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stsgluver · 10 months ago

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𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟑 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara is ill and what better way to spend your day off than trying to figure out who your teacher's high school girlfriend is?

wc. 3.5k

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, one suggestive joke, reader is in gojo's class, implied utahime x shoko, only half proofread

a/n. it's nearly midnight and im so tired and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow but I needed to get this done. I hope there's not too many mistakes <3 the ending is kind of shit but idc :) jk i do pls like it

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“are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”

nobara lazily lifted her head from beneath her duvet, orange bangs clinging to her sweaty forehead as she let out a series of harsh coughs. megumi winced from the doorway, inching back ever so slightly - he'd already brought in a couple bottles of water and a box of tissues, he wasn't looking to contract whatever flu-like disease she had caught.

she rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle antics and raised a weak thumbs up. “go on fushiguro, i know how much you're dying to spend the afternoon with itadori and sensei."

“haha,” megumi uttered with the most sarcastic tone he could muster. on second thoughts, maybe being sick for a week wouldn't be so bad. with nobara gone, there was no buffer for his teacher and classmate to pester. “call me if you get worse, you know the second years are useless.”

nobara gave the younger boy a quick salute and small smile, “yes boss.”

she dropped her head back into her pillow and waited till she heard the door click shut till she slipped a little less than elegantly out of bed. whilst yes, there was no denying that she was definitely sick, she also had a mission she couldn’t give up on.

in the three weeks, four days and an unknown number of hours since she had found the dvd of her teacher in his youth, she had been putting all of her free time into trying to find you. megumi had been a dead end when she’d tried asking him about you again and, although nobara knew he had a soft spot for yuuji, she didn’t trust the pink haired boy to treat this situation sensitively.

initially, she’d even considered asking gojo about it but she decided against that pretty quickly. that could get awkward very quickly and she still had at least two years at the school.

then, she’d moved onto searching through the school for traces of the alumni. all she’d managed to find was a single photo; one that included both kyoto and tokyo students. you were tucked into gojo’s side with your arm around shoko. geto was there too: him and gojo side by side as they always were in their teenage years. all of you were grinning and genuinely happy. where had it all gone so drastically wrong?

nobara wondered if it was geto’s fault that gojo’s class had been all but erased – an effort to forget that the worst curse user to live had in fact once been an aspiring sorcerer.

her next plan (and one she hadn’t full considered the logistics of completely just yet) was to watch every single video on the dvd because surely at some point, there would be some clue of who you were or where you’d gone.

and even if there wasn’t, what else could she possibly do to amuse herself whilst she was on bed rest?

with a huff, she grabbed her laptop and dropped back onto her bed, tucking herself under the covers. opening up her laptop (her password being ‘12345’), she clicked unpause on a video she’d started the evening prior.

“–and that’s it basically.”

shoko waved her hands around, sat on yaga’s chair at the front of the classroom with a blackboard filled with scribbles behind her. it wasn’t anything legible, more like swirls and stars and nobara thinks that, if she looked hard enough, in the corner were two little stick men: gojo and geto. an unlit cigarette sat between her lips as she kicked her legs up onto her teacher’s desk. yaga clearly wasn’t in the room.

“that made no sense whatsoever but woo! shoko!” you clapped, out of frame of the camera but enthusiastically nonetheless. the aforementioned girl narrowed her eyes at you across the classroom.

“that’s why i made a video, for you to look back on duh,” she tsked, nodding her head towards the camera. “plus it is easy. i expected dumb and dumber not to understand but you?” shoko patted away a few non-existent tears, taking on the role of disappointed parent and their once star student.

except you’d never really excelled in a class with two prodigies and shoko actually loved having the upperhand in at least one area of sorcery.

shoko picked up the camera, holding it upwards to give a full view of her outfit and hair – like it was any different to any other day she attended school. she swivelled the spinny chair over to an occupied desk, slotting next to it and moving the camera so that it captured all of you in the frame. gojo was sat down in the seat, glasses propped up onto his forehead as you sat sideways on his lap, unsuccessfully trying to decipher shoko’s teachings on the board.

“understanding reversed cursed techniques is way harder than understanding cursed techniques,” you tried to justify, pointing to the board that showed the squiggles that ‘symbolised’ performing a reversed curse technique. stealing gojo’s glasses and popping them on your own face, you popped a quick kiss to the side of his head, “plus, why waste my energy? you’ll figure it out so i never have to.”

“the things i do for you,” gojo sighed happily, dropping his head down onto your shoulder as his arms looped around your waist. the orange-haired sorcerer could practically hear yuuji’s gasps at the simple displays of affection and she almost felt bad for watching some of the clips without him.

almost.

nobara was never one for romance – drama, such as the fight between gojo and naoya, that was her scene. but even she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the teenage love between the two of you. maybe she should give her teacher more credit – there was more to the six foot two man than just his over the top personality and questionable teaching methods.

“this is meant to be an educational video! be less couple-y!” shoko complained, scowling and shuffling away on her chair again.

“oh, we could make it very educational,” gojo wiggled his eyebrows, the devious smirk on his lips only widening at your flushed expression as you tried to hit his chest. failing, though, as he isolated his cursed technique to uphold a thin barrier between your hand and the material of his uniform.

there was the teacher she knew – keen to annoy even those he loved the most.

shoko must’ve ended the video out of spite after his comment, because nobara found herself staring at a black screen.

all that she’d learnt so far was that you couldn’t perform a reverse cursed technique as a teenager. maybe that was what killed you? if you were even dead, that is. but given the damage that curses can inflict on sorcerers, whether or not you were able to execute a reversed cursed technique could literally be the difference between walking away from a fight a little tired or in a body bag.

nobara coughed several times, picking up the open bottle of water from her bedside table and taking a sip to try and ease her scratchy throat. scrunching up her nose at the slight sting of swallowing, she clicked the next available video, not putting much thought into her choice.

it was you and nanami in frame in a library by the looks of it but if it was on campus, nobara didn’t know where. christmas decorations decorated the shelving units behind you – tinsels of gold, red and green, and hanging snowflakes. you were both wearing your usual uniform but you also had a santa hat on and tinsel lining your jacket.

“we’re the only two on campus,” you said quietly, “because everyone else’s parents loved them–”

“we couldn’t afford to go back for the holidays,” nanami cut you off, without glancing up from what he was writing. being from two non-sorcerer families was a disadvantage normally in terms of status and inherited techniques, but holidays were somehow worse.

gojo had offered to help you out with a ticket back to your parents and had even extended an invitation for you to stay with him but you didn’t want to leave nanami alone (and although he didn’t seem grateful, he was glad you were there).

“it’s fine. academic comeback time,” you held up a book to the screen. being in a class with three exceptional sorcerers meant that studies were often sidelined to try and improve and perfect your techniques. holidays were usually your opportunity to catch up on the missed classwork and homework you’d fallen behind on.

nanami less so – if anything he was reading ahead. tokyo had never been renowned for academic scores until he’d come along.

“i don’t get why the camera needs to be here,” nanami complained.

“to record us study! it’s motivational.”

“sure,” nanami hummed quietly, reading over your shoulder at the work you’d already completed prior to setting up the camera. “that’s wrong. this is simple mutipli–” he paused at the sound of rustling and his brows furrowed as he tried to peer round the bookshelves.

“merry christmas!”

nobara snickered as nanami jumped at the sudden voice and appearance of three people behind him. gojo and geto were capable of masking their cursed energy (and shoko’s) so that they wouldn’t be noticed slipping into the library. although gojo had nearly screwed that up by pulling out a chair trying to trip up geto.

“ieiri!” you slipped out from your seat, running up and hugging your classmate. in the process, the camera got knocked so it was facing the ceiling. nobara frowned as she turned the brightness up on her laptop as if though that would somehow bring everyone back into grame. in the periphery of the screen she could make out just the heads and foreheads of the student sorcerers.

“hi satoru, missed you too satoru, so glad you came to see me satoru,” the white haired sorcerer pouted at the lack of attention and nobara is sure someone responded to him but the audio is muffled by two voices closer to the camera’s microphone.

“here!” haibara slipped into the seat next to nanami that you had occupied moments prior and held up a small wrapped box with red ribbon tied neatly in a bow. “i picked it up on the way. merry christmas nanamin!”

“thanks yu,” nanami smiled softly at his classmate. well that’s what nobara thought he did anyways, his eyes lifted into half crescents but she wasn’t actually sure what his mouth was doing out of frame. she’d never seen the blond so happy from a simple gesture.

she clicked off the video even though it still had thirty seconds left to go. it wasn’t much fun just watching people’s foreheads and she highly doubted that nanami was about to fix the camera’s position.

so you were from a non-sorcerer family and possibly not able to use reverse cursed technique. it wasn’t much but facts were still facts.

there was a little more deliberation before she chose her next video, settling herself back into her cushions as she waited for it to load.

the screen was suddenly very bright and nobara winced, turning it down as the surroundings came into focus. it was the inside of an arcade and the camera was pointed directly at one of those claw machines. inside were different sized plushies of spiderman and haibara was the one controlling the claw.

nobara could vaguely make out everyone’s reflection in the glass – to the left of haibara was geto (who was also the one holding onto the camera), gojo and you, and to his right was shoko, nanami and maybe also utahime? shoko had her arm around a blue haired girl either way.

“no! so close haibara,” you patted the youngest boy on the shoulder gently as the plushie he’d managed to pick up slipped from the claw’s clutches before it could be dropped down the chute and retrieved.

“can i try?” gojo asked and, from the annoyed groans, nobara assumed it wasn’t the first time he’d interjected.

“no, he’ll get it this time,” geto encouraged and gojo flashed him a look of disbelief.

“if gojo wants a go he can have it!” haibara tried to step away from the machine but nanami halted him, slotting several more coins in the machine.

“take your go yu.”

“i’ll get you a slushie if you win,” shoko called out, clapping her hands together as he accepted his fate, hesitantly pressing down on the buttons as he peered through the side of the machine to get a better angle.

“haibara, haibara.” all of them were chanting his name now, and that was enough of a boost for him to finally get one of the plushies over the barrier and down the chute. the camera shook unsteadily as geto jumped and six of them crowded the youngest in a joint hug.

nobara could see yuuji in haibara and megumi in nanami and herself in shoko and she had to stop herself from tearing up. nanami and shoko seemed like strangers these days and she couldn’t even imagine waking up and yuuji not being the first one to greet her outside her room.

we’ve got a mission here, she reminded herself, shaking her head lightly before moving onto the next clip.

“utahime, say hi,” you lowered the camera to the kyoto sorcerer’s height. she was sat cross-legged on the floor with a jacket flung haphazardly over her head to try and block out the sun that beamed down.

“hi!” utahime waved, smiling as you dropped down next to her. in her hands was a partially made daisy chain that she’d started to entertain herself whilst she waited for the tokyo students. despite being in kyoto, she’d always chosen to join yourself and shoko at events over her own classmates.

“who do you think is going to win the exchange event this year?” you asked with a raised brow and utahime grimaced.

“don’t make me compliment him.”

“are you implying that our edge is not because of me?” you looked at the camera with a disgusted expression, like you had the power to outshine the gojo satoru, she rolled her eyes – gojo’s dramatics were rubbing off on you. “for that i’m telling ieiri. you may be her girlfriend–”

utahime hit your arm and her eyes darted around for anyone that could’ve heard (like you were not sat alone in a field together whilst the others warmed up), “shut up! we’re not like that…”

you nodded with a condescending hum. “then kindly could you please stop calling her till three in the morning, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“you’re only ever up at three am because you’re sneaking back from gojo’s dorm,” she retorted with a pointed look. you opened your mouth to defend yourself

“true,” you jumped at shoko’s voice, swivelling your neck around to find the third piece of your trio standing behind you. shoko gestured towards your uniform jacket, “and if she pulls down her collar there’s a massive hickey i had to help cover up this morning.”

utahime erupted into a fit of giggles and you eyed the camera like it was some sitcom and you were breaking the fourth wall.

“you’re such an asshole.”

shoko pushed in between the two of you to make herself the middle. “you love me.”

nobara frowned as the video ended. while it wasn’t overly helpful, it reaffirmed the seriousness of your relationship with her teacher… but that was obvious from the lovesick heart eyes he constantly had in every video you were together.

although, she would have to show it to maki – the two had suspicions about the kyoto teacher and tokyo healer and this all but confirmed that they were right.

nobara scrolled down till she found a thumbnail of you, geto and gojo sat around a table of food.

“zenin naoya,” you started, chopsticks in one hand as you held a bowl of food in the other. gojo pretended to vomit at the mention of his name. “yes toru, appropriate response, but have you heard about him and the kamo girl?”

geto nodded with a mouth full. “the one who studied abroad?”

“yes! her,” you waved your chopsticks in his direction, “anyways, she cheated on him.”

the dark haired sorcerer made a sound of shock, “they were together together?”

you nodded enthusiastically, offering gojo some of your rice. “mhmm, they got together new years eve.”

“that did not last long,” gojo snickered. nobara peered at the date in the corner of the screen in a retro, yellow font; 15 january 2006.

“best part? it’s not even the first time,” you revealed, picking up some salmon sushi off of gojo’s plate and quickly eating it.

“stop,” geto gasped and nobara was shocked. this man was a war criminal now, and yet ten years ago he seemed so far from it, gossiping like he was a teenage girl.

“which like i don’t get,” you frowned. “i dont know why he’s trying to save face over some two week old relationship. especially if she’s already cheated multiple times.”

“he’s just desperate because it’s the first girl to ever want to actually be with him.”

“oh yeah she really wants to be with him,” gojo uttered sarcastically with a sparkle in his eyes. he would have a party at the downfall of the zenin.

“are they staying together?”

“i think so,” you nodded, holding a hand over your mouth as you spoke and finished your mouthful. “it’s what me and shoko told him to do, well shoko. he facetimed shoko.” you clarified following gojo’s less than pleased expression. nobara didn’t doubt that naoya had caused some tension in your relationship (though she refused to believe it was ever because you had been interested in him) and she wished that you’d switch the topic solely onto that. that was the sort of drama she was after.

“youre telling me he facetimed ieiri to tell her he’d been cheated on?” geto could bearly finish the question without laughing and he shot gojo a look. “odds on him trying to make yn jealous.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from snorting. “oh yeah because hearing all that made me want to leave satoru for that thing.” sarcasm or not, your words were taken literally by your boyfriend who draped all one hundred and ninety centimetres of himself across your body. “oh my god you’re so heavy.”

“it’s just my love for you in physical form. don’t be mean,” he whined.

nobara didn’t even have the energy to laugh quietly at the pathetic nature of her teacher as she felt herself drifting off. it was fine, she thought, only a quick power nap. she’d earned it, watching all those clips expended lots of energy.

“kugisaki?” gojo gently knocked at the young girl’s door. he’d left yuuji and megumi to do laps to check nobara was still alive and well. the illness had made its way through half the school already and while it obviously wasn’t something fatal, he knew better than to take any risks.

he knocked again and waited thirty seconds before he opened the door enough just to peek in and–

“satoru.”

gojo felt his heart drop at the sound of your voice. one he hadn’t heard in almost two years and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unsteady and thrown off guard. the mere sound of your voice had startled him and gotten more of an upper hand than any curse he’d ever had to exorcise.

although his world had stilled, reality continued on and he was forced to hear himself hum in response. he didn’t have to see the video to vividly remember the day, to remember the smell of the grass and your perfume that were coaxing him into a nap that would make you both late to yaga’s lecture.

“do you think we’ll still be together once high school is over?”

“hope so,” he murmured, half asleep, and gojo wished his younger self was more aware, telling you how much he wanted to be with you, savouring every second he had in your presence rather than sleeping it away.

like that could’ve changed the outcome.

slipping into her room, gojo lifted the laptop off of her sleeping figure (definitely still alive and breathing). with a press of a button, the disk popped out and he set the device onto the ground as he contemplated what to do.

he could break it in half, make it seem like an accident that nobara hadn’t noticed in her ill state. or he could use his cursed technique and completely eviscerate it from existence.

or maybe he could keep it.

gojo gave nobara one last glance as he silently closed her door once more, grateful for the blindfold he wore as he headed back outside to his students.

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this tag list is insane ty all for the support

#snapshot #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo drabbles #gojo fic #gojo x you #jjk #jjk fluff

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galene-gothic · 5 months ago

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𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Hi snowies, I’m back with another Barbie princess and the pauper themed reading !! I hope this reading found you in good health and that you like it, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗ PAID SERVICES (summer sale and offers)

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

You’ve experienced an ending (possibly even multiple ones) that were very heavy. It was the kind of ending (or a string of them) that came with a lot of pain and hurt but was inevitable, something that could simply not be saved. For many of you a lot of backstabbing and betrayal took place, possibly people bitching too. It could have very well been a whole group of people disliking you or turning against you. I’m strongly getting that you’ve often experienced people not liking you for any reason at all. For many of you, all of this took place at the same time (betrayal, people disliking you for no reason, etc.) You’ve lost a lot or at least feel a strong sense of loss (or have had to feel that way at some point). You have many deep wounds and right now, life seems to be more peaceful for you. However, you’re worn out, tired and disappointed. I need to give you a virtual pat on the back for the way you seem to be handling the situation though. You let things end even though you had to reach the lowest possible point mentally. You allowed yourself time and space to heal and recover. You have always been the type to try your best so you were just like “nothing more can be done now, I tried my best”. Right now, you’re really focused on yourself and your own internal values. Your energy is still not the most harmonious but the way you’re dealing with things seems to make it all harmonious again. You have released many fears and are still doing so. ‘I look to you’ by Whitney Houston is coming through for some reason. You’ve reached a point where you have a harder time trusting people and doubt loyalty but it doesn’t seem to be negative, obviously there are days when the voices do get to you but you’re able to tame them. It’s just that going forward, you want to choose and do what’s best for you. You’re still struggling emotionally but it’s only so that you can do even better going forward and yes, you have dealt with this situation really well. You should be proud of yourself because some of us wouldn’t have been able to think straight if we were in your place. You seem to know that whatever you lost wasn’t that great to begin with and every loss of yours has only led to more wins but one thing that I need to make you aware of is that everyone who lost you has received the biggest L, even if at that time, they were having the time of their lives, you’ve clearly won. You’re free to begin again. What has passed has passed. You’re free to, in fact, you have every right to believe that being in your life and someone having you in their life is a privilege. You’re free to believe that trust needs to be earned. You’re free to believe that you’ve had a string of bad connections and that their words, and actions hurt you so you have every right to feel bad and not want anything to with them. You’re free to believe that you don’t have to fully forgive someone to move on. You’re free to stand up for yourself and not feel bad for doing so. Even if you made a mistake, if someone is going overboard with punishing you by treating you shitty and disrespecting you, you have every right to stand up for yourself as long as you’re still aware of what you did wrong and are holding yourself accountable instead of acting as though you’ve never hurt a fly. You’ve walked away and surrendered which is the best that you could have done, I’m proud of you. You’re free to not want to communicate maturely with those who refused to communicate maturely with you in the past. You’ve always had a personality where you don’t mind compromising for those you love and because it comes so naturally to you, you don’t even bother to voice it out.

However, just because you don’t talk the talk, instead you just walk the walk, people act as though your sacrifices were not big. You’re allowed to have resentments against people as long as you don’t burden yourself. You’re free to find peace in the fact that you’re a great and loving person who has never minded giving up their ego for a greater good, that you’ve always looked at yourself and your loved ones as a team and that’s not a bad quality, you just didn’t know better and had people who weren’t the same as you, around yourself and that’s okay. You’re free to believe and know that you were not being difficult or trying to pick fights, you were trying to fix things because you really cared and wanted to give, and do your best. You’re free to forgive yourself for not voicing out your needs sooner. You’re free to not want to forgive some people, you’re free to deny that you weren’t even involved with certain people if that’s what brings you peace. Remember that the past doesn’t even exist, no one can narrate and decide your story except you, and the truth is, people cannot exist in your reality unless you let them ;). You’re free to not have empathy for those who didn’t have empathy for you. You’re free to be rude and standoffish with those who deserve it. You’re free to believe that it’s okay for people to leave such a bitter taste in your mouth that you wouldn’t want to help them even if they were living out their last few days with a beating heart. You’re allowed to believe that you’re not always the bad person, no matter how much you’ve been villainised, you’ve always tried to watch your actions and when you did make mistakes, you always tried to make up for them, and usually, you didn’t even do anything wrong. You’ve often had people hate you because they’re envious of and feel inferior to you in some way but then they try to make it seem as though it’s your mistakes and actions that they hate you for. You’ve had people trying to isolate you, you’ve had people telling mutuals not to talk to you, you’ve had people trying to turn people against you just for the thrill of putting you down because it’s fun to try to bring down someone who they feel inferior to, it makes them feel superior, watching you question yourself but what they don’t seem to know is that you question yourself to better yourself because you don’t view mistakes as unforgivable sins, you want to take accountability, make amends, do whatever you can to repair the damage that you may have done and do better in the future instead of drowning in self guilt like they want you to 😭. Even if you did temporarily fall into self guilt, you managed to come right out and you always will. You’re free to believe that you’re a good person, you’re free to have faith in your own greatness and embrace your mistakes in a way where you put it all behind yourself, understand that however others have treated you has been wrong as well. You’re free to believe that you’re a good person no matter how many unethical things you may have done, no matter how much others have tried to villainise you. You’re allowed to be cold to those who used your mistakes to try to get you to break. If I was you, I would avoid doing anything that I could possibly regret doing in the future. You’re free to understand that many of your past actions have been shitty but those who jumped to try and knock you down to a peg were not saints either. If they did have a problem with what you did, they would discuss your actions, not your character, they just had a problem with you, and they would sure as hell not gang up against and isolate you. You are allowed to leave your past behind (including any of the actions that you’re not proud of) and do better in the future. Just remember, you’re always free to begin again and you’re always free to believe. When you find the place where your heart belongs, you’ll never leave.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is to be seen. Many of you are interested in lifestyles that bring about a lot of eyes on you (possibly being a public figure). I don’t even think that you need to be known on a wide scale, it’s about the expression and success for you. You want to be able to make people happy and help them remain optimistic during hard times. You’re also supposed to be very generous. I just heard that the destiny that’s written in your heart is to belong to everyone, not in a negative way but in a way where everyone has a piece of the good deeds you’ve done inside their hearts and so you belong to them in some capacity. You’re supposed to have a lot of personal integrity and just be an abundant person overall. Even if you are not a public figure or an aspiring one, you’re supposed to be the light in many people’s lives. Due to how you’re going to belong to everyone, you’re also going to have to prioritise your alone time. To you, the time that you spend by yourself is going to be very precious. There are going to be people who are going to want to come into your life in order to dim your light and you’re going to have to find peace in life again and again. YES, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO ACTIVELY TRY TO ADD LACK OF PEACE INTO YOUR LIFE 😍. You’re meant to grow to be someone who’s not really that problematic. Which is why, you may have to step out of character a lot as a teen and early adult, you’ll have to learn how to stay firm in wanting to protect your peace and keep your character strong. Your destiny is to remain firm in your karma and have a strong sense of integrity. You’re supposed to learn how to protect your energy because you will have a lifestyle where you sort of belong to everyone but that’s not realistic, there are only certain people who deserve you in their lives, so you’ll have to learn how to balance it all. Karma is really big in your spread. You’re someone who’s experienced karma, often immediately. You’re supposed to learn many life lessons and lead a life of integrity. Your destiny if you manage to harness it, is to attain status and power but you’ll consistently have to work on balancing different aspects of your life (because you’re going to have it all). I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

Right away, you could be coming from pile 1. If not, much like the previous pile, you’ve undergone an ending too. Yes, this is in fact the ending of whatever situation or situations that took place but that’s the good news, that’s what you’re free to begin from again. When you’re at the lowest, the only place to go to is upwards ;). Who had potato and egg curry/likes it? Maybe, someone here is going to cook it or the dish holds some significance to you? It just randomly came through, doesn’t have to resonate for everyone. The ending doesn’t seem to be singular honestly, I feel like there was a whole cycle of multiple endings that took place but with many delays. If you ever find yourself feeling guilty about not getting over it or feel as though it’s your fault because you delayed these cycles, please be kinder to yourself. When things end, you’re left empty but what happens when a container is left empty? It gives room for new stuff to fill up that space. It’s important for you to not dwell on this ending - the guilt of not ending it sooner, wishing it had never ended, the emptiness you feel, etc. You’re free to begin from everything you’ve ever known because there is so much more in the future, in fact, even in the present itself for you to know. If you’re refusing to end a cycle, you’re only making it harder on yourself, I hope that you’ll be able to start again, no matter how much time it may take. Some of you feel guilty towards yourself because you know that you’re over it, you’re just not letting yourself let go completely. It’s become a habit to think about it, feel certain emotions when you reminisce so it feels foreign for you to move on and feel peace. Even if you’re still emotionally attached to the past, make the conscious effort to move forward. Please remember “no closure is a closure”. No matter how stagnant you feel or have felt, no matter how long you’ve felt it for, no matter how familiar the feeling is to you, you’re free to get out of this energy. Even if you feel as though you were unable to make the most out of your potential so far, even if you feel as though you haven’t achieved much, no matter how disappointed you’ve felt in yourself, don’t burden yourself with such feelings. You’re free to move on and achieve a lot going forward. “Though you may not know where your gifts may lead and it may not show in the start, when you live your dream, you’ll find destiny is written in your heart.” Why are you so concerned about everyone? Why do you try to make things right with your actions even if you aren’t interested in maintaining certain connections? It’s because you’ve achieved a lot when it comes to character. If you feel misunderstood even though you’ve done a lot for others without even talking about it because that’s just you, if you felt betrayed, it’s them, not you. Fight against their opinions, they just dislike how you stand for the things that wish they stood for, they also dislike how you are the way they wish to be in some capacity.

Continue soaring forward with courage, resilience and conviction. You’re allowed to want what you want without always having to adjust to other people’s needs, desires, personalities, lifestyles and actions. Even if you may feel like you’ve betrayed yourself in the past, know that you were living by your truth of loving and keeping your actions in check, you’re always free to begin again and live more truthfully to yourself. In fact, now you know a lot more than you did back then, isn’t that in itself a blessing? Never let anyone influence you and your approach to interpersonal connections. You’re likely a more long term kinda person due to how much you pour into everything and everyone. You’re free to believe that you’re a great person even if you aren’t breaking your leg to please others. At this point, you likely know well enough about that because you seem to have a pretty strong sense of self or are developing it (and have been making good progress with it). You’re free to stand up for yourself and your beliefs. It’s time to be your most honest and authentic self now. You’ve likely started feeling called to it already. No matter how much pressure is placed upon you or how much you’re criticised or blamed, you’re allowed to believe in yourself. You’re allowed to have boundaries and to be fairly protective of yourself. You’re allowed to want to be pursued and want to be courted romantically. You’re allowed to desire to be wooed off your feet xD. You’re allowed to follow whatever your heart’s calling is. You’re allowed to move forward acting more graceful and strong in character and even physically if you’d like. You’re allowed to move your attention onto better things if whatever you’re focused on is affecting you negatively. You’re allowed to repeat mistakes as long as you manage to learn from them in the end. “I think all of us wanna feel something that we’ve forgotten or turned our backs on because maybe we didn’t realise how much we were leaving behind.” It’s okay to make sacrifices, it’s okay to make wrong decisions, it’s okay to learn, that’s how life is. You’re free to desire and believe in a true and deep love connection that you know exists because you’re full of the love that you wish to receive. You’re free to desire a deep connection full of mutual admiration, respect and love. You’re free to want to share your life with someone, just make sure that you’re not going into it with desperation. Your standards are not too high as long as you know that you’re asking for what you can give out. You’re free to want to be around wise people. You’re free to want to have a romantic connection with someone controlled, wise, ethical and respectable. You don’t have to feel bad about taking certain things seriously even if those around you don’t. Like supposing sex is a big thing for you, in this generation that’s kind of rare but it’s okay, do right by yourself. You’re free to have an impartial judgment in the beginning for your own good. You’re free to vet out and choose who deserves to be in your life and who doesn’t. It’s okay to want to strengthen your own character and reputation. You’re free to craft yourself and your life however you want, it’s your life to live.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is to leave the past behind. You’re the pile that will either deal with extreme loneliness or isolation of some sort that will only lead to you changing and growing emotionally. If you feel like most things have not worked out for you, please just know that whatever has not worked out is exactly why thing’s are working out for you, you’re going to see it while you’re living your destiny. Somehow, no matter what you go through, no matter how many times you’re hurt, betrayed, etc. you are meant to only continue to become more loving. The more you hurt, the more you learn how to love (yourself and others) is the energy that I’m getting. It’s important for you to be in touch with the present rather than staying stuck on anything from the past, don’t even hold onto the regrets, that’s how you’re blocking your own destiny. You might be the pile that got shamed for being emotional at some point and being too nonchalant at another, you’re going to get closer to yourself which will ultimately lead you to being more in tune with your own emotional nature. The more you’ll grow, the more you’ll embrace and learn just how much of a blessing it is to choose to be ever loving in a bitter world that wants you to be bitter as well. The way you are, your sensitive nature, the way you feel, the way you love, the amount of devotion and loyalty you give out has led you to being hurt, disappointed and regretful several times. There have been times when people have terribly embarrassed because you tried to see the best in them. The clown emoji is coming through, gosh 🤡😭. However, the destiny that’s written in your heart is strongly intertwined with loving and loyalty, you value genuine connections and are extremely compassionate, as you grow older, you’ll learn how to not make everyone’s problems your own. You’re meant to learn healthy boundaries as you grow older, you’ll learn how to extend your love and compassion towards yourself, that’s how you’ll unlock a major part of your destiny. You’re supposed to come in terms with the fact that maybe you weren’t the problem after all. You seem to have taken “the world is your family” too literally, you take on everyone’s problems and sorrows, and try to love and help everyone. Especially when younger, that was what you were like.

As you grow older and finally realise that maybe you weren’t the problem after all, you’ll start seizing opportunities as you let go of regret. It’s going to be a bittersweet but beautiful time. No matter what you may go through, you’ll only gain more self awareness due to it. You’ll start focusing on the more positive aspects of life and yourself. You’ll eventually start having gratitude and find your zest for life again. You’ll learn that you’re not everyone’s mother or caregiver and that what you bring to the table, and who you are is deeply valuable. You’re destined to learn just a little selfishness, not in a sense of only caring about yourself but in a sense of putting yourself first. I’m not sure why but your sex drive keeps on coming through. You either masturbate quite a bit or well, just have a high libido xD. You might have started masturbating much younger than most as well. Doesn’t have to resonate but that’s what came through. I wouldn’t be surprised if this pile has a mother wound or just female figures being unsupportive and problematic towards you. It’s definitely not going to be everyone but you may find yourself having a bad experience with many female figures while growing up. It could be something as simple as you think that you’re good with a certain girl or woman just to find out that they dislike you. You’re meant to have it all, abundance in the truest senses. That’s the destiny that’s written in your heart. You may be the pile that’s not afraid to dream and not just dream but also try your best to execute it. If you have to give up on your dreams for whatever reason, you may feel terribly wrong from within. The destiny that’s written in your heart is a lot of domestic bliss as well. You’re meant to have people who accept and understand your differences in your life. You’re meant to be emotionally content. The reason why you have a hard time with short term, casual stuff is because you’re meant to experience long term deep attachments. The reason you’re so loyal, feel so deeply and know how to be dedicated is because you’re supposed to find worthy enough people to form such lovely and long term connections with. You’re passionate, don’t even try to suppress that true nature of yours by trying to explore some half hearted stuff. You’re well rounded so you’re meant to experience a well rounded life - a blissful home life, a great career, a strong personality and being proud of yourself, you’re meant to have it all. All of this is the destiny that’s written in your heart. I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

This could be the pile that may have lost their way temporarily or were unable to focus on things that mattered at some point (education, money, career, etc.) You’re free to start again when it comes to education and your goals (educational, career, character, skills, so on and so forth). It’s time for you to believe in your own maturity and sense of independence. You’re free to begin again no matter how many times you may have quit or lost your path. You’re a very responsible person who is focused on building something for yourself right now. You’re free to take on this identity wholly and start/continue showing up consistently for yourself. Maybe you used to be like this as a child, you had all your priorities in place but as you grew up, you started burning out or something just caused you to stray off your path. It’s okay, as long as you get back on track. You’ve always been a very helping and trustworthy person with a strong will. You used to be really reliable, responsible and ambitious even as a kid. Even if you feel like you’ve disappointed yourself, it’s never too late to get back to yourself and your goals. Believe in and stay firm in your own karma (actions/deeds). A routine would really help you. You’re free to start trying to make the most out of your potential. Maybe, you were pushed into a period of solitude causing you to realise that you need to get back on track? It doesn’t have to be for everyone, it’s only for a select few of you. You might have ended up overindulging at some point when younger which led you to straying from your path. It could be an overindulgence of anything - liquor, heartbreak, friends, freedom, etc. You may have wasted that time but the fact that you know what it feels like to enter such an energy means that you’ll avoid it going forward. It’s good that you’ve managed to live such different lifestyles and take on such different identities, just to get back to being yourself and realising that you always knew who you were, and that life is a lot about having the courage to live as who you truly are. If you don’t have a social life or have too much of it (envy, rivalry, lack of approval but also people around you) causing you to either think too much or not have enough space to think, just remember that you’re free to begin again. If you don’t have much of a social life currently, you’ve dealt with envy, rivalry, lack of approval, disappointments, end of friendships, etc. before.

Some of you may be going through it right now, if yes, you’re free to begin again, trust me, it’s going to get better ;). You’re free to believe that your next relationships (platonic and romantic) are going to be great ones. You’re free to believe that change is coming in and it’s going to be big, and in the best way possible. Patience is important here though. Don’t settle and don’t give into desperation or urges of any sort. You’re free to begin again when it comes to self improvement. You’re free to put the past behind you and patiently make the most out of the present while looking forward to a bright future. You’re free to explore and expand beyond what you thought your interests and aesthetics were limited to. You’re free to claim fulfilment. You’ve overcome so much, give yourself a little pat on the shoulder, will you? You’re allowed to go with the flow of things while consistently working on whatever you want. Consistency and patience are guaranteed to reward you as long as you use your brain and abilities to the fullest. Plan but don’t stay stuck on the planning phase. You’re doing so well, please be proud of yourself as well. While others may talk about how much they’ve done, how they are, like they may really boast it, you don’t boast because that’s just innately in you and why would you boast about something that’s just natural to you? BUT THEY’RE REALLY BIG TRAITS AND THINGS IN REAL LIFE! You’re free to let go of extremism in order to find peace. You’re free to make peace with situations even if they were one sided. You’re free to reprioritise and have faith in your priorities even if your priorities were not in the right places for a while. You’re free to move on from the life that was not flowing correctly. You’re free to heal completely even if no one witnessed it and you’re free to feel proud of yourself even if there was no one to witness how much you’ve grown. All work, no play will make you a dull one, please try to strike a good balance between studies/work and life. You’re free to try to manage life better. Your past does not exist, it does not matter. Believe in yourself and your dreams, your hopes and wishes will come true as long as you’re willing to work for them. You’re free to move forward with more confidence and passion, grabbing opportunities and communicating well. You’re likely already a great communicator, if not through speech, it may be through writing but believe in yourself, it’s better to go after the life you want rather than convincing yourself that you’re happy with an average life. Remember, you’re always free to begin again and you’re always free to begin, when you find the place that your heart belongs, you’ll never leave.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is quite interesting. You’ve always desired to be looked up to. There’s something traditional and old school that you want, the old school romance, the old school love, the old school family, whatever it may be. It’s because it’s in your destiny. You could be someone who doesn’t enjoy having jokes made about them or didn’t like them when younger. You do not appreciate being the butt of any joke due to how much you value mutual respect. It’s in your destiny to love and adore, and to be loved and adored. You’re likely the marriage type. You want an equal and all encompassing love in which your partner treats you like their own and you treat them like your own. You desire to operate with your partner as a team, a family, united and with each other instead of egoistic and against each other. It’s because you’re destined for that. You’re meant to have a reluctance to explore anything that’s not deep and intense (romantically). You’re meant to have moments when you feel unsuccessful, like you’ve not achieved much, like you’ve not been able to live up to your potential so that you can find it in you to strive towards it. At some point, you’re going to be like “I’ve always known who I am, who I want to be. I’ve always known what was right and yet I strayed off.” That was meant to happen so that you can be more confident in who you are. Due to your deep emotions and the way you feel responsible for everyone and everything, and you desire to have an ethical and good character, you tend to be confused a lot because people try to make you think that you’re doing something wrong? That’s the entire reason why you strayed off your path in the first place. You’re going to be pressured into making decisions without knowing what it is that you truly want. You’re going to find yourself being very emotionally overwhelmed at some point because you also have a tendency to feel things deeply. You won’t know what it is that you truly want. There will be a point where you’ll wonder if you even have faith in yourself at all. You might get severely betrayed at some point when younger, likely by multiple people but might have mixed feelings regarding them because the situations will just be so cloudy. Also, you’re a genuinely really good person so your desire for connection will lead you to treat people as if they are in the same team as you even if they aren’t because you will not be aware of it, you’ll have their best interests at heart but when all of this rose tinted glasses, confusion, fog or whatever you want to call it fades away, you’ll feel as though you lived in an illusion for a quite a while. You’re someone who has a lot of enemies due to your naturally great character. In this world, many people enjoy tearing each other down, you’ll have to learn how to strategically move through life. You’re able to be very strategic, it’s just that you have ethics and morals, and care about people so you try not to hurt them. You’re going to have to learn how to be yourself and follow your path unapologetically no matter who it hurts.

Many of your friends tend to envy you and want similar things that you want, possibly even love interests, don’t feel guilty about doing and choosing what’s best for you. Most of these people desire to be better than you because they do dislike you to some capacity, one more reason to not feel bad. You’re meant to be courageous enough to go for what you want, even if it might cause you to end up in scandals or ostracised because at the end, you manage to gain so much from it, in every way. “You need to be cold to be queen, keep your eyes on the price, Jenny Humphrey. You cannot make people love you but you can make them fear you.” You have had friends who turned out to be envious of you at some point. In fact, you often attract people like this but it does help you grow. You are going to learn how to be selfish with these people. With those who do deserve your love and view you as a team, you’re going to treat them as if they were you, you’re going to give them the best and will try your best to be there for them. Those who see and understand you are going to have your back at all times. You’re going to change and grow a lot through all the envy and one sided rivalry driven conflicts but that will only get you to be more morally driven. You’re going to become more empathetic, trustworthy and a great adviser to those who deserve it, and a selfish, cold person to those who don’t. That’s kind of your destiny because when you’re going to be all kind and giving, having the best interest of everyone at heart, viewing them as a team, they’re going to undervalue you and take you for granted. They’re going to abuse your generosity and giving nature, they’ll also be mean to you, as if nothing you give is enough for them, even though you’re probably the best that they will find but you’ll likely learn the lesson of putting yourself quite young (by your early twenties) because you’ll have already experienced a lot by then. You’re probably meant to be very charitable though. Also, the deep connections that you’ll have (both romantic and platonic) and I mean the healthy, non confusing and lasting ones, they’ll be sacred to you. Those people will understand you on a whole different level and will treat you with such care, it’s touching. You truly do deserve this kind of love. I’m so happy for you. When someone is like you, many will dislike you for your greatness while others will want to find both - more of your greatnesses and your weaknesses in order to love you, in order to have you in their life, in order to be in your life because they’ll see you as someone to treasure, because they’ll grow to love you more and more, the more they get to know you. This is sweet, isn’t it? You’re going to start craving strong and mutual love quite young and you’ll start having a mature approach to relationships. It’s likely because you spent quite some time in illusions while what you were giving out was very real so you’ll crave that same realness because you’ll know that you deserve it. Yes, you will receive it as long as you don’t bend into settling and staying stuck in illusions. All of this is the destiny that’s written in your heart. I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

#intuitive readings #pick a card #pick a deck #pac #tarot pac #pac reading #pick a photo #tarot pick a card #tarotblr

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happy74827 · 5 months ago

Text

The Perfect Gift of Appreciation

[Rudy Cooper (technically) x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Being severely injured with zero money to back up your bills, you decide to take an emergency visit to the only doctor you personally know.

WC: 2897

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff,

A lot of you actually liked my Brian fic (love y’all), so I wanted to make another for you guys. I’m sad that there’s still none 😔😔

『••✎••』

He was absolutely pissed. Granted, he didn’t actually tell you, but the way his face fell into utter disappointment when he finally answered his door was all the information you needed. You couldn’t help but frown, your hand moving to cover your poorly bandaged arm as you watched him.

It made sense; the man had just come home from his shift, and his outfit was still intact with his suit and lab coat, with exhaustion weighing on his eyes. The man looked downright miserable, and with you looking like a wet rat from the rain and the blood seeping from your wound, he couldn't imagine a less welcome sight.

You both just stood there staring at one another, the rain pounding against the umbrella over your head. The wind was picking up, and you knew it was going to storm harder. You really couldn’t stand the look he was giving you.

"Hey, Rudy," You managed out, swallowing hard as the pain began to seep into your voice. You endured quite a lot to get here, and you weren’t about to let your pride show now.

The man before you let out a tired sigh, leaning against the doorframe as he closed his eyes.

"You do realize what time it is, don't you?" He questioned the usual cheerfulness of his voice, which was replaced with annoyance. It hurt a bit to hear, but you didn't blame him. It’s quite rude to show up unannounced, and it was even worse considering you showed up after 2 am.

Your eyes averted downwards, feeling ashamed for even showing up here. The last thing you wanted was to bother him, especially at a time like this.

Yet, you couldn’t go anywhere else. Money wasn’t quite flowing well in your area, and it was bad enough to where you had no insurance. You were a simple college student, working odd jobs here and there while balancing school and the like.

The job you had recently obtained was a janitor position for a nearby grocery store, and things seemed pretty good for a bit. It was not enough to pay those outrageous health bills, but it was getting you by.

"I need a favor... I know it's not exactly the best time to be asking, but please, just listen—" You began, the words spilling out of your mouth just as you’ve rehearsed them a million times.

Before you could continue, Rudy opened his eyes and looked down at you with a small frown. He already noticed the way you held your arm and the way you kept glancing at it. He knew what this was about; he knew the moment he opened the door and saw the desperation in your eyes.

Your name fell from his lips, drained and tired as he rubbed his forehead. He was silent for a bit, just as you were, and when he finally looked back up, his frown grew deeper.

"You seriously can’t afford to get simple treatment? How do you even know if I have the right supplies to fix something like this up, huh?"

You didn’t reply, merely biting down on your lip as you looked away. It was true, you weren't sure. Yet, Rudy had always been so kind to you, always willing to offer his help and support when you needed it.

The man sighed, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t believe he was doing this; he had to wake up in a few hours, and now he had to deal with this.

The only thing keeping him from saying no was the look you gave him.

You weren’t one to beg or ask for help. You usually dealt with things on your own, and when you couldn’t, you were willing to work it off. He admired that about you, how you weren't the type to depend on others.

The fact that you were even here, soaked to the bone and asking for his help, proved to him just how serious the situation was.

You had no other choice, and he knew that.

So, without a word, Rudy stepped aside and gestured for you to enter. The relief was immediate, and before he could blink, you were inside, the sound of the rain slowly fading behind you.

The warmth of his home was a great contrast from the outside, and you couldn’t help but sigh contently as he threw his coat off and led you down the hall.

His duffel was still beside the couch, a sign that he had just returned moments before. Somehow, it made you feel worse, knowing that you interrupted his much-needed rest.

You followed Rudy through the living room, landing in the kitchen where the door to his basement was. You were about to follow him downwards, side-stepping past him, but a hand slammed against the doorframe just before you could.

Startled, you looked up at Rudy, a brow raised at the sudden stop. He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, and it made you grow uncomfortable.

"Stay here. I’ll be up in a minute, okay?" His voice changed slightly, sounding far more awake than before.

"Can’t you just do it down there? I mean, that’s where all your stuff is, right?"

Why go through all the trouble of bringing everything upstairs?

He shook his head, his lips pulling into a tight line. It looked like he was thinking something over, and when he finally spoke, he seemed hesitant.

"Just trust me, okay? Just wait here. I promise I won't be long."

You frowned, wanting to question him, but Rudy was already moving down the stairs. The door shut behind him, and the next thing you knew, you were left alone in the kitchen.

Confused, you couldn't help but stare at the door.

Why didn’t he want you down there? That was pretty odd behavior for someone who loved to brag about his work. You couldn’t recall a time when Rudy wasn’t so open about what he did.

So why the sudden change?

You didn’t want to question it, and instead, you hummed and sat down in the chair. You could hear his footsteps echo downstairs, and you waited patiently for him to return.

The sound of the basement door opening was almost instant, and when Rudy entered, you noticed the big medical box in his arms. You couldn’t help but watch the man walk around his kitchen, his movements slow and calculated as he made his way over to you.

Rudy placed the box onto the table, popped it open, and began to pull out the gloves, rubbing alcohol, and gauze. The man grabbed a chair and pulled it across from you, and as he did, he glanced up at you and smiled.

Your mind, however, was still elsewhere.

"Hiding a body down there, or something? You were taking forever, know..." You mumbled, your gaze shifting from the box to Rudy.

He chortled at the comment, glancing up momentarily to give you a small smile before resuming his task of pulling out the medical supplies.

He didn’t say anything other than the comments about your wound. How’d you get it? If it hurt, how long ago did it happen…

You know, the typical doctor questions.

Rudy took your arm in his, his hold gentle as he carefully removed the cloth that was once your makeshift bandage. You winced, hissing as the material peeled away some of the dried blood, and it caused Rudy to glance up at you apologetically.

As the cloth finally came off, Rudy didn’t make any type of comment. He didn't react to the deep cut on your arm other than the occasional flicker of his eyes. To you, it was absolutely jarring. It looked so much worse than you expected, and you couldn’t help but glance away as the man poured the alcohol onto the gauze.

He must’ve been used to this kind of thing, considering he didn’t so much as bat an eye.

The alcohol felt cold against your skin, and you bit your tongue to prevent the pain from escaping. Rudy didn't say a word as he cleaned up the wound, and you took the time to glance at the man.

Rudy was focused, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on your wound. He was careful but quick, and his actions were precise and methodical. The way he moved was almost fascinating, and before you knew it, he was done with that part.

Rudy tossed the now bloodied gauze into the trash can that was temporarily beside the table and then reached for the next item.

The numbing shot.

The man paused, his gaze lifting from the supplies and up to your face. Rudy, the sweet and caring guy, had a very different face whenever he worked. He had his usual soft and comforting smile, but the way he constantly looked at your arm was so… cold.

He almost looked bored.

You blinked, and suddenly, he was staring at you, his brows raised.

You stared, unable to find the words, but the moment he spoke, the spell was broken.

Rudy gave you a sheepish smile, gesturing the shot in his hands. He warned you about the small prickle, gesturing to the shot in his hands, the prickle that’s never just a prick of the skin. It’s always quite painful.

The needle was tiny, but the feeling of the sensation entering your body was enough to make you grit your teeth. You felt your face grow warm, the embarrassment washing over you as the pain became a dull ache.

It didn't last long, and soon Rudy was shaking it around, supposedly making the numbing effect act faster.

Then, the waiting game. He told you around five to ten minutes, depending on your tolerance, and that's how you both ended up sitting across from one another in silence.

Rudy was tapping his fingers against the table, the only sound filling the air. You couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged, and the occasional yawn that escaped him.

"I’m sorry," You said, finally breaking the silence. His facial expression didn’t help you feel better, the frown on his lips growing deeper as he shook his head.

"Don’t be sorry." He mumbled, his eyes closing briefly as he inhaled sharply. "Truth be told, I actually despise apologies. And it's not like you did this to yourself on purpose, anyways…"

That was true, you supposed. Still, the guilt wouldn't leave you alone.

When the man didn’t receive a reply, Rudy looked at you with a tired smile. His hands moved over the medical box, and with a slight push, it was out of the way and no longer between you.

Rudy then leaned forward, placing his elbows against the table, and folded his hands beneath his chin.

"You know, I miss this."

You blinked, tilting your head at him as a soft smile formed on your lips. "Me being clumsy and annoying?"

He chuckled, a sound that brought warmth to your heart, and the exhaustion was temporarily forgotten.

Rudy shook his head, and as he did, his smile faded and was replaced with something a little more sad. "Skin. The human body. Blood. The life force. I just miss it, I guess... I love what I do, don't get me wrong, but it can be a little boring at times.. It gets repetitive. The smiles are nice, the gratitude of those I treat, but sometimes I can't help but think about other things. More exciting things, y'know?"

"Suturing my arm is exciting to you? That's pretty weird, Rudy, and that's coming from me…"

You were only half-joking, and Rudy was aware. The man was silent for a moment, his gaze averted as his smile slowly returned.

A soft chuckle left him, and he leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms against his chest.

His eyes closed, and the smile on his face grew.

It wasn’t a sad smile, nor was it happy. It was a smile that said many things but nothing at all.

When his eyes finally opened, they were different. The smile was gone, and so was the warmth in his expression.

The smile he wore now was a familiar one, and the glint in his eyes was one you knew too well.

The box was moved back in front of him, and with a swift movement, the scissors and tweezers were in his hands.

Then, the conversation was over, and so was the waiting period. He did check to see if it was numb, but the moment you confirmed that it was, he went right back to work.

It was silent for the most part; you felt no pain, and Rudy was careful as he did his job. It was going by rather quickly, and with the silence that fell between the two of you, you couldn’t help but look down at your arm.

He was already halfway done. The numbing was working like a charm, and with how quickly Rudy was going, it was almost like a superpower. For a man not in his element, he seemed like he was pretty damn well in his element.

Maybe he did have a body hidden downstairs. Give him some practice.

Rudy stopped for a moment, the sudden pause causing you to lift your gaze and look at him. He was holding a new needle in his hand, a black string-like material in the other.

He was staring at your arm, the concentration on his face strong as he held the items up. It was a rather odd sight, and you couldn't help but lean closer to get a better look.

Rudy blinked, his focus snapping up at you, and he gave you a lopsided grin.

You watched him for a moment, the man simply staring back at you with the same grin, and after a moment of silence, he put the tools down.

"And, presto." He said, his grin widening, and before you knew it, he was packing up the box.

Damn, that was fast.

He wrapped the wound in an actual bandage, moving at the speed of light, and before you could even comprehend what was happening, Rudy was already finished.

The man got up, stretching out his back as he did, and he glanced down at you with a soft smile.

"I don’t keep any antibiotics around here, but a simple store trip can fix that. You don’t need anything fancy, just a simple infection control, and you should be good to go. It doesn't seem to be too bad, and if it gets any worse, then we can look into that later... at the ER."

"Right." You mumbled, not having the energy to protest. The sarcasm, the jokes, the humor... everything was gone. You were drained, and now that the whole ordeal was over, you felt yourself slouching against the chair.

You looked up at Rudy, and before you could speak, he was already talking.

"Don’t worry about it. I’ll drop you home tomorrow morning before I go in. I’m seconds away from passing out, and you look like you're about to fall over."

You nodded, a silent thank you falling from your lips. Rudy gave you a nod in response and then gestured towards the hallway.

It wasn’t too long after that you found yourself walking down the hallway with a spare pillow and blanket. The guest bedroom was empty, and when you entered, the lights were off.

You didn’t question it, and instead, you set the pillow and blanket on the bed and made yourself comfortable. He said he used this room a lot, but somehow, it looked so untouched. It wasn’t dusty, but the way the room was set up proved that it wasn't often used.

Still, you were far too exhausted to give it a second thought.

Rudy walked past the doorway, a pair of keys in his hands as he waved them around. You heard him mention something about locking up and going to sleep, and after he left, the hall was silent.

And then, after a few minutes, the house was silent.

As you lay there, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. Your arm was still numb, and you felt nothing as you gently placed your hand against the bandage.

There was no pain, no nothing. It was just ugly, and yet you were grateful.

You didn’t even know Rudy for that long. A mutual friend introduced you to one another, and ever since then, it has been a whirlwind of events.

Especially due to your overbearing clumsiness.

But tonight? What a true blessing.

You couldn’t thank him enough. Maybe you could make him breakfast in the morning. That sounded like a decent enough gift.

Unless you happened to break his kitchen or yourself, you’d have to see how things played out.

And with that, you rolled over, your eyes slowly drifting shut.

You were out within a minute. And fortunately for Rudy, so were his neighbors.

It was a rather quiet night, after all, and with his soundproof walls, no one could hear a thing.

Even with the preparation for the next present for his precious Ken, the perfect gift of appreciation, no one could hear the sounds of his true work.

Well, no one except you.

[@ghostheartbeat, @numetalnerd2007] Here’s your tag, besties! Go wild! ☺️☺️

I hope you guys liked the "realistic" approach I took here lmao. I felt really devious about this plot 😈

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the-oblivious-writer · 5 months ago

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Jealous Lover

Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-shot

Summary: Your eagerness for discussions regarding your favorite band leads to an argument with your girlfriend

Warning(s): Swearing, no pronouns but sam uses 'girlfriend' once, jealous!sam, drunk!tara, & mentions of puking/gagging

Notes: For all the fellow passionate music lovers out there, this one's for you. Maybe one day I'll dive into how I think punk/rock in general's played a role in Sam's life and how she's passed down her love for music to Tara

This is not how you wanted to spend your night. You were dragged out to a party you didn’t even want to go to. You would much rather spend the night with your girlfriend. Much rather. But you kind of owed your friend since you always managed to make up an excuse for these things in the past. Her own girlfriend was out of town visiting family so you were second in line to be her plus one.

You were actually having an okay time, still missing your girlfriend, but you ended up having an interesting conversation with this guy you met while grabbing drinks for you and your friend. The conversation regarded music. You could never pass up the opportunity to go on and on about something you actively worshiped. But unfortunately, this little peace you found didn’t last when from the corner of your eye you noticed a familiar figure tumbling her way over to the couch. It was then you looked over to see your girlfriend’s little sister sitting with her friends.

Ah, crap.

You knew for a fact she was not supposed to be here. You thought about what was in store for her when she got home before excusing yourself and walking over to her.

“Tara,” you said to get her attention. “Hey, uh—”

She looked up from the couch to you with a bright smile plastered on her face before getting up and wrapping her arms around you, momentarily catching you off guard. You almost forgot she was a clingy drunk.

“Look it’s Y/N!” She shouted to her friends as you subtly winced from her volume.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you shortly laughed. You looked over Tara to see her friends, Mindy and Anika, wave to you in which you returned with a nod. “I'll take this from here,” you told them while helping Tara up after she tripped on her own foot.

Mindy gave you a thumbs up while Tara started to slump in your arms. “Tara?” You looked down to see her wearing a more tired expression that matched her sluggish demeanor. Another thing you noticed in the time you knew the girl is that she had quite a bit of mood swings.

“Let’s get you home,” you said with a comforting pat on her shoulder.

—

Sam could not believe Tara. She specifically told Tara no to the party she was now off to retrieve her from. She just got home from her therapy too, Quinn had accidently slipped and told Sam where Tara was before going back to her room. As soon as Sam heard this, she rushed to put on the jacket she had just taken off.

“That sneaky little shi—” Sam was reaching for her taser but stopped once she heard the locks on the door begin to turn, stopping in her tracks. Tara walked through the door, hiccupping and giggling, as you held her up.

“You Carpenters are really something when you’re drunk—oh, Sam! Hi!” You stopped walking, now looking at your girlfriend like a deer in headlights. You knew she would be home by now. You knew you would have some explaining to do. Yet you still found yourself unprepared as you saw her standing right by the doorway because she was presumably getting ready to hunt down her sister.

“I have a perfectly good explanation for this,” you said.

She furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head as she crossed her arms and looked at you. “Really? You do?” She looked so intimidating, so in control of the situation. It was so hot. But you had to focus.

“Mhm,” was the only thing you managed to muster.

“Then, please, enlighten me because it looks like my sister snuck off to a party against my wishes, yet you seem to be aware of that part. So, care to tell why you didn’t throw me in the loop?”

“Okay,” you lightly sighed. You nodded your head in the direction of the living room and Sam followed. You laid Tara on the couch before you finally spoke. “When I went there, I didn’t know she would also be there. We just ran into each other and as soon as we did I brought her here,” you calmly spoke and you could see Sam slowly start to ease at your words.

Yet that ease only lasted so long before a drunk Tara pitched in. Sam was about to reply when she was cut off by the younger Carpenter. “And some guy was flirting with Y/N,” she said before stretching out her arms and dramatically yawning.

Always an instigator.

“Some guy was what?” You could hear it in Sam’s voice that any ease you brought her disapparated. If her voice didn’t give you anything, her expression certainly did; her eyebrows were scrunched as she clenched her jaw and flared her nostrils.

“It wasn’t like that,” you quickly tried to reassure your girlfriend. “He noticed the album cover on my shirt and he said it's his favorite album. A conversation struck up but it was nothing more than two fans expressing their mutual appreciation for a band and their music.”

“You talked about music?” Her tone was defensive as she adjusted her crossed arms, attempting a stoic stance to cover any hurt she felt upon hearing what you just revealed.

She knew how much you valued music, what it meant to you. It isn’t like your love language, it is your love language. When you first started hanging out, instead of the typical bouquet of flowers, you made her a playlist, gifting it to her on a CD. Now she finds any excuse to listen to it 24/7, never growing sick of the intimate playlist you constructed with songs that you said made you think of her. Even on your first date with the older Carpenter, the two of you talked for hours discussing all the greats—from Kurdt Cobain to Jimi Hendrix. Sam also had a connection to music, growing up it was her escape from the outside world. So, inevitably, it played a big part in your relationship. You two met in a record store for Pete's sake. So yes, she grew a somewhat possessive once she found out you were discussing one of your all time favorite bands with a man who was supposedly flirting with you.

“You sure that’s all he wanted to talk about? Wouldn't be the first time someone's blatantly flirted with you but you were too oblivious to notice.” She let out a dry chuckle, her voice vindictive.

“Yes, that’s it. Music is all we talked about. What? Am I not allowed to talk to other people now?” You remarked, a little more unapologetic than you intended. Sam didn’t have a jealousy problem per se, she just had trouble drawing the line between possessive and protective. Often, those lines blurred to the point where even you had trouble telling them apart.

Fine, maybe she did have a jealousy problem.

“Talking and flirting are two different things. Excuse me if I don’t want my girlfriend conversing with people who want more than musical insight,” Sam defended pointedly.

“You’re saying that as if he was all over me. The point is he wasn’t.” Your patience was thinning as you were running out of reassuring words to say.

“I’m—” Sam had begun but was once again cut off by Tara who was now gagging.

“Shit, I think I’m gonna puke!” Tara shouted as she tried to make it to the bathroom. You and Sam rushed to her aid, the both of you desperately hoping that you would get Tara to the bathroom in time.

—

After about an hour of holding Tara’s hair back as she puked—you and Sam rotating—you and Sam finally managed to put a very pouty Tara to bed. As Sam adjusted Tara's pillow, you pulled her blanket over her and adjusted the sides. Sam kissed her forehead and you followed with a light pat on her head before the both of you said ‘goodnight’ to the now snoring girl.

Upon hearing the soft click Tara’s bedroom door gave from gently closing it, the two of you let out exhausted sighs. You both walked to the kitchen, Sam leaning against the counter as you opened the cabinets looking for a mug.

“You want some tea?” You asked your girlfriend, already grabbing the lavender tea she stored in the drawers just below where the mugs were kept.

You glanced over to see her nodding, giving you a nonverbal answer. You got the tea kettle out and filled it with water using the kitchen sink. You then placed it on the stove, set the heat to an appropriate temperature, and then placed the small box of lavender tea to the side for when the water is finished boiling. Another moment of silence passes before you divert your attention from the kettle to your girlfriend.

“Sam…” You finally spoke in a gentle voice.

“I know.” She wasn’t curt with her words but understanding.

You lightly exhaled, making your way over next to Sam. You leaned against the counter before asking, “Are you gonna talk to me or just try to wait it out like every other time?” You weren’t demanding but genuinely asking her.

You looked at her, your faces not so far apart, you saw the reluctant and shameful look she wore. This made you slightly furrow your eyebrows as you looked at the woman.

“I hate the thought of you with anyone else,” she answered. She looked to the ground in shame. Shame for letting her thoughts consume her like this, shame for letting it lead to an argument with you. What if you discovered just how deep her jealousy ran? You would leave her, that’s what. At least, that’s what she told herself would happen.

You lifted her chin with your free hand so she would look at you, but you saw her eyes hesitate to comply. “Look at me, Sammy,” you told her and it was enough for her to listen. “I’m yours and only yours. No one else can have me like you do. No one else,” you said with great truth.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat at your words, melting at how your thumb softly grazed her chin. Your touch could have her crumble in mere seconds. That scares apart of her, but another part of her can't help but admire it.

“I was being ridiculous.” She shook her head, still feeling guilt for giving you a hard time for talking about something you’re passionate about.

“That’s in the past now.” You gave her a smile that’s always been enough to brighten her days. “Just know you’re the only music dork I want in my bed,” you teased.

A gorgeous smile grazed Sam’s face at this comment. “Oh, yeah? I feel the exact same way about you,” she said as you both began to lean in.

“Good, we balance each other out,” you flirted back right before you two closed the gap between you, your lips meeting halfway. Her lips were warm and soft, and you could taste her nightly cigarette on them. You tilted your head and parted your own lips to deepen the kiss and give her tongue access, but the forgotten tea kettle on the stove whistled, interrupting the kiss before it could escalate.

You and Sam broke apart, slightly panting, as you both wore shit eating grins. “I should go set up the tea,” you said with warm cheeks.

Sam nodded with an, “Okay,” but her eyes never pulled from your back as you prepared the tea. She subtly walked up behind you, putting her hands on your hips and rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Sammy,” you lightly laughed in an excited surprise.

“Bring the tea to my room and don’t take too long. I wanna finish where we left off,” she whispered into your ear in a husky voice. You could feel her breath against your neck due to this, your heart racing in response.

Sam sauntered off to her room, but not without leaving a kiss just below the corner of your jaw. If you noticed her taking a subtle bite then you didn’t comment. The kiss sent shivers down your spine, and after snapping out of the daze Sam put you in, you quickly went back to the tea. You never made tea so briskly before tonight.

Later, Sam kept on her promise. She may have left a few hickeys for the world to see but you could never prove she did it with possessive intent.

That was just for her to know.

-----------

A/N: and if I said y/n was wearing an 'In Utero' shirt?? (ofc, imagine whatever shirt you'd like)

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter #melissa barrera x reader #melissa barrera x you #melissa barrera

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tealvenetianmask · 24 days ago

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A lot of the discourse on The Full Moon/Apology Tour has revolved around the pedestals that our boys put each other on. But I think the pedestal Stolas has Blitz on in particular often gets misunderstood.

I've seen a lot of takes that says that Stolas can't really love Blitz. He just loves the idea of Blitz . . . the one he's built up in his head based on romance novels and rom-coms and soap operas.

I think the reality is more complicated, and that even though, yes, Stolas idealizes Blitz, he also very much loves Blitz for his true self.

Let's look at some times when Stolas saw "the real Blitz," as his quirky, resilient, innovative, low-class self, and very much loved that person, and not just the knight in shining armor version of him.

The Circus.

Some have used this moment to say that Stolas idealized Blitz as a fantasy of what it must be like to be free.

And . . . yes. BUT ALSO. He only falls more in love (in a kid-crush kind of way) when he sees Blitz mess up on stage, get booed by the crowd, and make a joke that's clever but quite dark and niche. Creatively, to work his way through a difficult situation. There is SO MUCH in this short minute that reveals to us AND TO STOLAS who Blitz really is.

Seeing Stars

Oh boy. Let's make a list. I'm too tired to make this exhaustive, but in this episode, Stolas sees Blitz

Being careless in a way that puts Octavia in danger

Using an absolutely stupid costume to disguise himself

Getting terrible stage fright

Going way off script in the sitcom in (again) a way that's niche humor and does not appeal to most of the audience

LITERALLY HAVING A BREAK FROM REALITY AND SHOOTING UP THE TV STUDIO

Okay, so when Via is in danger, Stolas is unambiguously peeved by the mistake, but he forgives Blitz because Blitz puts in effort to find Via and make it right.

And in the rest of these instances, Stolas EITHER affirmatively likes the cringy and silly side of Blitz's personality:

Or without the slightest hesitation, when Blitz shows a real weakness, focuses not on disappointment that this man is not his perfect soap opera hero, but puts that aside and tries to help Blitz get out of trouble.

There's also this moment in Western Energy where Stolas is absolutely unbothered by Blitz's atrocious spelling and is genuinely just happy to think for a moment that Blitz cares. I feel like someone COULD twist this to be about Stolas having blinders on about what's right in front of him, but I don't think so. I think he's fine with Blitz not having all the same strengths that his society clearly values, and just wants to be loved back by this person who he has genuine feelings for.

So what doesn't Stolas know about Blitz before The Full Moon/Apology Tour? He doesn't know that Blitz hates himself. He doesn't know that Blitz pushes away people he cares about. He knows that Blitz has walls up but doesn't know why. You can fall for someone without knowing their deepest darkest hurts-- you can even love them. But you do need to know these things to have a deeper relationship with the person.

His focus on romantic media is a problem because it forms his expectations about relationships, not necessarily because it blinds him to who Blitz is. He wants to be rescued. He wants to be chased after. He doesn't understand that good relationships take a lot of work . . . and he'll need to learn that.

But he doesn't just love Blitz for these ideas. He loves Blitz for being Blitz.

This, like many of these essays, was inspired by a conversation with @akirathedramaqueen.

#stolitz #my helluva meta #stolas goetia #blitzo buckzo #blitz #blitzo #helluva boss #AND ALSO THIS IS A REASON WHY A RELATIONSHIP WITH “just anyone else” WOULDN'T WORK #He's in love with Blitz #not just in love with love #I'm extremely healthy about this guys

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preqwells · 6 months ago

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cw: 18+, afab, fingering, p in v, read part 1 of mechanic konig here

mechanic! konig would definitely become clingy after what you thought was your one-night stand.

staying true to his word, your new lovely mechanic named könig followed through with teaching you the basics of a car. how to check the dipstick that was in your oil tank so you'd know when you needed an oil change, checking the tire pressure so you didn't find yourself in a situation you didn't want to end up in-- he was thorough, diligent-- he found himself caring more than usual as he explained these things to you. "so, when it gets to this mark?" you softly inquired, pressing your fingernail to the mark you assumed he had pointed to. "no, maus-- here. if you base it off where you just pointed, well… good luck." he mumbled, a tinge of amusement in his tone. he kept his thick digit on the dipstick, slick oil making his index finger glisten under the sun. you attempted to train your brain to think of anything but what it wanted to think, honestly. you let out another sheepish chuckle, nodding obediently at any pointers he was kind enough to give you.

call it luck or fate, but könig didn't have the serpentine belt you so desperately needed to have installed in your car to get to work tomorrow. könig felt a hint of excitement-- this meant you needed a ride home, right? könig was kind enough to offer you a ride… well, an actual ride which you vehemently refused at first. you had never been one to ask favors of others, certainly not a stranger you just met even if your conscience screamed at you to do otherwise. "i can't-- i can't cover any additional costs…" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes fell to the ground out of embarrassment. your helplessness was cute-- the pout that tugged at the fullness of your lips, your shy demeanor-- how had he gone so long without seeing such a sweetheart around town? "nein, it won't cut into what you already owe me. it'll be cheaper taking a ride from me than getting an uber, anyways." he insisted, catching onto the way you previously mentioned cutting back on expenses. you couldn't argue with him-- or more like, you didn't want to.

during the car ride home, könig would sneak glances at you-- whether it be at red lights or when he turned the corner. he couldn't help the way his eyes would roam your figure, and you even caught glimpses of his lingering gaze. you weren't stupid, and neither was he-- the tension was palpable, almost tangible. he guided you to your door, his hand splayed across the small of your back, thick digits bracing you. "um… well, thanks-- for everything." you quickly got out, wanting the interaction to be over so you wouldn't make a fool out of yourself. everything felt so intimate-- the way he touched you, stole glances at you-- it felt out of character for you since you had only known him maybe for half the day. könig remained quiet for a moment, drinking in every reaction you had. your head tilted upward, looking up at him through your lashes as he kept your gaze. the atmosphere suddenly felt thick, intense. "no problem. couldn't let you go home without knowing you were safe." his voice dropped an octave, his head dipping lower to insert himself in your personal bubble. your breath hitched as you nodded, opening the door as his forearms leaned against the doorframe, the heavy tools on his belt exposing a sliver of skin along with a tuft of hair right above his groin.

"well… i'm safe." "are you?" "mhm." "how're you gonna get back to my shop tomorrow?"

your brain short-circuited at the heady mix of the bluntness of his words and his stature, your mouth slightly agape. he let out a low chuckle before his index finger found the belt loop of your pants, pulling you into his space. you mumbled out a weak 'i dunno'-- that answer wasn't good enough for him. "… i could stay the night… won't cut into what you already owe me, maus." he reiterated his earlier point, the boldness of his words coated in mirth. his face was brought closer to your own, his black lashes hanging low over his eyes. your hands found purchase on his biceps before his lips brushed against yours, putting a silence to any lingering tension from earlier as your eyes fluttered closed. he put every ounce of being into the kiss-- hell, he wished you could've broken your serpentine belt earlier if it meant a pretty thing like you could've stepped into his shop sooner than you did. he backed you into your apartment, his hand closing the door hurriedly. "fuck-- you just had to walk into my shop, didn't you?" he gruffed out between kisses, annoyed at the feeling of how quickly he already found himself half-hard.

you parted your lips to squeak out a half-hearted apology before könig used this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, coaxing a sweet moan from you which elicited a wicked grin from könig. könig led you into your bedroom, gently placing you at the head of the bed as his teeth nipped at every area of skin he could think of-- your neck, your collarbone, underneath your breast when he managed to get your shirt off. the whines and whimpers that escaped you only urged him to continue, didn't you know? stupid of you, really-- to think you weren't going to end the night with his fingers readying you to split you open on his heavy cock. his head lolled back when he did eventually find his length rubbing snugly against the slickness of your walls, your eyes blinking away tears from the initial stretch. he quickly caught wind of this as he halted his movements, arching down as his lips pressed against your cheek.

"s'okay, maus-- know i'm kind of a fit, eh? just tell me when it's okay to move." he cooed to which you quickly nodded, exhaling a sigh you didn't know you were holding. as you signaled for him to start moving, his thrusts were almost borderline calculated, precise-- you didn't seem to be complaining about it from the string of moans you were letting out, anyway. it didn't take long for his thrusts to grow sloppy, a mix of your wetness and the sound of skin slapping together filling the room. the way you keened, your brows knitted so closely together from pleasure, your lips swollen and red from the earlier make-out session-- yeah, this is where könig needed to be; buried deep into your drooling pussy.

the night came to an end as did your time with könig-- hell, you could barely remember falling asleep. you went to sleep with the thought that you'd wake up to an empty bed, trying to conjure ways for it not to be so awkward when you did eventually go to pick up a car. you'd never really had a one-night stand before-- how do you even face someone who was practically balls-deep in you the night before? what you didn't expect when morning came was the soft kisses that rained upon your cheek, waking you out of a well-deserved sleep. your eyes slowly opened, scanning the room and taking in the sight of yourself under the covers. you were… clean? no traces of stickiness between your legs, no sweat sticking to your skin. your head turned to the side to be greeted with the sight of könig with bed-head, his hair twisted in every way imaginable. your eyebrows furrowed together out of confusion-- you were fully expecting him to leave. könig caught on quickly to your confusion, his elbow propped up on the mattress as his palm rested on the side of his cheek. he returned your look of confusion as if daring you to say something.

"what? we have to go pick up your car today, don't we?"

#call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #könig #mechanic könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig x reader #cod smut #konig #konig cod #konig call of duty

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hyuckswoman · 7 months ago

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mark and you arguing pt2

pt1

genre: angst then fluff

summary: after rain comes sunshine, he finally listens.

pairing: mark x y/n

“good morning” you say to your boyfriend as you pass through the kitchen reaching into a cabinet to take out a glass

last night had been tense, because of the argument you had a really hard time sleeping, waking up every five seconds. it didn’t help that your boyfriend was the exact same, the only difference between you two being the guilty look on his face

you wanted nothing more than to tell him to forget about it and just cuddle him to sleep because being mad at him or more like emotionally tired wasn’t easy. yes, he fucked up but he’s still the greenest of green flags ever and you just love him too much so being apart with all those angsty feelings was taking a toll on you

but you decided to stand your ground nonetheless, it couldn’t be like every other time where he swooned you with his words and you ended up forgiving him. he had to learn. and even on your end, it’d be fucked up to put yourself through this. so when you woke up this morning with no one next to you, you decided to not care. turns out he was just in the kitchen though

“good morning lovely, i tried to make breakfast, i couldn’t so i went and bought some, your favorite of course, i’m just reheating it right now, juice is in the fridge by the way” your boyfriend greeted you, his back facing you (which you 100% guarantee is because he’s shitting his pants and hopes the tension eased)

it did not though

“not only did you call me bitchy yesterday, you also said some dumb ass thing about if you were with her.. mark you’re not dumb you damn well that it’s going to take more than breakfast to ease things with me, don’t piss me off so early in the morning please” you said pouring water into your glass, getting out of the kitchen. you and mark took pride in your communication skills, so you weren’t giving him the silent treatment more like you didn’t want to be in the same room as him right now because him acting as if nothing happened pissed you off even more

the guy was going to have to practically beg for you to be okay with him again

“..i know, and i’m sorry” mark sighed as he joined you in the living room with the food he bought earlier hoping that despite you not being happy with him, you’d still eat cause no matter how bad the situation is, it’s important to take care of yourself!

“like i said yesterday, i heard you mark but you know.. actions speak louder than words, until we’ve reached a point where she won’t ever be the cause of a disagreement there’s always going to be some sort of tension” you said as you reached for the food. yes, the food wasn’t an enough apology but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it

“i know, that’s why i’m going to see her later today, set some real boundaries, tell her off kind of because i do really- and i’m not just saying this to please you or whatever, she has crossed some boundaries that she shouldn’t have so yeah maybe her and i aren’t as close friends as i thought we were” your boyfriend says pouring your favorite juice into your now empty water cup

first of all, you did appreciate your boyfriend doing all of that (FINALLY!!) but you weren’t going to explode with joy because of him doing the bare minimum

second of all, your boyfriend is just as much in the wrong as she is. and you debated on telling him that he should also self reflect but decided that you truly wanted him to realize it without you spelling everything out to him

so you just hummed to the news, finishing up your breakfast heading upstairs while your boyfriend cleaned up and got ready to meet his friend

external pov?

“hi markie” his friend said as your boyfriend took seat in front of her

“did i make you wait long?” he replied. despite him not greeting her, her smile grew as she realized he cared about her enough to worry about her time

“no don’t worry i just got here, anyway you wanted to talk?” she asked in anticipation, it was probably going to be good news (although good news for her meant bad news for you) she hoped your guys maybe broke up or something

“yea and i’m going to talk for a while so please do not interrupt me” he asked as she nodded eagerly waiting for the breakup news to drop

“i wanted to talk to you about yesterday, or every single hangout we’ve done ever since i started dating y/n. like i said, y/n and i are dating and i truly think she’s the one so i want to do everything in my power not to fuck it up. and that includes you stepping over boundaries that you shouldn’t step over seeing as though we’re friends. i think last night made me realize how odd? you were around me, how your hands lingered on me maybe a bit too long for a friend, or how you cut off my girlfriend when she was trying to talk, how you made backhanded comments towards her and look, i'm not asking you to like her but she's my girlfriend and she deserves some respect and i'll choose her over you in the blink of an eye. that’s why i’m choosing to put some distance in between us, at least until i’m 100% sure your behavior won’t be the same” mark finishes his rant, his fingers playing with his ring, dreading his (impulsive) friend’s reaction

“ain’t no fucking way you’re being serious right now mark, i’ve known you my whole life and you choose some random girl over me?” his friend says angry that not only you guys are still together but he’s dropping her for..you??

“if you don’t have anything respectful to say about y/n i’ll just leave clearly you’re not listening” your boyfriend answers, his patience getting tested

“no, you don’t get the last word i do. you want to drop me for her? fine. i’ll do fine without you mark but what you cannot do is put the blame all on me. yes, i’ve been inappropriately acting with you but it’s only because you allowed it. each time i thought i was maybe reading too much into the mixed signals you were giving me you reassured me by apologizing because- in your own words - she was being irrational. mark, you are as much to blame as i am and i won’t sit here and let you shift the blame entirely onto me because you allowed me to flirt with you, which is something you would’ve never done if you loved your girlfriend as much as you say you do. and for the first time ever, i do hope you guys break up but not because i want you to myself but because she deserves better than you. fuck you mark” his friend says leaving the café leaving a dumbfounded mark.

i mean she wasn’t wrong, if he had set clear boundaries from the start she would’ve never flirted with him. your boyfriend started to wonder if that was perhaps the reason why you weren’t THAT enthusiastic this morning when he told you he’d make things right.

so the whole drive home, mark’s head was clouded with thoughts that mainly centered around him being the biggest asshole ever, not only from the words he told you yesterday but also from the way he’s been acting all this time. and it saddened him that he put you through all of that.

it’s with a heavy heart that he entered your shared house, silently praying god you weren’t going to realize that you do deserve better than him (which he knew was selfish but didn’t care)

« so… how did it go? i don’t know what you told her but if it’s the same thing you told me this morning I’m guessing she didn’t take it very well » you say watching your boyfriend enter the house

you guessed it must have went sour judging from the gloomy face he’s making and how deep in thought he seems to be. You didn’t like his friend but you know he liked her very much so you hoped that she said something along the lines of ‘yes i understand and i’m sorry, i’ll respect your boundaries better in the future and i’m hoping we can still be friend’ to salvage their friendship but at the same time you weren’t a fool and you knew that it realistically could never happen

« it didn’t go super great, we’re not friends anymore but you know in retrospect it’s not a huge loss she wasn’t as good of a friend as i believed she was » you boyfriend started sitting down next to you on the couch

you wondered what was up with him though, he looked genuinely devastated and it worried you to see him in such state

« then what’s up? i wouldn’t usually pry and instead wait until you open up to me, but mark i’m concerned you look… sad. and i know we’re in a disagreement right now but i still sincerely believe that you’re the love of my life so i hate to see you upset » you say as your boyfriend slowly lifts his head and looks at you with glossy eyes before his first tear shed

you immediately hugged your boyfriend rubbing his back as he mumbled through tears about how you deserved better, which you were confused about where it came from, so when his tears quieted down you looked at him waiting to explain

« she just… she said something about how we’re both in the wrong and it upset me because she’s right and she made me realize it instead of me realizing it on my own.. and she said you deserved better and at first i thought whatever she’s just mad i don’t care but she’s not wrong. You deserve better than a boyfriend who lets his friends flirt with him and who dismisses you and acts as if their friend is correct. i’m not trying to victimize myself or manipulate you with my words i’m just really sorry that i’ve been such an undeserving boyfriend and i selfishly don’t want to let you go when maybe i should so, please, give me another chance and i’ll prove to you that i can be the boyfriend you deserve. i swear i’ll be better just please don’t leave me » you boyfriend says.

you were honestly kind of taken aback by every single one of his thoughts. you did feel a little guilty at first but that quickly went away when you remembered why you guys were in this situation in the first place.

« listen, like i told you i’m not mad. i was just tired of you not listening to me but it seems like you’ve heard me this time even though i wished it had not gotten that far. i love you and i do not deserve better than you, you fucked up but i fuck up all the time as well and even though i did not picture the end of this situation with me reassuring you, it does not mean that you’re manipulating me, you feel guilty and that’s normal because you messed up but we’ll move past this. it’s a little bump in the road. and i sincerely think that if this situation has taught us anything it’s that we shouldn’t listen to your friend, ESPECIALLY when she says you’re not good enough for me. now dry your big boy tears and let’s go watch a movie yea? all is better don’t worry anymore » you told your boyfriend.

you really meant your words, everything that mark needed to learn from this he learnt, you knew him well enough to guarantee that you won’t ever be put in a similar situation ever again and that this whole mess kinda made your boyfriend grow up a little?

plus you were never one to hold grudges, so finally calling this fight over to cuddle and watch a movie with your highly sensitive, still borderline crying boyfriend was quite an easy thing to do. And even though you told him it was okay the next billion times he apologized to you during the following days, it did not stop him from spoiling you with gifts, kind words, actions etc.. like the man shoved all five love languages down your throat and even though it wasn’t necessary, it was always nice and made you feel loved.

that’s why in retrospect, you were (kinda) glad this whole thing happened and he was glad he learnt how to be better for his pretty girl.

#nct dream #mark lee #nct imagines #nct #mark x y/n #mark lee drabbles #mark x you #mark angst #mark x reader #mark imagines #mark fluff #nct angst #nct drabbles #nct fluff #nct x reader

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heartsteel-heartbeats · 1 year ago

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Heartsteel Kayn relationship HCs!

No warnings for this one, you may proceed.

(( Psst! Hey! It’s not explicitly listed that you are also a performer, but you are free to assume that! I like leaving stuff open for ya. Also I may have gone a bit overboard… Sorry! )) ~ OBBY 💗

Before Heartsteel

You’ve been with him before he was kicked out of his old band (maybe even well before he started his music career), so of course, Rhaast was no secret to you. He never was, really. You actually liked Rhaast and loved seeing him just go crazy and do what he wanted without much of a care of the consequences. Kayn figured this is why he was initially drawn to you, because you accepted this part of him.

His band was pretty much the opposite. They held him back extensively because of Rhaast. The situation itself and seeing him lash out time to time made you worried on how much more he could stand being with that group. Some days, you just let him rant to you. You don’t know much on the other members in general besides their names and their roles in the band, but seeing him so frustrated because of them felt like maybe it’s best if you didn’t.

When Kayn did get kicked out, you let him stay around for a bit. A bit eventually became a while. Totally weren’t preparing for this, you made sure there was plenty of room for him. An artist needs his own space after all, though he didn’t exactly pick up his guitar for some time.

It’s been rough for Kayn for a while. He was getting easily irritated over the smallest things and seemed to often get into fights online. You’ve had to keep him off social media more than once before he really made things worse for himself. His reputation has taken quite a hit when he was kicked out, so this was for the best if it means he doesn’t damage further by doing something stupid.

Rhaast, on the other hand, was a bit harder. Rhaast liked to leave a mark, mostly in a physical sense. There were times where you had to stop him from actually getting into serious trouble. It was hard to talk him out of it and sometimes you had to keep him from walking out that door. Doing such a thing did make you feel bad since you’re holding him back almost like his old band did with him, so there were times where you hesitated. Don’t get him wrong though, he knows you’re just worried about his wellbeing.

When he finally did pick up his guitar again, the songs he made were quite clearly targeted towards his old band. Rhaast was going all out and you encouraged that. Of course, these songs never went public for obvious reasons (though Rhaast almost argued with you to upload them somewhere). Hearing songs like these from him were really the one and only times where you can hear just how truly angry he was. Still, you were glad he was letting it out in a way that felt natural to him. Artists letting out their frustrations through songs weren’t uncommon, and most of the ones out there needed to have their listeners read between the lines to understand and see the artist. But you? You didn’t have to. It was all right there in front of you.

Approaching Kayn on the topic itself is rather difficult as he tends to get defensive and dismissive over it, so really, the best you could do was get his mind off of it for a little while. Anything works as long as he was doing something, anything. It didn’t matter what it was.

It’d take quite some time for him to actually come to you for comfort on the matter. When he does though, it was a huge weight off of both of your shoulders. It basically just happened one night, and it was one of those nights for him where his thoughts were keeping him awake. He can’t sleep, you can’t sleep either, so you two just kind of talked for a bit to tire each other out. Eventually, the topic shifts and you can feel his hold on you tighten ever so slightly.

Kayn almost never showed a vulnerable side of him, especially around you. He had his own reasons for that. On the rare occasion that he does, know that it means he trusts you more than anything.

He is happy that you stayed and helped him as long as you did (both being his muse and just supporting him). He makes you aware of it during that night and he does continue to show his appreciation in his own way, whether it’s simply some quality time or even writing a song for you.

Things did eventually calm down and Kayn was beginning to just enjoy doing what he wanted to do again just for the fun of it rather than out of spite. As long as he’s happier now. There’s nothing else to say about his old band.

General stuff between you two

Teasing. So much teasing… He loves your flustered and/or slightly annoyed look when he does it. He finds it adorable.

Kayn can drive but for the love of god never actually let him drive. The chances of getting pulled over and arrested for reckless driving is really high up there. Just let him be in charge of the music, he’ll at least he satisfied with that.

You two still text each other on Discord even if you’re in the same room. He just likes hearing you laugh over what he sends. This does include videos he finds online that he thinks (knows) you’ll laugh to.

Matching hair color! It’s fun, a pain in the ass to get done, but fun. There was a bit of a mess in the bathroom though, and that wasn’t fun to clean.

“Hah! It looks like a murder took place in here!” “I murdered your hair, that’s for sure.” “What?! Are you kidding me? This isn’t the first time you did my hair! It’s perfect!” “Well yeah, but your long hair is gone… I really loved your long hair…” “I mean- It’ll grow back eventually.”

Lunch and dinner sometimes include ordering some food and having it delivered, then eating it in your shared room. Is it healthy food? No, but hey, at least you’re both eating food. If it wasn’t that, then one of you was cooking. Kayn’s cooking is not that bad, but it could be better. Don’t say that though.

Doing each other’s makeup. Although, it started with you wanting to do his and him saying he’ll let you do it if you let him do yours. Now it’s routine.

Playing with his hair. Loves it when you do it. Just him laying his head beside you, or on your chest, with your hands running through his hair. It calms him down and makes him sleepy sometimes. He’ll deny it though.

“Sleepy?” “No.” *literally about to fall asleep* “Sureee.” “Shut up.”

Though there are some nights where one of you can’t fall asleep no matter what you do. Whether it’s insomnia or the other just won’t shut the fuck up (Kayn), at least one of you is still awake. If you feel someone brushing your hair in the middle of the night and giving small pecks, it’s totally not Kayn.

Heartsteel

When Heartsteel found one of his songs and sent him a message, you were okay with him eventually moving in with the group. Kayn has been talking about them for some time, and you think this might be good for him. From what he’s been telling you, these people accept Rhaast. Totally not the one reason why you were okay with it in the first place.

He often texts you about what’s going on and teases you by asking if you miss him. Say no. :) Sometimes complains to you about Yone, but it’s just him being assigned a chore (dish duty).

It does get a bit lonely sometimes now, but he’s happy to be around a group of people that doesn’t push Rhaast away so it doesn’t bother you. Kayn does make up for it by calling you and sometimes dropping by. The second one isn’t often though. Again, gotta keep fans and paparazzi from finding out about your relationship. Although speaking of calls, there were times where you two fell asleep while on call. It usually ends with one of your phones running out of battery.

The group seems to know about you. Yone and Sett has heard of you once or twice, but K’Sante is the one that knows about you the most. According to K’Sante, Kayn talks about you a lot. Ezreal only knows about you cause he got a peak at his phone and saw your name thanks to one of your over night phone calls and he won’t stop asking Kayn about you.

“Dude who’s [name]??? Is that who you’re always talking to all night?” “The hell are you looking in my phone for??!”

Ahem… Kayn did get some relationship advice from K’Sante. Honestly this is exactly why he knows a lot about you from him.

Aphelios only knows about you because of Sett, who then tells Alune.

Kayn tried to keep the music video of Paranoia on the down low so it could surprise you, but he needed to tell you about the dog the moment they picked him up. With that aside, seeing the music video definitely put a smile on your face. He looked like he was having a lot of fun with the new band (you totally saw the Discord calls Aphelios leaked).

#RAAHHHHH I TRIED MY BEST WITH RHAAST HERE #I HOPE ITS GOOD #this went through so much editing and rewriting im gonna cry #obby’s scripts!#kayn x reader #heartsteel #heartsteel kayn #league of legends kayn #shieda kayn #lol kayn #league of legends headcanons #league of legends x reader

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jolalibrary · 1 year ago

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anytime

javier peña x f!reader

summary: “Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing the place where the hair sits atop his lip. “Anytime, cariño.” “Anytime, really?”

wordcount: 3.1k. warnings: fluff. bestfriends to lovers. banter. reader wears a dress and has a gloss on lips. no physical description. javi calls reader solecito as a nickname only. likely warnings for spelling as i wrote this on my phone. an: huge thanks to @wildemaven for creating this moodboard (pls go show it some love), letting me make a banner from it, and then letting me write this for Javi instead of Frankie. bby, i hope you like this.

Javi had never been good at avoiding challenging situations.

For the longest time, he’s been finding himself in the centre of a whirlwind—whether in Bogotá, Cali or apparently even back home.

You, his friend, best friend—a well-kept secret, tucked away in his chest, not shared with a soul when he was away. You were a thing that he’d clutched close to his chest from the moment the two of you had first gotten close, through his failed engagement and even more so when he left for Colombia. You, in all your understanding, hugging him, telling him he’d be great, amazing, the very best.

Both of you were younger then, less worn down by life, its many obstacles and all the other things.

You best not become best friends with anyone over there, Peña. As if anyone could annoy me as much as you, solecito.

In the brief interim of his return, you hadn’t appeared all that different. You may have had a job, a house—drove a slightly better car than when the two of you were staying out at all hours—but you, at your core remained very much the fucking same.

Still just as understanding, as kind. A person who got him, without really needing to try.

For Javi, the best thing—outside of you being you and the monthly calls you made him promise to keep when he was drowning in murder, drugs and Escobar—is that you never ask him about it. Any of it.

You had always let him pretend, escape, listen to you fill him in on gossip—things such as disagreements over the size of rhubarb and whether someone was having an affair. A thing you did even when he came back. Even more grateful for it then, when he grew tired of the questions, the compliments, the everything.

Its why he didn’t tell you when he would land back in Laredo for good. Just waiting, standing outside your place, leaning against your car as you walk down the street—eyes brushing over him, pausing, before he gets to see that smile. That signature fucking smile.

When he’d left the first time, he remembers how you’d lingered near your car, unwilling to climb into your bright yellow death trap—the entire reason he called you solecito to begin with—wearing the beginnings of that smile even then.

The difference is now he knows that there was something under it. Hidden, held back, kept from him.

It’s why it meant so much to him when he saw it in all its glory, all alight, blooming and somehow healing.

He can’t explain it, but it repairs strands inside of him. Your presence alone continuing to do so when he meets you for lunches, coffees, and late-night drinks. In exchange, he makes you laugh, your head thrown back as he tells you about whatever he did on the ranch—all of it comical, apparently. Because the idea of him, Javier Peña doing ranch work brought tears to your eyes.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” you splutter, taking a mouthful of your beer as you narrow your eyes.

Nodding, he leans back into the booth, arm stretched out, picking and picking—the label crumbling from the sweating bottle. “Yeah. Bet you’re upset you don’t get to see me herd cattle and mend fences.”

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred-percent.”

Shrugging, he grins—an easy task with you. A thing that has always been that way, even when he turned up at your door when he couldn’t get married; even when the two of you sat under the stars when he told you about possibly going to Colombia. You still made him grin—even when things weren’t fucking easy at all.

“I’ll add it to my to-do list—visit Peña on the ranch—it’s currently sat under finding a dress, a boyfriend and the will to fucking live.”

Snorting, he traces his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your face scrutinises him, before rolling your eyes. And he just waits—because you always spill eventually.

One. Two. Th—

Fine, you huff, before it unravels from you. How the wedding of your work colleague is close, closer than I thought and you’re tired of attending these things alone, circled like a fucking fish by single sharks.

And he’s listening, taking it in. Trying to not wince at how high-pitched you’ve got as you’ve ranted.

Mainly, Javi finds there’s more questions rising than answers provided.

One singular one rising to the top. A thing he’s wanted to ask for the last few weeks. Not in a rude way, or in the way it burns inside his chest when he talks to you on the phone and he has to bury it. But, it’s there, bubbling, wishing to escape and know. It's even louder when the two of you are like this, crammed in a space, laughing, smiling, sharing, wondering—

Why are you even single? How are you?

You’ve mentioned people—names, here and there when the two of you had been on the phone. Them fluttering out before you can pull them back, but then they’re forgotten. Javi, I get one call a month—let me tell you about the cattle war going off. And, in a way, he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to know, so he never asked.

Now, it’s all he wants to ask.

Because you’re… you. You’re brilliant, beautiful—funny, clever, witty. And yet—

“—so, now it’s a week out, and I need to find a dress, a date and drive there to watch another person I know get married.”

He knows he should busy his mouth with the bottle—wrap his odd idea in beer. But, that part of him—the one which wants to help, solve issues, and be useful—rises up in him like a phoenix left from the ashes of Colombia.

“I’ll go with you.”

He expects the pause, even braces for the look of shock.

He doesn’t expect the smirk. Doesn’t expect the way it spreads out, to hit your eyes. How under the low-bar light over the table, it makes your eyes glimmer and fucking shimmer.

“You want to go to a wedding with me?”

Shrugging, he picks off the last part of the label—the mess of it all circling around where the glass meets the wood.

Mirroring him, you shrug. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

He should take his eyes off you, but he finds he can’t.

Javi hasn’t been able to since you stepped out of your place, a handful of your dress as you locked up—stepping down your steps to his car, letting it flutter down to your ankles.

You look like a fucking dream.

A thought he knows he shouldn’t have—but has all the same. His heart staggered, half-halting in its hammering as his hands paused in their drumming on the steering wheel; his glasses slid down his nose, his skin suddenly warm all over, even if his jacket was already splayed out across the backseat.

Close your mouth, Peña.

I’m chewing gum, solecito.

Yeah, that’s why your mouth is open.

It hadn’t passed his notice that you were good-looking before today. He’s known you were, had always known it—he had eyes, after all. But, he’d always felt there was a line. A line the two of you never delved too close to step over. The sign above both of your heads already illuminated in bright bulbs and flashing lights:

JUST FRIENDS.

Until this, anyway. This thing that can only be described as the longest one-hour drive he’s ever been on. And he used to do recon with Murphy.

Because you’re teasing, taunting him. All in that usual way that you do. And it’s so easy to flirt back, to let line after line roll, but he has begun to spot you squirming.

Doing so while matching his suit in a deep brown shade—chosen by him, ‘pick a colour suit, Javi’. Adding a tinge to some of your comments—things that if said by someone that wasn’t you, he’d ask them (flirtingly) if they were coming on to him.

But with you, it’s something he can never be sure. Never something that can be completely understood, known, cracked or figured out. In the same way, he can’t understand how your perfume keeps following him. How it embeds itself into the cabin of his truck when he picks you up, sews itself into his clothing when the two of you meet—and right now, is attempting to bury itself in his skin, muscles, and bones.

“You’ve been abnormally quiet.”

Smirking, he snorts. Fingers smoothing out his hair as he swings into a spot—the tyres crunching over the gravel. “Have I? Or have you just not shut up.”

“Rude.”

Laughing, he cuts the engine—hands resting on the top of his thighs, not missing the way your eyes follow his movements before clearing your throat. It shifts something in him, makes a little part of him surge, like the smallest of fireworks suddenly erupting in his chest.

Something he forces himself to shut down the moment you shove open your door, slipping out, as he grabs his jacket.

“Do I need to be worried about you crying today, solecito?”

Rearranging your dress, and slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you squint as you stand tall, hand covering your brow as you meet his gaze.

And fuck, with this backdrop, even squinting, you look beautiful, radiant, stunning all over again. Somehow his brain having forgotten when you were next to him, when you were acting as if this was the most normal fucking thing they’ve ever done.

It isn’t.

Something he’s becoming more aware of as his throat goes dry, and his thoughts slow to nothing—

“No, you’re good. Your mouth is open again.”

You say it with a smirk, all teasing—making heat lick up his spine all over again. And, if you were anyone else, he’d have already pulled you close, tilted your chin up, and likely smothered your mouth with his.

But, you’re his friend—his best friend. The one solid thing he’s had in his life since he became a name, a poster, a hero.

“C’mon,” you say, turning on your heel as you head in the direction of the entrance, him following, jacket slipping on as he mutters mouth isn’t fucking open under his breath.

Even if he knows it was. Even if he’s desperately trying to stop his eyes from descending down to your hips, eyes fixated on the way you walk with ease to the wooden sign which greets all the guests.

He knows, due to his absence from home, there haven’t been many weddings he’s attended. Least of all like this. But even he thinks this is over the top, suddenly understanding why you hadn’t wanted to come alone. Because grand doesn’t quite cover it—not after the last one he’d attended.

This one has flickering candles lit in the day, waiters all set to hand glasses of bubbles and offer little mouthfuls of flavour on silver trays. Then, there’s the backdrop—the enormity of the building, only for you to tell him that it’s an outside wedding.

It’s more of a comfort as to why his hand drops to the small of your back than anything else. A need to be rooted, to feel calmer as he nods at passing people he doesn’t know (and hopes don’t know him), feeling you curl into him subconsciously, your bag swinging between the two of you both—affording a gap, forcing it, in fact.

The ceremony will start soon.

He overhears it, as he assumes you do, because your fingers wrap around his wrist—taking it from your back, before your palm meets his, and then you’re guiding, leading. Dragging him. All willingly to the back of the building where he sees it—the makeshift aisle. A wooden arch, and lots of deep orange-brown chairs all line up on either side of an orange aisle.

“Glad we chose brown now,” he murmurs.

“Does it make you think, y’know—being at a wedding?”

He swallows. Because it’s a loaded question.

One he assumes has been sitting all politely on the tip of your tongue since you sat beside him in his vehicle. It’s why his eyes watch you carefully as you grab the two of them a flute each from a passing waiter. Handing it to him, adding nothing—not rescuing him. Just waiting instead, doing that thing you do, where your eyes widen as you wait, trying to look all innocent even though it’s you who has just dropped a live grenade into the centre of the conversation.

Shaking his head, he snorts. “No. Not really. Knew… I knew deep down it wasn’t right. Her… and me.”

“You got any idea what’s right?”

You take a sip this time when the question lands, it again sparkling in glittered innocence, the softest of smiles pressed against the glass.

You he thinks. But he swallows that away and says ‘Not a fucking clue’ instead.

Throughout the day, he’s been desperate for a reason to stop looking at you.

So far, he’s found none.

Bits and pieces of things Murphy used to say, the words he’d drop into conversation when talking about his wife: how he knew, why she was the one, all coming back to him in drips and drops.

It dawns on him, the same as it had done since before he went to Cali, that you might mean a little more than a friend. A lot of what Murphy used to say, so easily applied to how Javi felt about you.

You make him feel calmer, create a space where he can relax, really unwind. It’s easy, uncomplicated, when he’s with you—from the conversation to the things he thinks. Complex balled thoughts stretch out until they’re in easy-to-decipher lines, able to process, able to understand.

He even told you about the boats.

A secret he’d have been prepared to take to the grave, if not for the fact you pointed out he wasn’t sleeping. Your eyes watching, pleading, don’t lie to me. And fuck, he couldn’t—not even if he wanted to.

That should have been the first sign.

He guesses he should be thankful today has been stuffed with more of them. One after the other. From the way you made sure to make him a plate of only his favourite things, to the way you knew when he needed a bit of space from the thousand questions as to how you both knew one another, and what he does.

Now, Javi is on the sidelines, admiring you in a way that makes his heart double in size.

Your dress skims around your calves as you dance—your arms rising above your head, glee stitched itself from cheek to cheek. On occasion, time halts when your eyes land on his—stealing whatever thought he had, only resuming normality when you close your eyes, belting out the lyrics to the song.

Mainly, the thought he finds which keeps returning is: I wanna do this with you again. any place. any time.

A hollowness scratches out in his chest as he lets himself acknowledge it. A thickness growing in his throat, a sorrowness weighs down on his shoulders as he nurses his glass—hand in his trouser pocket, telling himself he should be content he got to be on your arm, got to have you against him during a slow dance over an hour ago. That he gets to see you smile, hear your laugh—even know you.

“Hey, Peña.”

“Hey solecito.”

You grin—a little breathless, the music having changed, becoming slower, softer—wrenching the glass from his hand as you drain it.

“Fuck me. Y’thirsty?”

“Very. You’d know if you had any rhythm.”

He pinches you, lightly—teasingly. Your grin shifts into a laugh, tucking yourself in against him, arm around his back. And fuck, the way you’re looking up at him, he wants to warn you.

If you look at me like that, I’m going to kiss you.

Javi wonders what you’d do if you did. Whether you’d pull away, hissing the two of you are friends. Or whether you’d kiss him back.

“Want to get some fresh air?” you ask, your words against his ear—lips so close to ghosting his skin.

“Sure.”

It’s cooler when the two of you step out from under the marquee, the music getting quieter when your fingers loop in his, guiding, easing him around plant pots and tall trees, until the two of you are descending marble stairs and past iron fencing, to take him to the perimeter, to the view looking out over the city.

He watches as you step forward, fingers around the iron fencing, leaning, staring out as you let out a heavy sigh. One laced with things he wants to ask for, tug it from you, let you unload whatever is weighing on you—because that’s what you both do for one another.

You make it easy.

Make it all bearable.

But, whether you mean to, or not, you shiver. A light one, barely noticeable by most—but he isn’t most. His fingers are already at the button, undoing it, sliding his jacket down his arms before he places it over your shoulders, watching your head turn, meeting his gaze.

“You look really pretty.”

Flicking your eyes down, you smile. Sweetly. Unreadably. “Well, you’ve always been pretty.”

“Pretty?”

Laughing, your fingers tug his jacket closer, burying yourself in it. “The prettiest, Javier.”

Leaning beside you, he feels the metal from the railings, you’re both resting on, cut into his palms. He wonders if you feel the same, your dress billowing in the gentle breeze as the two of you stare off into the distance, spotting the flickering lights of a city, of homes tucking in for the night.

Then he turns his head, finding you already watching him, studying him in a similar way as you were before.

And, he lets his eyes drop to your mouth. A sign. A signal. It’s not the first time, usually, he does so when you’re not looking, letting himself trace the curve of your lips. Now, he stares at the way your gloss has long since gone, left behind on glasses and straws.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper.

Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing where the hair sits atop his lip.

“Anytime, cariño.”

“Anytime, really?”

Nodding, he swallows. A thousand things he’s thought, and felt, all rushing to the surface—unwilling to bury itself, to descend under the usual guilt and feelings of inadequacies when it comes to you.

“I’d do anything for you.”

Smirking, you tilt your head. “Anything?”

Biting your lip, he feels it—something thrumming in him, being plucked.

“Will you kiss me?”

“I could…”

Your brows rise, a louder cheer coming from inside, but it doesn’t do anything to tear your eyes away from the other.

The whole world could slowly vanish from around the two of you, and all he’d want is just to stare at you.

“But?” you ask, delicately.

Almost so softly, it makes his chest ache.

Dipping his head, he lets his gaze wash over the place again—the rolling land, the trees, the houses in the distance.

“If I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You slide closer, shoulder to shoulder, eyes scorching his jaw, his neck, the side profile he can feel you tracing with your gaze.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His neck almost cracks with the quickness of his movement, his eyes scanning, reading, a part of him wanting to step back, and protect you. Because he’s not sure about the parts of him you’d find easy to love—

“You don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t care,” you interrupt, fingers twitching on the lapel of his jacket. “I know you—Javi, not Agent Peña. I know the boy who cloud-watched with me when my parents wouldn’t stop fighting; I know the man who told me to stop sending him postcards from the town shop—but also whispered that he liked them.”

Snorting, he smiles.

“So, if you want to, no pressure—but, I think you should kiss me.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your cheek. “Think you’ve wasted a lot of time not kissing me already, honestly.”

Of course you do, he thinks. And then he kisses you, palms on your cheeks, slanting his mouth over yours.

And fuck, it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever done.

an: honestly, this made me so fucking happy to write.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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homicidal-lingonberry · 5 months ago

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a thought about kabru and mithrun and their time in the dungeon. (I love kabumisu but this is more about their canon relationship)

I have seen several people say that they dont think that kabru really cared about or liked mithrun. that he was just doing things cause he had to, etc. but I feel like this ignores something pretty cool about kabru. Kabru always has an inner monologue going on, one that we get to see.

several times when we see kabru doing nice things we can see that his inner monologue doesnt actually match. we see him kindly doing things that actively distress him several times. we as an audience are made very aware when kabru is doing something he doesnt really like.

so what kind of an inner monologue does kabru have when he performs caring tasks for mithrun? does he think about the advantages of having mithrun or the canaries on his side? does he think bitterly of mithrun? does he think about how much he hates this? the worst he thinks is "to think I'd get roped into this for the sake of that lot." and "this isnt seeing to his needs, this is nursing!" pretty early on in their journey together. this is while he is still digesting the full picture of mithruns condition and all the things hes going to need to do, the full weight of the situation now apparent.

after this, all we see is compassion. him thinking he would like to make mithrun something nice to eat, even if it wouldnt matter to him. him empathizing and reflecting on how not having desires would be really rough. him coming to understand where some of mithruns quirks, like his sense of direction, come from.

by the end, he has trusted mithrun enough to tell him about laios, and mithrun has given him all the information he has been searching for for YEARS.

and this is just the dungeon. kabru continues to involve himself with mithrun when its not his problem anymore. when really, he should be doing anything but. and after everything is done, if he truly did not care about mithrun, he has NO reason to do anything he does in chapter 94.

they are FRIENDS okay??? Kabru cares about him. it isnt just obligation. ty.

as far as mithrun goes, he gives kabru information, he asks him what he wants to do with that little smile (doesnt wait for his squad), slaps him out of his panic attack, and then kabru is the person he eventually confides his true desire to.

theyre FRIENDS and Im tired of people acting like they dont even like each other just bc they dont like the ship. you dont have to ship it, but if you think these 2 didnt drastically change each others lives in a positive way and that they dont care about each other...you maybe need to read again.

and also I think a lot of these takes veer on dehumanizing mithrun. like how could kabru even like him or see him as a friend when hes like that. like do yall forget mithrun was busy keeping kabrus ass from getting killed. or the way he perceptively sees straight through kabrus bs every single time until kabru finally tells the truth? I know kabrus confession to laios is a lot more emotionally intense, but laios isnt the only character that forces kabru to be honest.

#kabru #mithrun #kabumisu #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers

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feeder86 · 7 months ago

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The Feeders' Fortress

It was the dirty floor against his face that Mike noticed first. His head felt fuzzy and the room was so incredibly dark. It was impossible to work out where he was. He stumbled groggily to his feet, realising that he was dressed only in his underwear. What the hell kind of party had he been to last night to wake up here? Then again, had he been to a party last night? His head was so disorganised.

Reaching around the space, Mike tried to find his clothes and, hopefully, his cell phone so that he could find some light. As he did so, he heard footsteps creeping outside of the room and, for the first time, a streak of light through the crack under the door.

“There’s another one in here!” cried a deep masculine voice as the door opened and Mike suddenly had a small torch shone straight into his face. “Same as us. Underwear. No clothes in sight.”

“What’s going on?” Mike asked indignantly.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” sighed another voice beside the person shining the torch. He reached out his hand and lowered the light so that Mike was no longer blinded. Where the light touched, Mike could see the dilapidated interior of the house he was in: filthy, boarded up and crumbling. Tired, dated pieces of furniture lay haphazardly around the edges of the room, some covered poorly with dust sheets.

“What is this place?” Mike mumbled, getting to his feet.

“Someone’s creepy idea of a joke, no doubt,” came another voice as the footsteps of the guys entered the room. “It looks like your classic haunted mansion. All the windows and doors are locked tight and we haven’t found the way out yet.”

“If there even is one,” replied a pessimistic voice.

“Of course there is,” disputed the guy holding the torch who had seemed to appoint himself the leader. “We got in here somehow, didn’t we? So there has to be a way out.”

The others sighed. None of them claimed to know how they had arrived, each arguing their alternative theories about why they were there. None of them had before. They were all strangers. But, to Mike, there was one clear detail that each of them had in common: outstandingly good looks.

Finn, holding the torch, was a quarterback for the local college team and, even in the limited lighting, Mike could tell that the guy was more strapping than anyone he had ever seen on the pitch. The person standing beside him was Oliver; even taller and toned to absolute perfection. Like Mike, he did some modelling whilst studying in college. Mike knew the agency that he worked for and, whilst the other two were arguing about which direction to search next, the pair discussed the surprising stresses they had encountered with certain jobs they had done. The only other guy was Rob, another football jock for a rival team of Finn’s, though neither of them claimed to know the other. He was built for clear functional athleticism, with the lightest six pack of all of them and a meaty, muscular butt. Delicious.

Even now, in this bizarre situation, Mike could feel himself getting aroused in their presence: these three gorgeous, practically naked boys. Together, they were calm, even jovial. They bolstered each other’s confidence, methodically searching the large building as if they were trying to hide the fact that they were silently terrified. There had to be answers to their questions somewhere in this building.

“What’s down there, do you think?” Oliver asked as they shone the torch down some stairs.

Out of habit, Mike flicked the light switch, expecting nothing to happen, when suddenly, the whole room below lit up perfectly.

“Success!” roared Finn, heading straight down; soon followed by the others, at quite some pace.

What lay below was the most bizarre of sights: a small, neatly made up dining table, filled with tasty treats: cakes, doughnuts, cookies and pastries; all fresh and smelling incredible. Such a homely scene lightened the mood further, with Finn and Rob heading to sit down at the table and Mike following them, if only to hide the tightness in his crotch which would be clearly evident in this well lit room.

“I knew we’d be alright! This just proves it. It’s definitely some sort of prank,” Finn smiled, reaching out for one of the doughnuts.

Oliver stood to the side, surveying the scene with more scepticism. “Isn’t this a bit fucking weird?” he asked. “This whole place is a shit hole, and now this?” he pointed at the homely scene before him.

“Relax!” Finn scoffed at him, already chewing on a bite of the doughnut. “It tastes fine.”

Rob reached out next, picking up a pastry, now that Finn had sampled the goods. Meanwhile, Mike had his eye on one of the cupcakes, feeling surprisingly hungry after waking up here. Eventually, even Oliver followed them to the table,sitting down at the fourth chair, picking up a cookie and nibbling it with only a small amount of hesitancy.

Under the light, it was clear just how beautiful these guys all were. Mike found himself trying not to stare for fear that his erection may get even more severe if they all had to get up soon and explore the place some more. The mood was relaxed and surprisingly light-hearted as Finn reached for a second and third doughnut before any of the others had even finished their first chosen snack.

“Who do you think made all these?” Oliver asked the guys.

“Whoever it is pranking us,” Rob replied, scanning the room for cameras as he sat at the table.

Mike sat up nervously. He didn’t want to be on camera right now. Not with his erection as it was.

Mike suddenly felt a slight prod on his arm as Oliver looked at him seriously, pointing across to Finn. The movement caught Rob’s attention as well, until all three of them were gazing at a now motionless Finn, staring down at the table and seemingly stunned after finishing his third doughnut.

“Are you alright, buddy?” Rob asked, noting the sweat that was glistening on Finn’s face.

Finn looked up slowly until his eyes met with Mike’s right across the table from him. His jaw was slack as he picked himself up by leaning his strapping body on the table. Then, from out of nowhere, a giant burp erupted from his throat, right in front of Mike. It was so loud and deep, completely unnatural after such light snacks, making the three others stare across in panic.

“What the fuck?” Oliver asked, standing up in alarm, sensing immediately that something was wrong. It was then that Mike noticed that Finn was not as slim as he had thought; that for all his muscles, he was actually carrying a little paunch that looked bizarrely out of place.

FInn’s hips started to rock, like he was fucking some invisible girl in front of him, and, even in his loose fitting trunks, it was clear to Mike that the guy was also nursing an erection.

“What’s he doing?” Rob shouted; his eyes similarly caught by the shape of Finn’s stomach. Each time the guy rocked back and forth, the budding love handles at his sides seemed to swell more and more.

At some point, all three of them realised what was happening. It was the way Finn’s gut began to flutter and jiggle with the shaking. Fat was ballooning in his stomach, actually pushing it outwards. The relaxed fit of his underwear began to disappear as the gentle creases stretched out and the material tightened around him, spurred on by an obvious widening of his tight butt. It was then that Mike began to observe even Finn’s chest starting to succumb; his nipples pointing and a softness spreading into his pecs. It seemed to bloom and spread itself under his arms, softening up his biceps at the same time and swelling his neck; producing a shameful double chin.

Oliver was still the only one up, with Mike and Rob still stunned in their seats. Then, without warning, Rob suddenly bolted for the stairs, grabbing the torch at the same time.

“What do we do?” Oliver asked Mike in pure panic, clearly desperate to follow Rob and get the hell out of there.

Finn’s sweaty body glistened as fat spread throughout. The blubber began to pour itself over the tight waistband of the guy’s underwear, now digging in quite painfully. Mike could see the guy looking down at himself in shock and alarm: his beautiful body becoming more and more obese.

Mike had no answer for what was happening or what on Earth they were supposed to do about it. He could see Oliver looking back towards the dark stairs; no sign of Rob at all. More than once, Mike thought that Oliver might run off in fear as well. If he did, Mike decided he was going to run straight out with him.

A general widening seemed to take place in Finn’s body. The love handles pushed out to further extents and his hips swelled above the two extremely blubbery thighs. The guy’s cute underwear had allowed his large, sweaty glutes to slip out as the inflation took hold. Now the material began to tear; stretched as they were in every direction.

Within no time at all, Mike realised that Finn was now carrying an insane amount of fat on his body; 400 lbs? 450? His underwear were reduced to little more than rags, still dangling from a destroyed waistband; an entire sack of lard now filling Finn’s groin.

Oliver bolted, quickly followed by a petrified Mike, throwing himself up the pitch-black stairs. “Wait up!” he cried out in horror, wincing as his feet stepped over the debris and dust. All he could do was follow the sounds of Oliver’s lightning footsteps.

Suddenly, Mike felt himself bumping straight into Oliver, knocking them both to the floor.

“Watch it!” Oliver grumbled. “What the hell were you running for? We can barely see a thing!”

Mike’s mouth filled with all the things he wanted to say and then, just as quickly as they arrived, nothing. Why was he running? Had something scared him? No. He would have remembered that. He shuffled to his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling rather silly. “I must have just been trying to catch you up.”

Oliver shushed him and the pair listened intently as voices came from another wing of the enormous house. They began stepping in the same direction, noticing faint glows of the torch around one corner.

“But this is the way I came in!” argued a new voice. “The door was open, and now…” he shouted, banging forcefully on what appeared to be the front door.

“Oh, thank heavens!” Oliver bellowed, finally spotting Rob standing next to a police officer.

The relief that Mike felt was indescribable. Tall, built and appearing nothing but strong and capable, the police officer turned to face them both, shining a second torch in their faces.

“Is this all of you?” the cop asked.

“No, there’s another guy,” Rob mumbled, as if he couldn’t quite remember exactly. “Finn. He’s downstairs somewhere. He was eating some food we found,” he continued; his voice wispy, like he was trying to piece something together. He’s pretty big and heavy though. I don’t suppose he wants to go walking all around this place at that size.”

Mike nodded, realising that Rob was probably right. That must have been why Finn stayed down in the basement.

“Well, this door has locked behind me. I don’t have any signal on my cell phone and there doesn’t seem to be any reception for me to contact the station on my radio,” the cop explained grumpily. “I guess you had better take me to see this Finn guy so that I can check on him too,” he finally decided, slamming into the heavy door one final time, just in case it budged at all.

Oliver and Mike took one torch, whilst the cop and Rob walked ahead with the other.

“Do you think he’s a real cop?” Oliver whispered to Mike. “This whole thing just seems to be getting weirder and weirder, don’t you think?”

Mike pondered the idea. He’d not imagined that the cop was not genuine. But Oliver was right. Here he was, wandering around, almost naked in an abandoned mansion with no idea how late at night it was. Absolutely anything was possible.

“Where exactly are we?” he shouted ahead to the cop. “How did you know to come looking here?”

The cop began explaining the exact location of the mansion. “This old place has been crumbling for years,” the guy stated, after informing them all how far out of the city they were right now. “We used to get calls about trespassers quite a lot, but that all stopped about six months ago. Until tonight.”

In the dim light, Mike could feel Oliver looking at him from the side. The guy wasn’t trusting a word that was coming out of the cop’s mouth.

“Something’s up with Rob,” Oliver whispered a few moments later, when they had slowed their pace to allow the other two to go even further ahead, in search of the stairs to the basement. “Have you noticed how much he is sweating?”

Mike shone the light a little more on Rob. Oliver’s observations were spot on. The guy’s broad back was glistening with sweat, running down his back and drenching into his boxers, all down his butt crack. Something about it all seemed so familiar, although Mike couldn’t put his finger on why. Was this a bad sign? Was it something to be feared?

“We need to keep our distance from him,” Oliver decided, pulling Mike back a little bit more to let the cop and Rob get even more ahead of them. They kept a slow pace behind and waited as the pair eventually found the staircase down to the basement, heading straight down.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked, feeling that Oliver’s senses were sharper than his own; his instincts better.

Oliver rubbed his face, clearly stressed. “I don’t know!” he sighed. “But something tells me it’s going to be me and you finding our way out of here. I don’t trust that cop, and as for Rob…” he whispered. “I just have this really bad feeling.”

Suddenly, the cop was shouting at the top of his voice from the basement, startling both Oliver and Mike.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he blasted. “What are you doing?”

Racing down, Oliver took the lead, standing on the staircase in front of Mike as they looked on at the scene. Rob’s body was rocking and shaking, his tight abs suddenly swollen and buried. The cop stood crouched to the side, his gun out and seemingly very afraid. Whatever was taking over Rob had a very firm grip on his body; thrashing him about as his stomach continued to grow.

In those moments, Mike suddenly remembered what he had witnessed happening to Finn. How could he ever have forgotten? There Finn was, snoozing on the floor, encased in mountains of fresh fat.

“What’s going on?” the cop demanded of Oliver and Mike.

“The food!” Mike mumbled, seeing it all there, continuing to invite them in. “There’s something in the food!” he stated with more certainty as Rob’s fine torso began to be consumed with an onslaught of blubber, swelling into his pecs and rounding out his stomach so that it pushed out further and further. The guy was panicking, managing to waddle around as his body shook, and he gazed at all the food that Mike was now blaming. Just what was it doing to him?

“But we ate the food as well,” Oliver shot back, terrified and transfixed as Rob’s butt widened in those cute little boxers of his; fat starting to crease the skin on his back and love handles swelling out further every single second. The butt crack began to peak out as the glutes grew; little more than an inch to begin with, then more and more; until his super sized butt was almost entirely outside of the underwear. That was when it ripped at the weaker stitching between his lardy legs and the material began to deteriorate quickly; all the elastic stretched beyond its capacity.

Mike put a comforting hand on Oliver’s strong shoulder, hoping to ease his worries in any way that he could.

The cop had fallen to the ground, backing up into the corner by the stairs and holding his gun out still; no longer so big, strong and tough.

Oliver reached his hand up and lovingly held Mike’s own hand upon his shoulder. Despite everything, the sensation of Oliver’s touch was all Mike needed.

Rob had fallen onto the floor, the transformation seemingly at an end, and a deathly silence filled the room.

“We’re fucked!” Oliver sighed. “Absolutely fucked!” He looked at Mike, his eyes full of concern for him. “Will it be us next, do you think?” he asked Mike, still holding his hand sweetly.

At that moment, Mike felt so completely smitten. Yet he nodded. “I think so,” he agreed sadly.

“What the hell are you on about?” the cop demanded of them both, still clearly terrified from what he had just seen. “Food can’t do that to someone! Not like that, anyway.”

“There’s no other way to explain it,” Oliver shrugged. “It took Finn first because he had eaten the most. Now Rob…”

The police officer stared hard at the two enormously fat guys on the floor and then looked in amazement at all the food still resting on the table. But then, his eyes widened even further and he stood up in horror. “Those doughnuts!” he shouted, looking straight at the unusually colourful and sprinkled treats on the table. “There was one just like it on my desk earlier! I thought it was from one of my colleagues.”

Mike and Oliver looked at each other with worry. Was the guy who was here to rescue them, actually just another victim?

“But did you eat it?” Oliver demanded of him.

“Yes, I ate it!” the cop shouted back, getting angry now. He seemed to feel faint, getting hot under the collar and putting back his gun so that he could take off his shirt.

Again, Mike and Oliver looked at each other. Why was the cop getting so sweaty all of a sudden? They watched as he shuffled around, leaning against the side, kicking off his shoes and even pulling off his socks, as if every piece of clothing was irritating his skin.

“Um, Sir…” Oliver cried out awkwardly as the cop untied his belt, discarding even his gun without a care, then unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor.

In this state, it was clear to see what the cop had had in common with the four of them; young, handsome and highly athletic as he clearly was.

“Oh, no!” the cop mumbled, tensing all the muscles in his strapping body.

“What’s happening?” Oliver whispered to Mike.

“It must be trying to take him,” Mike shot back. “I think he’s actually trying to fight it.”

Both Mike and Oliver climbed two steps further up the stairs, abandoning the cop and knowing that there was nothing they could do to help him now. The gorgeous officer was grunting and bracing himself against the wall. The sounds he was making reminded Mike of the guys he had seen in the gym trying to lift extremely heavy weights.

“I can’t watch!” Mike whispered to Oliver, who had taken a further step up to sit beside him on the stairs and kindly draped his arm over Mike’s shoulders.

“We must,” Oliver whispered back. “We’ve got to see if he can do it. Who knows, right?”

“Maybe he can fight it off,” Mike agreed hopefully.

“Shit,” Oliver replied, quickly shutting Mike down. “Look at his abs. Can you see? The skin around them is starting to bloat up.”

Oliver leaned his head against Mike’s and rubbed his back soothingly. The arousal Mike felt was spiking once again and he found himself momentarily lost, even as the cop battled on only a few feet away.

“It’s a battle that cannot be won. This guy only got married last year,” Oliver continued, as they both looked across at the police officer. “Yet he’s already cheating on his wife with a new recruit at his station. That’s why he ate the doughnut. He thought it was from her.”

Oliver’s voice was so soothing and intense. Mike felt as though he could sit there all day long admiring the perfect man beside him. But, what was he actually saying? Mike had to replay it in his head, before the obvious question dawned in him. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“His secret girlfriend says she can’t resist those tight little buns of his,” Oliver whispered teasingly, as if trying to hold back a laugh. “Not so tight anymore. Wouldn’t you agree, Mike?” he asked; the pair of them watching as the cop growled loudly in desperation to hold back whatever force was taking him. But Oliver was right; slowly, but surely, the guy’s butt had started to develop some extra meat to it, rounding the glutes in a way that only fat ever could.

“What are you saying?” Mike asked, feeling Oliver’s presence becoming more powerful.

“Shh,” Oliver soothed, rubbing Mike’s back and continuing to lean his head against his, forcing them both to watch the action in front of them. “We can’t have a cop that handsome walking around, can we?”

Mike’s heartbeat rose to new heights. The person who was controlling all of this had been with him the entire time. His body tensed, making Oliver sigh in happiness as he stuck close to him on that step.

“I love this bit!” Oliver continued whispering, as if telling Mike a bedtime story. “Can you see how he’s trying to hold his breath? He thinks he can force it back down, but he can’t. The formula has now spread into every cell in his body.”

Even with the officer trying to hold on tight, a slow, insidious tire of fat was gently forming over his abs and budding softness grew into love handles. The effort of holding his breath was taking it out of him; his eyes were screaming for release and cheeks had filled with air. Now his eyes were shutting tight, as if to concentrate even more, when a tiny burst of air slipped through his lips like a leaking pipe; more and more, until the floodgates had opened and he had to let it all go; sucking up a great big chestful of air and then burping like never before; all control stripped from him.

That brief pause in the guy’s attention was seemingly all this formula had needed to take control. The hips began thrashing about with surprising violence, with his stomach and rear inflating with remarkable speed; as if making up for lost time.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Oliver asked, kissing Mike sweetly on the side of his head. “So much fat! The thighs, the chest and the arms!” There was such a thrill in his quiet voice, as if he was deliberately controlling his elation to creep Mike out even more.

“Why are you doing this?” Mike asked; eyes still fixed on the ballooning cop as his jawline disappeared under the building flesh in his neck and chin, and blossoming into his cheeks.

“Because I can… And because I want to,” Oliver quietly replied, as he continued to stroke Mike’s back. “Look at him!” he cooed. “Pecs are gone already!”

Mike watched as the officer’s nipples started to bounce and his thick thighs swelled outwards, blowing up his butt to a size that was almost disproportionate to his frame.

“I wonder what his girlfriend will say about him now,” Oliver joked, knowing that Mike would be looking at exactly the same thing. “A disgusting, overfed, fat ass like that!” he whispered gently into Mike’s ear, making every part of the boy tingle with a baffling excitement. “You’re going to be a fat boy, just like him soon…” the devil whispered into his ear.

Mike wanted to get up and run, but being so close to Oliver felt like something he had longed for his entire life. Was this what love felt like? This yearning to be with someone, no matter what?”

Oliver began to caress the tip of Mike’s throbbing hardness under his underwear. “How exciting for you. A whole new life for yourself as one of my fatties,” he teased, turning his head so that he could whisper directly into Mike’s ear as he watched the cop continuing to become even more extremely obese, lose his balance and slide against the wall; landing with a splat on his enormously overgrown backside. Yet, even sitting down, his butt and thighs continued to spread out onto the floor; the rolls and blubber that decorated his torso, softening and spreading; folds deepening every second.

Then, just like that, the cop had fallen asleep; his revoltingly obese body resting after the dramatic trauma it had just endured. Mike gasped, but not because of the sight in front of him. It was Oliver, continuing to massage his erection. He was brought so close to climaxing, that when Oliver brought his lips towards him, Mike moved swiftly to meet them in a deep, passionate kiss.

As they came out of the kiss, Oliver gently stroked Mike’s hair back from his face. “I’ve so enjoyed our time together,” he smiled with delight. “You’ve been so entertaining, from the very start.”

Mike smiled back, in awe of the amazing man who was giving him all the attention he could ever wish.

Oliver brought his nose close to Mike’s neck and sniffed in deeply all the way up to the top of his head. “I can smell my formula inside of you!” he breathed with genuine eroticism at the thought. “It’s getting ready to take you!”

Oliver took Mike by the hand and stood him up. The pair came down the stairs, stepping over the gigantic cop’s outstretched legs and into the light properly. There was not a single part of Mike that wanted to resist.

“Let’s take these off, shall we?” Oliver asked, pulling the underwear down so that they dropped around Mike’s feet; his hardness springing out with an almost embarrassing enthusiasm “You’ve been such a good boy, this whole time. I picked the cop as the one who would be able to hold out the longest, but I’m so glad that it was you. Such a handsome boy!” he marvelled, stroking Mike’s face. “When I saw you in that magazine, I knew I had to take you.”

“I’m all yours!” Mike spluttered lustfully back; for some reason, only wanting Oliver to touch him again like he had on the stairs.

“Do you really mean that?” Oliver asked, barely concealing a grin behind those innocent looking eyes.

“I do!” Mike nodded. “I would do anything for you!”

“Then prove it,” Oliver snapped. “Don’t make me wait for you. Take another piece from the table and overdose on my formula just like that first idiot did,” he ordered. “Set my beautiful formula into action!”

Inexplicably, Mike’s feet were taking him towards the table. If this was the way to please Oliver, he needed to show him that he could do it. He grabbed at a doughnut and made to push it towards his mouth. However, just as he almost made it, Mike’s hand stopped and tried to push back. There was some invisible, subconscious part of his brain, still active and working, despite the fogginess that was clouding everything else.

Oliver smirked, as if he knew exactly what was going on; why Mike’s hand was not letting him eat. He seized the guy’s wrist and pushed it forwards with remarkable strength as Mike made every effort to keep his mouth wide open and let it fall onto his tongue. He bit down, watched carefully by Oliver, standing in front of him, smiling victoriously,

By the second bite, Mike felt his jaw slacken and stop working. A rumbling burp rolled from his throat, entirely unchallenged. The haze around him seemed to have grown more intense. Oliver was still in front of him, but circling around like a sergeant major conducting an inspection, or a killer whale startling its prey. It was only when he heard the man laughing that Mike knew his hips had begun to rock. He had no idea how the cop had tried to fight it off. The autonomous nature of whatever process this was, seemed entirely beyond his understanding. A warmth was filling his body; building and strengthening. Then that warmth seemed to spread itself across those areas that Mike had seen on the other guys: his stomach felt almost red hot, whilst his butt and legs were tingling and changing rapidly.

Oliver’s hands were seizing upon him, grabbing and pinching parts of his body that Mike didn’t even know existed. Mike tried to speak, to ask Oliver if it was working, but his mouth could not shape the words. Only a groan made it out, shaken and rocked by the vibrations of his instantaneously transforming body.

Waves of fat began to bounce and crash into each other as Mike felt fresh flesh developing all over his body. A few seconds in, he had thought that Oliver had grabbed at his hardness again. However, he soon realised that it was the tip of his penis slapping against an enormous roll of fat that had invaded his torso. He looked down, seeing the remarkable width of his squishy stomach and the strange pointing of his nipples.

Oliver’s voice was far from soothing now. He was shouting and calling him out on his grotesquely overfed body; telling him how greedy he was, or likening him to a pig. He even oinked triumphantly right down Mike’s ear.

The body that Mike was in no longer felt like his own anymore. His whole being had been transported into that of something new. The space that he occupied was incredible, surging outwards more and more. He lost his balance, feeling his giant self being collected by Oliver’s unnaturally strong arms as he was gently lowered to the ground.

Mike got a look at his disgusting, blubbery physique, wondering how he would ever use it. How could he do anything with that enormous belly in the way? How could he get himself up the stairs to his apartment? He’d certainly never squeeze himself into his tiny shower, or find any clothes at regular stores to cover himself up with.

“Goodnight, Fat Boy!” Oiver sang as Mike felt his eyes getting heavy. He knew he'd never see Oliver again. He’d served his purpose. He’d entertained. Now came the sleep that would erase everything from his mind. The factory reset that would prepare him for his life as one of Oliver’s fat boys.

#gainer fiction #gay feedee #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gainerfic #gainer story #gainer stories #gayfeedee #gainerstories #gainer fic

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e-m-ma-lmfao · 1 year ago

Note

Hi hii, I've seen your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request somewhat one-sided Astarion x reader/Tav/he catches feelings first kinda situation??? Pretty please, love your writing 🙏

Too Generous Too Kind

pairing : astarion x (gn) reader

summary : astarion has travelled by your side for weeks and it makes his stomach churn when he grows to trust you, the trust turns into something more and he feels even worse.

warnings : astarion's scars, reader is injured.

For weeks Astarion had been travelling by your side. And for weeks he was under the impression he was only using you to get to Baldur's Gate safely. You were a powerful ally, an asset to his plan of revenge.

He would stand by your side, of course, and watch your back as you had always watched his. But he couldn’t hold back how aggravating you were, you didn’t care whether he approved of your decisions or not. You made your own, walked your own street, and he was forced to follow it if he wanted to keep you around.

And for weeks he had watched you talk your way out of situations, or convince a trader to give you free supplies. A master with your words. He watched as you lied and manipulated, and it made his faith in you soar.

But then you would turn around and help a helpless child or a person that meant nothing to you, and his respect for you waivered. Why did they deserve any of your help? It’s not like they helped you in any way. And they definitely wouldn’t help you the same way you chose to help them if it were you stranded on the side of the road with no help. They would leave you, he was sure of it. He would, just like everyone had done to him, no one was deserving of your help if they had nothing to give you in return.

So constantly you would find yourself in front of him, as he yelled at you and glared down at you with fire burning behind his eyes. He was tired of wasting time with people who didn’t matter. “Must you stop to help every worthless person we find on the side of the road?” His voice is venomous and unimpressed. It’s not the first time he has made a complaint, and him continuing to be unacknowledged was becoming more and more irritating each time he tried.

“You’d regret saying that if it was you on the side of the road, and we left you to grovel in your own misery.” Your arms are crossed, disciplinary stare on your face like he’s a child. He hates it.

It’s not like anyone ever stopped to help him in the past.

Too generous. Too kind.

Sure it gave you allies, and more often than not they would reward you for your good deed. But still, you could’ve killed them and taken it from their cold, dead body. Or he could’ve pickpocketed them for you, no time wasted.

Astarion only feels his opinion change when your actions begin to affect him and not just the strangers you pass by through your travels.

Suddenly he feels himself growing overwhelmingly close to you. Close enough that he feels he’s safe to tell you about Cazador and the threat he may play in your life in the future, and in a moment of privacy, just you and him, he offers to show you the scars on your back. You're not sure what to say at first, you just stare and it makes his skin crawl with insecurity.

He shivers when your fingers meet his back to trace along the lines, “He did this?” He can only nod, embarrassed by this moment of transparency and weakness. God forbid he try to speak and all that comes out is a wobbly, pathetic cry where a snide comment laced with sarcasm should be.

You grab his shoulder to turn him around, holding both his hands in your own with a tightness that has his skin crawling in a different way. “I won’t let him hurt you again, we won’t, all of us, you'll never have to fight him alone. We’ll help you, no matter what,” Your thumbs swipe across the skin of his pale and shaky fingers and it sends heat up his cold arm, “I’ll help you.”

It’s so genuine and so sincere, it almost makes the air catch in his lungs.

His eyes widen, and he has to force himself to hide how grateful he is to hear the words leave your mouth. He hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten what it was like to feel safe. To have someone who cares for him so much that they would put their life in danger to protect him. You were always kind to the helpless and needy, he just never thought he would allow himself to fit that description again, especially not in front of you.

You barely know him. You barely know his story, you’ve only seen his scars once and briefly heard of his former master's cruelty. But you’re ready to lay your life down for his cause. For him. To protect him. He feels lighter, holding the weight of Cazadors power on two pairs of shoulders instead of his alone..

Too generous. Too kind.

For a while, he finds himself to be less annoyed by the way you stop to help. He doesn't mind as much when it inevitably slows the journey down. It still bothers him but finds it easier to manage when he sees the satisfactory smile you wear after. The sight almost makes a proud smile appear on his own face, smile lines subtly deepening before he wipes the evidence away.

You impress him, through it all. You hold your own while managing to deal with everyone else’s problems on your back, and while he hates the way you try to help everyone, he admires the way you handle it all.

Again his opinion changes when you reach Moonrise Towers. Whilst exploring, you meet a woman named Araj, a drow, who offers a potion of immense power in exchange for Astarions teeth sinking into her skin. The mere idea has you scoffing, the potion would be nice but you would never jeopardize Astarions freedom in exchange for something that would only benefit yourself.

But she pushes, even after Astarion declines. He is clearly uncomfortable and her continuous attempt to convince him has your blood boiling, face beginning to develop a red tinge from frustration.

“Excuse me if I’m mistaken but I’m sure I just heard him say no..”

“And I’m sure you can tell him to change his mind, he is yours, correct? I assume he follows your orders.” Your eyebrow raises at the suggestion that Astarion was anything but his own being. Your party is murmuring behind you, Karlach’s hand finding a place on your shoulder to tell you to calm down before things get out of hand.

Even Astarion feels himself becoming concerned for how this would pan out. He’d never seen you so angry. A part of him was touched that you could be so angry on his behalf. But the majority of his mind is conflicted on if he should step in before you rip this woman's head clean off her shoulders.

You feel your mouth open to shout at the drow in front of you but Astarions fingers slip within your own, squeezing in warning. Your mind clears a little, and you take a deep breath to calm your breathing. Karlach and Shadowheart stare at the scene in silence, but Karlach’s fingers give your shoulder another reassuring squeeze before slipping away.

“I don’t own him, if that’s what you're trying to imply. He’s his own person. Who can make his own decisions, and he said no. That’s the last I’ll hear of the matter.”

A vampire spawn, a slave to Cazador for so many years, suddenly with the ability to act on his own and think for himself. His heart swells. He can’t think of any other word to describe how he feels but grateful. But maybe something else is lingering deeper underneath? Whatever the feeling is, it clouds his mind and puts a weight on his chest.

Later at camp he dwells on it, it’s hard not to see how your tired eyes consistently meet him. What could you be thinking? He can’t stop focusing on the way you speak to everyone but him, and jealousy is beginning to fester around his tent. What did he do to make you ignore him? When you finally reach him to say goodnight, his jealousy from earlier returns and he wants to send you away, but he can’t.

“Thank you..” He’s cut you off before you can say goodnight and walk away from him, and you're stunned. His voice is soft, much softer then he wanted it to be, but he allows his tone to stay the same. Trust. Trusting you without realizing.

“For what exactly?”

“For what you did at Moonrise. You could’ve forced me to go through with that..but you didn’t,” Astarion feels his eyes soften, stomach turning, “And I’m grateful.”

He gets anxious in front of your eyes when you don’t say anything. But his body becomes lighter when your arms wrap around him. He is certain it’s not a hug for your own comfort, but for his. And going against every instinct in his body that tells him to push you away, he hugs you back, wrapping his arms around you..

“I want you to know I will never put you in a position where you don’t have free will. You control yourself, Astarion, I will never jeopardize your freedom for my own benefit. You're a member of my party..you're my friend. I could never do that to you.”

Friend? He couldn’t remember the last time he had someone to call a friend. If ever. But the words have him squeezing you closer to his body, face slipping into the crevice of your neck.

“I was worried you might’ve been mad at me for refusing her, you were ignoring me. I wasn’t sure what I had done..” His words pull at your heart, you hadn’t meant to make him feel that way..

“Astarion..”

“Hm?” He doesn’t move, he’s not sure if he wants to. Astarion is sure that he could hold you like this for as long as you would let him.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.. I was actually deciding how I should apologize..”

“Apologize for what, dear?” He scoffs in your ear, he’s so close and the pet name flows with ease from his lips. If it were any other man you wouldn’t have noticed.

“For how I handled her today. I should’ve stayed calm. I just..I got so angry and she kept pushing and I was scared that she would do something to you..”

The feeling is back in his chest, heavy and heating his face. His arms tighten and it silences your rambling, “Don’t apologize for being angry. You did nothing wrong… I actually quite appreciate your anger on my behalf. You didn’t have to but I appreciate that you denied her. I was certain you were going to kill her.” A chuckle stumbles from his lips, breath heavy on your ear.

“I might’ve if you didn’t step in.” He pulls away from you, hands still resting on your arms, and disappointment fills your body.

Astarion feels it again when your eyes look up into his with comfort painted across your face, a jab at his heart, and he is certain. He’s smitten and he can’t help the way his eyes fill with adoration.

You wear a small smile on your face, filling him with comfort, but a sadness lingers in his mind. The fact is , you don’t feel the same and it causes his heart to become heavier. His hands fall from your arms, waving you off with a gentle goodnight before entering his tent. You stay standing in confusion, it sends your thoughts spiraling as you leave towards your own tent.

Too generous. Too kind.

The next few days he is dazed, distracted and it shows. He misses his shots, when you speak to him his mind is elsewhere and the words you deliver slip through his ears. Everyone is clearly annoyed.

But he cannot see it. He truly can’t see or hear anything, his thoughts are screaming at him about you. He cares for someone other than himself. He is depending on someone who is not himself. He’s worried for your well-being, and he knows you’d be better without him by your side. He’s a burden with his mission to defeat Cazador, and he thinks about leaving.

And he thinks about you again. Every time he draws his bow, the thought of losing you fills his head and his fingers slip, arrow flying with unfocused aim. You trip and his previously unattentive eyes fly to your body, catching your arm in his tight grip to keep you from falling. The only words he speaks are soft, “I’ve got you.” He doesn't wait for your acknowledgement before he slips back into his clouded mind.

He is unaware of his surroundings. He isn’t paying attention. Even when you’re fighting and he is tasked with shooting, he isn’t fully there.

But when a cry leaves your mouth, hand clutching your side where you’ve been stabbed, he suddenly sees all. He’s breathing heavily as he rushes to your side to hold his hand on your wound, putting pressure on it. “I’ve got you..I've got you. please..you're gonna be okay..”

His eyes don’t leave yours as Karlach lifts you. He holds your fingers in his own as she carries you to camp for the night. He doesn't leave your side , even after everyone has gone to sleep, and your eyes have closed he remains.

“Astarion?”

Eyes wide, he looks up tiredly from where his eyes were staring at your wound. “Oh..gods. I’m so sorry..” His forehead falls onto your thigh in a huff.

“W..what?” You let your hand fall onto his head, concerned and not fully awake yet.

“I’m so sorry..I..I let you get hurt. I was distracted and you got hurt because of me, my love.”

“Astarion, what are you talking about? What..” You wince as you try to sit up, Astarion lifting his head from your lap instantly when he hears the hiss leave your mouth.

He slips his fingers into your hand, squeezing tightly. “I..I couldn’t stop thinking..and I wasn’t paying attention. If I was..you never would’ve been hurt.”

His words would almost make you laugh if they weren’t so somber, “Astarion please..this is not your fault.”

“I knew this would happen..”

“What?”

“I’m only putting you in danger, being in this group, I’ll only be a burden on you. This will keep happening..”

Your heart sinks, “Astarion..”

“No..”, His eyes won't meet yours, “I can’t stay any longer. I need to find Cazador.” You open your mouth to speak but he already knows what you're about to say, “Without you.”

“No..no way!”

“Please..just..” His fingers squeeze around yours again, “I can’t keep hurting the person I love. I can’t do it..not to the only person who's ever allowed me to feel safe.”

“Astarion..” You place your other hand over his, sitting up straighter to put your face in his, “If you think for a minute that you can get away with telling me you love me, just to run away and leave me, you’re mistaken.” Your foreheads meet, head falling to touch his while lifting your head to cup his cheek in your palm, thumb rubbing over a dried patch of blood on his face.

He stayed by your side when he could’ve gone to rest and clean himself off, and it makes your heart swell in your chest. You figured you would be alone when you woke up but here Astarion sits in front of you with dried blood covering his face and making his strands of his hair hard under your fingers, eyes tired but still open.

“Besides I told you, you’d never have to fight him alone..ever again.”

“I can’t do this to you.” His eyes close, lips pursing.

“You're not doing anything to me, we're in this together. I promise. ”

“I..”

“Astarion. I said we're in this together. You can leave but you better believe I will follow you until the end to keep you safe. Just like you keep me safe..”

Too Generous. Too Kind.

He opens his eyes to look into yours. They’re so soft, searching your eyes for genuinity. He is unsure whether you mean everything you're saying. But Astarion is sure then as he searches, you’ve never been more truthful in your life. You mean everything. His barricade is broken and he slowly moves in to plant his lips softly to yours, hands shaking against your skin.

It's soft and unsure. Just like he is. And he doesn’t stay there long in fear of making you uncomfortable, or god forbid he irritates your injury. You can’t help but smile at the genuine smile that peeks out at his lips.

“So..the person you love?”

“Careful..I can still take it back.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #x reader #oneshot #drabble #baldurs gate #astarion acunin #gn reader

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liveyun · 2 months ago

Text

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

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