#never seen something as bright as or felt a sound so deeply in my heart before

[sparingiscaring]

Suddenly reminded of that time the US Public School System nearly got me struck by lightning ✌️

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 15

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A/N I might not get the chance to look at my inbox properly until tomorrow afternoon but I finally got around to finishing and polishing ch15 and wanted to post it before I forgot <3

Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing at first, but there was something almost indulgent in the way he regarded you, as if he found your amusement at his answer amusing in turn. Then, without another word, he took a seat at the harpsichord, his fingers poised over the keys. You weren’t sure what you had expected but the first few notes he played were enough to make you fall silent.

The first note rang out, crisp and clear, reverberating through the vast chamber like a ripple across still water. It was not merely sound it was a presence, filling every corner of the space, settling deep into your bones. The harpsichord’s voice was unlike any instrument you had ever heard before, bright, articulate, but carrying an undeniable weight, as if each note was a carefully chosen word in a language older than time itself. And at the center of it all was him. Shadow Milk Cookie was seated before the grand instrument, and in that moment, he looked untouchable.

The afternoon light filtering through the high-arched windows illuminated him in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if even the sun wished to acknowledge his presence. His robes, always refined, seemed richer in this setting deep celestial blue, embroidered with delicate gold constellations that shimmered when he moved. But it was his hair that held you captive.

It was like a galaxy unfurled, dark sapphire at the roots before fading into a luminous, ethereal blue, each strand shifting as though it contained the movement of the night sky itself. Stars tiny, glimmering motes dusted his locks, flickering like distant constellations caught in the ever-changing current of his hair. It moved as though it belonged to something greater than mere gravity, undulating softly, as if stirred by an unseen cosmic tide.

And then there were his eyes. One blue, deep and unfathomable like an ocean at midnight. The other gold, gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance, as if alight with the very knowledge he so devotedly pursued. Together, they carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine, wisdom beyond years, mysteries yet unraveled.

They were eyes that had seen truths most could never hope to comprehend, and yet, as he played, they softened, half-lidded with a focus so pure it was almost reverent. You could hardly breathe. His hands glided over the keys with effortless precision, fingers weaving melody and meaning together in a way that felt intentional, as though each note carried an unspoken truth, meant only for those willing to listen. He did not simply play the harpsichord he commanded it, coaxed from it something both powerful and delicate. You watched, utterly transfixed.

He was magnificent. Like something out of a masterful painting, framed in golden light, captured in a moment of pure artistry. It felt unreal to be witnessing him like this, to see him immersed in something beyond lectures and research, beyond the unshakable composure he so often maintained. There was something deeply human about the way he played his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the keys on certain phrases, the faintest movement of his lips as if he were silently following the melody, the way his shoulders subtly tensed with the weight of emotion woven into each note.

Your heart thundered against your ribs. Your fingers twitched before coming to rest over your chest, pressing lightly against your sternum, a subconscious attempt to steady the overwhelming sensation blooming there. But the moment your hand made contact, realization struck, and you quickly dropped it, as if burned. No. That wasn’t your intention. It wasn’t that. …Was it? You pushed the thought aside, gripping the hem of your sleeve to ground yourself. And yet, no matter how you tried to suppress it, the feeling remained. A warmth, curling in your chest, persistent and unfamiliar. The piece swelled toward its conclusion, cascading notes falling like stars scattered across the sky. Then, at last, the final chord resonated through the air, ringing out before dissolving into silence. The absence of sound was almost startling. You exhaled, only now realizing you had been holding your breath. For a moment, you could only sit there, stunned, the weight of what you had just experienced settling over you. It was beautiful, so achingly beautiful that you felt something tighten in your throat, a prickle at the corners of your eyes that you hastily blinked away.

“…I’ve never heard anyone play the harpsichord before,” you admitted, your voice quieter than intended. It felt almost wrong to speak after such a performance, as if words might shatter the delicate atmosphere that still lingered in the air.

Shadow Milk Cookie finally turned to look at you. You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered, how his golden eye glowed just a little brighter in the afternoon light, or the way the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. You didn’t see the way he studied you, taking in your expression with a knowing softness, as if the reaction he had just drawn from you was one he had anticipated all along. But he had noticed. He had noticed everything. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, lingering like the final note of his performance. You were still caught in it, still holding onto the last echoes of sound in your mind, unwilling to let them fade completely. Your breath felt unsteady, your thoughts even more so. And then, at last, Shadow Milk Cookie spoke. “Did you enjoy it?”

His voice was soft, smoother than usual, as if the music had softened him in turn. It was not the theatrical cadence he often used when debating, nor the measured patience he carried when tutoring. No this was something quieter, something almost intimate. You swallowed, still processing everything you had just heard, everything you had just felt.

“I…” You hesitated, then exhaled, your fingers curling against your knee. “It was… breathtaking.” You looked down, gathering your thoughts. “I've never heard anything like it before. The way you play… it’s like” Words failed you. Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, his golden eye glinting with curiosity. “Like?” You clenched your jaw, searching for something, anything, that could do justice to what you had just experienced. But how did you describe something like this? How did you explain the way each note had wrapped around your heart, the way it had stolen the breath from your lungs, the way it had made you feel as if you were witnessing something rare, something precious?

“…Like the stars are singing,” you finally said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like a story without words like something you don’t just hear, but understand somewhere deep inside.”

His expression didn’t change immediately, but for the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze. His hair, ever shifting like the cosmos itself, rippled with a subtle glow, as if stirred by unseen stardust. Then, with a hum of amusement, he leaned back slightly, his fingers idly ghosting over the keys. “A most poetic description,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “But then again… I suppose you’ve been listening more closely as of late.”

You blinked, his words settling in your mind with a strange weight. Had you? Before, you would have struggled to keep up with his lectures, grasping at concepts like sand slipping through your fingers. But now, you found yourself hanging onto every word, every note, every subtle shift in his expression as he played. You had been listening really listening. And he had noticed. The realization sent something warm curling through your chest, but you pushed it down before it could take root. Instead, you cleared your throat, your gaze flickering to the harpsichord beneath his hands.

“…You told me you composed music,” you said carefully. “Was that piece one of yours?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled for a moment. Then, he exhaled through his nose, almost as if he were smiling. “It was.” Something in your chest tightened.

“…Then you’re even more brilliant than I thought.” The words left you before you could reconsider them, but the sincerity in your voice was undeniable. This time, there was no mistaking it his lips quirked into the faintest, most fleeting hint of a smile. And though the silence returned, it no longer felt heavy. It was different now lighter, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you had the words for just yet.

You exhaled slowly, still trying to collect yourself after everything you had just witnessed. The music, the way he carried himself, the sheer grandeur of it all it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. And yet, amid the awe still thrumming in your chest, curiosity tugged at the edges of your thoughts. You glanced at him, watching as his fingers idly traced over the harpsichord keys, not pressing them, just… lingering. Almost absentmindedly. “…How many people have you played for before?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look at you immediately. His golden eye flickered with something unreadable, while his blue eye like the deep cosmos swirling in endless motion remained calm, contemplative. “Why do you ask?” he finally said, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated. “I just… I mean, people talk. It’s rumored that you’ve played before. So I figured… well, many people must have seen you by now.” A soft hum left him, almost thoughtful. He rested his hands properly over the keys again, though he made no move to play. His gaze drifted, as if sorting through distant memories, his starlit hair shifting ever so slightly, shimmering under the afternoon light that filtered through the window.

“…Fewer than you might think,” he said at last. That caught you off guard. You blinked. “Really?” He glanced at you then, his expression unreadable but patient, as though waiting to see what you would make of that answer. You frowned slightly.

“But… you’re you.” You gestured vaguely, still struggling to fully wrap your head around it. “You’re well, the Sage of Truth. You’ve taught so many scholars, given countless lectures, been part of some of the most renowned research studies in the Academy’s history. I just assumed that if you played, people would want to hear it. That they have heard it.”

His lips quirked ever so slightly, something almost resembling amusement flickering in his gaze. “I do not perform for an audience, if that is what you mean.” You stared at him.

“…You don’t?” He exhaled through his nose, shifting his hands slightly over the keys, but still not pressing them. “Music is a discipline much like any other. It requires practice, precision, and understanding. When I compose, it is not for the sake of spectacle.” He cast a glance at you, his gold and blue eyes gleaming with quiet intent.

“It is for the sake of expression.” Your breath hitched slightly. Something about the way he said it; so assured, so firm, yet with a weight that made your chest tighten struck you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Expression. Something for himself. Not for the Academy. Not for prestige. Not for a title or a research paper. Just… for him. You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly in your lap.

“Then… I was lucky to hear it?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps.” The warmth curling in your chest deepened. You glanced down, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, but you couldn’t help it. The realization was settling now, sinking into your bones.

You weren’t just one of many. You were one of the few. You felt warmth creeping up your neck, embarrassment curling into your chest like an uninvited guest. It wasn’t that he had said anything particularly bold, nothing overt or damning yet the weight of his words, the knowledge that you had just witnessed something intimate, something not meant for the masses, made your heart stutter.

You weren’t sure why it felt so monumental. Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap before you shifted, glancing away, feigning a sudden interest in the other instruments scattered throughout the room. There were violins neatly arranged on a stand, their lacquered wood catching the afternoon light. A cello rested in the corner, its strings taut with readiness. Various wind instruments lay in careful display cases, alongside aged manuscripts of compositions that must have belonged to scholars long before your time.

“This room is… really something,” you murmured, hoping your voice came out steady. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you. His stare was nothing like the prying, judgmental eyes of a crowded lecture hall. He had the kind of presence that naturally commanded attention, but when his gaze settled on you, it felt… bearable. Pleasant, even. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization. “Indeed,” he finally said, his voice as composed as ever.

“Each of these instruments has its own history, some crafted by artisans long forgotten, others once belonging to scholars whose names remain etched in time. Music, like truth, is eternal in its preservation.”

You nodded, trying to focus on anything but the way his words sent a quiet shiver down your spine. “Do you ever play anything else?” you asked, tracing the outline of a delicate lyre resting on a nearby stand. There was a slight pause before he answered. “I have studied several,” he admitted. “But none call to me quite like the harpsichord.” You glanced at him again, your face still warm but no longer burning.

“That makes sense,” you said with a small smile. “It suits you.” His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. For a brief moment, you wondered if you had said too much, if you had allowed something to slip through the careful barrier you had built between admiration and something else entirely. But then he simply nodded, turning his gaze toward the instruments once more, and the moment passed like a quiet note fading into stillness. You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you brushed your fingers along the polished wood of the lyre. “I always wanted to be musically talented,” you admitted, glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie before turning back to the instrument.

“When I was younger, I really wanted to learn the guitar.” You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as if picturing yourself in some long-gone moment, struggling with chords that never quite sounded right. “But I was so bad at it. I mean, really bad.” You laughed at yourself, the memory distant enough that you could find humor in it now. “At some point, my teacher just very gently suggested that maybe I should try singing instead.” Your fingers traced along the delicate carvings of the lyre’s frame as you added, “Apparently, playing wasn’t really in the cards for me.” Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a moment, though you could still feel his presence beside you, his gaze steady, unreadable as always. Then, after a beat, he hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps it was not a matter of talent,” he mused, “but rather that your hands were searching for the wrong instrument.” His words made you pause. You turned to him, brow slightly furrowed. “What do you mean?” He regarded you with something softer than his usual sharp intensity, something thoughtful, considering.

“Not every scholar finds their truth in the same pursuit,” he said simply. “Just as some seek knowledge in tomes and others in the world itself, music too has its own avenues. One must find the medium that allows them to express what words cannot.” You blinked, absorbing his words.

“So… you’re saying I just haven’t found the right instrument?” “Precisely.” His gold and blue eyes gleamed, his expression as composed as ever, yet there was something almost… expectant in the way he looked at you. Your gaze drifted back to the instruments around the room. It was a nice thought, the idea that maybe just maybe you hadn’t failed, but simply hadn’t found the right voice through which to speak. Still, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, unless there’s an instrument out there that requires absolutely no coordination, I think I’ll stick to listening.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips quirked, amusement barely visible in the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps you were meant to be an audience rather than a performer.”

You smiled, glancing at him again. “I think I’m okay with that.” Your gaze lingered on the instruments, fingers still ghosting over the intricate carvings on the lyre. The weight of the conversation settled in your mind; his words, the music, the feeling of witnessing something rare and deeply personal. It was almost too much, too grand for something as ordinary as a tutoring session. A tutoring session.

That thought struck you suddenly, like a chime breaking through the hush of a quiet room. How much time had passed? You glanced toward the tall windows lining the far wall, their glass panes streaked with the golden light of the afternoon sun. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, the world outside continuing on without you while you sat in the Scholar’s Wing, listening to music that left your heart aching in ways you weren’t entirely sure how to name. You hesitated before speaking, reluctant to break the quiet atmosphere you had both fallen into.

“I… suppose that means there’s less time for tutoring now,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to him. Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, his gaze still unreadable. If he had noticed the time slipping away, he made no indication of it. Instead, he merely tilted his head, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips. “Do you regret it?” he asked. The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, at the way the light touched the edges of his hair, making the deep blues shimmer like a night sky scattered with distant stars. Regret? No. That wasn’t the right word at all.

You shook your head, a small, almost sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “No,” you admitted. “Not at all.” His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes shifted something unreadable yet warm, as if he had expected your answer and found it… satisfactory. “Then the time was not wasted.” You let out a quiet breath, allowing yourself to relax. No, it wasn’t wasted at all. The weight of the moment lingered between you, the echoes of the harpsichord’s melody still curling through your thoughts. You glanced toward the door, then back at Shadow Milk Cookie, suddenly feeling the need to ground yourself again to return to the familiar, to your friends, to the usual rhythm of your days. “We should probably go,” you said, shifting slightly where you stood.

“It’s almost time for dinner, and I really don’t want to deal with the rush of hungry people.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before standing smoothly, his robes catching the afternoon light like a shifting night sky. “A prudent decision,” he murmured, his voice rich with its usual refinement. “There is a particular ferocity that emerges when scholars are deprived of sustenance.” You let out a small, amused breath. “Dramatic, but not inaccurate.” He gestured for you to walk ahead, and together, the two of you left the quiet sanctuary of the music room. The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were hushed, save for the occasional murmuring conversation in passing. Shadow Milk Cookie walked with you at a measured pace, and it wasn’t until you were nearing his office where your things still waited that he spoke again. “Which of your friends will be there?” he asked, his tone casual. The question didn’t strike you as odd. If anything, it was expected he had encountered your friends before, even in passing. “Chai Latte, for sure. Hazelnut and Earl Grey too, probably,” you answered. “We usually eat together.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in understanding, his gaze briefly flickering ahead before settling back on you. There was something unreadable in his expression, but it was gone before you could think too much of it. The two of you reached his office, and as you stepped inside to gather your belongings, you found yourself glancing at him once more. He had already moved toward his desk, absentmindedly adjusting the placement of a few scattered notes. It was strange this entire evening. Not in a bad way, just… different. And yet, as you slung your bag over your shoulder and turned back toward him, you found yourself hesitating for just a second longer. You shot him a curious glance, adjusting the strap of your bag as you gathered your things. “Why do you ask?”

Shadow Milk Cookie barely paused, his fingers still idly arranging the papers on his desk. “Simple curiosity.” His voice was smooth, as if the question held no deeper meaning. “You often speak of them, and I am merely observing the consistency of your patterns.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Right… same as always, then. Chai Latte, Hazelnut, Earl Grey. My usual group.” You lingered by the door for a moment before adding, “If you wanted to join us, I don’t think they’d mind.” His hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before he resumed his movements, expression as poised as ever. “An intriguing proposition,” he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“However, I believe my presence would be… an unexpected variable in your usual dynamic.” You blinked. “I mean, probably, but it’s not like we’d mind. They already know I’ve been studying with you. It wouldn’t be that weird.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with that same measured look, the kind that always made you feel like he was studying something just beyond your own understanding. Then, after a moment, he exhaled softly, his gaze briefly drifting toward the window. “A gracious offer,” he finally said, “but one I shall decline. For now.” There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder if, perhaps, he had considered it more seriously than he let on. But before you could dwell on it, he was already moving toward the door, gesturing for you to step out first. “Come,” he said. “You wished to avoid the rush, did you not?” And with that, the conversation slipped away, leaving behind only the faintest thread of curiosity lingering in its place.

You let out a small chuckle, adjusting your bag as you followed him toward the door. “What, have I overstayed my welcome?” you teased, glancing up at him with a grin. Shadow Milk Cookie paused, just for a moment. His golden eye glimmered with something unreadable before he turned his gaze forward once more. “Hardly,” he said smoothly. “If that were the case, you would have known.” His tone was even, his words poised but something about them made your stomach do an odd little flip. You scoffed, shaking your head. “Right, because you’d be so subtle about it.”

“A scholar must be direct in their findings,” he remarked, the faintest trace of amusement threading through his voice. “If you had, as you say, overstayed, you would be informed immediately and without hesitation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good to know.” Still, as the two of you stepped into the dim corridors of the Scholar’s Wing, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, if anything, you had been welcome for far longer than you realized. As you reached the threshold of the Scholar’s Wing, where the lantern-lit corridors gave way to the more bustling walkways of the Academy, you slowed your steps, hesitating for a moment before turning back to him.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood there, watching you with that ever-measured gaze, the soft glow of the nearby sconces catching in his deep blue and gold eyes. His presence, as always, felt larger than the space around him contained, yet vast, like an endless sky just waiting beyond the reach of your fingertips.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, feigning a casual air despite the odd flutter in your chest. “Same time tomorrow?” you asked, as if it weren’t already set in stone, as if you didn’t already know you’d be here again without question. The corner of his lips curled, just slightly. He tilted his head, considering you.

“Have you already forgotten our schedule?” You huffed, pretending to scoff. “Just making sure,” you muttered. It was an excuse, flimsy at best. You just… didn’t want to leave without saying something else. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the way he regarded you, something quiet, something thoughtful. Then, with the same practiced ease he always carried, he dipped his head ever so slightly.

“Tomorrow, then,” he confirmed. Satisfied though you weren’t sure why you nodded. “Alright. See you.” You turned on your heel, making your way toward the main halls, but even as you walked, you could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he, too, disappeared into the depths of the Scholar’s Wing. The dining hall was comfortably full but not yet overrun, the earlier dinner rush having already passed. You slipped into your usual seat with ease, the warmth of familiar company grounding you. Chai Latte Cookie barely gave you time to set down your tray before leaning in, her eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re not late this time,” she noted, propping her chin on her hand. “Color me surprised.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie barely looked up from his notes, adjusting his reading glasses. “What a miracle.” Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, studied you with a glance brief, but precise, like he was peeling back layers of an unseen puzzle. You ignored all of them, focusing instead on your food. Or at least, you tried to. But you must have hesitated too long, because Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing smile softened, her voice dipping just a little quieter. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said, too casually. You poked at your meal, as if arranging it just right would somehow erase whatever it was that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t nothing, though. It was the image of long, elegant fingers dancing across harpsichord keys, of stardust-swept hair catching the soft glow of lamplight, of a gaze that held something unreadable, something you hadn’t had the courage to decipher. It was the lingering echo of music that had never touched your ears before today. And it was the way you felt, sitting there, recalling it not just admiration, not just awe, but something else. Something quieter. Something you didn’t quite know how to name.

“You’re thinking about something,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed out. Earl Grey Cookie turned a page in his book but didn’t look away from you. “Or someone.” Your fork clattered against your plate. “I was not ” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, reaching for her drink. “Mmm. If you say so.” You buried your face in your hands. Because the worst part? You didn’t even know if they were wrong. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, eyes sparkling with amusement as she swirled her drink lazily. “You’ve got a look,” she mused, her tone far too knowing for your liking. You blinked. “A… look?”

She grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “Mhm. I know that look.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow but didn’t comment, while Earl Grey Cookie merely observed in silence, waiting. You huffed, turning your attention back to your food. “I don’t have a look.” Chai Latte Cookie just laughed. “Oh, but you do. It’s that soft, far-off, thinking-about-someone look.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving you.

“And I have never seen it on you before.” Your whole body stiffened. “I ” You faltered, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Because was that what this was? You weren’t… thinking about him like that, were you? You were just caught up in the moment, in the music, in the sheer unexpectedness of seeing Shadow Milk Cookie the Sage of Truth doing something so… human. That was all. Wasn’t it? Chai Latte Cookie didn’t press further, but the knowing curve of her lips told you she’d already drawn her own conclusions. And the worst part? You weren’t sure you could argue against them. “Do you guys think you’d wait an eternity for someone?” You asked wistfully a question you were still hung up on. The story from the city lingering, latched onto your heart like a tick.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful smile softened as she swirled her drink in her hands, the dim light of the dining hall reflecting in her eyes. “You’re still thinking about that story, huh?” You nodded, glancing down at your plate. The tale had lingered in your mind ever since you heard it, refusing to be forgotten. “I just… I keep wondering. Could someone really wait that long? A hundred years, just for a single moment with someone?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie exhaled through his nose, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “If they had no other choice, maybe. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be agonizing.” Earl Grey Cookie, ever thoughtful, tapped a finger against the table. “It depends on what they’re waiting for. If they knew, without a doubt, that they’d see their beloved again even after a century then perhaps the waiting wouldn’t feel like suffering. But if there was no guarantee…” He trailed off, his expression unreadable. You swallowed.

“I don’t know if I could do it.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing glint in her gaze. “I think it’s less about whether you could and more about whether you’d want to. If someone meant that much to you, maybe time wouldn’t matter at all.” That struck something deep within you. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a short breath. “Still sounds tragic to me.”

Chai Latte Cookie chuckled. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t invested in the story. You were the one who insisted we stay and listen to the end.”

 “I appreciate good storytelling,” he replied smoothly, but the tips of his ears were a little pink. You shook your head, smiling faintly, but the weight of the question still pressed on your mind. Chai Latte Cookie studied you, then reached across the table, her fingers just brushing yours. “Are you asking because you’re curious? Or because you’re wondering?”

Your breath hitched slightly. You weren’t sure. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you just wanted to understand the kind of love that could last beyond time itself. But before you could dwell on it further, Chai Latte Cookie gave your hand a gentle squeeze and grinned. “Well, if you ever decide to wait a hundred years for someone, let me know. I’ll wait right there with you.” You laughed, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather not wait that long at all.” But something in your chest tightened, a quiet, unspoken feeling curling at the edges of your thoughts. Because wasn’t that the whole point of the story? Sometimes, the choice wasn’t yours to make.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful energy dimmed, her gaze soft as she watched you, fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. “Is it the Sage of Truth?” Her voice lacked its usual teasing lilt no laughter, no playful nudges. Just quiet understanding, the kind that only a close friend could offer. Your breath caught in your throat. “What?” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know you, you know? And I know that look. You’re thinking about someone, and it’s not just because of some ghost story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie set his utensils down, leveling you with a knowing glance.

“Chai’s not wrong. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been stirring his tea with methodical patience, finally looked up. “You never used to care about staying late to study. Now, you act like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

You fumbled for words. “I-he’s just tutoring me. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “I’m not saying you have feelings for him.” A pause. “But if you did” 

“I don’t.” She gave you a look, unimpressed. “Okay. But if you did, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Your fingers curled around your fork, a tightness settling in your chest. “I don’t see why that would happen.” Chai Latte Cookie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It’s fun to joke and tease about it, yeah, but…” She glanced away for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“I don’t think you should get your hopes up. Not because it’s impossible, or because I don’t support you, but because realistically nothing good could come from it.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie crossed his arms, nodding. “Nobody really knows much about him. He’s private. Guarded.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses. “And to be blunt, we don’t even know if he’s single.” That made you freeze. “You mean…?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose. “He’s so private, he could already be spoken for, and we wouldn’t know.”

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest, heavy with unspoken weight. Earl Grey Cookie looked at you carefully, his voice even. “I’m not saying this to discourage you. But you have to admit, for all the time you’ve spent around him… how much do you really know about him?” You hated that you didn’t have an answer. The Sage of Truth Shadow Milk Cookie was… unfathomable. A beacon of knowledge. Someone revered, admired, respected. But beyond the theatrical wisdom and the careful distance he always maintained, what was there? You realized, with a quiet sort of dread, that you weren’t sure. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a slow breath. “We just don’t want you to set yourself up for something that might never happen. And if he really was with someone ”

“I know,” you cut in, voice quieter than you expected. “I get it.” Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers warm against yours. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I know.” But deep down, the uncertainty lingered. Chai Latte Cookie’s fingers tightened around yours, grounding, steady. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice a gentle lull, like waves against the shore. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You shook your head, but the motion felt half-hearted. A dull ache settled in the pit of your stomach, something quiet and gnawing. They’re right. Of course they’re right. Who is Shadow Milk Cookie? You’ve seen only glimpses of a scholar wrapped in truth, untouchable, illuminated like a figure from a painting. He reveals knowledge like pulling back a veil, but never himself. And yet… he’s seen you. The thought twists like a knife. You’ve bared your struggles to him, your weaknesses laid out like an open book. He’s seen you hesitate, stumble, fail, watched as you fumbled through lessons, watched as you grew. You had nothing to hide, no layers of mystery, no grand secrets. But him? He was always just out of reach. Always the untouchable scholar, his mind an endless expanse of wisdom, while you were just… you.

It feels unfair. Chai Latte Cookie must see something on your face because before you can say anything, she pulls you in, arms wrapping around you, her warmth pressing the ache deeper into your chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice close to your ear. “I didn’t want to make you feel like this.” You breathe in, her scent familiar, spiced tea, something sweet beneath it. It makes the ache worse, somehow. You swallow past the tightness in your throat.

“It’s okay,” you manage, though your voice is unsteady. “It’s not,” she says, softer this time. Your fingers dig into the fabric of her sleeve, just for a second. You don’t know what you’re feeling, but it sits heavy in your ribs, uncomfortable and raw. “I just…” You hesitate, trying to find the words.

“I’ve spent all this time with him, but I don’t really know him. And he ” Your throat tightens. “He knows me.” Chai Latte Cookie pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows knitting together in concern. “That’s not fair to you.” You let out a breathy laugh, but it holds no real humor.

“I know.” She studies you for a long moment before sighing, brushing her thumb over the back of your hand. “Listen,” she says gently. “If you ever need to talk about this, and I mean really talk about it, I'm here, okay?” You nod, though the ache doesn’t fade. Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie haven’t spoken, but they watch you carefully, offering presence in place of words. You appreciate it. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip lingers a moment longer before she finally lets go, smiling, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Come on,” she says, nudging her cup toward you.

“Drink. It’ll make you feel better.” You don’t know if it will. But you take the cup anyway. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shifted closer, his warmth a quiet reassurance, mirroring Chai Latte Cookie’s gestures with his own steady presence. He squeezed your shoulder, just firm enough to ground you. “You know,” he said, keeping his voice light, as if sensing you needed the softness, “you don’t have to figure everything out right now.” His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest tighten. Figure everything out? As if there was anything to figure out. As if this strange, lingering feeling inside you needed to be named.

But it did, didn’t it? You just weren’t ready to say it aloud. Earl Grey Cookie, ever poised, didn’t smother you in warmth the way the others did, but his presence was a balm in its own way. He adjusted his glasses with an air of careful deliberation before speaking.

“If something troubles you, it would be unwise to carry it alone,” he mused, his voice smooth as dark tea. “Emotions are like fine blends best shared, lest they become too bitter to swallow.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Are you comparing my feelings to tea?” Earl Grey Cookie’s lips quirked in a barely-there smile. “Would you expect any less from me?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, and even Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out an amused breath.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The dinner table felt heavier than it had when you arrived, your appetite dulled by the weight in your chest. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t even his fault. But you hadn’t realized, not until this moment, just how attached you’d become. And still, you told yourself it wasn’t anything more. But the dull ache in your chest wanted to say otherwise. Of course, your friends knew. They weren’t blind. They saw the way you lingered in your own thoughts, how your eyes softened at the mention of him, how your chest rose just a little lighter at the sound of his voice. But they wouldn’t say it for you. Not until you were ready.

And right now, you weren’t. So instead, you let them be there for you. You let Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s steady touch remind you that you weren’t alone. You let Chai Latte Cookie’s quiet warmth soothe the edges of your unease. You let Earl Grey Cookie’s careful words give you a sense of control, however fleeting. You let yourself be held in the way only friends could hold you. And for now, that was enough.

The gardens were quiet tonight. The faint hum of nocturnal magic wove through the air, barely perceptible beneath the rustling of the willows and the occasional ripple of the reflecting pool. You traced idle patterns into the stone bench beside you, your fingertips cool against its weathered surface. It was peaceful. It was yours. And yet, you were not at peace. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking under the weight of your own thoughts. Foolish, wasn't it? How much could change in the span of a day? How quickly a simple conversation could unravel something you had not even realized was fragile until now? You had sat at this very bench countless times before, but tonight, the air felt heavier.

Your friends had been right. Who was he, really? A figure of brilliance, a mind beyond compare, a presence that carried itself with an effortless grace. He was revered, admired, respected. His name was spoken with awe in the halls of the Academy, his intellect the kind that shaped scholars for generations to come. And you? You had only ever seen glimpses of him pieces of a much greater whole. And yet, in some foolish, unguarded way, you had allowed him to see you. It felt unfair. Your fingers curled into your palm.

You had seen something of him today that no lecture hall could capture, something beyond truth-seeking, beyond measured wisdom. A moment in which he was simply himself, the music flowing from his fingers, his expression softened with focus, his gaze distant yet utterly present. It had been mesmerizing. It had made your heart stutter in ways you did not wish to acknowledge. And now, here you were. Hiding away in the place you had once brought him, as if trying to reclaim something, as if trying to pull yourself back into the comfort of before. But even this place had changed. Because now, he had been here too. You let your head fall back, staring up through the willow branches. They swayed gently, their glow pulsing faintly in the darkness. A part of you wished you had never invited him. That you had never let him into your space, where you could pretend you were not affected. But another part of you… Another part of you was glad he had come.

The sky stretched endlessly above you, deep indigo melting into black, pricked with shimmering stars that scattered like flecks of silver dust. A familiar sight one you had gazed upon countless times before, from this very spot, no less. Yet tonight, it felt different. Or perhaps, you were different. You exhaled, watching as your breath curled faintly in the night air. You shouldn’t have been thinking about him. And yet, the stars only served as a reminder, twinkling reflections of his hair, that impossible cascade of dark silk shot through with light, shifting even in stillness. You could picture it perfectly, the way it had moved as he sat beside you, strands slipping over his shoulder like liquid dusk.

"It is… a reflection of who I am." 

Your own words came back to haunt you. "So that means… your true personality must be beautiful." A quiet warmth had settled in his golden eyes then, unreadable yet thoughtful, as if turning the words over in his mind. As if he had not expected them. And you? You had been so caught up in the moment, in the effortless rhythm of conversation, that you hadn’t realized, hadn’t understood what was happening. Not until now. Your fingers curled against the cool stone of the bench. What were you doing? You barely knew him. So what if he played the harpsichord? So what if his laughter, so rare, so carefully contained had managed to weave its way into your thoughts, lingering like the final note of a song long after the melody had faded? So what if his hair shimmered like a starry sky, if his presence felt like something grand yet unreachable, if his voice carried the weight of knowledge and mystery alike? What else did you actually know?

What was his favorite color? His favorite meal? Did he even have a favorite meal, or was he the type to forgo such simple pleasures in pursuit of loftier things? Who were his friends? Did he have any? You frowned. You had never once seen him linger with others outside of academic discussions. No quiet moments of shared meals in the dining halls, no casual conversations in the corridors. Only debates, lessons, the ever-constant pursuit of truth.

And yet… he had found you that day. Had sought you out. That should have meant something, shouldn’t it? But what if it didn’t? What if that was simply who he was, someone who never left questions unanswered? If he had sought you out, it wasn’t because he missed you. It wasn’t because he cared. It was because you had not shown up. Because he was expecting you. Your chest ached. It was foolish. It was foolish to have let yourself grow attached, to have let the glimpses of him a quiet laugh, a thoughtful gaze, the rare and fleeting moments of softness mean something. And yet, what was worse… was that it wasn’t his fault. He had never promised anything. He had never given you a reason to believe he was anything but what he had always been the Sage of Truth.

Not Shadow Milk, not the man beyond the title, beyond the wisdom, beyond the grandeur. Just the Sage. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your temples as if that might somehow ease the dull ache spreading through you. Was he taken? The thought struck like a cruel whisper, unwelcome and unbidden. You had no idea. He was private. Mysterious. The kind of person who could have been spoken for, deeply committed to someone, and no one would ever know. And if he was? You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your throat tightened. Then it had never been yours to hold onto in the first place. The wind stirred the willow branches above you, their leaves casting shifting shadows along the ground. The koi-like creatures in the reflecting pool swam lazily beneath the water, unbothered, unburdened. You envied them. Your hands fell limply into your lap, your shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all. You were just another student. He was the Sage of Truth.

And yet, the ache in your chest whispered that even knowing all of this, you would still meet him tomorrow. You would still listen to his voice, still try to understand the way his mind worked, still watch the way his golden eyes flickered with something warm, something almost gentle, whenever he looked at you.

Because despite everything, despite the foolishness of it all… You weren’t ready to let go. With a slow, heavy exhale, you let your shoulders slump, exhaustion settling over you like a thick, inescapable fog. What was the point in dragging yourself back to your dorm when sleep was already pulling at your limbs, threatening to drag you under? Here, beneath the willow’s gentle canopy, with the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant ripple of the reflecting pool, the world felt softer, less overwhelming.

It wasn’t as if anyone was here to stop you. You shifted slightly, curling in on yourself as you leaned back against the stone bench. The cool surface pressed against your spine, grounding you, yet offering no protest as you allowed your body to sink further into its embrace. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. The Academy felt so far away from here. The expectations, the lessons, the weight of failure all melted into the background, lost beneath the hum of the wind and the distant croak of a nightbird. Maybe, just for tonight, you didn’t have to think about anything. Not about your classes. Not about your struggles. Not about him. You exhaled one last time before letting sleep take you.

You awoke to the stiff ache of your neck protesting even the smallest movement. A dull, throbbing pain settled at the base of your skull, a punishment for the way you’d let yourself slump awkwardly on the stone bench overnight.

For a moment, you sat there, groggy and dazed, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the willow leaves. The Academy Gardens were still quiet, untouched by the usual morning bustle, and the air was crisp with the lingering scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. It would have been peaceful, had a sudden realization not struck you like a bucket of cold water.

What time was it?

Your stomach twisted as you scrambled upright, your joints aching from the awkward position you had slept in. Without even checking your reflection in the water, you grabbed your things and bolted from the garden, feet pounding against the mossy paths as you rushed toward the main halls. You barely made it through the doors, heart racing, before the bells signaling the start of the first period rang out.

You were disheveled.

Your uniform was wrinkled, a stray leaf still clung to your sleeve, and your hair...oh, you didn’t even want to think about your hair. You smoothed it down quickly as you ducked into the lecture hall, ignoring the curious glances from a few students already seated. Sliding into your usual spot, you caught your breath, trying to ignore the stiffness in your neck. You’d have to suffer through the day like this.

You slumped slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulder in a weak attempt to ease the stiffness in your neck as you waited for your friends. The morning rush had left you slightly winded, and you knew you must’ve looked a mess your uniform wrinkled, your hair hastily smoothed down but still undeniably unkempt, and a faint, lingering imprint on your cheek from where you’d pressed against the stone bench.

It wasn’t long before Chai Latte Cookie arrived, sliding into the seat beside you with a puzzled expression. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey followed shortly after, both eyeing you with quiet curiosity. “You weren’t at breakfast,” Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, tilting her head. “We were wondering where you went.” Hazelnut Biscotti frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses.

“We even thought you might’ve gone ahead, but clearly…” He gave you a once-over. “That wasn’t the case.” Earl Grey merely raised an eyebrow, but his silence spoke volumes. You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to play it off. “I, uh… overslept.” Chai Latte Cookie blinked. “Overslept? Where? Your dorm?” You hesitated for half a second too long. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait.” Then she gasped, leaning in with a scandalized whisper.

“Did you not sleep in your bed?” Hazelnut Biscotti let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for the love of- don’t tell me you-” Before they could properly interrogate you, the lecture hall door swung open with a sharp clack, and Almond Custard Cookie strode in, posture straight and severe as always. The chatter in the room immediately died down as students straightened in their seats.

“Good morning,” he greeted, though his tone was as firm as ever. “I trust that you all have reviewed yesterday’s material.” You forced yourself to sit up properly, silently relieved by the well-timed interruption. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Chai Latte Cookie leaning just slightly in your direction. “This conversation isn’t over,” she murmured, voice laced with curiosity and concern in equal measure. You sighed. You’d have to deal with that later.

The lecture passed in a blur, your mind still fogged with the lingering exhaustion of a poor night’s sleep. Normally, you’d be the first to slip out of the classroom once dismissed, eager to avoid any unnecessary conversation or scrutiny. But today… there wasn’t much of a point. Chai Latte Cookie was a fast walker, and no matter how much of a head start you tried to get, she’d always catch up. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey, for all their composed exteriors, were equally determined when it came to making sure you were alright. There was no escaping them. So instead of making a run for it, you packed your things at a normal pace, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Chai Latte Cookie looped her arm through yours the moment you stepped into the hallway, tugging you along with a knowing smile.

“So,” she began, tone as sweet as honey but sharp with intent. “Where did you sleep last night?” You sighed, your attempt at a sheepish grin doing little to disarm her. “Just… my favorite spot.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned behind you.

“You slept on that stone bench again?”

“Wait, again?” Earl Grey Cookie echoed, raising an eyebrow. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip on your arm tightened slightly in a way that told you she was not letting this slide. “No wonder you look like you got steamrolled. Do you know how bad that is for your back?” You rolled your shoulders, still feeling the stiff ache in your neck. “It’s fine.”

 “It’s not fine,” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Earl Grey sighed through his nose, his expression unreadable as he studied you. “We would have woken you this morning,” he said, tone softer than usual. “If we had known, that is.”

You looked away, guilt creeping up your spine. You hadn’t meant to worry them. Chai Latte Cookie sighed, letting go of your arm only to poke your forehead lightly. “Next time, just tell us, okay? You don’t have to wander off alone when you’re feeling down.”

Hazelnut Biscotti huffed. “Or at the very least, pick somewhere comfortable to mope.” You let out a small, tired laugh. “Noted.” Your friends exchanged glances, clearly still unconvinced, but they didn’t push further not yet, at least. Instead, Chai Latte Cookie simply linked her arm with yours again and led the way down the hall, her warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. No matter how much of a mess you felt like, they weren’t going to leave you alone. You weren’t sure you minded.

“So,” she began, her voice light but far too knowing. “Care to explain why you slept on that bench?”

“I wasn’t moping, if that’s what you’re all thinking.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed, arching his brow clearly unconvinced. “No one said you were.” You shot him a pointed look. He was gaslighting you. “But since you brought it up…” 

“I wasn’t!” you insisted, exasperated. “I just… needed some fresh air. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, considering. “Fresh air, huh?” You nodded quickly. “Yes. Fresh air. Perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable fresh air.” Earl Grey finally spoke, his voice as smooth as ever. “And this fresh air just happened to lull you to sleep on a cold stone bench?” You huffed. “It wasn’t cold.”

Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “That is not the point.” Chai Latte sighed, resting her chin against your shoulder as she continued to walk beside you. “You know, if you wanted fresh air so badly, you could’ve told us. We would’ve gone with you.”

You felt a pang of guilt but shrugged it off. “I didn’t want to bother you.” Earl Grey gave you a pointed look. “And yet, here we are, bothered.” You winced. Okay, maybe that was fair. Chai Latte pulled away just enough to nudge your side. “Next time, tell us. You’re not alone, you know?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “Seriously. If you’re going to have a lone sleepover outside your dorm, at least let us know before we have to find out about it.” You hesitated, but the way they all looked at you the concern that lingered just beneath their teasing made something in your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “…Fine,” you relented, rolling your eyes.

“Next time, I’ll say something.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, satisfied, while Hazelnut Biscotti just sighed in relief. Earl Grey, though, watched you for a moment longer before giving you a small nod, as if he knew there was more you weren’t saying but that he’d wait until you were ready. For now, at least, they let the matter rest. But you had no doubt they’d be keeping an even closer eye on you.

The day slipped past in a haze of half-heard lectures and half-hearted notes. You weren’t absent, your body remained in its seat, your pen moved, your eyes followed the text but your mind drifted, floating somewhere between the shimmering stars of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair and the quiet ache lodged deep in your chest. You weren’t moping. You were just… preoccupied. When the time came for tutoring, your legs carried you forward on instinct, muscle memory guiding you through the halls as though you had no say in the matter. You considered turning back, skipping, just this once. But that would only make things worse.

A/N #2 My exam is tomorrow I feel prepared but still worried about a couple reactions...but I'm still going to do my best also once my exam is done the chains keeping me from my freedom will have been broken yippeee!!! no update tomorrow but probably Wednesday <3 anyways...thanks for being patient these past 4 days have felt like an eternity without speaking to y'all...I will be back in full force and answering questions once I'm fully liberated...my inbox is like piling up so I'll get started on that soon...ALSO I separated the paragraphs more hopefully that makes it easier to read, if not, pls lmk in the comments thanks <3 (I just realized I posted the version where i deleted and added things so some of the transitions are off UPDATE: It's FIXED this time its fr thanks for letting me know something was off in the comments <3)

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[left-alicorn]

lucifer morningstar x fem! reader

you help comfort him after his meet up with his lovely daughter ꓹ⠀ charlie. [ no warnings. fluff. silly nicks. ]

The moment he took a step back in his castle, he felt the overwhelming feeling of panic. His chest was heavy, he was filled with dread, and somewhat bitter joy. It had been over centuries since he’s spoken to his own kin, his daughter whom he adored. His steps sounded heavy, almost like he was trying to carry his own weight. which alerted y/n of his arrival. She left her study and saw him in the hall, gripping his staff and tears threatening to fall.

“Honey pie, what’s wrong?” she walked cautiously, studying his body language and the clear evidence of tears. “Charlie..” he hiccups and began to cry. “Oh.. honey..,” she strolled over to him and lifted his face in her hands. “Charlie wants to get into contact with heaven. I still have my doubts but..” he spoke carefully as she gently wiped his tears with her thumbs. He relaxed in her touch, letting himself breathe.

“But you know you owe her this? Charlie is a bright girl, much like her father” she chuckled and smiled up to him. he smiled a bit then nodded. “I do owe her at least this, I wish you could have seen her.. she was magnificent. Her dreams are beautiful and she cares deeply for all of her people. She’s a wonderful woman now. I’m so proud of her.” He leaned his forehead against her own as they both shared a smile as tears silently fell from his cheek.

“I wish I was there for her, but I was so stuck in my own failures that I didn’t even realize how much I missed out on. I tried so hard to show everyone that freedom is a beautiful thing and yet—” y/n gently placed a kiss on his forehead to stop himself from spiraling into despair.

“Don’t say that about yourself. Stop it. You tried all you could do for your people and even then you tried that’s something you should be proud of. You never gave up.. and even if you did, you still dreamed about it day ‘n night. You’re amazing honey pie.. truly. You should give the helping hand that no one gave to you to Charlie.. you’re the only demon who could help her and plus she only has one father.” She winked and smiled.

He gently gave her a kiss on the lips and stood up straight, almost like a routine. She dusted his shoulders and coat then straightened his collar. “I’m so grateful to have a daughter like Charlie..” she held his hands, feeling the cold feeling of his ring.

She didn’t acknowledge it facially but she knew he loved his ex-wife and daughter with all his heart. It’s something that a new woman couldn’t change, it’s something she had to understand but she knew she loved the man he is. He’s a loving man and she knew he was going to commit to that promise to his daughter. “And.. I know I don’t say it much but I love you so much y/n, my beautiful beautiful apple” he kissed her once more, their hands enveloping each other.

Once they pulled apart she let out a soft giggle and fixed his hat “now go do as you promised and make your daughter proud.”

[hambiichu]

Kindergarden love

Sumarry: Falling in love with a kindergarten teacher after a divorce from his wife, Levi thinks deeply about if ever he can reciprocate this feeling and is afraid you wouldn't like him just as much as he does, and yet you somehow have mixed feelings about him. After all, a divorced man shouldn't fall in love, and yet he can't help it.

Tags: divorced Levi, teacher reader, hurt, falling in love, denial, female reader

"I assure you, Mr. Ackerman, your son will be safe as always under my watch. He’s a good boy and behaves well; he’s already made some lovely friends in class." You smile reassuringly at Levi as his son, Elijah, enters the bright, colorful classroom. The sight of him running toward his friends at the table brings warmth to your heart—a daily reminder of why you chose to work in kindergarten.

"I know, I know, it's just..." Levi pauses, running a hand through his hair, his face clouded with worry. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice as he quietly says your last name, almost like he’s confiding in you. "I’m worried about him. This divorce has really affected him, and I can't shake the feeling that it's my fault."

Levi sighs heavily, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and concern. "I wish I could just take away all the stress and hurt he's been feeling." You nod, understanding the weight of his words. It’s never easy navigating such turbulent waters as a parent, especially when a child’s emotional well-being is at stake. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m always here for you. If anything’s bothering you, please feel free to talk to me anytime.” Levi nodded slowly at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing just a touch. He stepped back, waved briefly, and then turned to enter his car, the engine rumbling to life as he drove away.

You closed the door behind you, taking a moment to breathe in the lively atmosphere of the kindergarten. The sizable room was filled with the joyful sounds of children laughing and playing with their friends. It was still early—the class wouldn’t start until 8 a.m.—so you welcomed the delightful chaos, letting them indulge in their energetic play.

“Levi always has eyes for you,” chirped Petra, her voice bright and teasing as she skipped over to you, hands clasped playfully behind her back. Her smile was infectious, and you couldn't help but grin back at her. “Ever since he started bringing his son here, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you! I swear, even when your back is turned, he’s still watching you. He’s completely smitten!”

"Oh, come on! He’s just staring because he might have something on his mind," you said, trying to play it cool, but Petra wasn't convinced. The tension in the air made it clear that you both were undeniably smitten with each other, and she wasn’t about to let you brush it off.

"Nonsense! I’m not buying your excuses, and trust me, I know what I’m talking about!" She grabbed your shoulders and shook you lightly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “He’s in love with you! Have you ever considered that a divorced man might be falling for you, especially after enduring such a painful breakup? He’s looking for a chance to love again!”

You grimaced at the thought, your mind racing with the implications. "It just feels too soon for him to jump into another relationship. Besides, I might just be a temporary distraction to fill his void. I honestly don’t think Levi is ready to move on. He has a son to care for!”

Petra rolled her eyes and let out a playful “tut-tut” sound, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re missing the obvious! Just look into his eyes! There’s a spark there—he’s ready to open his heart again. And what about his son? Have you seen how he looks at you? It’s as if you’re not just a teacher to him but a mother figure. He admires you more than his actual mother!”

You felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you as you considered Petra’s words.

"I don’t think so, Petra." You shrugged, feeling a bit uneasy about the whole situation. "His son might just be looking for a mother figure to admire. It’s not really a big deal, is it?"

Petra pouted slightly, her frustration evident as she rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated scoff. Getting more animated, she shook you again, her voice softening as she tried to offer you comfort. "Come on, don’t doubt yourself so much! What if this is your chance to finally score? You’ve never been in a relationship, right? Maybe this could be something truly special!"

She sighed and leaned in closer, her gaze steady as she said your name gently. "Look, I know Levi’s been through a rough patch, but maybe it's time to have hope again. I mean, all of us have noticed how you two share those long, fleeting glances before looking away. It’s like the universe is giving us a sign! How has our little ship not sailed yet?"

A grin crept onto your face at the thought. The idea of the entire community secretly shipping you and Levi was both amusing and surprising.

"Ship us? That’s ridiculous!" you protested, pulling away from her teasing grasp. "There’s no way! Levi would probably be uncomfortable with that idea."

"No, he wouldn’t," came Oluo's voice from across the room, cutting in as he intervened in the squabble between Eren and Jean. The two kindergartners were always up to something, causing chaos wherever they went. “Every time he hears it, he gets this troubled look on his face like he’s trying to suppress his true feelings.”

You looked up at Oluo, your heart racing a little at the implications of his words. Maybe there was more to Levi's reactions than you had initially thought.

Oh this is ridiculous!

You shake your head, trying to banish the unsettling thought that had crept into your mind. It’s almost laughable to imagine Levi being in love with you, especially after just having gone through a divorce. The weight of that reality sits heavily in your chest.

He's just using you as a temporary distraction, a way to trick himself into believing he’s moving on.

Your spiraling thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a loud, agonized scream from Oluo. You turn to see him doubled over, clutching his mouth where his tongue has been bitten off in the chaos of a fight that had erupted between Eren and Jean. Blood oozes between his fingers as he winces in pain, and the two troublemakers continue to exchange reckless punches, lost in their own world of brawling hatred.

Petra, worried and concern, rushes in to help Oluo, this is going to be a long day ahead.

——————

Levi sat in his car, fidgeting nervously in his seat as he stared at the message on his phone. The sunlight seeped through the windshield, casting a warm glow on his anxious expression. He was wrestling with the dilemma of whether or not to ask you out on a date. The idea of it filled him with both excitement and apprehension. He wanted to make it feel natural, to express his feelings without coming off as awkward.

Fortunately, the parking lot was empty, granting him a little privacy as he contemplated his next move. It was his day off, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to gather the courage to take the leap.

Ever since that day, he brought his son to your kindergarten, Levi found himself drawn to you. You had been a source of comfort and support for him, always reassuring him with your warm demeanor and encouraging words. Your exchanges—filled with playful banter and genuine concern—had become the highlight of his day, whether it was through the quick messages during nap time or the thoughtful updates you shared about his son.

When you gave him your phone number, he felt a surge of hope. It wasn't just about keeping in touch with his son; it was also an invitation to deepen the connection he felt with you. Those daily chats turned into something more meaningful than he had anticipated. As he thought about you, he realized that his feelings had grown into something resembling love. Now, he just needed to find the right moment to express it, hoping that you felt something similar too.

Ever since Levi divorced his wife, the painful memories of their tumultuous relationship linger in his mind like shadows that refuse to fade. Her betrayal, marked by infidelity and a barrage of verbal and even physical confrontations, left deep scars on his heart. The most heartbreaking aspect was witnessing his young son caught in the crossfire, helplessly observing the daily fights that erupted between his parents. Levi still remembers the painful image of his son retreating to his room, tears streaming down his innocent face, questioning why his mother and father couldn't find a way to love each other instead of hurt.

The emotional toll of the divorce weighed heavily on Levi, driving him into a spiral of despair. It hurt so much that he knew he had to seek therapy—he needed to heal, not just for himself, but for his son, who depended on him as a single father. After the divorce, his wife severed all ties, leaving him to shoulder the burdens of parenthood alone, including the financial responsibilities of child support that she neglected.

A decade of marriage had turned into a painful chapter of his life that seemed wasted, leaving him feeling lost and defeated. He fought through dark days when he felt he might give up entirely, but just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, he met you.

You entered his life like a gentle light in the darkness. Unlike his past, your kindness and caring nature provided him solace. You understood his pain instinctively and were always there for him, even during the times he withdrew, ghosting you in moments of struggle. Yet, you continued to check on him, demonstrating patience and compassion that he never expected and deeply appreciated.

Those fleeting moments when you two locked eyes brought a warmth to his heart that he hadn’t felt in years. He found your shyness endearing, how you looked away quickly when he caught your gaze; it made him smile and feel something he thought was lost forever. Despite the weight of being a divorced man, he couldn’t help but fall for you, an unexpected yet beautiful realization in his life.

You saved him from his darkest moments, and words couldn't fully express his gratitude. The healing you brought into his life was immeasurable, and for that, he was eternally thankful.

With a heavy heart, he found himself clicking "delete" on the message he had felt so compelled to send. The words he had carefully crafted seemed to vanish in an instant, but the longing to ask you out in real life remained steadfast in his mind. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, and a wave of anxiety washed over him, but deep down, he clung to his hope like a lifeline.

————————

As the school bell rang, the classroom door swung open, and a wave of exuberant children poured out, their laughter echoing through the halls. Parents rushed in, scanning the sea of familiar faces to find their little ones, eager to embrace them after a long day. Meanwhile, you took a moment to survey the scene before turning back to the task at hand—organizing the classroom and tidying up after a fulfilling day of teaching.

With a slight sigh, you began gathering the scattered papers and art supplies, grateful for the help of Petra and Oluo, who chatted amiably as they tackled similar chores. Outside, Gunther and Eld were responsible for cleaning the playground, their playful banter mingling with the sounds of children. You smiled despite your fatigue; witnessing the joy on your students' faces made every bit of effort worthwhile. Each child seemed to find comfort and inspiration in your lessons, forging a unique bond that you cherished.

As your eyes scanned the now-empty classroom, you noticed one child still lingering by the front door, Elajah looking small and vulnerable. He often sat there, waiting patiently for his father, a habit that tugged at your heartstrings.

Setting your broom down beside Petra's, you walked over to him and knelt beside the little boy. "He'll pick you up soon," you reassured him gently.

Elajah nodded, but his expression was clouded with worry. He clutched his backpack tightly, his small fingers gripping the fabric as if it were a lifeline. With a tentative voice, he murmured, "I don’t want to see Papa sad anymore. He’s been rough, and he’s always tired. I see him not taking care of himself."

Your heart ached at his words. You pulled him into a comforting hug, feeling the weight of his fears. "It’s okay, kiddo. Your Papa is going through a tough time, but he will take care of himself someday. Sometimes, we all hit rough patches." you whispered, hoping to soothe his troubled thoughts.

He nodded, pressing his head against your chest. You could feel the warmth of tiny tears soaking through your shirt as he sniffled softly. This was a familiar scene—Elajah often let his emotions spill when he awaited his father, his young heart burdened by the echoes of his parents' fights and the harsh words that still haunted him. You wished there was more you could do to help him navigate through such a heavy load at such a tender age.

He pulled away, wiping his tears with his chubby cheeks, and nodded earnestly. His large, innocent eyes met yours, and he offered a small smile, showcasing his gapped front teeth. Elijah had inherited so many of Levi's features, and you couldn’t help but smile back at the little boy. "Thank you for always being with me. I’m sorry I cried so much, Teacher." he said, his voice quivering slightly.

You chuckled softly and shook your head, trying to reassure him. “It’s perfectly fine, Elijah. You can always express how you feel.” Just as you were comforting him, the sound of a car pulling up interrupted your moment. You glanced over to see Levi stepping out of his vehicle.

The transition was immediate; Elijah hugged you tightly for a brief moment before dashing toward his father. Levi knelt down to embrace his son, their connection palpable even from a distance. However, as he straightened up and walked towards you, your gaze sharpened on Levi's troubled expression. He was scratching his nape, his eyes cast downward in a way that signaled distress.

Your heart raced with concern. “Mr. Ackerman, are you alright?” you asked, your voice laced with worry. He shook his head slowly, keeping his gaze lowered as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"No, there’s nothing wrong, I—" Levi hesitated, his lips pressing together as he took a long sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before saying your name softly, which sent a flutter through your chest.

When he finally looked up at you, there was a vulnerability in his eyes that took you by surprise.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” he asked, the words tumbling out, each syllable heavy with meaning.

Your heart skipped a beat, and heat rushed to your face as you momentarily lost your breath. All your worries and anxious thoughts about him crumbled away in that instant. His words weren't just casual; they were genuine and heartfelt.

Petra and the others had been right—he was indeed smitten with you, and there you were, obliviously caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

"I would love that, Mr. Ackerman," you replied softly, your voice almost a whisper. A small smile spread across Levi's face.

"Please, just Levi," he corrected, waving his hand dismissively but with a playful glint in his eyes.

Just then, Levi shifted his head to glance over your shoulder, and when you turned around, you were met with the sight of Petra, Oluo, Gunther, and Eld, clapping and cheering in unison. They had been observing your interaction from a distance, and you hadn’t even noticed!

“Wait, ho—hold on!" you stammered, still processing the surprise.

“Mr. Ackerman knew we gathered behind your back and watched you both. He didn't tell you!" Petra giggled, placing a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

You shot Levi an incredulous look, but he simply let out a small chuckle, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Oh, this man.

----

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[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Coach’s daughter AU, Fluff, lots of shameless flirting, teasing, secret relationship

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Over coffee and conversation, Ken finds solace in a café, far from the chaos of the baseball stadium.

Ken had never felt his heart gallop this intensely before. Not even during his rise to stardom with the Dodgers back in LA could compare to the thrill and anticipation coursing through him right now.

This was more personal— unpredictable in a way that no game or spotlight could prepare him for. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a title.

It was a moment with someone special that made everything else feel secondary.

Tucked away in a quiet street of Tokyo’s lesser known district, the glow of the neon signs reflected off slick pavements as he watched you navigate the path, weaving between parked bikes and stray vending machines.

The faint hum of the distant train was the only sound that filled the night’s silence.

“Ken!” your voice rang through the empty streets, bright and familiar. As you drew closer, Ken couldn’t help but notice how the muted lights reflected in your glossy eyes, giving them an otherworldly sparkle.

He didn’t say anything until you were close enough for you to hear him without yelling.

“You made it…” His lips curled into a smile, meeting your gaze with a tender look. “Did you get enough rest? You look a bit tired.”

“Barely,” you confessed, a playful tilt painted on your lips. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I can see you again.”

Ken was used to fans clamoring for a moment of his time, expressing their excitement to see him. But something about the eagerness in your voice and the slight bounce in your step sent a flutter through him.

He glanced around, checking that the streets were still empty before reaching out to cradle your cheek.

“You’re so clingy.” he teased, still holding his grin.

“I would’ve kissed you right now if we weren’t in public.” you shot back with a small smirk.

Ken leaned closer until his face was eye level to yours, his voice dropped to a heated whisper

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The impulse to close the distance simmered under his skin, but the risk of being seen was enough to keep him rooted.

“But I also don’t want an angry mob of your dad’s supporters coming after me after catching us in a compromising position.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry. “Right…my dad. I don’t want anybody from the press finding out either.”

“Yeah, the press…” Ken’s expression hardened, his tone turning bitter.

The media always lurked, threatening to expose what little happiness he could claim. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around like this.

He envied those who could show affection openly, like some of his teammates who left games with their families in tow. The normalcy forever felt out of reach for Ken.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like…” he murmured, eyes drifting past the dim glow of the distant lights. “If we dated openly, without worrying about your father, or the fans, or the media.”

Ken rarely admitted these things, but seeing how you aligned with his unspoken thoughts made it easier to voice his fragile feelings— especially about your relationship.

“What could the fans do anyway? It’s not like they could control your life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ken said with a hint of edge. “There are some intense fans out there that take their idols' personal lives way too seriously.”

Ken didn’t want to think too deeply about a situation blowing out of proportion. If rumours began, he knew all too well how quickly fans would start prying on your life, looking for any reason to judge.

Even the slightest flaw could unleash a tornado of online harassment. He didn’t want to bring that sort of trouble into your life.

His jaws clenched, a grimace flashing across his features before he shook the thought away.

“I’m more worried about dad. If he ever found out about us…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Especially after that latest press conference. He came home moping,” you said, the last words trailed into a tired groan.

“I know, I could’ve handled it better.” Ken chuckled, before it was shadowed by guilt as he remembered his altercation with Coach Shimura. “I hate when the press digs for gossip.”

A low rumble of an approaching car snapped him out of his thoughts. Its headlights illuminated the empty street, casting fleeting shadows over the both of you, before disappearing down the narrow road.

You take a hold of Ken’s hand and gently tug him forward. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

You slip into a small, dimly lit cafe— a hidden gem that seemed to be empty from the outside view. It’s secluded places like this that makes your relationship feel safe, untouched by the eyes of the world.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped him, a silent call of the rare moment of peace you shared.

The cafe itself was modest in size, with wooden chairs and tables neatly arranged beneath the dim ambiance lighting.

There were a few patrons scattered here and there— a couple sharing a quiet intimate conversation near the window at the high table, and a few students hunched over textbooks.

Sparse decorations adorned the walls: faded vintage poster advertising sodas and sweet treats with its vibrant colours faded over time.

At the centre of each table sat a miniature cherry blossom tree, the soft pink petals contrasted against the dark wood.

Together, you crossed the cafe's interior, where a lone worker was wiping down the countertops. The glass display case in front of you showcased an array of cakes and pastries, though the selection was limited at this hour.

“You gonna order anything?” you asked, eyes scanning over the hanging menu above the counter.

“Yeah…a latte and maybe a cake, too,” Ken paused, gaze flickering over the cake display before shifting back to you. “You want anything?”

“I’ll probably get a bowl of anmitsu,” you mused, turning to meet his eyes. “What kind of cake will you be getting?”

Ken hums in thought for a moment, leaning in closer to the display. Rows of desserts were neatly arranged.

Fluffy cake rolls on the tile shelf with their swirls of cream peaking our— flavours ranged from strawberry to matcha. Slices of chiffon cakes in pastal colours on the middle shelf. And finally, tiny containers of pudding at the bottom.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, his mind wandering over the cake display. His smile took a slight wicked edge as he added. “Maybe a cake I can feed you a bite of…”

The image of him holding out a spoonful to you flashed through his mind, followed by your lips closing around it. His imagination reeled, and he caught himself chewing his lower lip, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Just as his thoughts threaten to wander further, your voice pulls him back to the present.

“Their chiffon cakes are always good.” you said, gesturing towards the pastel cakes.

“Yeah?” Ken followed your gaze to the neatly placed cakes. “But they’re crumbly. I’ll get cake all over your face.”

“It’ll be worth it though.” you teased.

Ken chuckled, glancing at the display again and taking another moment to look at the options again. His eyes shifted to the pastries with their delicious golden crust glistening under the light.

“Maybe I should get something messy, then,” he leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “Like…one of those cream puffs with the sweet, sticky filling. I could lick it off your lips.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an exaggerated gasp, swatting his chest. “Shhh! You can’t say that out here.”

“Why not?” he grinned, voice lacing with his smugness. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

Despite your playful scolding, Ken’s chest swelled with satisfaction and his ego soared.

He was aware that he shouldn’t push things too far, especially in public, but seeing how flustered you were and your stunned expression was too irresistible not to enjoy.

“Still…what if someone was eavesdropping on us.” you said, a hint of caution in your voice as your eyes darted briefly towards the other patrons.

“Then they’ll just hear me flirting. Harmless isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if they know how badly I want to taste the cream puff from your lips.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend how badly I want to kiss her?”

“Hmph, just order already.” You crossed your arms with mock indignation.

“Alright I’ll order for us, you go and find us a seat.”

His eyes followed your form as you weaved through the tables, your movement unhurried but purposeful. You found a table in the corner of the cafe that offered both privacy and a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Ken couldn’t help but hold his gaze at you with the cafe’s lighting cast a warm glow over your features.

Dragging his focus back to the task at hand, Ken stepped up to the counter and placed the order— a latte and a slice of cake for himself and a bowl of anmitsu for you.

Ken watched as steam erupted with a high-pitch hiss from the milk frother, the aromatic scent of the coffee mixed with the faint sweetness from the pastries.

The barista poured the milk into the latte cup with grace and precision, creating a delicate foam on top. Besides her, another worker arranged your anmitsu, layering the sweet toppings before placing it alongside with a spoon.

When the tray was finally ready, Ken paid and carefully carried it across the room. The clinking sound of ceramic cups and murmurs of the patrons accompanied his steps.

Setting the tray down on the table with a small smile on his lips, he slid into the seat across from you, feeling the soft cushioned chair beneath him.

Your eyes swept over the content of the tray before landing on the cream puff besides the latte. Your brow arched in disbelief. “Oh my God, you actually got it.”

“I did. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? You thought I was bluffing?”

“Well, yeah. You’re always bluffing.”

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk at your surprise. Ken pushed your amnitsu closer to you before claiming his own plate. A faint whiff of the dessert’s sweet and rich scent rose to his nose, stirring his anticipation.

Picking up the fork, he scooped a bit of the cream cake and popped it in his mouth. He deliberately closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, drawn-out moan of pleasure at the taste.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel your gaze burning into him. He even took it a step further and started licking the cream off his lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found you pulling a face and he couldn’t help but give you a cheeky grin. “It’s delicious, by the way…”

“Hmm, it does look good.”

“Come on…you’ve been staring at it long enough. Have a bite.”

Ken took another spoon full of the dessert before holding it out to you. The moment you leaned in to reach for the spoon, he felt his heart spike and his senses on high alert— taking in every single detail of your action.

His eyes never left your mouth as they parted and closed delicately around the fork. He felt the fork grow lighter as you took the bite.

His focus stayed on your tongue flicking across your upper lip to catch the traces of cream and powdered sugar.

Witnessing it happen in real time was far more tantalising than his imagination— the sight was intoxicating.

He swallowed thickly, forcibly pushing the heat stirring in his chest.

A heat pooled in his gut, seeing you chew on the cake thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Ken inhaled sharply, trying to ground himself as he reached for a napkin. His hands trembled more than usual as he leaned forward and dapped the corner of your mouth to wipe away the cream you’d missed.

But instead of pulling back after, his thumb lingered, brushing over your lower lip— the same lips he had kissed feverishly in the past. The contact was light and featherlight but enough to make his stomach flip.

You froze under his touch, meeting his gaze. Your lips parted slightly to speak.

“Light and fluffy…”

“Mhm…” Ken hummed, completely distracted. Though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the cream puff you just had or the softness of your lips.

“Do you wanna try mine?”

Ken blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from your lips, the warmth of your skin fading too quickly.

But his attention turned to your bowl of anmitsu, taking in the vibrant layers of fruit, glossy jelly cubes, and the soft mochi balls.

“Sure…looks delicious.”

Taking the spoon you offered, scooped a piece of mochi and fruit from the bowl.

The fruits were cool and refreshing in his mouth, and blended with the mochi which gave a pleasantly chewy texture.

He handed the spoon back to you, still chewing on the mochi. You pushed the fruit and the mochi around in the bowl with the spoon meticulously.

“They put a lot of mochi in this.” you commented.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

You reached for the brown sugar syrup that came with your anmitsu and poured it over the bowl. “Try it now.”

Ken scooped another bite, now coated in the syrup. The sugary bursts mixed with the fruits tang, and he let out a low hum of approval at the sweetness. “Hm…it does taste better.”

“Too sweet?”

“It’s already sweet enough, though I think you’re sweeter.”

“Corny.” you said, dragging out the word to emphasise your disapproval, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

Ken chuckled at your reaction, he knew you were only disguising the effect his words were having on you.

He propped his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his palm with his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“It’s only corny because you get flustered every time. Did you see your face earlier? When I was talking about the cream puffs?”

You only rolled your eyes at his words, a grin forming on your lips now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“So, you’re only putting up with me because I’m cute?”

“And maybe because you’re a star player and super rich and whatever.” you replied, twirling the spoon through the anmitsu and waving your hands dismissively.

Ken tilts his head, the back and forth banter bringing a warmth in his chest. Being with you like this— relaxed and unguarded— was a relief in ways he rarely allowed himself to think about.

Having conversations like this with you felt refreshing knowing he would tease and you’ll do it right back.

He tapped his finger against his chin in a mock pensiveness before responding back. “Right, so you’re telling me it's my money and status you’re after, not my dazzling personality or good looks?”

“Oh, that too, I guess.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be, princess? Pretending you don’t secretly like me for more than my money or looks.”

“And what if I said yes?”

“Well,” he said in mock contemplation. “I’d have to work extra hard to win you over. Though I’d say that I'm pretty confident I have a head start.”

“I think you might need to focus on getting on dad’s good side first.”

Something struck inside him at your words— like a whiplash. The mention of your father always hit differently, a reminder of the uneasy dynamic that lingered between them. Ken let out a short sigh, his chest tightening.

It was still a sore spot for him that Shimura initially disapproved of him and his less-than-stellar past behind— though it wasn’t unexpected.

Despite everything Ken had accomplished back in LA— leaving his troubles behind and earning his respect in the field— it seemed his reputation preceded him.

Shimura, along with his teammates, had always treated him like the brash American kid trying to catch up, even though he came back to Japan to prove him among his own people.

With you, however, it was the opposite. You didn’t see him as an outsider or just another player in your dads team. You made him feel like he belonged.

That contrast made moments like these jarring, as if he was living two different lives— one as your boyfriend, and the other as a player constantly trying to win over your father.

Ken’s tone shifted quickly to be more serious, exposing his vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah…I’m trying, princess. It’s just, I don’t want to screw things up and risk not being able to see you again like this.”

Ken took a sip from his latte, the beverage now lukewarm against his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere and far from the cozy warmth of the cafe.

He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on the ‘what-ifs,’ not when he was on a date with you. But as he sat there, he couldn’t ignore the nagging thoughts that pulled him under. How different would his life be if things had turned out another way?

What if his mother had never taken him to LA? If he’d stayed in Japan, would Shimura still look at him with the faint edge of distrust?

Would he see him different— one who wasn’t marked by a childhood spent feeling like an outcast in a foreign country?

Ken’s jaws clenched. He had spent most of his life in America, trying to fit into a culture that didn’t quite know what to do with him. The bullying had been relentless, the teasing cutting deep in ways he hadn’t fully healed from, leaving the scar of isolation.

Friendships were distant at best. Romantic relationships were practically nonexistent. For a long time, he felt like no one truly saw him.

Even the rise to stardom with the Dodgers hadn’t changed that much. Sure, people admired him, celebrated with him— but it still felt hollow and fragile.

None of it felt real, not like this. Not like you.

He glanced at you across the table, your head down as you inspected your dessert in front of you. If he’d never returned to Japan, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now, sharing this quiet, intimate moment with the only person who truly sees him.

Still, a bitter reminder lingered in the back of his mind. Would he have risen to stardom at all if he hadn’t gone to LA? Despite how brutal it was, the isolation and struggles had shaped him— it made him resilient-driven.

Without those years of grit and loneliness , would he have had the means to lead the Giants to victory? Would he have been ready to take his father’s Ultraman duties when the time came?

Ken sighed again, finishing off the last bite of his cream puff before taking another sip of his latte. It really was strange, the way life worked.

The very things that had made him feel out of place— his complicated family history, his American upbringing, the expectation of following his father’s footsteps— had somehow led him here, with you.

However, the weight of those ‘what-ifs’ still pressed onto his chest. His life with you— a fragile happiness— was precarious. He couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move could send it all crashing down.

Being caught in the act by your father. It made his throat constrict with anxiety. He already knew that Shimura didn’t trust him. What if that made him believe that he wasn’t good enough for you? That he couldn’t take care of you the way you deserve?

He took another sip from his latte, though it did little to sooth the knot in his chest.

“You know,” you began, not looking up from your bowl as you stirred the syrup into the anmitsu, “being with you makes it easier to forget about everything else.” you said, not looking up from your bowl as you spoke.

Your words caught him off guard, but the tension in his shoulders started to melt. His stunned expression softened, replaced by something gentler.

“Yeah…that’s part of why I like you so much. You make me forget about everything.” His cheeks flushed slightly how openly heartfelt he was now as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from their weight. “It’s like…you make me want to be a better man.”

He reached out and let his fingers skim across the back of your hand— a subtle touch that carried all his unspoken emotions that he struggled to articulate.

You paused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I can imagine your struggles…especially considering your money and fame overshadow all of that.”

“Everyone thinks that it's easy.” Ken’s lips quivered into a humourless smile. “Being a player admired by thousands. I guess some parts of it are great. But there’s still a lot of stress and pressure.”

He glanced down at the flakes of his cream puff on the empty plate with his thoughts flickering like the steam rising from his latte.

Expectation pulled at him from every corner of Ken’s life— like a massive tree, sprawling yet burdened.

The roots that ran deep were from his fathers influence. They were planted firmly in the soil of his childhood and enchtranched his upbringing and identity.

The roots were unshakable, just like his fathers legacy of being Ultraman— something he was expected to fulfill.

No matter how far he had gone, across the Pacific to LA, he’d never truly escape those roots. Even now they wound tighter around him, tethered to the ground he was expected to nurture.

Then there was the bark— the protective layer. That was Coach Shimura and his teammates. It shielded him from the eternal storms, but it wasn’t invincible. It still demanded so much from the tree itself.

Shimura’s expectations weren’t harsh, but they were heavy and carried their own weight. The bark was strong and steady, but sometimes, it felt like it was tightening. As if holding the tree too firmly in place.

But it was the branch of the tree that weighed him down the most— the fans and the public image. They reached far and wide, growing outwardly. Branches were supposed to flourish.

But how were they expected to grow if you don’t cater to its needs. That’s what it felt like for Ken.

One wrong move; one bad game, and they could snap off. Every game felt like a performance of those branches, trying to keep those intact, making sure they don’t fall under pressure.

But no matter how strong they appeared, Ken knew how easily they could break.

And then there were the leaves, fragile and fleeting— the opinion of the critics, the headlines of papers, the ever-shifting opinions on social media.

Leaves changed with the seasons. One day could be lush and green, full of praises and admiration. The next, they withered and fell, leaving the tree bare and exposed. Their praises were temporary and their critics were choppy.

Though the leaves were less permanent, they still needed care and their loss could hurt the tree entirely. However, Ken couldn’t stop the seasons from changing or the wind from blowing.

Ken swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to the table as his train of thoughts spiraled further. Being that tree sometimes felt like he was stretching thin, trying to meet the demands of every root, branch and leaf.

And then there was you.

You weren’t a part of that endless tree. Not another branch to hold up, nor another leaf to nourish. At least, not yet. But the fear gnawed at him, dark and persistent, whispering at the edges of his mind.

What if you have expectations too?

You hadn’t said much or demanded anything, but it was only natural, wasn’t it? Relationships are always built on unspoken agreements of needs, hopes, and desires.

What kind of boyfriend did you want him to be? What were you looking for in him? Would he ever be enough?

It wasn’t that he doubted your feelings for him. It was the pressure he felt to be the person that you deserved.

To always be charming, supportive, attentive. To make time for you despite his demanding career.

For so much of his life, he had been judged by the outside world— his performance, his persona, his wins, and his losses. The thought of being seen by you that way made his throat tighten.

What if one day, you grew tired of him or wasn’t getting what you wanted from him and left? The thought alone of the empty space you would leave behind broke his heart and made his mouth dry.

It was worse than losing a game, worse than headlines calling him a failure.

Even with the lighthearted conversation and teasing you just shared earlier, his doubts were almost impossible to shrug off.

His mind were a battlefield of his insecurities and worries, but the warmth of your hands that pulled him out of his dark thoughts startled him.

You brought his hand and gently kissed over his knuckles. “Even if things do turn out bad for you, I’ll still think you’re incredible.”

The affectionate gesture unravelled him, nearly spinning him off his axis from being flustered— his mind momentarily going blank.

It wasn’t just the kiss— it was the conviction in your voice. The quiet, unwavering way you said it.

He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned a little closer to you. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his hand.

“You always know how to make me feel better.” he murmured, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely let show.

“You’ll still have all of me, even if you mess up. And I know you’ll do the same.” You brow arched as you added, “Right?”

Ken tilted his head, an amused smirk played on his lips at your remark at the end. The tension in his chest was replaced by fond amusement.

“Of course I will. You think I’d trade you in for someone else?” his voice lowered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made his next words feel like a vow. “I'm not letting you go princess…not for anything.”

At that moment, the weight of the world seemed distant, as if the noise of expectations and pressure had diluted to a low hum.

He was so focused on looking at you, Ken didn’t notice you sneaking your hands across the table to reach for his coffee mug until you announced it.

“I’m taking a sip from your coffee.” you said, already snatching the cup.

Ken blinked, catching up to the present. “Hey…that’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything to wash down the mochi.”

“Hmm, can’t say no to that.”

Your face scrunched slightly in distaste after you took a sip. “You don’t put sugar in coffee?”

Ken shook his head and chuckled at the face you made. “No…I like the bitterness of the coffee. It’s more enjoyable that way.”

“I suppose the cream puff makes up for the sweetness.”

“No cream puffs for you any time soon if you keep stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t want anymore anyways,” you huffed in feigned offends. “Too bitter.”

“Awh what’s wrong? Can’t handle the taste of something that’s not over-sugared.”

“It’s not that…how do you drink that raw with no sugar?” your nose scrunched in mock indignation.

“I’m just used to it, I like the stronger taste of my coffee.” he glanced down at his coffee mug before looking back at you. “How could you drink something that’s so sweet?”

“It won’t be too sweet. The sugar just cancels out the bitterness.” you said, matter-of-factly.

Ken only rolled his eyes, responding with an exaggerated sweet tone. “Sure, princess. It’s not too sweet…just enough to make it a sugary drink instead of actually having a coffee taste.”

You pushed the mug back to him, waving off his dramatics. It was almost cathartic how the conversation could go from heartfelt and tender to teasing and flirting, like a flip of a switch.

With you, it always felt right, like stepping into the sun after being caught in the rain.

Ken shook his head at your dismissal, lifting the mug to take another sip of the latte. He didn’t mind the bitterness, especially if it meant sharing more moments with you.

Your eyes flickered past him, freezing on something near the cafe entrance.

“Crap.” you muttered.

Ken’s brow furrowed before turning to see where you were looking. Blood rushed in his ear the moment he spotted his teammates walking through the door.

Their presence wasn't loud or disruptive, but rather casual as they made their way towards the counter. The familiar jerseys and laughter sent a jolt of panic through him and a look of slight trepidation crossed his face.

“Crap…” he echoed your words, quickly turning back to you. “I think that’s our queue to leave.”

What were the odds? The cafe was in a quiet area, far from the usual hotspots, and yet here they were. His shoulders stiffened as he scanned the room, trying to gauge if anyone had spotted you.

Ken stood up first, his chair scraped softly against the floor. They weren’t looking in your direction but it was only a matter of time if you both stayed there any longer.

His voice lowered in your ear. “Come on.”

His hands found your wrist, lightly gripping it as he guided you towards the door without being noticed.

“They haven’t seen us, yet.” you said, glancing nervously at the group.

“Let’s not give them the chance.” His voice was barely audible, and his grip on your wrist tightened as you both made it to the door.

The air in the cafe felt heavier with every step. Ken’s pulse quickened and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

The brass of the door handle was cool against Ken’s palm as he pushed it open. The cool breeze brushed against his face, a welcome contrast to the tension that had knotted inside.

The cafe, once a warm refuge that provided comfort, now felt like a minefield— every glance a potential threat.

Ken scanned the area of anybody potentially following you both. The buzz of distant traffic and the rustle leaves were the only signs that greeted you. Once he was satisfied, he let out a loud sigh of relief.

“So, where to now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“We should probably get off this street and go somewhere else more quiet…and private.”

Ken turned down the corner, his strides confident but unhurried. The two of you emerged into an empty car park bathed in the dim, orange glow of streetlights.

Everything else felt insignificant now, far from the predicament from the cafe or the traffic beyond. Ken led the way toward the far corner, where a sleek bike rested— its polished surface gleaming under the lights.

“Is that your bike?” you gasped, taking in the sigh that was in front of you.

“Yeah, that’s my ride.” The pride was evident in his voice and his expression, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s beautiful.” The genuine awe in your voice sent a ripple through him.

He didn’t say anything, only gave the bike a fond pat before throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat.

“You up for a quick cruise?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Have you ever been on one?”

“No….” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to the floor out of shyness. He felt a hint of his male ego spike at that, his eyes roaming at your figure.

“Well,” he said, shifting forward on the seat to give you room. “I guess I’ll be your first ride, then. Hop on— I’ll take care of you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your hands brushing against the cool leather of the seat.

“Have you ever had a woman ride behind you before?” you asked. Ken didn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your voice

His hands tightened on the handlebar, looking back at you. It wasn’t the question that threw him off but the way you asked it.

He recognised the insecurity, the way it slipped out almost against your own will. And it hit him harder than expected.

The idea that you might think he was the type to collect fleeting connections and one night stands stung.

“Of course not.” His voice was steady, stripped of its usual tease. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to give a ride to.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at that. “I guess I’ll be your first, too.”

Ken chuckled, patting the seat behind him. “Damn right you will be.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but making you feel secure in this moment felt more important than anything else.

Ken’s joyrides were something sacred— his personal retreat from the noise and chaos. The familiar rumble of the engine had always been his companion, a constant source of solace.

It wasn’t something shared with anyone. Ever.

But now, as you stood next to the leather seat, it struck him how different this felt. Letting you into this part of his life was like cracking open a private door, one he’d never let anybody step into.

The thrill of it sent a flutter through him, both exhilarating and unnerving.

You finally took your seat behind him, and the shift in weight sent a wave of awareness through him. He swallowed hard when it suddenly hit him how close you were behind him.

Then your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt his nerves spike. The heat of your fingertips grazed his abdomen sent little sparks of electricity through his body.

It wasn’t fear he was feeling but an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.

He let out a shallow breath as he felt your body pressed even closer. The sight of you behind him in the side mirror was enough to draw in a quick breath.

With a flick of the kill switch, the bike roared to life beneath him. The vibration and the sound broke the stillness, carrying you both out of the car park and into the Tokyo streets at an incredible speed.

The neon glow of the city painted streaks of light across the dark streets, and the hum of the traffic blurred in the background.

It was just you and him with the quiet rhythm of your trust that kept him grounded.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @despacito-uwu16 @roserfz27

[callmezayka]

Loner!Alpha!Konig x Omega!Reader

Masterlist - Next

(I'm sorry for any mistakes or incoherencies, English is not my first language and I'm not a professional writer. This is just for fun!!!)

Part one

Thinking about LonerAlpha!König who never thought about having an omega until he found reader.

It’s not that he didn’t want to, it just never felt like a necessity to him. His final plan was to retire from the military and live in the woods with a dog and a fishpond, all by himself.

He enjoyed solitude, his social anxiety turning every interaction with other people into a living nightmare, and his lack of social fillter making him sound harsher than he intended.

Yet, you caught his eye.

Maybe it was the way you were so bubbly and gentle with every person that crossed your path or the way you always had a smile on your face. Maybe it was your clumsiness and how your mind seemed to always be far away from your body, like you lived with your head on the clouds. The sound of your voice. Your laughter. The sparkles in your eyes. The way your hip swayed deliciously when you walked around the bar you worked at as a bartender. The way you smelled.

It started simple, his eyes meeting you for the first time and falling right to your heavy breast and full curves, he's just a man after all, but then he saw it. Your smile. The way your eyes closed under your round cheeks as your lips curved into the most breathtaking way he had ever seen, lighting the entire bar and his dull, concreted soul.

He tried to ignore it at first, paying for his drink without lifting his eyes from his wallet, until he caught up your scent.

Devastating, overwhelming and so incredibly sweet it made his pants immediately tighter, his heart rate skyrocketing.

His eyes widened slightly as he lifted his gaze to you, only to see you smiling at him so warmly he could feel the heat on his cheeks under his mask. Yet, he didn't mutter a word, only starying at you for long seconds, inhaling deeply in the mix of mint, lily and caramel that surrounded you, drinking in you shamelessly as he slowly placed $50 at the counter. His drink was $8.

Without a single word, he left hearing your goodbye as he walked out the door, the way back to base torturing him with each step with how hard he was.

As he made it to his room, he forced his body under the cold water of the shower, closing his eyes as he tried to cool down his burning skin, despite the freezing temperatures outside, but it was all in vain. His balls felt painfully heavy.

He exhaled, guiding his hands down to his shaft, conjuring the images of your soft body and bright smile as he stroked his length relentlessly, grunting while imagining it was you there, your scent overwhelming the bathroom and your lips around his aching cock, taking all of him, your doll like eyes filled with tears while he fucks your throat.

He came hard, shuddering and panting as the relief hit him, his heart hammering on his chest and the water doing too little to help him cool down.

He was damned, and he knew it. The moment he laid eyes on you, something possessive snapped inside him. Something primal. And he knew he had to have you.

[jmkjournalblog]

"Soulmates" Part 2

Part 1

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

Summary: The Fem!reader, vampire with a penchant for dark humor and psychopathic tendencies, is sent to Nevermore Academy by her parents following an unpleasant incident involving the murder of a couple of triple students in her previous school. Despite their contrasting personalities, the reader and Wednesday form a complex bond, navigating their differences while facing challenges that threaten to keep them apart.

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes

Warnings: None

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

Y/n POV

My boots clicked against the cobbled pathways as I trailed slightly behind Enid and Wednesday. The cold seeped into my skin, but it was a welcome chill—reminding me that I was awake, alive, and in the midst of something new and dangerous. 

Enid chattered on about classes, the cafeteria’s dubious offerings, and the school’s annual Poe Cup race. She walked between me and Wednesday, trying desperately to bridge the chasm of our conflicting energies. Her voice, warm and bright, seemed to wrap itself around us, a shield against the gloom. I tried to listen, but my senses were sharper than usual, picking up every rustle of the wind, every whisper of movement around the stone parapets.

And then I felt it—a shift in the air, like static before a storm. My eyes flicked upward, catching sight of a massive stone gargoyle teetering precariously on the edge of the nearest building. Time slowed. In that instant, I saw it lean, its shadow stretching long and ominous across the courtyard.

“Wednesday!” I shouted, already moving.

I didn’t think. My body reacted, faster than I’d ever needed to move before. In a blur, I lunged, tackling her to the ground. We hit the cold stone hard; I cushioned her fall, but it was far from graceful. The gargoyle crashed to the spot she’d been standing, splintering into jagged shards. Dust filled the air, mingling with the scent of crushed stone.

I was on my feet in an instant, senses searching for the threat. My eyes, now blazing, scanned for movement in the shadows above. Whoever had done this was either very bold or very stupid. When I felt no immediate danger, I turned my attention back to Wednesday, still on the ground.

Her dark eyes were locked on me, a mix of shock, rage, and—dare I say it—a hint of something else. She quickly masked it, but I’d seen it. Vulnerability. And it struck me more deeply than I cared to admit.

“Get off me,” she said coldly, her voice as sharp as the shards scattered around us. She pushed herself upright, brushing dirt from her clothing. I expected her to be grateful—or at the very least acknowledge what had just happened. But this was Wednesday.

“Not even a ‘thank you’?” I asked, my voice low but laced with something raw, something I couldn’t quite suppress. I’d just saved her life.

Her eyes met mine, unblinking. “I didn’t ask to be saved.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, stepping closer, my voice losing its playful edge. “Even if you’d prefer to be flattened by a gargoyle.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. But her breathing was slightly faster, her gaze searching mine. For what, I couldn’t tell. “If you think that earns you any kind of favor, you’re mistaken.”

I exhaled, a humorless laugh escaping me. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Her expression didn’t change. But there was a spark in her eyes—an acknowledgment that, despite her words, she’d felt something. She stepped past me, brushing my shoulder. “Don’t expect gratitude from me, Y/n. Your heroics are… unnecessary.”

I watched her walk away, every fiber of my being alive with tension. I had never wanted to both throttle and kiss someone more in my life.

Wednesday POV

Wednesday strode quickly, the sound of gravel crunching under her shoes grounding her. Her heart was pounding, and she cursed herself for the betrayal of her own physiology. Why did this girl, this aggravating, cocky newcomer, make her feel so… off balance?

In the distance, she heard Enid’s voice, calling after her with frantic worry. She forced herself to slow, to breathe, to appear unfazed. She needed control. Always.

“Wednesday! Are you okay?” Enid’s voice was frantic, and she gripped Wednesday’s arm with surprising strength.

“I’m fine.” The words were curt, but Enid’s grip tightened. Wednesday’s eyes met hers, softened slightly by the uncharacteristic display of worry. “Truly, Enid. It was a coward’s attempt.”

“Still, it could’ve—” Enid’s gaze flicked to Y/n, who stood a few paces back, watchful, tension evident in the set of her jaw.

Wednesday turned away, focusing on her breathing, on the anger simmering beneath her skin. She hated needing help. But she’d been seconds from a painful, possibly fatal end. And she couldn’t quite shake the way Y/n’s voice had cracked when she’d shouted her name.

“I’ll find who did this,” Y/n said, voice low and dangerous. It wasn’t a question. It was a vow.

“Do whatever you like,” Wednesday replied, refusing to meet her gaze again. “But don’t expect me to owe you anything.”

Y/n’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “I never do.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Wednesday with the realization that for all her careful plans, all her walls—there was a crack. A very, very dangerous crack.

******

The crowd had started to thin, curiosity satisfied for now. Some students whispered as they walked by, eyes darting to Y/n and then quickly away. The sound of crunching stone underfoot punctuated the silence, and as the commotion faded, Y/n found herself standing alone for a moment, watching Wednesday's retreating back.

She clenched her jaw, feeling an unexpected weight in her chest. Annoyance, mixed with something far more complicated. She’d acted on pure instinct. She wasn’t sure what she had expected in return—gratitude, certainly not—but Wednesday’s cold dismissal struck deeper than it should have. She turned sharply on her heel, shaking her head, and made her way toward the forest edge. She needed air, space to think, and to cool the simmering heat of anger, frustration, and a hint of fear she still couldn’t shake.

The woods were thick with life, the scents and sounds amplified by my heightened senses. Birds rustled above, and small animals scurried through the underbrush. I took deep, steadying breaths, but my mind was restless, racing with everything that had just happened. That gargoyle wasn’t some random accident—it was deliberate. Someone had aimed for Wednesday, and that meant the stakes were higher than I’d thought.

But even as I replayed the scene, the sound of her heartbeat against my chest lingered. Her scent—a mix of pine, ink, and something uniquely her—clung to me. I cursed myself for noticing, for caring, when I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“You’re getting sloppy,” I muttered aloud. “Dangerously sloppy.”

The snap of a twig pulled me from my thoughts. I spun around, fangs bared. But it wasn’t a threat. It was Yoko, her dark eyes gleaming as she leaned casually against a tree trunk, arms folded across her chest.

“Rough day?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I relaxed slightly, though I didn’t let my guard down. “You could say that.”

She stepped closer, her gaze flicking over me with a curiosity that was anything but casual. “Word spreads fast here. You saved Wednesday Addams. Bold move.”

“I wasn’t trying to be bold,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Just doing what needed to be done.”

Yoko tilted her head, her smile a touch too knowing. “Still. Not everyone would’ve jumped in like that.”

Her words, though seemingly harmless, carried an edge of challenge. I chose not to rise to it. “What do you want, Yoko?”

She moved closer, and I noticed the faint glint of crimson at her throat—likely some concealed charm or ward. Smart, considering what she was. “Maybe I just want to see if you’re as interesting as everyone says.”

“And?” I crossed my arms, forcing my body to relax. It was a game, and she was playing it well.

Her smile widened, showing the barest hint of fangs. “Still deciding.”

She turned and started to walk away, pausing just long enough to throw a parting glance over her shoulder. “If you’re looking for allies, or just a way to blow off steam… I’m not hard to find.”

As she disappeared into the shadows, I felt a flicker of something resembling intrigue. But there was no time to dwell on it. I needed answers. Whoever was targeting Wednesday had just made this personal.

*timeskip*

The sun dipped low, casting the dormitory hallway in warm hues of amber and crimson. I walked beside Enid, her endless chatter filling the otherwise quiet space. She spoke of the upcoming carnival with childlike enthusiasm, her bright energy a welcome contrast to Nevermore's dark corners. It was amusing, watching her bounce from one topic to another like a hyperactive puppy, but my attention was elsewhere. Specifically, I could feel a pair of eyes boring into me.

Wednesday Addams walked just a pace behind us, her stare unwavering, analytical. The air between us was always charged, a pull of magnetic forces she’d never admit to feeling. I caught sight of my reflection in a cracked windowpane and couldn’t help but note the difference between us. Enid’s optimism radiated like a halo, Wednesday’s presence was a storm cloud of calculated indifference, and me? I was fire—dangerous, hot, and burning too brightly in all the wrong places.

“You know,” Enid said, spinning on her heel to face me, “I bet you’d look killer in one of those leather jackets they sell at the carnival. Add some chains, maybe a dark rose, and bam!” She gestured with her hands as if sketching the outfit in the air. “You’d make half the school faint.”

I chuckled, the sound low and throaty. “You think so?”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes playfully, her gaze flitting over my figure. “I know so. Trust me. You have the look.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’d always known my body held an edge over others, though I wielded it sparingly. My movements, whether deliberate or casual, were often accompanied by lingering glances or stammered words. Wednesday might claim indifference, but I’d seen her eyes travel across my silhouette when she thought I wasn’t watching—a barely perceptible flicker of interest she’d never acknowledge. I took a moment, stretching languidly, making sure my form spoke volumes in that fleeting gesture. Behind me, there was silence. I smirked.

“So, what do you think of the carnival?” I asked, turning slightly to catch Wednesday’s reaction.

She arched a single eyebrow, her voice cool and flat. “If you’re asking whether I find frivolous celebrations amusing, the answer is no.”

Enid nudged me with her elbow, eyes sparkling with conspiratorial glee. “Don’t listen to her. Wednesday just likes to pretend she hates fun. Deep down, she’s probably planning which rides to go on first.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath her pale skin. “The last time I attended a carnival, it ended with a burning Ferris wheel and at least three casualties.”

“Spoken like a true thrill-seeker,” I teased, stepping closer. “Why am I not surprised?”

For a brief moment, her dark eyes met mine, flickering with an intensity that made the air grow thick. She took a small, deliberate step back, as if to regain some semblance of control over whatever had just passed between us. I enjoyed the challenge far too much to let it go.

“Come on,” Enid chirped, dragging us toward the room we shared. “We need to pick outfits! And yes, Wednesday, you’re coming too. I already got us matching wristbands!”

Inside the dorm, Enid’s whirlwind energy took over. She flitted around, pulling clothes from drawers, and chatting about the carnival’s attractions—the haunted house, a shooting gallery, some wild fire-breathers rumored to perform. Meanwhile, Wednesday settled into her usual corner, methodically preparing for whatever tasks her peculiar routine demanded. I moved with a certain feline grace, feeling their eyes on me. I could almost hear Enid’s excited thoughts and Wednesday’s more guarded curiosity.

“Y/n,” Enid called, tugging a black leather jacket from her side of the wardrobe and tossing it my way. “Try this. It’ll suit you.”

I caught it mid-air, feeling its weight against my hands. As I shrugged it on, the material hugged my form perfectly, accentuating curves and lending a dangerous edge. Enid clapped in approval; even Wednesday’s gaze lingered for a second longer than usual. My lips curled upward.

“How do I look?” I asked, spreading my arms slightly. The question was meant for both of them, but my eyes found Wednesday.

She tilted her head, lips parting as if she were about to offer a cutting remark. Instead, she hesitated. “Acceptable,” she said finally, her voice devoid of emotion.

Enid laughed. “Acceptable? Please. You look like you just stepped out of a gothic romance novel.”

“Perhaps a dark tragedy,” Wednesday corrected, her voice low. “A fitting choice for her, don’t you think?”

“Tragedy, romance, it’s all the same,” I replied, stepping closer to where she sat. “And you, Wednesday? Will you blend in with the crowd or haunt the carnival like one of its ghost stories?”

She stared at me, unblinking. “I don’t blend. Ever.”

“Good,” I murmured, leaning back against my bedframe. “Neither do I.”

*Later that Evening*

The grounds were transformed, strung with twinkling lights and bustling with life. Music thrummed from hidden speakers, blending with the laughter and screams of students on various rides. Enid dragged me past vendors selling everything from candied skulls to twisted metal trinkets. Her excitement was infectious. But all the while, my attention remained divided. Wednesday walked a few paces ahead, her dark aura unbroken by the revelry. I wondered what she thought of all this—a chaotic mix of joy and hidden danger.

“Y/n!” Enid’s voice cut through my thoughts. “This way! There’s a mirror maze! You’ll love it!”

I let her pull me along, glancing over my shoulder just in time to catch Wednesday watching me. I gave her a playful wink before disappearing into the maze's gleaming hall of glass.

The air within the mirror maze was different—cooler, more distant from the vibrant sounds of the carnival outside. The walls stretched around me in reflective splendor, distorting every angle of my form. My image twisted and elongated as I walked past each mirrored surface, creating endless copies of myself. A faint smirk tugged at my lips; there was something poetic about the illusion of infinite versions of me, each gaze equally challenging the world.

Enid had dashed ahead, her laughter echoing faintly through the labyrinth. I let her voice guide me for a few moments before deliberately slowing my pace, the thrill of isolation too enticing to resist. My senses sharpened, honing in on every small noise. The flicker of carnival lights outside cast shadows that danced on the glass, creating shifting patterns that felt almost alive.

I took a step forward, and there she was—Wednesday, standing perfectly still amidst the sea of reflections. Her dark hair framed her pale face like ink spilled across porcelain. For a brief moment, I thought it was another trick of the mirrors. Then she moved, her gaze cutting through the maze to find mine.

"Lost already?" I called out, my voice bouncing through the mirrored walls.

"Hardly," she replied, her tone sharp. She moved closer, her steps silent against the polished floor. Each reflection of her was as precise and menacing as the real thing.

As she neared, I leaned casually against one of the mirrored panels, my body language deliberately relaxed. "And here I thought you avoided carnival nonsense."

Wednesday stopped a mere breath away, her eyes narrowing. "I am simply observing how quickly people lose themselves in meaningless distractions."

I tilted my head, tracing her silhouette with my eyes. "Is that what you think this is? A distraction?"

She didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a measured step closer. We were surrounded by endless versions of ourselves, each silent and expectant. “You tell me, Y/n. Why are you here? Is this another stage for you to perform your games?”

Her words hung between us, a challenge I couldn't resist. I closed the distance, letting our reflections align behind us in perfect symmetry. “If it is a game,” I whispered, “then you’re playing too. Deny it all you want, Wednesday. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

For a second, her gaze softened. Something unspoken lingered there, in the depths of her stormy eyes—something raw, uncertain. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by the iron control she wielded like a shield. She stepped back, the tension snapping like a taut string.

“You give yourself too much credit,” she said, voice cold again. “This is merely a test of your predictability.”

I chuckled softly, the sound echoing in every direction. “Predictability? Oh, Wednesday, you haven’t even begun to know me.”

She turned, a fluid movement that sent her raven hair cascading down her back. “Then stop wasting my time.” Her footsteps were precise, deliberate. I watched as she walked deeper into the maze, becoming a shifting ghost of mirrors and reflections.

Wednesday’s POV

As I moved through the maze, the glass surfaces reflected Y/n’s form—always watching, always following, even if she stood still. It was irritating how her presence lingered, carving out space in my mind where none should exist. She was a paradox; a being I wanted to avoid, yet always found myself confronting.

She’d gotten too close. Not physically—there was always some distance I could claim. But with words, looks, her damnable confidence. It gnawed at me that my composure had faltered, even if briefly. The carnival’s noise and chaos outside seemed to amplify what I refused to acknowledge.

Focus. The word repeated itself in my mind like a mantra. I turned a corner, scanning the mirrored path ahead. This maze, this ridiculous charade, was a distraction. I needed control, not confusion. Yet every step brought her voice to mind, every reflection a reminder of the tension neither of us would name.

Footsteps approached. I stiffened, ready to parry another round of words. But it wasn’t Y/n who appeared—it was Enid, her bright smile glowing under the carnival lights that crept in through slits and cracks. “Found you!”

She grinned, unaware of the storm raging in my mind. I nodded and allowed her to take my hand, leading me away from the maze’s grip. Before stepping fully into the open air, I glanced back one last time. In the distance, one reflection of Y/n lingered, a silent promise of more games yet to come.

[misguidedswagger]

lateness (anakin skywalker x f!reader fluff blurb)

a/n: hi friends! good grief its been so long but just writing this while i try to beat writers block for my other story, this is my first star wars/anakin related blurb (and may be my only depending on its reception lol!) i just recently got into star wars and now my brain is oozing star wars and star wars thoughts only lol! pls lmk what you guys think, req’s are open! pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader (fluff)

no warnings

w/c: 694

anakin hadn’t always been in love with you. for the longest while, anakin paid you no mind, seeing you occasionally due to you being a long time friend of his master, obi-wan kenobi. you two had first met when he was still a padawan. he wasn’t in love with you until he’d accidentally re-met you after many years returning from a mission with obi-wan. you initially walked up to greet obi-wan, relieved to see him uninjured. the young jedi knight had no idea what you two were speaking about, his main focus was on how much more beautiful you’d grown in the period he hadn’t seen you. how much time had passed since he had last seen you, really? 

“anakin.” obi-wan’s voice was stern and annoyed, his shoulder bumping anakin’s. with a soft, ‘huh?’ anakin snapped out of his trance, realizing that the beautiful person who stood in front of him holding their hand out to him was you. 

“it’s nice to see you again, anakin. you look well.” you said with a bright smile, ignorant to the burning pit of excitement you opened up in the jedi’s stomach. just your smile was enough to make his face heat up and he begged the force that his feelings toward you would remain invisible. he mentally cursed himself for zoning out and deeply hoped he hadn't embarrassed himself or you.

with a stiff nod and clearing of his throat, anakin stiffly shook your soft hand a little awkwardly, “it’s great to see you again too, y/n.” 

something about the way you chuckled softly and shook his hand stayed in his mind for years on end. he knew he fell in love with you in that moment, and yet, he didn’t even try to stop himself. it’s not like he could’ve anyway, what with your impeccable smile, your hilarious sass, humor, your incredible looks, or with just who you were as a person.

anakin’s love for you had always been strong since that day, but never strong enough to break him, to make him yearn for a different world where he hadn’t been the chosen one, to make him consider leaving the order to simply be with you. 

that was until he was walking around the temple one day, waiting for obi-wan to meet him. anakin was slowly growing more and more annoyed at the more time passed, the later obi-wan became. 

anakin’s annoyance was interrupted when he heard the gleeful voices of younglings playing. you ran into his line of sight, letting the younglings you were training for the day chase you around and play. now, if anyone in the council saw you acting so disobedient and childishly, you’d never be allowed to remain in charge of the younglings again. however, you found that a little bit of freedom every so often helped the younglings yearn for more knowledge while also not overwhelming them. it created a balance in their young lives it seemed, a hypothesis you had only been testing for a little under a month now. 

anakin’s heart caught in his throat at the sight of you, consumed in watching you act so lovingly, maternally, towards the youngling. it unlocked something inside him and he felt his chest tighten. he memorized the sound of your laugh and committed it to his memory.

you looked up at him, once again, blissfully unaware of the blaze you set alight in his chest. you smiled bashfully at him before flashing him a wink and getting up with your youngling, bringing him back towards the training room. 

there was no time for an exchange of words, as obi-wan’s voice echoed throughout the hallway, 

“sorry i’m late, i was with master yoda for a little longer than i expected.” anakin’s master apologized, his taller, broader figure completely cloaking yours. anakin leaned out of the way from obi-wan, his eyes stealing a glance of you before you fully walked away. with a nod, anakin began to follow behind his master, his mind enraptured with the sight of your wink directed at him.

anakin’s initial annoyance had returned full force, now silently wishing obi-wan had entirely forgotten about their plans that day.

masterlist

[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

Little mini-Aruani fic that’s been *dancing* around in my brain

****

Armin rolls his shoulders as he shucks off his coat, the sound of his keys plinking in the bottom of the porcelain dish reminding him that he’s home.

There’s a chill in the air just behind the glass of the front door, but he can smell the lit fire from the den and somewhere in the house he hears a record being played.

Something orchestral and grand- different from the simple village folk music he grew up with in Paradis.

He smiles, peeking down the stairs into the lower floor of their brownstone style house. They had left it open, unfurnished- nothing but the waxed reclaimed wood floors and some sheer curtains on the window.

“Let’s discover what it can be,” he had said to Annie. “We can grow into it.”

After so long in small squalid living quarters, or in communal style barracks- having a house with three floors and a maid’s quarter seemed excessive. Two private bathrooms? A grand showy living area for guests and a private intimate one for the owners? A dining room with a table set for ten? It made him feel too self-important.

He was a soldier- utility made sense to him, not comfort. And certainly not luxury.

So, the empty space on the bottom floor felt right. It felt like an unanswered question. An ellipses at the end of the sentence.

He steps quietly onto the first few stairs beneath the landing, peering through the banisters until he can see Annie.

He stoops to a crouch, lingering.

She’s dancing, he realizes.

A few months ago, he had paid for a ballet instructor to offer her private lessons- as a gift. She was too fit, too flexible, too physically disciplined to be idle- but he wanted her to discover something about herself other than fighting.

She resisted at first, insisting she wasn’t poised or graceful enough. But her instructor, an aging man who smoked thin cigarettes and spoke with a crisp and lilting accent, adored her. He spoke effusively of her ‘lines’ and her core strength.

But Armin had never seen her dance. The instructor came and left while he was at work in the government office down the street- only running into Armin on the sidewalk as they were coming and going.

Now, he watches, his breath slowing and his heart stilling.

She looks as though she’s floating, he thinks. Weightless. Just an ephemeral being gliding across the floor as though she’s skirting on the air.

She pirouettes and leaps and moves her arms along gracefully unseen lines, her eyes closed and head tilted as she gets lost in the music.

Armin swallows- feeling a heavy sensation sinking into his chest. It’s awe, he knows, but also something else.

Gratitude. That she’s alive. That she’s here with him now. Dancing, moving, breathing, sighing… instead of frozen in time and in place.

He’s so grateful that she has this life.

He doesn’t feel the same way about himself. He drags his perceived debt to the world, to his parents, to Mikasa, to Hange, to Erwin.. to Eren.. everywhere he goes.

He could never be as light as Annie looks right now.

But it’s not his job to be, he realizes.

Finally, she stops, and he can see her breaths moving deeply in and out, her ribcage visible in the thin dance clothes. He looks at the arch of her spine as she holds a pose- and then she drops it, shoulders sagging, rolling her neck on her shoulders.

She clears her throat, stretching her arms above her head as she walks over to lift the needle from the record and the music stops.

She turns, and stops short with a little yelp when she sees him on the stairs.

Armin can’t help but laugh.

“You watched me?” She asks, accusing. “I made so many mistakes.”

Armin shakes his head, rising to stand and walk down the stairs. “How would I know? I’m no dancer.”

“Neither am I.” She says, bashful as she looks away from him out the window. The wind is swirling the sycamore leaves from outside along the sidewalk, filling their view of the street with bright yellow shapes catching the late afternoon sun.

“Nonsense.” He says, opening his arms for her to walk into his embrace. She folds into his chest as easy as any other reflex. As easy as blinking or breathing.

He smiles, leaning his cheek on her head as she buries her face into the collar of his shirt, inhaling deeply. Her daily ritual- breathing him in like it was soothing to her lungs.

He understands, he thinks, as he runs her silken hair through his fingers absently. It’s not enough just to see her or hear her alone. He needs to fill his senses with her to reassure himself that she’s truly there.

“So that’s what this bottom floor is now? Your dance studio?” He asks conversationally.

“For now,” she says, tilting her head back to look at him, “until I decide that it’s something else.”

Armin’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Still want to leave things open-ended, then?” He jokes.

She hums, and he extends his arm up for her twirl underneath it playfully. “I just want to take our time.” She says quietly as she stills.

He nods in understanding, pulling her close again to press a kiss to her lips.

She can be whatever she wants to be. A dancer one day. An artist the next. A musician. A seamstress. A connoisseur of baked pastries…

Just as she was a fighter, first, and then a lover.

Certainly Annie can be anything in the world… as long as she is his.

[lightning-wyvern]

comforting stimulation

30 Days Of Sosuke Aizen - 1/30

sosuke aizen x male reader | fluff, comfort, romance content therapist!aizen, implied age regressor!reader, established relationship, asd sensory meltdown, mental health convo

pov aizen is a CTT (childhood trauma therapist)! 3rd person reader insert bcs I'm good at that somehow?

words 1,254

note i wrote aizen like a bibliophilic pillow puff made of pretty rocks lololol. also i may or may not be using this story to retell/document something that happened to me recently, which means I would very much appreciate it if any/all readers refrain from sending me unsolicited asks about my personal stuff!

reblogs appreciated!

banner made by @saradika-graphics

© lightning-wyvern.

honestly, you had never even realized you were so very dangerously close to having a meltdown...

until it happened.

the white light overhead got too bright, the sound of the food in the pan on the stove got too loud, the smell of it became much too potent, your heart started racing... you could feel your teeth in your mouth and your tongue scraping against them, your clothes rubbing against your skin, your lunch moving through your digestive tract...

you froze, stumbling heavily backwards until your back hit the refrigerator, which was across the kitchen from the stove. you slid down to the ground, buried your face in your hands, and screamed.

- - - - - - - - -

sosuke was sitting primly in a chair in the bedroom, which was across the house from you, with a book in his hand and his glasses sitting snug on the bridge of his nose--when his blissful silence was shattered. he didn't even know you were capable of a noise of such decibel, let alone so damned randomly.

sosuke stood up quickly, snapping his book shut with one hand and setting it absently on a table as he swept out of the room, appearing by your side before you even perceived that you were still alive... because it didn't feel like you were right about now.

and sosuke aizen knew that. not only had he been giving therapeutic treatments to people for this very issue for years, but he was also your partner, and you had been together for a good two to three years by now. sosuke knew every little detail about you, and was always equipped to help you through whatever sensory overload or emotional distress you may fall into.

he turned off the stove, putting a lid on the pan and moving it to the back burner---the food was just about done anyways. he quickly returned to your side, sitting down next to you and pulling you into a one-armed hug around the shoulders while his free hand placed a stuffed animal into your lap. your hands made an immediate beeline for it, because you knew what stuffed animal it was: a small stuffed black and grey cat with a purple collar and the single cutest face you'd ever seen on a cat.

you squeezed the toy to your chest, burying your nose in it and scooting as close to sosuke's body as you could physically get. you breathed in deeply as he was quietly instructing, but the breath was shaky; your heart rate was still absolutely out of control. you let it out and squeezed the stuffed cat again, making another attempt. it went well this time: you could feel your heart finally start to slow down.

"that's it, love, breathe." sosuke said, holding your head to his shoulder gently. "focus on how the stuffed cat smells. or maybe even whatever i smell like today---just find some sensory input that helps you ground yourself back in reality and focus on that."

you nodded, a small smile flitting across your face. sosuke's hand slipped down to your neck and he monitored your heartbeat for a few minutes, waiting until it felt more stable. then he got up slowly, squeezing your shoulder lightly. he took your hand and pulled you up with him as he stood up. then he directed you into the bedroom, his arm around your shoulder all the way up until he sat you down in the chair he had been in minutes before.

"hey," sosuke said quietly, gently moving your face a little. "look at me, m/n," he continued, smiling when you made eye contact with him. he ruffled your hair gently.

"stay there, i promise i'll be right back." he said in the most comforting voice he could muster. you nodded, scooting into the back cushion of the chair and leaning against the soft materials it was made of. your eyes watched his back as he left the room, and you started doing box breathing exercises to keep yourself calm while he wasn't in the room---just like he'd taught you.

he came back in less than five minutes, carrying a bowl of warm food and one very specific cup---you grinned the second you saw it.

it was a blue plastic cup with a matching blue lid and straw, and the outside of the cup was wrapped in one of your favorite fidget tools of all time, a pop-it pad. the fidget part of the cup was blue as well, but instead of the solid dark blue color of the lid, straw and inside of the cup, the pad was multiple different shades of blue, all nicely marbled together like the marble counters in the kitchen and bathroom.

sosuke smiled too, chuckling and handing you the drink first. he smiled watching you pressing on the rubber bumps that made up the pad on the cup. then he reached over and grabbed a table next to the chair you were sitting in, pulling it closer to the arm of the chair. he put the bowl of food down on the table and settled down on the floor between your legs.

"sosuke?" you said quietly, looking down at him.

"hm? what's up, m/n?" he replied, looking up to make eye contact with you.

you carefully put the cup down in your lap and reached out with your now-free hand to make a grabby-hands motion.

"hold my hand?"

sosuke smiled.

"of course, love." he reached up and took your hand, letting your fingers wrap around his while his thumb softly rubbed your fingers and the back of your hand.

"i love you, sosuke." you said, leaning closer to his face. he took the opportunity to lean in and kiss your forehead.

"i love you too, m/n," he replied, smiling.

"sorry i'm such a stressful boyfriend," you said, pouting and puffing your cheeks indignantly.

sosuke snorted, poking your cheek so that the air left your mouth all at once. he shook his head, squeezing your hand.

"m/n, you aren't a bad boyfriend just because you're neurodivergent. you're just negatively sensitive to normal stimuli that don't cause other people as much harm. that doesn't make you a horrible boyfriend, or a stressful boyfriend, or anything like that."

"but how are you so okay with constantly having to pull me out of sensory meltdowns??" you asked, "I can't understand it."

"m/n, i'm a trauma therapist. it's pretty normal for any kind of person around to develop negative responses to loud noises, even if they're neurotypical in any other meaning of the word. your brain just has more severe reactions to a higher selection of those loud noises and harsh stimuli because you have childhood trauma relating to those harsh stimuli."

you smiled. "so you don't get burnt out always helping me out?"

sosuke smiled, shaking his head and squeezing your hand again.

"not at all," he responded, "it's my job to help people develop coping and comfort mechanisms for when those types of meltdowns come around, it's not any more of an issue with you than it would be if you were my client rather than my boyfriend."

you smiled wider. you quickly moved your cup and stuffed cat onto the table and scooted up to the front of the chair, putting your feet on the ground and wrapping your arms around aizen's shoulders.

"i love you, sosuke." you mumbled into his hair.

he smiled too, taking a deep breath and leaning into your embrace.

"i love you too, m/n. i always will."

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter Six|

In a near desperate attempt to forget about everything plaguing Y/n's mind, she took up learning portals from Michael. Which might not have been the best idea, considering he's still learning himself. While he could teleport himself anywhere with ease, creating a portal to another world was something entirely different.

And it took a lot of hard work and patience to perfect it. And Michael, well...He was trying his best.

But Y/n couldn't work up the nerve to ask Galim to teach her. She was always so tense around them, despite Galim being one of the kindest angels in Heaven. Michael just made her feel more at ease.

"I can't believe you've existed since the dawn of creation and yet you haven't learned how to make a portal." Y/n teases, trying to lighten the mood. Michael rolls his eyes. "Give me a break, I told you I'm better at fighting than magic. Trust me, you haven't been around as long as I have. My youth was full of many failed magic attempts."

"Aw, baby Michael." Y/n giggled at the thought of a child size Michael, causing him to blush slightly. "Anyway." Michael clears his throat. "Just repeat after me."

Michael stands straight and holds out his hands. Y/n did the same, she then inhaled and exhaled in a calm pattern. "Good. Now just clear your mind, and focus on where you want to be."

Y/n closed her eyes and tried to clearly picture what she saw last time. A wide open meadow, filled with flowers. The sound of the birds and running water. The warmth of the sun in the bright blue sky.

Nothing happened, so she inhaled deeply and tried to remember more of what she saw, what she heard, what she smelled. Earth truly was a beautiful place. It's nature was beyond all compare, simple and yet so vast and complex.

There was a small swirl of light forming just before Y/n's open palms. Michael's eyes lit up with excitement, but he refrained from speaking as not to throw her off.

Y/n wondered what night was like on earth. She's heard stories of the stars that littered across the dark blue sky. How they shined and sparkled, they along with the moon, casting just enough calming light in the darkness.

Y/n smiled at the thought, the thought of just how many wonderful things the Earth had to offer.

'Lucifer would have loved it.'

The light grew brighter and larger, and the portal finally opened. Michael's once previous excitement, quickly faded as he saw where this portal lead.

"Y/n..."

Y/n opened her eyes, her mouth fell slightly agape in surprise. Just before her, was the portal she had created. The color was the first thing that caught her eye. Then came the warm air, the uncomfortably warm air. Then there was the sounds of chaos ringing loud in her ears. Y/n swore she felt her heart drop as realization set in.

Y/n froze, unable to think clearly or utter a single word. Michael stepped in front of her and quickly closed the portal. The last thing she saw, was a large building atop of a hill. He turned to Y/n, a look of slight panic in his eyes.

"Y/n...What did you just do?" He asked, though it was obvious. He knew it, but he just couldn't believe it.

Y/n had created a portal to Hell.

"I...I don't..." Y/n muttered.

"How did you do that? You've never even been to Hell! How could you have pictured where to open the portal?" Michael asks, more to himself than to her.

Y/n looked down at her hands, they were shaking. He was right. She's never been to Hell, she's most certainly never pictured it with her own eyes. So how could she have...

"My visions." Y/n looks up at him. "I've seen Hell in my visions."

Michael was hit with the sudden realization. That was right. You had been tasked from God to keep up with Charlotte Morningstar's future, of course you've seen Hell.

"Ok." Michael exhales. "That makes sense I guess. But you...You weren't suppose to open a portal there! You suppose to open it on Earth. What happened?"

"I..." Y/n sighed. "I was thinking about Lucifer. Maybe that's why..."

Michael fell silent, so did she. Even after ten thousand years, mentioning Lucifer was still a sore subject for them both. As much as they like to think they've moved on, they never truly will. Or have...

"Well...No more of that." Michael tells her with a sigh. "Here I was worried something might happen to you on Earth. Then you go and open a portal to Hell of all places." He laughs weakly.

Y/n turns away from him. "It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"It's fine Y/n. But yeah...I think it's best if you don't do that again." Said Michael. "I think that's enough portals for one day..."

Six months had passed, and it was finally time for Charlotte Morningstar's arrival. Y/n had informed Sera of this months in advance. She was still furious with Sera, but she could do nothing but do her duty and warn her of this very day.

Sera had little to say to Y/n, so the two parted with a brief exchange and barely spoke to each other since. Not that Y/n had anything to say to Sera, after learning about the exterminations.

Emily of course noticed, but Y/n simply told her that she and Sera were much too busy to really see each other. It did little to ease Emily's concerns, but thankfully she didn't push for a further explanation.

Y/n knew what would come from this meeting anyhow. Charlotte Morningstar would make a case that sinners could be redeemed. However, try as she may, Heaven would not be convinced. She would have not choice but to return to Hell, where she must prepare for Adam's attack.

During that meeting however, Emily found out about the exterminations. That certainly cleared things up about Y/n and Sera, but now she was left heartbroken and betrayed. She knew it was wrong, but what could she do? Despite being a Seraphim herself, she did not hold as much power as Sera.

Sera tried to put her at ease, insisting she handle things from here. But Emily could not ignore what was going on anymore...

She wasn't the only one who now knew of the exterminations. By now, everyone was aware of what she had been doing in secret. Everyone except for the civilians of Heaven, of course. And in due time, God would know as well.

Y/n was half expecting God to call for her, to see what the results of these exterminations had caused. However, there was nothing. Y/n even tried to reach out for Michael, but even he was unavailable.

It turns out, God and his angels were discussing the extermination along with Charlotte Morningstar's plans for redemption privately.

Y/n couldn't explain it, but she had a sinking feeling in her gut. So much has happened so quickly. And now God was involved. She could always look into the future for some closure.

And yet something held her back from doing so. Her nerves, her anxiety, or, it might have been fear. Fear, not of the unknown, but of what would become known.

A part of her didn't need to see the future to know that the results of this would be catastrophic. Y/n had seen it before, the possibility of Sera's punishment was becoming more set in reality now.

Y/n wanted to be more rational about this. Sera hid something this big from God for so long. Of course she would be punished for it. That is simply the consequence she must face. But Y/n did hate it for her. Sera might have had good intentions, but the way she went about it was wrong.

All of this was starting to become overwhelming. Y/n was unable to sleep because of her racing mind. The one relief she got from this, was that Adam and Lute could no longer threaten her now that everyone knew. But it did little to put her at ease.

Y/n sat up in her bed and stared down at her hands. She was avoiding the future for far too long now. She had to look. Really, she had no choice. One way or another, someone will ask her to see what comes next. And so, she closed her eyes and looked into the future.

This time, she was seeing through her own eyes. And all she could see was red. The same red, the same heat, the same sounds all that came from that portal she made months ago. And as she looked up, breaking the scarlet sky, was the gateway to Heaven opening up and down through came two angels.

A knocking caused Y/n to open her eyes, loosing the vision. She blinked a few times before the knocking was heard again. She got up from her bed, still in a state of confusion as she was making her way to the door.

She was in Hell. Why was she in Hell? What possible reason would there be for her to be down there? And who were the two angels coming down from Heaven?

Y/n reached the door and opened it. Standing before her was Michael, and he looked exhausted.

"Michael? What are you doing here so late?" She asks.

Michael tried to offer a smile as he spoke. "You got a minute to talk?"

Tags-

@bloody-delusion-expert

@simbalioness

@annybah

@alientee

[dairyminki]

Acquiescence || j.wy

PAIRING — jung wooyoung x fem!reader ... GENRE — fluff, angst, strangers to lovers ... WARNING/S — major character death, mentions and descriptions of hospital, pet names, reader has achromatopsia, mild profanities ... WC — 7.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE — i had this fic idea hiding in my drafts with only the title finished bcos i felt like it wasn't the right time for me to write it just yet, so i let it sit. and just when i thought this story will never see the light, stormy august happened, i got all angsty, and i was able to pour all my emotions on this fic. and now, i'm posting it for sad september, yay! anyway, special thanks to @hotteoki and @jaehunnyy for beta-reading this one ^^

SYNOPSIS — a life painted in shades of black, white, and gray, sparks a certain yearning for something brand new deep inside of you. but what if that 'something brand new' comes in the form of a boy and his camera? will his presence be able to alter the monotonous world you live in into a world where the colors of the rainbow are freely dancing?

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! ♡

— ☁️

ac·qui·es·cence

: the reluctant acceptance of something without protest.

achro·​ma·​top·​sia

: a visual defect that is marked by total color blindness in which the colors of the spectrum are seen as tones of white, gray, and black, by poor visual acuity, and by extreme sensitivity to bright light

☁️.... playlist!

To you, it was peaceful.

How the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against your sketchbook was the only thing you could hear, how the hues of black, gray, and white were the only ones that filled your vision, and how it was only the smell of fresh grass that lingered in the cool morning air.

But at the same time, it was depressing.

How those were the only things that constantly stimulated your senses. Always the same every morning, unless it were to rain.

You don't think any word was fitting enough to describe what you currently feel. Deep inside you, there's a yearning for something brand new. To alter the monotonous life you have in exchange for a life filled with an endless spark of delirium or one where the world before your eyes appears bright-colored.

Sitting on one of the wooden benches found in the hospital's garden inevitably makes your thoughts and emotions fly around. Sometimes, it's the feeling of hope budding inside your chest, but most times it was the heavy weight of despair forming over your head like a gloomy gray cloud.

Gray.

Now that is a shade you know by heart. A shade you've grown to appreciate that if anyone asks you what your favorite color is, gray would be your automatic answer.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, and many others, are colors you could only wish and dream to see. When people around you talk about how blue the sky is, or how an evergreen tree looks, it makes you wonder deeply how on earth they look like. Are they as pretty as your favorite color? Or are they something more? Something that'd get you marveling hard and for long.

"Y/N? Y/N~?" You hear the familiar voice calling your name in a sing-song. When you turn your head around, you catch sight of shoe-clad feet before you see the face of your lovely nurse from day one—Nurse Aliah.

"There you are!" She exclaims, walking towards you with a huge smile on her face which you mimic as you close your sketchbook.

"Time's up for me already?" You ask, a bit dejected.

As much as you've grown to treat your hospital room as your home, that doesn't mean you've grown to love staring at the mundane four walls and smelling the overpowering scent of antiseptic and cleaning agents clouding your senses.

"Why? Don't feel like going back yet?" Nurse Aliah asks, making you scoot over so she can sit beside you.

Replying with a mere nod of your head, she sighs, patting you gently on the back. Then, she takes a glance at her wristwatch, saying, "I suppose I could give you half an hour more. I mean no one has to know, right?" She sends you a playful wink.

"That's more than enough, thank you."

"No problem at all, darling. But before I go, can I have a little peek at your sketches?" Nurse Aliah asks, gesturing at the sketchbook on your lap which you immediately hide behind you.

"No!" You laugh. "No peeking until I finish it."

Your answer got her frowning, but she stood nonetheless, muttering a sulky 'fine.'

"The sun's about to reach its peak in a little while, so put your cap on, alright?" She reminds, prompting you to nod your head before she finally leaves the garden.

With Nurse Aliah gone, you grab your cap beside you, wearing it, before you find yourself admiring your surroundings once more, taking in deep breaths as if the earth's air supply was about to run out, and then you're opening your sketchbook and diving back inside the world of art.

Sketching different things brings you peace—if some feel anxious leaving their houses without their phones or watches on, for you it's the same when you leave your mechanical pencil or any of your sketchbooks and drawing pads behind.

Art enables you to cope with all the imperfections you were forced to carry with you ever since you were born to walk the earth with your tiny feet.

You might not be able to see and appreciate colors as much as everyone does, but you do love being able to weave lines, shapes, and patterns from the tip of your pencil.

Click!

Your grip on the pencil loosens when you hear the sound of a camera shutter and someone cursing. Looking to your left, you see a male who looks the same age as you, holding a camera in his hand—his hair is quite long, he has styled fringes framing the sides of his face, and he is smiling sheepishly at you.

"Did you…just take a picture of me?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him and tilting your head to the side. You see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, all the while he lowers his camera.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaims—his voice, pitchy. Then he proceeds to ramble aloud, "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just taking a look around, trying to find anything pretty to capture, and then I saw you, and I…I'm sorry."

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to take someone's photo without asking their permission?" By now you were standing, approaching the male and his camera. When you stick out a hand, he instantly gives his camera to you and you find yourself staring at a picture of yourself on the screen.

What he did was rude, yes, but you can't help but be in awe at the way he was able to capture you looking so immersed in your drawing—your furrowed brows and your tongue darting out of your slightly opened mouth because you're concentrating hard.

"I should be mad but, it's actually a pretty photo," You say, slightly abashed.

The male in front of you chuckles. Then he asks, "So, does that mean I get to keep this pretty picture of you?"

At the mention of the word 'pretty,' you feel your cheeks heat up. Coughing out loud and not meeting him in the eyes, you reply, "Only if you're not some creepy stalker, then I suppose you can."

"I'm not! I actually did it for a school project."

Hearing him say that made your ears perk.

"Oh, really? What's it about?" You can't help but ask, not being able to hold back with your natural curiosity for things.

"Nothing much, really," He starts. "We were just told to visit someplace we hadn't been to before and then capture something that catches our eye. Once we can do that, we will be asked to share about it in class."

After he explains, you find yourself asking him more.

"What else did you take a picture of?"

"You…were the first really." He answers with his free hand rubbing at his nape. As for you, his answer got your cheeks even hotter.

"Oh." You end up saying, not really knowing how to respond further. Luckily, he opens up another topic, and later on you're back sitting on the bench you previously sat on, but with him beside you.

"So you're telling me you've never been to a hospital before?"

"Nu-uh. Never," He answers, fiddling with the buttons of his camera. "Uhm, how about you? Did you…"

You knew what he meant despite him not fully voicing it out. Thank goodness you didn't see that one thing you really hate, in his eyes, though—pity.

"Been here since I was five," You say as you stare up at the sky. The gray-looking sky that always accompanied you whenever you were out here in the garden.

"What are you here for?" You could gather a hint of hesitance in his voice, most probably not wanting to pry considering you've only just met. But he's just like you, curious.

"I'm color-blind," You begin. And just when you were about to tell him more, you heard someone calling you.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head and see Nurse Aliah approaching you. From a distance, you could already see the questioning in her gaze.

"I—ah, unfortunately, have to go now," You say, picking up your sketchbook and standing up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, um, I'm grateful I was able to cross paths with you today," You tell him with all honesty. And you think you see him bite back a smile.

"The way you say it, makes it sound like, us, meeting was something big."

"Well, maybe it is," You grinned at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, extending a hand for a handshake which he immediately accepts.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Wooyoung," He responds before you wave at him goodbye and run towards Nurse Aliah with a smile still lingering on your face and her look of questioning not fading away in the slightest.

"Who was that?" She asks as the both of you start to walk back inside the hospital.

"Hmm, just someone who thinks I'm pretty."

—

The following day, you asked Nurse Aliah if you could go out again. When she asked you why, you simply told her that the fresh air and the calming surroundings got you more motivated to finish sketching, and not because you were kind of hoping for a certain long-haired male to find his way back to the garden, no, not at all.

Well, not that you were going to admit and let her know anyway.

You fell into the same routine as yesterday without any difficulty. By now, the subject you were trying to draw was getting more defined. Just a little more shadings here and-

"Smile!"

Instead of smiling as the chirpy voice told you to do so, you think your caught-off-guard face was what the camera was able to capture.

"You could've warned me!" You exclaim after a few moments of just blinking and nothing but your mind trying to register the sound of the shutter that went off earlier and the laughter of the newcomer.

The very reason why you wanted to escape the stuffy walls of the hospital again.

"I take pride in my candid shots, though." Wooyoung pouts.

"You only started taking pictures yesterday!" You point out.

"Okay, and?"

"Ugh, just let me see the picture," You say, though it sounds more like a demand. A demand that Wooyoung refuses to follow through.

"No, this one is for my eyes only." Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at you and then,, later on has this shit-eating grin on his face.

In the end, you give up trying to get the camera from him. The moment you decide to set your focus back on your drawing, silence envelops you two—not the awkward kind though. It was more like those silence that'll have you sighing in relief, and everything else around you sounding like calming waves.

And amidst the silence was Wooyoung near a flower bush with his camera out. You don't know what colors the flowers are in but you do remember Nurse Aliah telling you they are called Chrysanthemums and that they smell sweet.

"Wooyoung," You say after a minute of just staring at him snapping a couple of photos of the said flower. "What color are those flowers?" You ask.

Without taking his peering eyes off the viewfinder, he answers, "They're purple!"

Purple—you know they're the color of grapes, your favorite fruit. You've wondered since then if purple was anything like how the fruit tasted.

"How about your hair, Woo?"

Woo—that's new, and the way the nickname rolled off your tongue actually felt nice.

"It's black, probably just the way you see it!" He answers, and then you see him finally lowering his camera and smiling to himself while he walks back toward you on the bench.

"Were you able to capture something pretty?" You ask him as soon as he drops his weight on the bench, his shoulder touching yours.

"I did. It's quite a lot. But…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he's looking at you with a cheeky grin. "...they're not as pretty as you though."

At that remark, you feel heat rush towards your face, however, you don't look away from his gaze, just yet. Your thoughts begin to wander again, as you think of what the color of his eyes are and if they're the same as yours, or the color of the shirt he's wearing, and his camera too. You could've asked those questions aloud but you didn't.

Instead, you ask, "If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

Wooyoung briefly seemed to appear as if he was in deep thought, with his head tilting to the side, his eyes roaming all over you, and his lips pursing.

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?" He proposes.

A month could be awfully long for some, and short for others who are patient enough. You're not sure which one of the two are you, although you still nod your head at Wooyoung.

And a month? Sure, you could wait. Time flies fast these days, after all.

—

Days turned to weeks, and by now, you've grown accustomed and comfortable with Wooyoung's presence.

He was just the right amount of loud, funny, and kind, that even your Nurse Aliah has opened up to him already.

"You smile a lot nowadays," Nurse Aliah comments one time while you're resting inside your room and she's replacing your newly emptied bowl of grapes with a fresh set.

"Is it bad?" You ask as you stare at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything—just the little joke Wooyoung told you a day ago repeatedly tickling your head.

You hear the clinking of the fruit bowl for the last time before you hear the rustling of your bed sheet.

"It's not bad per se, but…"

Her unsaid words send the all too familiar sinking feeling creeping its way back into your chest. A feeling you've tried so hard to push to the back of your mind, only for it to resurface once again.

"Don't," You plead in a small voice, eyes closed. When you open them again, you're looking straight at her, hot tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. You tried hard to blink them back.

But when was the last time you let them fall? When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel sadness? When was the last time you willingly set hope free and embraced despair?

"Alright, I…I just want to let you know today will be the last time you'll be able to go out Y/N. Tomorrow, Dr. Lee will be here to check on you."

Not being able to stop the dam from breaking, you just nod your head to whatever Nurse Aliah is saying. You feel her caress your hair before the door to your room closes with a thud.

Tears spilled—rolling down the apples of your cheeks until they're gliding past your lips, enabling you to taste their saltiness. And then you're sitting up, pulling your leg close to your chest with your head resting on the wall as you stare at the window.

You sigh. Feeling all the energy you possess going down the drain.

You suddenly remember all the things the younger you had to suffer through just because you weren't normal just like how everyone was. You remember how you'd run into things and tripped over them because everything seemed dark and dull. You remember how other kids would play outside at the playground while their parents would sit there on the benches and talk about how the sun looked so bright.

You've never directly looked at the sunlight. It hurt your eyes, even until now. Hence, every time you go out, you always wear a cap on your head just to shield your eyes from the light radiated by the sun. Anyone else would've worn sunglasses to deal with that, and you've tried—once. After that, you came to Nurse Aliah, crying, because you felt suffocated while wearing them. And that continued until you were older—any type of glasses having the same effect on you.

Childhood for you was tough. Luckily, Nurse Aliah was there to somehow make it less hard for you to deal with the world and reality. Making you smile, laugh, and enjoy the little things—Nurse Aliah was your only family. She contributed to igniting the spark of hope inside you.

And now, there's Wooyoung—his smile, his raucous laughter, and the way he sweeps his fringes to the side out of habit. Just Wooyoung and the click of his camera, his camera roll that's probably full of your stolen shots now. Just Wooyoung trying to peek at whatever you're drawing while you're so adamant not to show him. Just Wooyoung discreetly picking out a random flower from the bush and putting it behind your ear.

It sends a rush of warmth all over you—something warmer than what you get when you're spending time with Nurse Aliah. No, Wooyoung's was something else.

You place your right hand on your chest, and there it is. The faint sound of your heart beating, increasing, as your mind gets filled more by the said male.

It feels foreign, but it's nice. Really nice.

And with that, you know you're ready to face another day with the open sky and Wooyoung's presence keeping you intact and aground.

—

After all the crying you've done, you felt light and at ease. As you walk out into the hallways and down to the ground floor, you find yourself greeting more people you encounter along the way. You can't help but notice the smile sticking to your lips, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt you with how wide it was.

Your smile only seems to get brighter when you spot Wooyoung's familiar figure outside. He's by the same bench you two sit on with his back facing you.

Giggling, you were eager to reach where he stood.

But then it happens.

Just when you were about to run and shout his name, it happened.

Instead of shouting his name, you find yourself gasping for air, feeling as if your throat was closing in on you. With your heart irregularly beating painfully against your chest you drop to the ground, feeling faint and cold with sweat.

You don't register much about what happened next but swore you heard screams around you and the last-minute turning and running Wooyoung made toward you.

Blurry grayness was the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

—

There were voices around you and the sound of a machine.

Fluttering your eyes open, you recognize you are in your room—lying on a bed with a few tubes connected to your body, and then gently shifting your eyes to the door where the sound came from, you see a familiar back and your Nurse Aliah, talking in low voices. Though, not low enough, seeing as they awoke you.

Nurse Aliah notices your awoken state first, you see her whisper something to Wooyoung before she attends to your side.

"Hey, darling," She began in a soft voice, almost lulling. When her fingers brushed through your hair, you swore sleep was tempting you to go back into its arms once again. But you stopped yourself.

"How are we feeling?" Nurse Aliah asks. You find yourself clearing your dry throat, unable to answer. You give her an okay sign, instead.

Immediately, she gets a glass of water from your bedside table. She gently guides you to a sitting position, before she hands the drink to you.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go call Dr. Lee. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and talk with your lover boy over there. Sounds good?"

You could only roll your eyes at her, shooing her away.

Wooyoung instantly came to your side after the door closed. He pulls out a chair for him to sit on and then just stares at you. You find yourself looking down at the empty glass in your hand, with the silence the male was giving you.

You can't figure out if he's angry, sad, or disappointed. If he only sees you as a weak and undesirable thing he no longer wants anything to do with.

"What's my pretty girl thinking, hmm?" Wooyoung asks, gently taking the glass out of your hold, and replacing it with his hands.

Wooyoung's hands felt warm against your slightly cold ones and you liked it.

"I'm thinking that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not telling you," You answer truthfully, now finding the courage to reciprocate his gaze on you. But then, a gasp leaves you when you see how puffy his eyes are.

"Have you been crying?" You ask, pulling your hands from him and cupping his face. Your thumbs trace the bags of his eyes while Wooyoung leans into your touch.

"If I did, what's my pretty girl going to do about it?" Wooyoung asks with a small chuckle, in an attempt to lighten up the mood inside the four walls.

"Am I really still pretty to you, Woo?" You asked in a weak voice, tone laced with disbelief.

"Y/N, y'know that's a stupid question, right? Love, you'll forever be pretty in my eyes, and I—y'know yourself I'm good at finding pretty things, right? That's how I found you."

"Woo…"

"If you think that me, seeing you like this will change anything, then you're so wrong for that."

"Woo-"

"Is it shitty of me if I say that I'm in love with you, right now?"

You're caught off guard when Wooyoung starts crying, his tears wetting your fingers. With him breaking down in front of you, you can't help but cry as well, pulling his head to your chest in hopes that your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear that it was actually screaming his name.

"I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please…" Your voice was croaky after a while, tears having dried on your cheeks, while Wooyoung's sobs still hadn't subsided.

"I don't know about you but I'm not feeling funny enough to laugh right now," He answers with a chuckle and you laugh as well, still cradling his head against you.

If you could, and if you only knew how, you'd lessen the pain he's feeling.

Absorbing all the pain coursing through him until you become numb, you'll do so. And if you could control time you would love to rewind it to the time he took a photo of you without permission.

If you acted coldly towards him and sent him away, would you still find yourselves in this position?

Will Wooyoung still weave his way into your fragile heart and your colorless life?

Will you still find yourself falling in love at the last minute with him?

You don't know.

But you do know you feel the same way as him.

Who knew that that delicate heart of yours was still capable of welcoming a powerful force called love inside?

—

Most of your days were filled with your doctor and nurse checking up on you at every possible chance. The wheelchair has become your friend, and instead of getting out into the garden and finding Wooyoung, the tables turned. Wooyoung, being the one who found his way to your hospital room, started constantly visiting you with a different set of flowers every day to adorn the lonely vase sitting atop your bedside table.

Unlike the other days though, this time, he was kind of late. Even Nurse Aliah didn't get to peek inside after the early morning check-up she did on you today. It was strange, you think.

Starting to feel bored, you decided to take a quick look at your finished drawings and the letters you wrote slipped into one of the pages of your sketchbook

Then, you hear the door to your room opening. Instead of Nurse Aliah, though, Wooyoung's adorable peeking head was the one you saw.

"Woo!" You exclaim, putting a sweet smile on his face as he welcomes himself in.

Immediately, you open your arms for him, and he fits in perfectly when he engulfs you in a soft hug. You feel his lips against your temple, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this position, just basking in all the warmth he could offer and all the kisses he'd get to spoil you with.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" You whisper back at him. Then, he's pulling away, a hesitant look on his face.

You looked at him, confused, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong! It's just that, Nurse Aliah told me you're not really fond of these, but, I was hoping if…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he takes something out of the small bag that he brought with him. "...can you please, wear them for me, just this time?"

In his hand was a case, and when he opened it, you saw a pair of glasses.

Your breath hitches.

"Is this—h-how were you able to—Woo, I-"

Unbeknownst to you, you were panicking, and Wooyoung was doing all his best to calm you off the overwhelming feeling encapsulating you.

When you've calmed down, he proceeds to ask again, "Will you wear them for me, love?" in a much softer voice.

You nod your head, tears brushing your cheeks, while smiling hard and mumbling a few yeses.

"Thank you, my pretty girl," Wooyoung says, showering you with butterfly kisses, prompting giggles out of you.

"Are you ready?" Wooyoung asks before you take the glasses out of its case. Nodding eagerly as a reply, you put them on, unable to control the blinking of your eyes as they adjust.

An immense feeling grows in your chest, your words stuck in your throat when you finally get to look at Wooyoung and see what his gorgeous eyes are colored in. When you asked him what color they were, he told you they were brown, the same as yours.

Minutes later, as soon as Wooyoung sees you're all set, he pulls you up from your bed, helps you wear your shoes, and then guides you every step until you're sitting in your wheelchair.

Turns out it was blue—your wheelchair. And blue is such a pretty color, you think. Though, after seeing the color of Wooyoung's eyes, you think nothing could ever compare with it.

—

It was your first time being able to see the garden with the stars present, twinkling up above.

Wearing the special glasses that Wooyoung has gifted you, you can't help but cry at the overwhelming colors filling your vision.

Wooyoung and Nurse Aliah told you that it won't make you see all the colors the world is painted in, but at least it was no longer just black, white, and gray—the three same colors your world was revolving in.

Another surprise welcomes you hard when you notice the transformation the garden had to go through with all the fairy lights hanging from each tree.

Green—a color you know that dominates the earth. You are so delighted to be able to see such a refreshing and tranquil color. A color you wouldn't mind looking at forever.

"Did you do all of this for me?" You ask Wooyoung in between shivers, that the latter had to stop wheeling you from behind for a minute. He crouches down in front of you, tightening the jacket around you, and sensing that it isn't enough to shield you from the cold nightly breeze, he takes off his own and puts it on you.

"Hmm, though I did ask Nurse Aliah and a few others for help. Do I look like I could pull off this surprise by myself?"

"Of course not." You playfully scoff.

"I know I asked, but I can't help but feel offended."

Laughter filled the rest of the path you took toward the very bright evergreen tree in the far distance. The sound of the crickets and the luminous moonlight accompanied you two as well.

"Is that—are we having a picnic?" You gasped, spotting a blanket lying over the green grass, a basket, and a set of empty plates over it. You think you even see a bottle of your favorite drink peeking out of the basket.

"Yes, we are, pretty." Wooyoung responds, but then something else catches your attention that you almost want to abandon your wheelchair and just say, 'fuck it,' and run.

You realize that not only fairy lights hang from the evergreen tree, but also pictures.

When you get nearer, you feel your heartbeat becoming louder. And when the wheelchair halts—Wooyoung carrying you afterward towards the area he set for you two—you were able to see the pictures much closer.

At first, all you see were the different flowers Wooyoung captured in his camera—they were a myriad of colors; pink, blue, red, and purple.

You found purple to be the loveliest.

"Is that—?" You turn your head to Woooyoung as your finger points to a certain picture of two people.

Wooyoung only nods.

It was a picture of you and your Nurse Aliah. Bright smiles graced your lips. Your arms were around each other and you were wearing your cap which surprisingly is colored purple as well.

Maybe, Nurse Aliah knew that purple was bound to replace gray as your favorite color in the long run, and the color didn't disappoint you at the very least.

"Thank you," You tell Wooyoung as he puts you down on the blanket. Everything looks magical. Like a scene pulled out from a movie, a scene you didn't expect to live out.

And just when you thought Wooyoung's surprise had reached its end, you thought wrong when he handed you a photo album. Well, it looked more identical to a scrapbook, with your name on the cover formed using cutout magazine letters.

When you open it, you see a short letter written on the first page with what seems to be Wooyoung's penmanship. From his penmanship alone, you could identify what his personality is like. And you thought it was endearing.

However, when you flipped to the next page, your eyes widened, breath hitching as your gaze stayed fixed on the very first picture pasted on.

It was that picture Wooyoung took that got you so caught off guard. The one he so adamantly tried to hide from you.

One of the candid photos he took pride in—you with your eyes staring wide at the camera, your mouth ajar, the pencil you were holding slipping out of your grip mid-air.

You were quite shy to admit it but you now understand why Wooyoung said it was for his eyes only.

It was a pretty picture.

—

Deeper into the night, Wooyoung finds himself running his fingers through your hair while you're laying your head on his lap, watching the stars dance in the endless obsidian sky.

Having you close like this, he gets to realize how frail you appear to be, one touch and he fears you'll break. A second of looking away from you and he's afraid you'll slip away from the clutch he has on you.

But then, there was your smile, ever blinding, and it made him think there was nothing wrong. That this was simply a storm passing by and that tomorrow a rainbow shall greet him from the bluish sky.

"Ask me again, Y/N," He asks after a while of comfortable silence, you merely humming back, eyes questioning him with what he means by that.

"Ask me the same question you asked me a month ago."

And just like that, bliss danced in your irises, but then you sat up a little bit too fast that it worried Wooyoung for a bit. However, the joy in your face never seemed to fade, and that was enough to reassure him that you didn't experience any pain of some sort.

"What color am I to you, Woo?" You paraphrased the question you dropped on him a month ago, one he couldn't answer yet. But now, he thinks he got it all memorized.

"My dear Y/N, if you were a color," He starts, leaning in towards you, his hands cupping your face and then he's resting his forehead against yours. "You'd be every color in the rainbow."

To Wooyoung, you were purple—a color that's meant for uniqueness and the artistic side of life, which you surely have running in your blood. Purple was a color that could relax the overall senses, which is why it's no surprise to him that it was now your favorite color.

Although, he believes you're also blue—not the feeling, though. Blue was a perfect color to describe your calm demeanor to others. Just like the feeling one gets from looking at the sky—breathtaking, pure, serene, and easy to look at. Wooyoung thinks he gets all of that just from a single glance at you.

But then you're also green. Softness and growth. In the short amount of time, he got the privilege to spend with you, he knows you've become more open to everything. You've once told him about what your past looked like and to be honest? He thinks you've started to learn to let go of the painful parts that once scarred you—like a leaf falling from the tree and letting the air carry it to anywhere it'd take it.

Yellow and orange are colors that represent joy and energy—you exude both. Wooyoung sees a certain glow in you, and he thinks Nurse Aliah will agree with him if he claims that the energy you possess is one of a kind, something that needs to be shared with everyone else.

A glow that gravitates people towards you.

And maybe that was one of the reasons that made Wooyoung stumble his way to you that very day you two first met.

Will you end up believing him if he said that that project was something he was forced to do? Wooyoung had never even touched a single camera until that day. And looking at how bright his world looks right now in front of him, he's glad he decided to do it.

"And lastly, you're red. You radiate passion and warmth, Y/N," Wooyoung tells you, never breaking away his gaze from you, and not caring if he ends up cross-eyed.

"You are love itself, and every day I wake up beyond grateful that I'm one of those people whom you've decided to share a piece of yourself with."

"Woo…" You say, already sniffling, while he's now finding it hard to see through his tears.

"Can I…Can I kiss you?" He asks, his hands shaking.

"You'll probably be my first and last-"

Wooyoung cuts you off with the tender feeling of his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was messy and frantic at first, like time was chasing you away, and was salty with all the tears. But then, every brush of your lips against his' turns into something sweet, making his insides flutter and his heart beat like he just ran a mile. Wooyoung feels warm all over as one of his hands found your waist, the other delicately holding your chin, and if he could wish for one thing, he would love to wish for this moment right here to stop as it is.

But the thing is, he can't.

He knows any moment now, an endless slumber shall find you. And if he can, he would like not to waste any remaining second he's got with you left.

"Woo, I'm tired," Wooyoung hears you say in a small voice after a while, a yawn escaping your lips and your eyes getting droopy.

He gently lifts you, placing you on his lap while letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. And then he's wrapping his arms around your body layered with jackets, cradling you like a baby.

"Woo?" He hears you speak once again. He hums back in response.

"Look at me, please?" You plead in a soft voice which almost breaks his heart there and then. But he looks at you, and when he does, he thinks he saw your eyes shine with the littlest spark it could still muster to show.

"Your eyes are really pretty," You say. Wooyoung looks away, fearing you'll see him cry. And he doesn't want you to go after seeing him in that state. Instead, he hugs you a little tighter.

"The sky is a witness to how grateful I am to have crossed paths with you, I hope you know…just how lucky I am and how happy I feel right now," You say with a contented sigh, and based on the way your cheek moved against his skin, he knows you're smiling right now.

But it turns out you weren't finished.

"My life was dull and repetitively the same until you came along with all your colors. Thank you for letting me feel how love feels like, I love you…and I'd like to believe I'll still do until we meet again."

That was the last time he heard your voice drifting in the wind before the chirping of the crickets increased tenfold.

"I love you, too, always, my pretty girl." Wooyoung gets to say before his entire body stills, your last intake of breath reaching his ears and your last exhale fanning his neck.

And then he's shaking, another batch of tears washing over him as he cries silently, slowly rocking your body with his, back and forth, and dropping soft kisses on the top of your head.

I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please.

He hears at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment he saw you so fragile-looking for the first time.

Wooyoung actually got to talk with your doctor, Dr. Lee, that day. Dr. Lee had told him that it was considered a miracle, how you lasted for a month when he thought you'd only have a week left after the both of you saw the latest condition of your heart—only seeming to get weaker as each day passed.

Now, Wooyoung wasn't one to assume things, but he would like to think that you held out for him, all because you wanted to ask what color you were to him.

"If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?"

And you did wait for a month. Wooyoung would like to say it was a stupid reason but, he's glad you asked him that. And he's even glad that you were able to hear his answer to your question before you closed your eyes.

Somehow, it brought him peace.

—

Entering your room, Wooyoung feels nothing but emptiness, the joyful energy you once radiated, is now nowhere to be found—but the memories he got to share with you linger on.

Earlier, he volunteered to tidy your room and your things when Nurse Aliah asked, and now as he's walking near your bedside table, he spots something peeking out of the sketchbook you always used to carry with you to the garden. The sketchbook you didn't let him take a peek even once.

Wooyoung grabs it, and he lets out a sound of surprise when something falls out of the pages, dropping onto the floor. Crouching down, he picks up the bunch of paper and sees there are two drawings and two handwritten letters.

He takes the drawing you made for him—a sketch of him while he's holding the camera to his face—and the letter addressed to him. Then, he puts the ones that are for Nurse Aliah back on the table.

Wooyoung takes his time admiring every stroke and shade you've made while sitting on your bed.

Now he understands why you wouldn't let him peek even just a tiny bit.

Wooyoung feels his heart soaring because you drew him.

And it was a pretty drawing.

Wooyoung sniffs, putting the drawing on the bed and picking up the letter you wrote for him this time.

Frankly, he isn't sure if he's ready to read it, especially since your passing is still fresh in his mind and his heart is still hurting.

But then again, when will he ever be brave enough to read it alone? Wooyoung thinks reading it inside the room you once resided in will ease him even just a little bit, although he can't promise that he won't cry again.

And so, after a deep exhale, he opens your letter.

One look at the first line and Wooyoung finds himself breaking down for the nth time.

My dearest Woo,

Hi! I'll be honest with you, I wasn't really sure how to start this letter, but then I thought, what if I told you a story first? You like stories right? I hope you do. Anyway, here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was a little fairy. Now, this fairy was unlike any other fairy—she didn't have wings. (I know what you're probably thinking; why is she a fairy if she doesn't have wings? But cut me some slack, will you? This is probably why I should stick to drawing, which I hope you saw first, by the way.) Since she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly. And because she couldn't fly, she felt like she was always left behind, always feeling like an outcast that she almost resented herself for being born. Why wasn't she like normal fairies? She always finds herself asking.

Right when she thought all hope was lost for her, she met this boy. A boy who had no wings but was still able to fly. Of course, the fairy was in awe and disbelief, and so, she asked the boy, "How are you able to fly without wings?"

The boy grins at her and says, "Wings? Who says they're the only thing that could make you fly when pixie dust exists?"

"Pixie dust? What is that?" The fairy asks, and then the boy shows him a bag filled with golden-colored dust, which he pours into her hands.

"Sprinkle it all over you and think happy thoughts, then you'll be able to fly just like me," The boy says, and without hesitation, the fairy follows his words.

And when she did, she found her tiny feet slowly lifting off the ground. "I'm flying!" She exclaimed with great joy. After that, she became friends with the boy and together they soared to greater heights. But nothing ever lasts, don't they? Soon, the boy had to leave her, but before he left, he gave her another bag of pixie dust and promised to come back looking for her as long as she continued to think happy thoughts.

However, the time came when the pixie dust ran out, and the fairy had lost her glow and was unable to think of happy thoughts. In the end, her life ended before she could even know if the boy didn't really plan on coming back, or if he simply wasn't able to find her. The end.

Whew, what a story!

I don't know if it made sense to you, Woo. But I think, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make things lighter by saying that, in that story, the fairy was me, and you were the boy who gave me hope. Although, I'd also like to believe that our ending will be slightly different from theirs. We both know that I don't have much time left, we do. And which is why, I'm hoping that before I rest, I'll still be with you long enough to let you feel how much I adore and appreciate you.

The thing is, being born with achromatopsia was already sufferable enough for my younger self. And then, imagine, my doctor comes in one day and tells me I also have problems with my heart and that my days are numbered.

Of course, I became miserable, who wouldn't? I felt like the world caved in on me. During that time, I only had Nurse Aliah and I even shut her out. I thought life was so unfair, because why did I have to go through something I didn't even wish to have while other people my age were living the life I could've lived?

But of course with Nurse Aliah not giving up on me and encouraging me to do the same, I outgrew that phase, or so I thought.

I was a work in progress when lo and behold, you jumpscared me with your camera and affinity for the word pretty. Have I told you how giddy it makes me feel and how blushy I get when you call me that? No? Well, now you know.

Wooyoung, despite all the loudness and wonderful chaos you entailed, you became my peace. Just like how the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against my sketchbook brought me comfort, so did the sound of your camera shutter.

Did you know that right before the moment you decided to enter my life, I was deeply yearning for something brand new? Well, that yearning was fulfilled, because that something brand new, became you, Wooyoung. In case you haven't realized yet. (But of course, I know you do!)

By the time you read this, I'm probably, well, gone…but I'd like to think I'll be among the stars twinkling in the night sky, trying to get your attention by shining the brightest while you're staring out of your window. (Please, say hi back to me!)

Just like what I said, don't waste your tears again on me, okay? My dear Wooyoung, promise me you'll only smile when you think of me, please. I don't want to cause my favorite people any form of sadness or any kind of pain.

Truth is, I…I don't really wanna go. After meeting you, I suddenly wasn't sure if I was ready to leave everything, especially you, behind, just yet.

But then again, we can never always have what we want right? It's bittersweet, but that's life for you. I'm just so, so glad that this weak heart of mine was still able to beat for you.

I love you, more than you'll ever know.

Forever and always your pretty girl,

Y/N

P.S. When will you ever show me those pictures you've taken of me, huh?

— ☁️

[finnarcher7]

Riley is worried that Jack has a death wish ever since Mac had quit a few months ago.

Jack woke to the sound of the steady beeping of his heart monitor and the muffled sniffling of someone nearby. His head throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, each pulse sending a fresh wave of agony through his skull. He cracked his eyes open carefully and groaned, the too-bright light in his room piercing his vision like twin daggers stabbing into his brain.

He heard someone moving around, the soft rustle of clothing and the quiet padding of feet. Then, a familiar female voice broke through the haze of his pain.

“Is that better?” Riley asked softly, her voice tender and full of concern.

Jack cracked his eyes open experimentally once more, finding the pain much more bearable as the harsh light dimmed slightly.

“Ri?” Jack questioned, his voice rough and scratchy, each word scraping against his throat.

“How are you feeling?” the hacker asked, her voice wavering with barely suppressed emotion.

“I’m alright,” Jack answered, though his voice lacked conviction.

As his vision cleared, Jack could see the telltale signs of tears on Riley’s face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. It was clear she had been crying for some time.

“Ri, what’s wrong?” the older agent asked worriedly, his stomach dropping with fear. Had something happened to Mac? Nigeria wasn’t exactly the safest country, and the kid was like a magnet for trouble.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Riley asked, her voice a mixture of anger and desperation.

“What?” Jack furrowed his brow, unsure of what she was saying.

“Ever since Mac left, you’ve been volunteering for every dangerous mission at the Phoenix. You almost died, Jack. If that bullet had been just a few millimeters over, you would have.” Riley wiped at her damp cheeks with both hands, her fingers trembling.

He had never seen Riley this emotional before. It was very uncharacteristic of her, and it tore at his heart to see the tears freely flowing down her beautiful face.

Riley had been in the War Room as tech support for the mission and had seen it all happen live in high-definition clarity. The drone captured the very moment her father figure took two rounds to his vest, one to the shoulder, and a deep graze above his left ear. She had watched in horror and screamed as he collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from the deep groove that had been carved out by the bullet on the side of his head. Her laptop clattered to the floor and she covered her face unable to look at the bloody form of Jack as he laid there lifeless.

She had thought she had just watched him die, and the scene kept replaying over and over in her mind. The hacker had broken down so much that Matty had to have Jill take over for Riley for the remainder of the mission.

This was the second time since Mac left that Jack had had a near miss and had woken up in Phoenix Medical. Jack hadn’t handled Mac’s absence and lack of communication very well. Each ignored call and unanswered message felt like a fresh wound, deepening his sense of abandonment.

Did Mac even care about Jack anymore? It certainly didn’t appear so. All his attempts at contact were met with silence, as if Mac wanted nothing to do with him, and that hurt the older agent deeply.

Maybe he had been playing a little fast and loose with his life since Mac left. The reckless behavior, the constant need to throw himself into danger—it was all a way to numb the pain, to fill the void Mac had left behind.

"I love you, Jack… I can’t lose you again, so I need you to be a lot more careful, okay?" Riley’s voice broke, and she swiped another tear off her face.

“I know how important Mac is to you, but you are important to me.”

Jack’s eyes teared up with his girls admission.

“I love you too, honey… I’ll do my best, okay?”

[the-masked-ram]

Apple Cinnamon Tea- Sero x Reader Love Letter Comm

A/N: This is a love letter comm for the wonderful @potionpeddlerpatchy who sent me a little bit of help in my time of need CW: first pov (from Sero's perspective), fem reader, reader prefers tea, otherwise just pure sweet fluff --- To the one who will always hold my heart,

When I first saw you, my gaze skipped right by. I thought nothing more than you were another beautiful girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day. That I would watch as you were wooed over by one of the others even as I tried to put myself out there.

It was easy to say I wouldn’t try. It wasn’t so easy controlling myself. Especially that first time you showed me a smile, so honest and easy and I had no ability to do anything but smile right back. It was like you pulled it from my very soul. Something I so naturally do anyway, but you made it brighter, made it bigger, and made it even more natural. I knew then I had no hope of keeping my distance.

I found myself seeking you out in every crowd. Searching for the brightness you brought to others around. Every time you laughed my ears would hone in on the sound, like I had a quirk specifically made just for you. It wasn’t until I saw you with Bakugou at the gala, though, that I realized I’d never be okay just giving up. I had to at least try.

I should never have been so nervous. I knew how to flirt, how to date, I’d done it before, both unsuccessfully and successfully. Yet, with you, I felt like a newborn fawn who couldn’t get their legs under them. It was frustrating because I couldn’t take that first step. All I could do was greet you, smile, and bask in that little giggle you’d give me as you turned back to the task at hand.

It was easy to find reasons to go to the hero company you worked with. It was harder to find a reason to stop by your desk. You weren’t anyone big, anyone ‘important’ in the eyes of the public. But that didn’t matter to me. So, the first day I managed to work up the nerve to stop by with two cups, one with coffee for me and the other with the apple cinnamon tea I’d seen you drink occasionally, in my hand; that surprised smile you gifted me with was enough to cause my heart to spasm. It was like having the breath punched out of me.

Damn, you were beautiful. You smiled and tilted your head in innocent curiosity. You didn’t want to assume, or perhaps it really was you didn’t realize how much I liked you. Your smile only brightened, to near blinding levels, when I placed the tea on your desk.

I asked you if you’d like to get a drink. You laughed, fully, deeply, from somewhere within your chest that flowed out from your body and into the surrounding room. The sound warmed my skin.

“Didn’t you just bring me some?” you asked, that laugh still making your words light and easy.

That softness you spoke with melted into the way you looked at me too. It burned away the nerves that were twisting my stomach, instead I just grinned widely, I went with it. I found my feet under me, and I wondered why I’d been so anxious all along.

“Yeah, I did,” I remembered saying, I recalled raising my cup to hide the flush burning across my cheeks. “But that’s just insurance. You can’t say no to stepping into the break room for a few minutes to share a cup, right?”

There was a flash of mischief in your eyes, something that fractured the sweetness you so often relied upon. It was a hint of something I would uncover later. Something I would learn about as I peeled back layers of your personality. I wanted to learn everything about you, I wanted to learn who you were, what made you like that, and what you loved. I wanted to learn every flaw and perfection you had. I thought maybe that was what love was. Did I love you?

I knew I cared about you, that I was interested in you, but did I love you? Seeing you take a sip of your tea, seeing you relish the warmth and spices, I decided it was the most likely outcome. That me… a clumsy man, a hero who didn’t even make the top ten, someone who had always been in the background, loved you, and hoped to catch your eye.

That smile never left your face but for a moment it seemed to deepen, something seemed to shine from within it. There was an expectation that waited beneath the surface.

Finally, you said, “Are you asking me on a date, Sero?”

My heart jumped, my blood rushed in my ears, and my breath caught in my chest. I tried so hard to be cool, to be relaxed and not let you see me flustered. It was a futile fight.

A laugh escaped my chest, one I couldn’t capture before it broke free. It slipped through my grasping fingers like sand through a strainer. It was airy, awkward, and hopeful. It matched my smile, the one that was often cocky and sneaky just as often as it was bright and confident, yet now it was nervous at the thought of being uncovered. Even though I knew this was what I came in for… that this was what I had planned to happen, I still wished I had the chance to back out without getting egg all over my face.

It wasn’t possible now, and though I was so often cool and confident in so many hard circumstances, you made me feel like a puddle of wobbling Jell-O. I rubbed an anxious hand across the back of my neck and nodded. “Yeah, yeah I am. What do you say?” I asked.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. Because that was the first time you said yes to me, that was the first time I got what I wanted selfishly and didn’t step aside like had so many times before. And now… now it has turned to today, when I’m holding that velvet box in my pocket as I ask you out to dinner later. So, I can ask you a much bigger question under the glitter of the stars.

-Always yours,

Sero

[krizaland]

Forever Yours Chapter 10

LMK Wukong x Bao Li

First Previous

Wukong turned his attention back to Bao Li.

“Are you ok?”

Bao Li felt her heart flutter in her chest.

She had no idea Wukong had such beautiful eyes!

She was utterly captivated by their Ruby red glow.

“Yeah I’m just fine…”

“You sure?” Wukong asked gently.

“Yes. It’s just…Your eyes…they’re like rubies.” Bao Li gushed.

“Like rubies? What are you- Oh.”

In that moment Wukong realized his glamours had dropped.

“I can explain! I-”

“Your eyes are so beautiful…” Bao Li purred, still starstruck.

Wukong’s face flushed a bit.

“Wait! So you’re not like freaked out or anything?”

“Goodness no! I’m just surprised is all. I’ve never seen eyes with such a beautiful red color.” Bao Li confessed excitedly.

“Phew! I’m glad you’re so cool about my eyes being red. I was worried you were gonna like freak out or something.” Wukong chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Is that why you hide them away?” Bao Li asked as her face fell a bit.

“Kinda, yeah. It’s not exactly comforting to see someone with glowing red eyes.” Wukong admitted as he twirled his wrist.

“Well I still think they’re beautiful, sunbeam.” Bao Li reassured.

“Really? Thanks! Your eyes are beautiful too!” Wukong replied with a chuckle.

“Since we’re sharing secrets. I think it’s time I showed you something.”

Bao Li removed her choker, revealing a golden circlet wrapped around her neck.

“I was born with powerful magic. According to my parents, I nearly destroyed half the palace before I could even speak. Because of that, I wear this circlet-” -Bao Li gestured to the circlet- “-It neutralizes my powers so I can’t cause anymore trouble.”

Wukong’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?! They just locked your powers away?! Just like that?!!”

“Well like I said, my power was incredibly dangerous. If it hadn’t been for this circlet, they would’ve killed me. Or so I’ve been told,” Bao Li explained, “But the bright side is that my powers accidentally created The Gem of Immortality. So that’s a silver lining, right?”

“So lemme get this straight, you have magical powers, your parents couldn’t handle them so they sealed them away?” Wukong asked incredulously.

“Well, when you word it like that, you make it sound like a bad thing.” Bao Li giggled sheepishly.

“Because it is a bad thing! Peaches, they should’ve taught you how to control your powers not just take them away!” Wukong whined.

“Well, it was for everyone’s safety and-”

“No. If they truly cared about safety then they would’ve shown you how to control your powers. They just took them away from you because they didn’t like them.” Wukong interjected with his hands on his hips.

Bao Li looked down at her feet again.

Wukong sighed and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad for you. Your powers aren’t weapons of destruction. They’re a part of you. A part of you that was stolen by people who couldn’t bother to appreciate them.”

“I appreciate that but-”

“But nothing! You deserve to have your powers! In fact-” -Wukong looked down at the circlet.

“Wukong? What are you doing-”

Bao Li let out a terrified squeak as Wukong grabbed onto the circlet.

“Setting you free!”

“No! Stop! My powers are far too dangerous to be released!” Bao Li warned as she tried to peel his hands off the circlet.

“Not if you learn to control them! I can show you how to control your powers!” Wukong insisted, his grip tightening.

“But how can you be so sure about that?!” Bao Li whimpered, still fighting against Wukong’s grip.

“I learned to control my own powers. I can help you with yours! You just gotta trust me!” Wukong gazed deeply into Bao Li’s eyes.

Wukong’s Ruby eyes twinkled with determination, reminding Bao Li of the endless courage within Wukong’s heart.

He survived The Three Deadly Trials.

He survived The Lava Demon.

He even survived her father.

If Wukong could handle all of that, then maybe he could handle her powers.

“Wukong… I trust you.”

Bao Li let go of the circlet and gave Wukong a nod.

“Alright! Here goes!”

With a loud war cry, Wukong pulled the circlet clean off Bao Li’s neck.

FSSH!!

A bright flash of pink light engulfed Bao Li, lifting up her body for a moment.

Soon the light faded, dropping Bao Li.

Wukong quickly dove down and caught her before she hit the ground.

“Peaches! Are you ok?!” Wukong demanded as he held her close.

“Yes! I’m actually better than ok-” Bao Li stood up straighter and looked down at her hands.- “-I feel…free!“

“See I told you-”

Wukong was cut off by Bao Li pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you so so so much!”

“Of course, you deserve to have your powers back!” Wukong cheered as he returned the hug.

“I’ll admit, while I’m excited, I’m still scared of my powers. I don’t want to cause any damage. Or worse, hurt you-”

“You can’t hurt me, peaches! I’ve got like tons of layers of immortality on me! I can handle anything!” Wukong reassured.

“Even incredibly dangerous powers?”

“Especially incredibly dangerous powers!”

Bao Li let out a sigh of relief,

“You have no idea how much that means to me. Seriously, thank you for setting me free. Oh! And thank you for sticking up for me too, Sunbeam.”

With a giggle, Bao Li pulled Wukong into a sweet kiss.

Wukong eagerly returned the kiss, savoring the moment.

When it came time for the couple to part, Wukong caressed Bao Li’s face.

“I’ll always be there for you, peaches. I promise.”

“And I’ll always be there for you too, Sunbeam!”

Wukong gleefully spun Bao Li a bit.

“This is gonna be great! Tomorrow I’m gonna show you how to control your powers then we can snuggle the day away!”

Bao Li laughed playfully and kissed his cheek.

“I can’t wait!”

“Now c’mon, let’s get back to the wedding before anyone notices were gone.” Wukong chuckled.

And with that, Wukong and Bao Li returned to the wedding hand in hand.

Next

[greeen-bean]

Friday

"Maybe it just takes seventy years to get the hang of being alive."

"'I'll never forget what dear old John Lennon said: We're more popular than Jesus now. They attacked him for it that, I'll tell you. But he was right. It was a religion.'"

"'They gave these girls something very safe to love. Something that would never bite them back. In the sixties, everything would bite you back if you were a girl.' I wonder whether that's why I love The Ark. Because they're safe. But they're not, are they? They still managed to bite me back when I got too close."

"'Were you part of beatlemania?' I ask her. She chuckles and looks down at the table. 'Well, that was a long time ago,' she says."

"When am I going to get to visit Granddad next? Who knows when I I'll have my next day off? What if he dies before then? What if I've already seen him for the last time?"

" Friends come and go. Right? I've been through this already so many times before. Friends are good for a while, but eventually, you have to move on. 'Best Friends Forever' is an imaginary concept. No one can be friends forever. Not with me anyway. Doesn't matter. It's all good. I've still got The Ark."

"He huffed a laugh. 'Are those the only two options? 'Fancy' or 'deeply in love'?'"

"'I get it.' 'What?' 'I get why you lied.' I smile weakly. 'I do stuff like that too. Back at home, with my school friends. I just say things to be liked and... stay silent about stuff I care about. Because I feel like no one cares about the "real me". But with Juliet I felt a bit more like myself.'"

"Sometimes I look at Rowan and can't remember what he used to look like. [...] He had rimless glasses and short tight curls. His jumper was way too big for him. As soon as we both learnt that we each wanted to be in a band we were best friends. The boy next to me isn't anything like that boy. Not bright-eyed and excited to tell me about the new guitar he got for his birthday. Not dragging me to the music block to show me he could play the baseline of a Vaccines song. No laughter. No wonder. We got what we wanted in the end, though. Didn't we? We wanted to be in a band."

"Lister starts tapping out a quiet jazz beat on the drums. [...] I start pressing the buttons on my lunch pad in time with Lister's beat. It isn't on, so it doesn't any sound apart from rhythmic clicks. [...] Rowan starts plucking a few notes in time with my button-pressing and Listers beat. [...] Lister starts singing under his breath. 'And when he gets to heaven,' he sings - words I don't know, and a tune that goes somehow perfectly with the chords Rowan is making up on the spot - 'to Saint Peter he will tell: one more soldier reporting, Sir. I've served my time in hell.'"

"Sometimes I think about taking drugs. Sometimes I think it might help. When I see Lister smoke and drink, I know it's bad, but I understand why he does it. So he doesn't have to think. I hate thinking."

"' You know I love you, right?' he says, his voice sounding different, low, right next to my ear. 'I know you and Rowan have always been a team, but... I love you too... okay?'"

"'Do you ever imagine what would happen if we just... ran away?' asks Lister, suddenly. [...] 'I think about it all the time,' I say. God I want to try. 'Do you?' 'Yeah?' God, I just want to go. 'I should try it,'"

"I could go and see Granddad. We could celebrate my birthday and he could make me hot chocolate and we could play Scrabble."

"I step backwards, away from him, away from the window. 'I think I'm gonna go,' I say. His grin drops. 'Jimmy... are you joking?' I step back a little more dropping down from the pavement. My heart is beating so fast.I feel so fucking good. 'No,' I say. [...] It's silent apart from the pattering of the rain. 'Where are you going?!' He shouts at me. Oh God, I could go anywhere."

"Juliet or Jimmy? It's an obvious choice, right? I need to talk to Juliet. Jimmy will have to wait. I can message him on Twitter later. He'll probably never see it anyway. Juliet is the priority today. I need to talk to her. I need to repair the mess I've made."

"'Whatever's troubling you, it'll go away.' I look back at him and say, 'What?' He he taps his finger on the steering wheel. 'I know it can't be easy being someone like you. D'you have friends around you? People to support you?' I mumble something about being fine and close the door. Enough of that."

"I want Angel to come with me. I don't know why, but I do. Is it because I know I won't be able to get through out of here alone? Maybe. Is it because I feel drawn to her? I don't know. I don't know why I feel anything anymore. Maybe it's just because she's the only fan in the world who knows who I really am. I don't want to just say goodbye and never see her again."

"'My Grandma's dead, I say. She stops talking. 'My mum and dad have always worked. They're divorced and they've both got big business careers that take them all over the world, which is why I've lived with my grandparents since I was little. But because of that I've never been close to them. They they don't really care about me that much so I don't speak to them very often.' She doesn't talk. Our shoes splash against the road. 'My older sister goes to university in America. We don't really talk. She doesn't like people knowing we're related.'"

"I go to the front of the pews and sit for the first time in weeks, months, I don't know how long, reach out to God. He's Waiting. He always is. No matter how long I go, no matter how shit it all gets, at least I have one or two things waiting for me. God doesn't care whether I have one pound or one hundred million. God doesn't care if I make a mistake, if I fuck up again and again and again. God asks me 'How are you?' and I just start crying. I try to be quiet but I can hear my sniffs echoing from the stone walls. God says, 'Say something,' and I tell Him that I don't know what to say, and He says, 'Anything you've got.' But I just cry some more. God tells me, 'Everything that happens is making you stronger,' and I want to believe Him but I can't. 'I love you anyway,' He tells me. At least someone does."

"'But the trouble is, while asking for help is always good, it's impossible to keep relying on others to solve your problems for you. There comes a point where you have to help yourself. Believe in yourself.'"

"There is one thing I'm sure of. One thing I know is the right decision now. Not stupid. Not sad. Not pitiful. I'm freeing myself. I'm leaving The Ark."