with all this fame, and these expectations, and these pulls to turn me from a person into a plot point…maybe there's this other guy. In this other universe, with this other pirate show. Another writer, who says he's definitely not David Jenkins. But—he could be. He could be. And either way, there's enough uncertainty that the fandom can't tell right away."

"Schrödinger's showrunner," I say. 

Denkins tips his mug at me. "Yeah, that gets pointed out, too. Because either it's really him and the fandom will eat at him—death by a thousand needy bites of demand, and something that feels like connection but by its nature can't be—or it's not him, just a fan pretending to be him, attention-seeking, scamming, stealing unearned laurels to crown a meaningless triumph: successfully mimicking the concept of David Jenkins."

"Pretty binary."

Denkins shrugs. "You saw the first season. I'm a sucker for duality." 

He hums and looks out the conference room's window. The AMC lot is gone. More accurately, it was never there. Outside the window is an ocean. The water is green-screen perfect, and there are two tall-masted ships in the distance: Bellamy's Whydah Gally and Levasseur's La Louise. They float angled toward one another, counterpart to their captains on the poster behind Jenkins, missing only the drilled coin between them.

"Except," says Denkins, slow and musing as he watches the distant ships, "in the vast multiverse of imaginable possible outcomes, it turns out that there is the very slimmest possible chance of a third thing happening."

There is another ship floating now between the Whydah and La Louise. It's freshly painted, poorly rigged, and its figurehead is a unicorn. Instead of one flag, it has half a dozen. And I know, because Denkins knows, that instead of gunpowder in its hold, it carries jars and jars of harmless marmalade.

"So," I say, "David Jenkins—"

"Oh, definitely not David Jenkins," says Javid Denkins, amusement lighting up his face. He keeps his eyes on that third ship.

"So the person who is definitely not David Jenkins," I say. "He comes and starts a social media account. He answers questions."

"Sort of. Nothing specific, really. Just…narrative likelihoods. Enough to dangle hope. But the fandom wants more. There's a Richard Siken line he sees, that if he'd chosen to stay anonymous maybe he could've actually posted: 'but monsters are always hungry, darling.' It's like that. So he backs up a little, and considers how to hold off the inevitable. The season two hints are vague? Make them vaguer. Add some smoke and mirrors to hide how little substance they have. There are only so many general pirate tropes around? Stretch out how long it takes to get the ones he has. Add steps. Add puzzles. Make the fandom work for it, and maybe they won't notice how little there is to find. Give them an interesting enough box to open, and they'll ignore the fact that there isn't an answer on the inside, just another, smaller box." He tilts his head and looks at me. The light outside is now luminous pink and yellow, flashing off the water and highlighting his face like a duotone painting. "Then he…" Denkins sighs. Puts down his mug. "Then I sit back and see what happens. I see if it's as bad as I think it would be if I did it here, in the real world."

"And is it?"

Denkins reaches out with one hand, tugging my phone over to his side of the table. He starts fiddling with the buttons, attention on it instead of me. "To start with? Yes. And no. It didn't matter that the one thing I promised was that I wasn't David Jenkins. They—the fandom—found me anyway. They assumed I was him. And I was right, of course I was right, they asked me questions. Hundreds of them. Like that was the only reason I existed, like I couldn't just be a regular person like the rest of them, just on Tumblr to read about the Carpathia and get taken out by the color of the sky."

"For better or for worse, you're a public person," I say. "They think they know what it means when a public person breaks down the barrier between themselves and the fans. Even well-meaning people make assumptions."

The recorder is no longer a phone and app; it's an old cassette player with thick plastic buttons like I, or more accurately Denkins, had as a child. It matches the ones his elementary school classrooms had, which in turn looked like the device Mr. Spock carried at his hip to record and interpret data from strange new worlds. 

Denkins, in the here and now, half-presses the play and record buttons, which would trigger the record function if pushed down completely. He holds back. Riding the edge of commitment. Over and over. 

"Yeah," he says. "Yes. That's true. And I could've been completely anonymous if I wanted to be left alone entirely. I suppose I wanted to prove that everything I believe—everything I'm afraid of—is true, and that I'm justified in hiding away, refusing to be 'known' by anyone I haven't specifically agreed to. Hence the thought exercise. And when I was done, and I had my proof," he says, leaving off the recorder buttons to raise a pointed finger at me, "I wouldn't have to see you again either."

We look at each other. "But here you are," I say.

He laughs. It's rusty, but sure. "Here I am," he agrees.

"So what happened?"

"Turns out," he says, "that in that infinite universe of possibilities a writer can dream up, there's a world where, yes, all my worst fears are confirmed…but that's not all that happens."

He stops, and we are both silent for a long, long moment. His fingertips brush over the recorder buttons, repetitive and soothing, like he's calming something feral and unused to human touch.

"Would you believe," he says at last, hushed and small in this glass and beige room floating on a digital sea, "that there is a world where fans—people—don't ask for more than I want to give? Who see the box I'm in, and instead of ripping it open to grasp for whatever good thing they think they can find inside…they give something back. 

"I played it all out, you see." He waves his hand over the recorder. Now there are two of them, sitting side by side, each with a row of thick black plastic buttons along the edge: one to play, one to rewind, one to record, and one to pop open its lid so that the cassette can be changed. One of the recorders is a little bigger than the other. "If I can imagine it," he says, "it has to be possible."

He looks at the two recorders; he's quiet now, talking to himself rather than me. I don't think I'm as necessary as I was before. I think maybe this is just him. Just Denkins in this lonely little room. He moves the smaller recorder so that it's lined up with the larger one, like he's lining up Matryoshka dolls as he reveals them.

"It started small," he says. "There were people who saw my puzzles, and made puzzles back for me, just to play along. People who saw my puzzles, and shared what they knew about them, just to help others play too. Small things. Little things. Possible things. I liked it. I didn't expect it. I…wanted to give back, too. Not just in the story, I mean. It was me who wanted it. Wanted to add to a world, to a community, where that sort of giving could happen. So I went further. I didn't just try to hint at common story beats this other show might hit—I started listening, following, asking what would be most welcome, and then gave that instead. And it grew. It grew until it wasn't really just an experiment anymore. It stopped being an adversarial proof. It started being…something else."

Denkins reaches out, and now there are three recorders on the table. The newest one is the smallest. He lines it up with the others.

"I'd already made David Jenkins," he says, "and in turn he'd made his own Javid Denkins. So why not do it again? This other Javid Denkins, this me who's me but not me, goes deeper. He uses the tools at his disposal. Our Flag Means Death has pirates named Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet. OFMD has a fandom like BTMD does, where people write stories about the characters, for themselves and—for others. Fan fiction. A thing that can be a gift, if you want it to be. So I started to write one."

One by one, Denkins hits the 'play' button on each of the recorders. The cassettes whir, a steady background hum. Each starts playing a part of some orchestral piece. Not the individual instruments, but something stranger. It's as if each cassette contains the whole work, but with fragments missing that the others complete. There are still some gaps in the playback.

Denkins waves his hand over the collection again, and a fourth recorder, smallest of all, appears. He presses play on it too, and the music fills in. It's a pretty little melody. Simple, if you know how to hear it.

Denkins hums a little of it before looking up, seeing me again. "That was it, really. That's what finally made all this small enough for me to understand. Made it small enough, far enough away from my actual world that I could finally let myself feel it. In this story that I'm telling, here is Edward Teach." Denkins touches the smallest recorder very, very gently. "Teach lives in a world where he's not the main character; he's just a fan of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down. He's tired, and he's angry, and he doesn't know how to deal with the world the way it is, with the fandom as he perceives it. He makes a Twitter account, anonymously, to prove that what he fears is real."

Denkins covers the recorder with both hands, only muffling the music a little. "Here's Edward Teach, made up of all my fears and saying them out loud."

He raises his hands, and now there are two little recorders, the same size, both playing the same parts together. He touches the new recorder with his fingertip, as if it's a bubble that could too easily break. "Here's Stede Bonnet," he says, "made up of all my fears coming true. And then having to live through it anyway." He stares down at this new recorder; the same as the Edward Teach one, but evidently special in some way to Denkins. He says, to me, to it, to the room: "It's a hell of a thing, to need to go so far away just to see what you've been carrying on your back the whole time."

After a moment, he looks back up at me. "In my story," he says, "Stede survives the disaster. My disaster. He survives it, because he has Ed—a love interest, yes, but not just that. He's someone he opened up to. And more than that, I saw—because I could imagine it, and so it must be possible, it has to actually be possible—I saw the fandom become…people."

With both hands, Denkins presses a button on each of these two small recorders.

Their lids pop open.

And from the walls, from the ceiling, from the glass windows and the limitless sea, there comes a multiverse of music.

"These people," says Denkins, tilting his head to listen as the swells of unseen instruments add to the gentle overture of his pocket worlds and turn the piece into something greater than the sum of its parts. "They're not some nameless collective made up of their worst impulses. They're just people. People are complicated. You can never know them completely; they can never know you. All you really get is what they—we—choose to do. 

"And I saw people try to help Stede. People, strangers, who didn't know who he was, not really. And they felt compassion anyway."

After a long moment, just taking in the music, Denkins sighs and carefully closes the lids on the two small recorders. The singing universe becomes just a recorded orchestral piece once again—though no less beautiful for it. He gently pushes the two recorders together until they're touching, side by side, and covers them with his hand. He says, "Ed got to see this. He got to know that even if his worst fear happens, he'll be okay on the other side of it. And he won't be alone." 

He lifts his hand; the two are now one, still playing its little melody.

Denkins picks up this amalgamated recorder and sets it on top of the next largest. He puts his hand over the stack he's just made. "Move it up a level," Denkins says. "David Jenkins, or someone who is definitely not David Jenkins, runs a Tumblr with games and puzzles and digital tools that stretch the boundaries of the narrative. He sees the reactions to his story. Sees fans who know it isn't real, who know that Stede and Ed are characters in a narrative—and nevertheless, these fans, these people, see that these characters are hurting. They try to help. They don't know who's behind the masks labeled 'Stede' and 'Ed,' not really. But they feel compassion anyway."

He lifts his hand. The little recorder atop the larger is gone. The music is different. Not lessened, but changed. It's come closer. 

Once more, Denkins moves the smaller combined recorder onto the last one—or, I suppose, the first of all of them. "So move it up one more time," he says. The music isn't audible in the room now; but I hear it anyway. It's in me. Us. The last little notes coming from the final recorders just a reminder of what the world could sound like.

He covers the top recorder with both hands. His touch is aching and very, very soft. "Here's me. Javid Denkins. I don't know if there's a world where I could open myself up and not have everything burn down in flames. I don't know if it could ever be possible for me to leave this room, open my laptop, and start something, somewhere, called 'definitely not Javid Denkins,' and have it be as beautiful and awe-inspiring as it was in my thought experiment.

"But God," he says, "I want it."

He lifts his hands, and all that's left is the final recorder, the one that was my phone to begin with. The music dissipates completely. But the feeling of it remains. Denkins rests his hands on either side of this solitary recorder. He says, "I don't know if all of that—all of them, my fans, my friends, all of what we made together…I don't know if it already exists for me in the real world. Just waiting for me to be brave enough to look. I don't know. But I think I have to believe that it does. That they do. I have to believe that it's possible not just to imagine that kind of grace, but to live it." 

Denkins brushes his thumb over the last recorder's play button. "I think that's what it means to be human," he says. "To try anyway. To unlock yourself despite your fears, and find hope there waiting for you."

He closes his eyes. I close my eyes. We take a deep breath together.

We open our eyes.

After a moment, I smile at Denkins, a little crooked. I've got one last question to ask, and it's one he might even answer. 

"Who are you, really?" I ask. 

It's something we all have to answer about ourselves eventually, and it seems particularly relevant now.

Denkins shrugs, and his smile mirrors mine. "Does it matter?"

"It feels like it does."

"How about this," he says. "Who are you, really?"

And knowing what I know now…if I'm anyone at all, then I suppose I'm Javid Denkins. An aspect. A reflection. A dream.

And so, in these universes he's imagined, is everyone.

"So," Denkins says. "You think I can start over?"

I smile wider. It feels good. "I'd love that."

He pushes the recorder back to me, and in my heart I hear his laughing request for one last rephrase—

Javid Denkins has been waiting for me.

It's 9:30 in the morning and I'm sitting across the table from a cheerful enigma. Denkins was already in the room when I arrived, a hot coffee by my seat and a box filled with fresh breakfast pastries and marmalade open and ready to be enjoyed. An advertising standup emblazoned with the unreleased (at time of writing) air date for season two of Denkins's Blow the Man Down takes pride of place at the head of the table. Through the windows opposite, bright sunlight bounces off the buzzing AMC studio lot, and I think I hear a certain pirate romcom's theme music playing quietly over the room's speakers.

Denkins grins at me, and it's easy to see why his actors and writers speak so highly of the experience of working with him. Because I can tell already: this is going to be fun. 

It starts when he leans forward, eyes bright, and presses the record button on my phone for me.

"Let's play," he says, and—we do.

[shalscumbunny]

Dear Doctor | Chapter 6: To kill two birds with one stone

Summary: Shalnark suffered a small injury while investigating some things for the Gen'ei Ryodan, his intention was that a doctor would cure him and nothing else, unfortunately that doctor was you and what you least expected is that one of the most wanted criminals in the world would end up becoming obsessed with you.

Pairing: Shalnark X F.Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, murder, premeditated murder, manipulation, dueling

Author’s note: I always mention it in all my writings in English, but better safe than sorry, English is not my native language so it is very likely to find many mistakes and also that I know practically nothing about writing “X character and Y/N”

I am not a doctor so I will say my life excuse for everything, “I am a social science student”, so if something is wrong I apologize

Sites: AO3

Shalnark sighed as he looked at the photos he had of you on his phone. His entire plan was thrown off course by that quack doctor; he needed to piece everything together and be cautious. The smile on his face as he looked at you was full of love, he gazed at you with such adoration that it was immeasurable, but at the same time, his eyes shone with a morbid obsession.

Shalnark had long ceased to be an innocent person. For years, his hands had been stained with blood, and his soul knew no remorse for those acts; they didn't bother him. But what you thought of him truly mattered. According to his logic, if you came to love him as intensely as he loved you, you would forgive and understand all his "sins".

It was a game between you two, but you didn't know you were playing. Only he was moving his pieces and yours without you realizing it. Nevertheless, every day this game became more complicated and tedious for him.

His turquoise eyes fixed on the wall clock. Then, he stood up from the armchair and went down to the basement where Violet, the nurse, was crying and trying to call for help.

"Hello" He greeted her in a sickeningly innocent tone "Don't worry... it'll all be over in the blink of an eye"

Poor Violet was disoriented, scared, and confused. She had no idea that she was just another piece in Shalnark's game, no idea that her end was right in front of her, in such a cruel, quick, and unjust way.

"In a moment, Lucas will come to see you" Shalnark whispered, pricking her neck with his Black Voice and instantly taking her life, turning her into a puppet.

Shalnark set about "fixing her image", making her look disheveled, drinking a couple of bottles of alcohol, and consuming a couple of drugs to justify her state. After hacking into the area's security cameras, he took her out of her house and left her near Doctor Lucas's house. Once he was far enough away, he turned back on his Zetsu to avoid being detected and began his "performance", controlling Violet with his Black Voice as if she were some kind of video game character.

After making Violet steal a knife and run towards Lucas's house, Shalnark checked the time. He knew you well, he knew how punctual you were for important matters.

Lucas was at home, expecting you when the doorbell rang. Surprised to see you earlier than expected, he opened the door. Seeing Violet in such a terrible state, unaware that she was already dead, he thought she was still alive and begged for mercy on his knees.

Shalnark, from the branch of a tree, could only smile at the scene. It was like watching his favorite show; he didn't want to blink so as not to miss anything. It had been a long time since he had had so much fun killing someone.

"Don't kill me!" Lucas begged on his knees "I promise I won't get you kicked out of the hospital"

Shalnark hummed, pressing another key so that Violet would finish the job, but he was surprised to see Lucas resist. However, everything turned in his favor.

Shalnark pressed another button, weakening the force in Violet's hand that held the knife. As a result, Lucas plunged the knife into Violet's stomach. Believing he had saved himself and triumphed, Lucas's gaze filled with terror when he saw you standing on the sidewalk outside the house.

“Lucas... what have you done?” Your voice trembled with fear and confusion.

“No! Y/N! It's not what it looks like!” Lucas tried to explain what happened, but Shalnark activated the voice menu, making Violet speak.

“So, you traded me for her? You're killing me because of her?" Violet's voice, supposedly dying, was like a dagger to your heart.

You were scared, you didn't know what to do, you were confused and hurt... For the first time in your entire medical career, blood and open wounds terrified you. You ran away in terror, as fast as your trembling legs would carry you, your eyes filled with tears and without a fixed direction.

Shalnark resisted the urge to go after you and comfort you, with all the pain in his soul he restrained himself, as that would be too suspicious.

The commotion you caused by running away drew the attention of dozens of people who called the police, so Shalnark decided to end the show once and for all. He used his Black Voice to make Violet stab Lucas in a bloody and traumatic scene for many to witness, but one that was truly satisfying for him.

As personal revenge and taking advantage of the fact that everyone was focused on the gruesome scene, Shalnark deactivated his Zetsu, smiling sadistically as Lucas's now dying gaze met his.

Shalnark's eyes were shining with an unhealthy happiness and mockery in contrast to Lucas's gaze that was losing the spark of life.

Lucas couldn't understand how this could have happened, but it was clear who lost and who won, his eyes remained open as he realized that Violet's body was cold, very cold, as if she had been dead much longer.

No words could form on his lips. Lucas's life ebbed away as Shalnark dissolved into nothingness, a phantom in his dying vision. Ignorant of Nen and Zetsu, the inexplicable act left him bewildered.

Shalnark, having orchestrated the scene, vanished without a trace, his attention now solely on you. He kept watch from a distance, his plan unfolding methodically.

Overwhelmed by grief, you were trembling, your hands fumbling. You hailed a cab and wept the entire journey home. Overwhelmed by grief, you handed the driver a $100 check for a $10 fare, then fled without looking back.

When you finally made it to your bedroom, you hid in the bed, trying to calm down, but you really couldn't. You spent days locked up there, only calling the hospital to say you wouldn't be coming to work for at least two weeks.

Unfortunately, you couldn't communicate with anyone, you didn't even want to see your phone, you just slept, thought for hours, and ate just enough to not get sick.

You felt so alone, you didn't want to call any family to worry them, you didn't want to call your friends because they were also friends of Lucas and the last thing you wanted was to hear about him, since your mental health got worse when you found out he had died too.

But you couldn't handle your own existence anymore, with great need you clung to your phone before turning it on, searching your contacts and pressing the call button. You could only hear your breathing and the ringing of the line, praying in your head for the call to be answered and finally it rang.

"Shalnark... I want to see you..” You begged in a broken, needy voice, "Please... I need you..."

Thank you so much for reading my shit 🖤

Chapter 5 <- Chapter 6 -> Chapter 7