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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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WHERE YOU LEAD ME, I’LL FOLLOW ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; opening up is hard, even under the comfort of a starry sky, seated next to your childhood friend. fortunately, suguru knows you like the back of his hand.

word count; 10k (dont even look at me i got carried away ok….)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers (eventually. probably.), hurt/comfort (mostly comfort tbh), fluffy overall!!, reader is silly and suguru is down horrendous, written with a no curses au in mind, i’m madly in love with suguru geto and it shows

a/n; nothing goes harder than sugu w/ the childhood friends trope i fear. the angst potential, the fluff potential….. the slow burn of it all……….. anyways can u tell i miss him :’3

time goes by so very quickly.

as you look up at the starry sky, the thought envelops you like a fuzzy tidal wave; heavy, suffocating, entirely unavoidable. these days, sinking beneath its weight is all you seem to do.

a sigh flows from your parted lips. soft and quiet, somewhat resigned. the midnight air tastes cold and crispy on your tongue, turning into a flurry of vapour as you breathe it out again, watching it dissipate into the summer night. beyond the boundary of your vision, stars burn in tandem. all you can see is the darkness of the cosmos, pupils dilating as you take in the immensity of the world, the little flickers of starlight that glimmer in that all-encompassing veil of black — blooming out across the galaxy.

the moon is beautiful, tonight.

a big blob of reflected sunlight, smiling down at you so very tenderly, so gorgeous that it makes your heart ache. shining with a hazy kind of brightness, soothing like the lilt of a mother’s voice.

and there’s a comfort, in the familiarity of the sight. because the moon is always, always there. always shining down on you, always when you need it most, even when it’s carved into a crescent or hidden by a blur of clouds. a view that never ever seems to change, no matter how many years go by.

what a lovely thing to be.

another second lost, as you gaze into the nothingness of space. time keeps passing you by, never stopping — seconds turning into minutes, minutes turning into months. that incessant moving of the hands of the clock; tick, tock, tick, tock. over and over again.

and, really, it’s a little bit scary. you think you might be terrified of time. you’re so afraid, afraid of being left behind, afraid that the world will turn its back on you and then walk away. afraid that everyone and everything will change shape before you know it.

but even in this always-changing, turbulent mess of a life —

one thing remains the same.

”ah. there you are.”

(that voice.)

honeyed and smooth, but still rough around the edges. just a little husky. deep and familiar, etched into your brain; even if you were to forget everything else, you’re sure you’d still remember it. that familiar, familiar voice. it sounds like moonlit nights, and sunkissed kitchens.

it sounds like coming home.

a turn of your head. it’s a subconscious reaction, as natural as the beating of your own heart, memorized down to the very marrow of your bones — muscle memory, to seek him out after hearing the low timbre of his voice. you do it as if it’s the only thing worth hearing.

and suguru is smiling, when your eyes meet his. that gentle upward tug of his lips, small yet sincere. the one that always puts your mind at ease.

a warmth settles in your chest, at the sight of him. hair down, cascading over his shoulders and back, a little messy; as black as the night sky. a stark contrast to the white of his shirt, old, oversized, with some indie band on the front.

his eyes glimmer like little pockets of stardust in the darkness of the night. cutting through the haze, into your very soul.

”… damn,” you click your tongue, faux pout playing at your lips. ”how’d you know i’d be up here?”

suguru shrugs. ”lucky guess,” he lies.

of course i knew, he thinks. finding you is his specialty. always has been. like that one time he found you hiding under a table at your twelfth birthday party, or the time he found you crying in the woods when you got lost on your school field trip.

finding you comes easy, to suguru. almost like he’s always seeking you out, subconsciously or otherwise, always paying attention to your movements. you go south, and he follows. you go north, and he’s already waiting up ahead.

he’s worried. just a bit, is what he tells himself, but truthfully it’s more than that. because tonight was supposed to be for you. for the both of you, a celebration of your shared graduation — but before he knew it, you had slipped away. seizing the opportunity as soon as people grew too sleepy to notice.

(sadly for you, no amount of fatigue could ever distract him from the lack of your presence.)

you look small, suguru thinks, curled up with your knees to your chest. sitting all alone up on the roof of his home, a place you’d always go to on nights when you couldn’t sleep. together, sharing whispered secrets and hushed laughter until the sun began to rise again.

back then, it felt like the two of you were the only ones awake in the whole world.

(the safest world he’s ever known.)

the distance between you grows narrower, as suguru makes his way over to you — and it always does, at the end of the day. no matter how much time you spend apart, that uncomfortable distance always, always ends up broached. one of you always moves closer. as if it’s unavoidable, two planets spinning around each other’s orbit.

suguru plops down right next to you, crossing his legs and leaning back. his knee bumps against the side of your shoe, and his shoulder grazes yours. it’s natural, as natural as the glow of the moon, this closeness between you. it reminds you of the gentle lapping of ocean waves at your bare ankles; on mellow summer days, comforting and familiar. a warmth that never goes away.

a brief inhale, and your heartbeat settles into a tender rhythm again. the scent that always lingers on suguru’s skin drifts throughout the air, mingling with your own — it can be hard to distinguish between the two, with how often you end up wearing each other’s clothes, but you could never mistake it for anything else. cedarwood and earl gray, with a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. enveloping every single one of your senses, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

leaning just a little closer to him, subconsciously, you let a fond exhale slip from your lips. barely audible. and suguru mimics it.

”of course i knew,” he whispers, voice gone soft. ”i know you.”

(your chest tightens. it doesn’t go away.)

another tiny breath flows into the air, as you gaze up at the stars in wonder. ”… yeah.”

the silence between you is a comfortable one. always has been. a little fickle, always shattered by one of you before long — usually you, though suguru isn’t much better.

but this time, he stays silent.

he’s waiting. you know he is, because he always does. he’s waiting, waiting for you to break the silence first. waiting for you to say something, tell him what’s wrong, explain why you’re up here instead of celebrating with the others. waiting for you to explain why your eyes have looked so tired, this past week.

(you’d like to ask him the same thing. he’s an idiot if he thinks a little makeup is enough to hide those dark circles from you.)

suguru is nothing if not patient. so he waits, unbothered by the silence. admiring the stars, and the flicker of their light. a vague worry simmers in his chest, however, and he can’t stop himself from glancing down at you every now and then.

an insatiable yearning to soothe you gnaws at his heart — but he can’t, not unless you let him.

a sigh drops from your lips, suddenly. deep and heavy, like a rock thrown into the depths of a lake. the silence breaks.

”hey, suguru.”

the man in question doesn’t speak, only emitting an inquisitive hum. he doesn’t look at you, either; a form of respect. knowing you’ll find it easier to get whatever’s bugging you off your chest without him scrutinizing you.

the pads of your fingers tap at the tiles of the roof. an absentminded habit, as you inhale a bit of the midnight air. it tastes like summer. ”do you remember how we first met?”

suguru glances at you, a surprised glint in his eyes. he can’t help himself — unable to resist the temptation of seeing your face, drinking in your expression.

then he chuckles.

”haha.. are you feeling sentimental?” he teases, a lighthearted sense of amusement in his voice. bubbling up like seafoam. ”did you come out here just to brood?”

the corners of his lips quirk up when he hears you huff, hugging your legs closer to your chest with a furrow of your brow. cheek squished against your kneecap as you meet his gaze.

”c’mon,” you whine, pouting childishly in a way you know will make him give in. ”just indulge me a little…”

suguru smiles. it’s soft around the edges, smoothed over with an unmistakable fondness — and he does indulge you. he always does. ”of course i do,” he assures you.

the silence that settles between your words is tender. a mutual understanding, of sorts.

of course i remember. how could i not?

”you broke into my backyard.”

a sigh. heavy and sharp, as it tumbles from your lips, and suguru has to bite back a grin. his eyes shine with something teasing, in the dark, when you shoot a glare his way.

”okay, first of all —” you begin, ”i didn’t break into anything. i climbed over the fence. peacefully.”

suguru raises a brow. ”that literally doesn’t matter? it’s still trespassing.”

”i was seven years old!”

”some criminals start young.”

another harmless little huff, as you halfheartedly try to sound annoyed. it doesn’t work. in an attempt to hide your growing smile, you tuck your face into your knees. ”whatever.”

then your gaze shifts. towards that expanding starry sky, the vibrant flicker of the moon, like a moth to a flame. helpless to its charms. it looks like a giant sponge cake, the kind you and suguru used to make when that was the only recipe you knew — you’d eat from the batter, and he’d scold you. then he’d do it too, when your back was turned.

a smile settles on your lips. in every star, you find a new memory; and the fuzzy nostalgia that engulfs you makes your heart feel bare. ”i just wanted to pet your cat,” you recall, softly.

suguru nods. gazing down at you, basking in the expression on your face — peaceful and relaxed, a little more yourself. so effortlessly pretty, bathed in moonlight. ”yeah. i remember.”

he allows the memory to sweep him away, for a second or two. recalling the sight of you, all those years ago, an unfamiliar child in his backyard. it was like you had just fallen out of the sky. quiet and meek, but looking at his cat with an excited glimmer in your eyes.

”you just pointed to her and expected me to understand,” he continues. a grin blooms on his face, hopelessly endeared. ”you were shy back then.”

a raise of your eyebrow. ”um? i’m still shy?”

suguru gives you a look. he doesn’t have to say anything — it’s written all over his face. the classic suguru look, the kind where you can tell he’s itching to say oh, really now? the kind where he tries to look judgemental, but never quite manages to hide the amusement in his eyes.

a small giggle leaves your lips, and suguru smiles, once more. so helpless in the face of your joy.

”then we watched movies at my place.”

you hum. ”it was fun.”

”yeah.”

another bout of silence. soft, terribly precious. the air is chilly, but not enough to make you shiver; a mild summer night, pleasant on your skin and light on your heart. a gentle breeze tousles your hair. in the distance, you hear cicadas buzzing — a familiar sound. unchanging.

(if only everything else could stay the same, too.)

”do you remember what movie it was?”

a lazy smile plays at suguru’s lips, when he angles his face to look at you. one eyebrow raised. ”is there a point to this, or —?”

”i just wanna reminisce.”

suguru pauses. your eyes trail across the view that stretches out before you, from the moon to the distant city lights, as you fidget absentmindedly with the strings of your hoodie. he thinks to himself that you look a little lost. gaze forgotten, within the depths of that endless night sky.

no more teasing, he decides, tactfully. instead, he opts to answer your question; softly, as if he could hurt you if he raised even a single octave of his voice. ”whisper of the heart,” is all he says.

a hum, as you nod. decisively. ”the best one.”

suguru turns his head away, and mutters something under his breath. but you can still hear him — and you know he wants you to.

”spirited away is the best one…”

out of the corner of your eye, you shoot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. he bites back a soft bout of laughter, teeth sinking into his lip gently, not enough to sting.

”you’re so basic,” you grin.

”you just want to feel quirky,” suguru shoots back, instantaneous. ”and you only like it because of seiji.”

”you only like spirited away because of haku!”

suguru closes his eyes, and leans back a little, crossing his arms in a childish fashion — and you know he only does it to make you laugh. ”i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

”oh please,” you scoff. ”you really think i don’t remember your queer awakening?”

”hm? what was that?” feigning confusion, he puts a hand to his ear. but there’s a mirth in his eyes, impossible to miss. ”you’re gonna have to come closer, i can’t hear you from here.”

another unimpressed look. you exhale, something in between a huff and a chuckle. ”if i get any closer i’ll be in your lap, dumbass.”

suguru bites his cheek, softly. gulping down the words that almost slip off his tongue.

(i wouldn’t mind.)

”sorry, say that again?”

a little push meets his shoulder, as you roll your eyes. ”yeah, yeah. whatever.”

the banter dies down, as fast as it appeared. then a smile breaks out across your faces, in tandem, the atmosphere shifting into something more sincere — and doesn’t it always, when you’re watching the starry sky with the one you love most?

when suguru continues, his voice has taken on that softer tone, again. the one he only ever really uses around you. ”i liked thinking of us as them,” he admits. ”me as haku, and you as chihiro.”

a soft blink. then your smile grows, sweet like syrup. ”.. hehe. that’s funny,” you cross your legs. palms flat against the roof, knee leaning comfortably against suguru’s. ”i always thought of us as seiji and shizuku.”

there’s something faraway, in your eyes. something suguru can’t look away from.

tentatively, his fingers dig into the skin of his palms, and he speaks. absentminded, a little uncertain.

”… they get married at the end, don’t they?”

a pause. then your gaze snaps over to suguru’s, suddenly mischievous — and he regrets opening his mouth.

”oh?” you purr, almost beaming. inching closer, like a predator sizing up their prey. ”oh shit? are you about to propose, mister geto?”

”i’m just stating facts,” he quips, hands raised in defense. desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint crawling up his neck, obscured by the darkness of the night.

”incorrect facts,” you grin. if you notice the blush on his face, you don’t say anything. ”they get engaged. not married. big difference.”

suguru huffs. it’s small, as he tries to keep himself from smiling. the beating of his heart is faint, a tender rhythm, stirred by every move you make. he pushes the words he yearns to say back down his throat.

(i wouldn’t mind that, either.)

again, silence blooms. curling around the space between you. it feels nice, just to be like this; just you, and your very best friend, under the soft lighting of the moon. as if you’re the only ones who exist, in an otherwise empty universe — devoid of space and time. like the night could just stop, and stretch on forever.

there’s an unspoken question in the air, though. one suguru is still waiting for you to answer. one you refuse to answer properly, until he does the same.

you’ve both noticed, of course. even if no one else has, neither of you could ever miss it. suguru has noticed the turmoil in your eyes, and you’ve noticed the fatigue under his. those little signs of stress, as everything around you keeps spinning on; as the future grows closer, with every passing day.

(it’s overwhelming, you both muse.)

— and finally, you’ve had enough.

”suguru,” you call out, and his gaze finds yours instantly. ”have they been stressing you out, lately?”

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering softly. a little sleepy. they.

then he smiles. maybe a bit weak, but still as sincere as always — resigned to the fact that he really can’t hide anything from you, after all.

(of course you’d notice it. he was stupid to think you wouldn’t.)

a hum, as he breathes in the air and then exhales it all. trying to formulate the words inside his head, turn the feelings into syllables. and you’re patient. silent, as you admire the way moonlight caresses his skin.

”i’ll manage.” is what he finally says, and your lips curl down into a frown. ”they’ve just been getting on my case, again. you know how they are.”

suguru closes his eyes, and you inch closer to him. barely, by a hair, just to let him know you’re still listening. that you’re waiting for him to continue.

it’s tough, for him. opening up, being vulnerable.

but he knows you won’t do it unless he does, too. so he takes that leap, despite the insistent voice in his head urging him to just keep it to himself.

”it’s just… all these expectations, you know?” he meets your eyes, a little sheepish. downplaying his troubles so smoothly, as if you wouldn’t notice. ”i’m used to it by now, but sometimes i guess it still gets to me.”

you hum, and he continues.

”i feel like i have to be… solid,” he decides on. ”put-together. responsible, and mature.” a sigh, as he wrings his hands together. ”and that’s fine — but it’s like they have everything planned out. like everyone does. how i should act, where i should go…”

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, so focused on verbalizing his thoughts that he barely notices your fingers curling around his. but he still squeezes them, lightly. as naturally as breathing.

”it’s like my future’s already set in stone. and i’m just expected to follow it,” he looks up at the moon. ”which is also fine. i already know what i want to do. but somehow, all of it just feels so…”

he pauses. unsure of how to put it.

”… suffocating?” you finish for him.

there’s a second in which suguru can do nothing but breathe. as if frozen, stuck in motion, caught off guard by how deeply your minds are intertwined.

— what a wonderful thing, to have someone pluck the words you’re afraid to say from the back of your throat.

a smile blooms on his face, and a gratitude shines in his eyes. almost overflowing.

(you’ve always been the only one who ever seems to understand.)

”yeah,” he sighs, relieved. and suddenly his chest feels a lot lighter. odd, how just the tilt of your voice when you say a certain word can chase that discomforting sensation away.

”don’t listen to them,” you say, assuredly, so softly it’s like you’re coaxing him into believing you. it works. ”they don’t matter.”

suguru chuckles, rueful. ”they’re my parents.”

”so? they aren’t you.” you nudge his side with your elbow. ”they have no say in how you live your life. you don’t need to live up to all those expectations, you know.”

a soft little breath leaves your lips, and suguru wonders how you seem to always soothe his heart so easily. ”you just need to be suguru,” you mumble, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ”that’s all.”

a moment passes. suguru parts his lips, closing them again when no sound comes out. and then finally, he speaks.

”… yeah,” he muses. ”maybe.”

”definitely,” you huff. ”trust your best friend. i know best.”

”careful,” he teases, tilting his head lazily to meet your gaze. ”you’re starting to sound like them.” the smile on his face only grows when you gape at him, wholly offended, as if you can’t believe what he just said.

”wha — suguru…” you whine, sleepy, clinging to the sleeve of his shirt. digging your nails into the fabric and tugging on it childishly. ”don’t say that. i’m nothing like them!”

a giggle pushes past his lips. ”sorry, sorry,” he soothes, ruffling your hair with his palm. rough hands, big and warm, that always seem to find their way to your skin. ”i’m just kidding. thank you. really.”

the smile that he gives you glows brighter than the moon. he squeezes your hand, softly — a silent i love you. eyes closed, formed into little crescents, and when he speaks he sounds so painfully sincere.

”i think i’ll be fine as long as i have you,” he says. it comes out sounding something like a prayer.

the words make your eyes soften. melting into a mellow hue, so full of affection that you can almost taste it on your tongue.

”everything will turn out fine,” you murmur, consoling him. still not letting go of his hand. ”you have your whole life ahead of you, you know.”

he chuckles. the sound would be sweet if it didn’t have that teasing tilt to it, the one that tells you his amusement is at your expense. ”now you’re starting to sound like my grandma,” he quips, as if itching for something to bicker about.

but you only pout, and let your fingers slip from his. the warmth that leaves you is so jarring that you’re almost tempted to take his hand into yours again — but you just frown at him. ”i can never win with you, huh?”

suguru shrugs. ”need to keep you humble,” he chirps, pulling at your cheek gently. a lazy grin on his lips. ”we don’t want that ego of yours to grow as big as satoru’s.”

trying to keep yourself from grinning with him, you slap his hand away, playfully. ”that would never happen.”

”uh-huh.”

you give him a look.

”my bad.”

a moment passes. gradually, you feel your heart beginning to melt — just a little, but enough to get your voice hopelessly soft on your tongue. the glimmer of the moon embraces every cell in your body, painting over your features with a certain kind of bleeding tenderness. it’s hard to stop it from seeping out.

”you know that i love you. right?” tumbles from your lips, breathed out into the sky, words too heavy to be held back. ”even if your parents give you trouble, and everyone else, too — i’m still on your side.”

”always,” you promise, devotedly earnest. meeting his gaze. and suguru can’t look away.

something flickers, in the depths of his eyes, like a shooting star. something delightful.

he doesn’t quite know what to say. but he nods; almost meek, in a way, and it makes your chest ache. suguru’s always been the type to keep his troubles to himself, content with never letting anyone see into his heart — even if he’d like them to deep down.

if you can be there for him, even just for a night, then that’s more than enough.

he lets the silence linger for a while longer, soft breathing and the rustling of grass filling the space where your words would be. then he looks at you with newfound determination, suddenly, eyes shining in a way you don’t recognize.

”— and you know that i love you, too.”

a moment passes.

an affirmative hum buzzes in your throat, and you give him the ghost of a nod, shying away from his deep gaze. hoping to escape the intimacy of the question. but he doesn’t let you, stare so heavy that you have no choice but to meet his eyes again, after he nudges your hand with his.

the words that fall from his lips surprise you. something akin to a pout plays on his lips, but it’s more serious than that — he looks dejected.

”… do you, though?” he pushes, a troubled frown on his lips. ”do you know that i love you? just as much as you love me?”

at your stunned silence, suguru sighs, bringing a hand up to smooth over the crease between his brows. ”sometimes i worry that you don’t,” he admits. ”you always think too much. but i don’t want you to ever have to worry about that.”

his voice is firm, when he continues. ”i don’t want you to ever second-guess my love for you,” he declares, and you cower a little under the intensity of his gaze. playing with your fingers instead of looking at him. ”— so i want your answer.”

when his hand finds its way to your face, you stiffen, just barely. but it’s soft, the way he cups your jaw; the warmth of his palm smoothing over your skin. gentle, as he forces you to meet his eyes, tilting your chin up slightly. a bold move, even though physical contact is no stranger in your dynamic. you feel your heart pick up in speed.

”do you know that i love you?” he asks, and it sounds almost pleading. you can only find it in you to stare.

suguru’s eyes are filled with something, something you’d like to call love. and they’re looking deep into yours, almost as if coaxing you into drowning in their hue. mesmerizing. ridiculously pretty. if you stare into them for too long, you fear that you might never be able to look away.

but they’re sweet, and warm. painted over with worried hue, something very kind. familiar. the same eyes that have soothed you for as long as you can remember.

in your flustered state, you can do nothing but blink dumbly — gaze darting from his eyes, to his forehead, to the sky, to his lips.

he can tell the eye contact makes you nervous, but some part of him won’t allow you to squirm away. this is important. he needs to know that you know. he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep at night, otherwise.

finally, you squeak out an affirmative yes. and that’s all it takes for him to relax; in one smooth motion, his hand leaves your skin, a relief having bloomed in his eyes.

”okay. that’s good,” he exhales.

swallowing down a gulp, your gaze drifts away from the boy to your left. suguru is terrifying, really — doing stuff like that out of nowhere. you check your pulsepoint, discreetly, just to make sure your heart is still beating.

”alright, then,” he suddenly proclaims, breaking the fleeting silence. ”your turn.”

a blink. your eyelashes flutter in confusion, as you gaze up at him, a question painted on your features. suguru glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

”you’ve been stressed, lately,” he remarks. stating the obvious so you don’t have to. with a soft gaze, eyes that shimmer with understanding. ”i can tell, you know?”

(yeah. he always can, can’t he?)

”… uh,” you croak. clearing your throat and attempting to gather your thoughts, hoping the words will find their way to your lips. ”well. i dunno, really...”

suguru emits a low, affirmative noise, not looking at you. opening up like this makes you feel so uncomfortable. but it’s suguru. you trust him. and you know he won’t let you get away from this, either; he’ll stay up all night if he has to. just waiting for you to put your faith in him.

a sigh leaves your lips, finally, and it comes out sounding just a tad exhausted. ”i… guess i’ve just been thinking, lately.”

and, really, it’s an understatement. thinking is all you’ve been doing, for these past few weeks. thinking of this, and of that. the past and the future. him and you.

suguru hums. an unspoken encouragement.

”everything is just so…” you move your hands, haphazardly, hoping they’ll make the words easier to say. but nothing comes to you. everything is all jumbled up, inside your mind, and it’s just —

”overwhelming,” you finish. the word falls off your tongue like a tidal wave. ”everything passes by so quickly, and…” you bite your lip. ”i feel like i can’t catch up. i can’t visualize the future at all, and that’s…”

(it’s scary.)

”— it just makes me feel confused.”

suguru waits. patient, attentive, making sure you get all the words out before he speaks. as grounding as the moon, as warm as the sun.

when you don’t elaborate further, avoiding his gaze, he opts to finally soothe you.

”that’s understandable,” he chimes, voice buzzing with care. ”you don’t have to think about the future right now. living in the present is enough,” a breeze drifts by, tousling his black hair. ”.. it’s for the best, really.”

a smile. it’s a little sad, as you wring your hands together. ”i know,” is all you can say. because you do. it just doesn’t change anything.

the sensation of your nails scraping against the tiles of the roof is discomforting, but you don’t stop. when you part your lips, your voice comes out tiny. barely above a whisper.

”i’m so afraid of change.”

suguru looks at you. his gaze softens, impeccably.

”everything keeps changing. all the time,” you bite into the flesh of your cheek, harshly. ”i hate it.”

”that’s understandable, too,” suguru soothes. tentative, as his hand goes to rest on your head, smoothing down your hair gently. ”change is unavoidable. but you get better at dealing with it.”

”mm, i know.”

”and some things stay the same, too.”

you glance up at him, and his eyes crinkle. there’s something unspeakable in them, something that’s always been there. light and heavy, all at once. something a little bit too wonderful for words.

suguru smiles. almost a little shy, as he looks into your eyes. ”like you and me.”

…

a deep love unfurls in your chest, warming you up from the inside out. fuzzy and tingly. but with it comes a deep sadness, bittersweet, that you can’t chase away no matter how hard you try; like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, no matter how many times you try to scrape it off against the concrete.

like you and me.

(he doesn’t know that’s what scares you the most. the thought of that one thing changing, while you just stand there, helpless to stop it.)

”yeah,” you breathe. a wounded little breath.

suguru notices it, despite your vague attempts to act like nothing’s wrong. he notices the fear in your voice, the uncertainty. and once again, he gets the impression that you look a little lost. like you aren’t sure where to plant your feet.

it bothers him. an itch he wants to scratch away. but before he can get to the bottom of it, you begin to speak, once more.

”with you, it’s like…” a breath flows from your lips, as you try to find the words. but this time, they come to you with relative ease. ”if i could do my life over again, and make everything turn out different… then i’d still always keep you.”

silence. you continue, suddenly a little embarrassed at the honesty in your tone. but it’s too late to back out now.

”and even if everything else changes, if i could pick just one single thing to keep — then it’d be you, too.” the smile on your face is small, a little sheepish. “that’s how it is, so…”

you trail off. not sure what else to say. suguru isn’t, either; he feels just a little bit stunned, in the face of your sincerity. yet he parts his lips, softly, words making themselves manifest before his mind can even begin to catch up.

”i don’t think i’ve ever told you this,” he begins, not entirely sure where the words will take him. blinking up at the sky, entranced, whilst you look at him quizzically. ”you always call me your guardian angel, right?”

the question makes your lips curl up. it’s a habit of yours, one that’s become almost muscle memory. you don’t remember how it started, but it’s in everything suguru does; from the way he can always tell when you’re feeling overwhelmed, to the way he never fails to bring you a coffee right before your exam starts.

suguru is always looking out for you, even when you’re apart. like a guardian angel. yours.

you nod. ”because you are.”

suguru smiles, breathing out a fond chuckle, and then shakes his head. ”it’s the opposite.”

you turn to the man beside you, and he’s already looking at you. with his pretty, soothing brown eyes, the barely visible dark circles beneath them. his gaze is warm and fond, grateful in a way that makes your chest squeeze tight. you melt a little, under its weight.

”you’re my guardian angel,” he says, sickeningly sweet. ”always have been. even back then.”

inhaling the mild air, suguru lets his eyes flutter shut. the taste reminds him of the summer vacations you used to have as kids, when you would ride your bikes to the nearest river and play all day. stopping by any ice cream stand you found on the way there; you always took a bite out of his without asking, and he always tried to get angry at you. but he never could.

on your way back home, the sky was always dark. a soothing blue hue, stars glittering in the distance, while the moon looked close enough to touch. a night just like this one. you’d walk, together, talking about everything and nothing — sometimes he’d carry you on his back. not once did he drop you.

a breath, deep and drawn out as he exhales, basking in memories you aren’t privy to. a saccharine smile painted on his lips.

”without you…” he muses, voice a little breathless. fond, and somewhat helpless. but he’s smiling. ”i don’t really know what i’d do, to be honest.”

a moment passes.

”it’s the same for me,” you echo, words escaping your throat before you even get the chance to realize their weight. gaze stuck to the stars, as always. ”i can’t imagine life without you.”

suguru doesn’t speak, afraid that his heart may crawl out his throat if he does. the honeyed smile on his face says more than words ever could, anyway.

a small bout of laughter leaves your lips. sudden, sad, dripping with longing. it surprises you, catches you off guard — like something within you just overflowed.

“you know what my biggest fantasy was?” you grin, ruefully. maybe just a little manic. ”i used to think about it all the time, when we were kids.”

suguru looks at you in silence, but there’s a confusion in the way he tilts his head.

there seems to be a knot of some kind, stuck in the very bottom of your chest. something that makes it hard to speak. ”i’d get on a train, and just kinda… leave,” you breathe, hoping it’ll unclog your throat. it doesn’t. ”you know? to somewhere far, far away.”

and suddenly, the world grows just a little blurred. suguru can see it, in your eyes — you’re someplace else now. gaze trained on something he can’t see. there’s an amused touch to your voice, but also something rather pitiful. a childish wish that never came to fruition.

there’s regret, there, suguru thinks; something close to pain.

”maybe, like… a small port town,” you continue, closing your eyes. “with a cute little café close by, or whatever… somewhere you can see the sea.”

another breath. you pretend it tastes like salt, like an ocean breeze. then you swallow the lump in your throat, and whisper. ”with you.”

when you finally muster up the courage to meet suguru’s eyes, they shine with nothing but pure understanding. he doesn’t say anything, but he understands. he’s always been like that. not a single word is needed for him to ground you, the way a rock always meets the bottom when it’s thrown into the depths of a lake.

suguru’s comfort is as natural to you as the gravity that keeps the stars up in the sky.

the voice you’ve grown so used to hearing reaches your ears again, and it’s a low sound, a little raspy. but soft. achingly so, enough that you could almost miss it if you weren’t always so aware of every word that falls from his lips.

suguru looks up at the moon, in tandem with you, and lets the ghost of a smile show. ”… you know what my biggest fantasy was?”

his gaze is sincere, a little forlorn; hopelessly softened, as you meet his eyes. they’re painted over with something sweet, and something that looks just a little bit like regret.

a tilt of your head beckons him to continue, and the corners of his lips curl up further.

”running away with you,” he breathes. ”anywhere at all. wherever you wanted to go, i’d follow.”

for a moment or two, all you can do is stare.

you feel your lips part, but no sound comes out, nothing at all. suguru’s hair sways with the breeze, softly, and the light of the moon makes him look somewhat ethereal. like he could disappear if you blinked.

the silence that blooms in the space between your words is fragile. precious, if a little overwhelming, as it stretches out before you — growing heavier with every passing second. so tender that it makes you feel sick to your stomach, as if the sound of the wind whistling could shatter it into pieces.

(your heart aches, aches, aches.)

a weak laugh bubbles up from within your throat, something raw and tender hidden behind a veil of faux amusement. something vulnerable you're trying to cover up, like the glassiness of your eyes.

like a memory that never got to happen.

”what, so you’re saying we could’ve been by the seaside by now…?” you groan, forehead slumping against your knees with a bonk. ”what the hell, dude…”

suguru lets out a chuckle, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm and looking down at you with a smile on his face. one that reaches his eyes, glimmering with something akin to starlight.

”we can still go there,” he consoles you, reaching over to tousle your hair with a palpable softness. ”to the seaside, i mean. i’ll take you.”

for a while, you don’t say anything. a pout plays at your lips, as you attempt to get your emotions under control.

then you lean back, to lie down flat on the roof. the movement is so sudden that it stings a little when the back of your head meets the tiles, and you wince — a soft but exasperated murmur of careful comes from the boy on your left.

your elbows go to cushion your head, as you take in the immenseness of the sky. ”alright, then,” you hum. ”take me there sometime soon.”

suguru blinks. then his lips curl up. ”got it,” he chirps. mentally mapping out a nice spot, trying to remember the timetables at your local train station.

(next week, maybe. a picnic by the sea. he’ll make those sandwiches that you like.)

then he follows your lead, and goes to lie down on his back. right by your side, so close he can smell the fading scent of your shampoo, curled up right next to you. breathing out a sigh as he takes in the night sky in all its glory.

there’s something tender, in the air. something that doesn’t need words. a kind of comfortable silence that you’ve learned to treasure, whenever suguru is with you.

so you simply stare at the dark veil over the city, in tandem with him — a pitch-black blanket sewn with stardust.

everything expands, before your very eyes; an infinite cosmos, with all the light you could ever want. the stars blink down at you, as if saying hello, mapping out the galaxy. you try to find the constellations you’re familiar with, the ones suguru have taught you about in the past, but nothing really comes to you.

it’s nice, though. just staring at the stars in wonder.

an exhale, as you breathe in, and then out. you part your lips to whisper, breaking the sleepy silence.

”the stars are so pretty….”

suguru hums, the sound buzzing right by your ear. a soothing summer lullaby, that only you get to hear. ”yeah,” he whispers back.

a moment passes.

then you both part your lips to speak; smoothly, in a fashion that would be embarrassing if you didn’t feel so terribly safe in each other’s company. simultaneous, as the sentence tumbles from your throats.

”and so are you.”

silence. the seconds stretch on, and on. everything goes quiet.

you’re the first one to burst into laughter — deep, the kind that comes from the very bottom of your stomach. almost wheezing, as you try to catch your breath, arms snug around your shaking body. suguru follows close behind, trying to contain his laughter, but you can hear his little chuckles clear as day.

”eww, what the fuck?” you grin, shifting to lie on your side so you can get a good look at his face. ”you’re so corny!”

suguru snorts. ”i heard you say it too, dumbass.”

a little giggle flows from your lips, and you slump against his shoulder, still trying to control your breathing. suguru curls an arms around your midriff, bringing you closer. muscle memory, to make it more comfortable for you.

”haah…..”

the smile on your face shines brighter than the stars, suguru thinks, looking at you with a bleeding kind of fondness. as if you’re the only thing worth looking at.

”i hope things stay like this forever.”

the light of the moon shines down on the roof, bouncing off the white of your teeth. your canines shine in the dark as you grin, youthful — but there’s a sadness in your eyes, now. one that suguru will never fail to notice.

(one he’ll always yearn to smooth away, the same way his thumb always goes to wipe at any stray eyelashes on your skin, or crumbs at the corner of your mouth. muscle memory.)

”they will,” he assures you, reaching over to find your hand. enveloping it in his bigger one, cradling it, linking your fingers together and squeezing them softly. ”i’ll make sure that they do.”

a chuckle leaves your lips, but suguru thinks it sounds a little meek. like you still don’t believe him.

”i mean it,” he reiterates. more serious this time.

”i know,” you grin. ”but, i mean —”

a moment passes, and then your grin falters. ”you can’t promise that, though.” the expression on your face seems sort of pained, now, troubled by something. ”maybe we’ll move away from each other, or just drift apart, or —”

”that would never happen to us —”

”maybe you’ll meet someone.”

…

”a nice guy, or girl…” a sigh, as you run a hand through your hair. ”and then you’ll… i dunno. get married, i guess. and then eventually you’ll have kids, and buy a house, and —”

a pause. in a smaller voice, you continue. almost childlike. ”you’ll leave me behind.”

suguru bites back a scoff. it takes concentrated effort. he turns to look at you, but you won’t meet his gaze, and a frown finds its way to his lips. ”… do you honestly think that’s what i want?”

another moment passes you by. more seconds lost, never to return. ”… isn’t it?”

suguru sighs, a little exasperated. maybe just a little hurt, too. ”marriage and kids aside…” he mutters, burning holes into your skin with his steadfast gaze. determined, self-assured. the tilt of his voice leaves no room for doubt. ”there’s only one person i love.”

resisting the temptation to keep your eyes away from him becomes nearly impossible — so you let your gaze trail over, and take him in. in all his glory, silky black hair framing his face, a soft look painted over his features. looking at you as if you matter, as if nothing matters except for you.

and again, something breaks out across the scope of his iris, a shooting star you don’t know what to do with. he looks so hopelessly sincere.

for a second, all you can do is stare.

then you nod, solemnly. ”satoru, right?” you hum. ”you’re gonna break my heart if you keep bringing him up when we’re together, sugu.”

you don’t need to see his face to know that he’s giving you that unimpressed look, again. the suguru look. he rolls his eyes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

”i love him too, but that’s different,” he huffs.

”how so?” you prod, eyes crinkling. but there’s something a little meek about the question. he notices it, of course, because what doesn’t suguru notice?

something soft curls around his features, and a hum buzzes in his throat. a heavy tenderness bleeds into his voice. ”i wouldn’t die for satoru,” he says, simply.

a moment passes.

”… you totally would.”

”huh?” suguru blinks. ”no, of course not. are you insane?”

”suguru,” you sigh. ”you are literally the most self-sacrificial bitch i’ve ever met —”

”well, obviously i’d take a bullet or two, but —”

”what do you mean obviously —”

”— you’re the only person i’d die for.”

suguru is smiling, now. amused, sincere. almost on the verge of laughter, the sweet and soft kind that always turns your heart into a puddle. his eyes almost seem to glimmer, in the night, and it’s all you can see for a while. as you try to gather your thoughts, get the right words out.

”… always so dramatic,” you murmur, at last, a little gruff. his smile grows. you shift a little more, lying on your side to face him with a serious expression. ”don’t tell satoru that, okay? he already has it out for me. at this rate he’ll kill me and steal you away.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, deep and fond. you continue, a frown tugging at your lips. ”… and i wouldn’t want you to die for me, anyway.”

suguru lets a giggle slip, a bit too sleepy to hold it back. ”mm, i know. but if it ever came down to it, then i still would.” he shifts, too, lying on his side to face you properly.

”to me,” he exhales, and he’s so close you can smell the mint off his breath — ”as long as you’re by my side, i can make it through absolutely anything.”

the smile on his face is boyish. all teeth and crow’s feet, blooming in the light of the moon, a flower just for you. it’s perfect, you think. you don’t want a single day to pass without you seeing it.

”me too,” you mumble, linking your pinkies together. a silent promise. ”so don’t die. ever.”

suguru’s eyes soften.

then he hums, absentmindedly. ”… well. i mean,” he clicks his tongue. ”eventually i will. that’s not really something i have a say in.”

a roll of your eyes. ”alright, smartass,” you scoff, and suguru’s eyes crinkle with humour. ”just don’t die before i do, then.”

a hand comes to touch your skin. and it’s sudden, warm, but you don’t flinch away. suguru smooths over your cheek with the back of his hand, seemingly unable to stop himself. soothing, as he exhales a soft breath.

”… i think i’d prefer that to the alternative, honestly,” he admits.

you furrow your brows, softly. a part of you wants to protest, to call him a selfish prick — for even thinking the thought of leaving you behind without a best friend.

but something in you knows he won’t budge, on this one.

(it’s childish, in a way. stubborn, for him to take a joking conversation so seriously. but suguru doesn’t think he could even jokingly suggest that he’d survive without you.)

”seriously, though,” his voice takes on a firmer tone. ”i wouldn’t leave you behind like that. it’s us we’re talking about. you and me.”

he says the words like they’re undeniable — because they are. there is no him without you. that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

suguru stops to think. do you not feel the same? there’s still a crease between your brows, a sign of worry that’s impossible to dismiss. he can’t help but wonder just how long you’ve been thinking about this; how many nights have you spent sleepless, thinking of the future? of the possibility that it entails your parting?

(the thought makes him feel a little bit nauseous.)

”are you afraid that we’ll grow apart?” he asks, into the haze of the summer night. it resounds in the air around you, softly spoken, gentle but coaxing. almost pleading you to open up to him.

and it’s a stupid question, really.

of course you are. it’s the only thought that really scares you.

time moves so, so fast — always leaving you behind. who’s to say that suguru won’t do the same? that he won’t be taken away from you, swept away by that flow? into the future, while you stay glued to the past — stuck on the roof of your childhood, while he moves on to better things?

the night sky is infinite. sometimes, on nights that are a little too long, when your mind has grown a little too muddled, you think of suguru as a star in that sky. blinking down at you, while you can do nothing but watch. hopelessly out of reach.

gaze trailing down to rest on suguru’s collarbone, you swallow the lump in your throat. a little too vulnerable to feel comfortable with looking into his eyes, afraid of what you’ll see in them.

but he’s patient. waiting, always waiting, for you to catch up. for as long as it takes.

”… of course i am,” you mutter, at last. a weak little thing. farther down the street, a car swooshes by, drowning the sound — but suguru still hears it clear as day. ”i mean, it’s just…”

a meek intake of breath. you blink, desperate to chase away the glassiness forming in your eyes. trying to grasp control over your wavering voice. ”even if you say that we won’t… it’s not like there’s any guarantee. you can’t know for sure.”

suguru wants to stop you, right there. wants to ensure you that he does know, that it’s the only thing he’ll ever know for sure. just that one fact; you and him. never one without the other.

wherever you’d go, he’d follow — that’s how it’s always been. that’s all he’ll ever need.

but he knows you. knows you better than he knows himself. and he knows that he needs to let you speak freely, without interruption, until you’ve gotten every last worry off your chest.

so he settles for simply looking at you, curled up and biting his lip to stop himself from speaking. wishing he could smooth away the moisture in your eyes, already — but the tears need to fall first. he knows it’ll make you feel better.

”i love you,” you whisper, and suguru’s heart claws its way up his throat. ”i love you, and i want to be with you forever — but…” a shaky inhale. ”but i can’t get rid of that fear. the idea of losing you… i just can’t deal with it.”

”don’t you think i feel exactly the same?” he cuts in, softly.

a beat. you glance up at his face, for a split second, and then back down to his collarbone. a little fragile, curling into yourself as if hiding. ”i don’t know,” you sigh.

(suguru’s heart breaks.)

”i know that you love me too, and all. and i trust you. but…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. ”you already have your future planned out, and everything. maybe i just… don’t have a place in it.”

suguru scoffs, unable to bite back the sound any longer. it’s soft, but frustrated. ”there’ll always be a place for you in my future,” he vows. ”i wouldn’t accept anything less.”

you cower a little, under the warmth of his gaze. sweet, but stern. so distinctly suguru that it makes you falter.

”besides,” he clicks his tongue. ”i don’t need to follow the future that’s been planned out for me. i just need to be suguru.” a warm smile. ”right?”

at the sound of your own words, a light flush blooms on your skin. but for once, suguru isn’t teasing you.

”and you just need to be you,” he continues, arm still wrapped around your midriff. trailing up slowly, so that his hand can smooth over the back of your head. ”that’s all.”

”as long as both of us do that — we’ll always be together.” he looks into your eyes, and you think you spot a constellation inside his iris. ”won’t we?”

another moment of silence, the familiar comfort that settles between you. there’s no pressure to continue — but you do so, anyway. muddled mind still spinning, worried about this and that, despite suguru’s soothing words.

a part of you can’t put your faith in that kind of future. one where the two of you are together, that you could envision so clearly when you were younger — when him and you was all that you knew for certain. it’s not as simple as it was back then.

(but another part of you desperately yearns for him to prove you wrong.)

”… but,” you mumble, shaky. ”what if it’s not that easy?” a chuckle pushes past your lips, humourless. ”i mean, you can’t possibly… always stay by my side, you know?”

there’s something childish, in the way you say it. like you’re still kids, and you’re whining for him not to leave you behind. selfish, in a way.

what right do you have to chain him to you?

suguru emits a hum. his eyelids flutter shut, for a few seconds — and then he opens them again.

”… alright,” he drawls. ”let’s make a promise, then.”

confused, you glance up at him. he just smiles — responsible, dependable. your very best friend.

”have i ever broken a promise i made to you?” he asks, and you pause.

”… no,” you answer, hesitant. voice still a tad meek, a little helpless.

(and it’s true. not once has he broken one. when suguru makes a promise, he keeps it. you’ve always, always admired that about him.)

”right?” he grins, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. admiring your moon-lit features. ”so let’s do it.”

a frown tugs at your lips. furrowing your brows at him, your voice flows out, uncertain. ”promise… what, exactly?”

the moon glows, big and bright. hanging in the sky, a beacon of light, the same as it’s always been. suguru thinks you look radiant, under its illumination — even though you’re nervous, and a little teary eyed. just a single glance at your expression is enough to make his heartbeat soften.

you look like what home feels like.

he could never bear to let that go, to let you go. his very best friend; the one thing in his past he has no qualms about. the one thing in his future worth hanging onto, cherishing fully. no matter what.

suguru parts his lips, smiling. he links your hands together. ”keep being you,” he implores, steadfast. ”and stay by my side.”

a moment passes.

something crumbles, inside your chest. unable to break away from his gaze, all you can do is fall deeper into the hue of his eyes, crinkling softly — in the same way they always have. he squeezes your palm in his, tightly. a silent promise not to let you go.

— and then you realize something. the same realization that always comes to you, at the end of the day.

the man in front of you is just the same as the boy you met, all those years ago. the same boy who saw you climb over his fence, and let you pet his cat, and watched whisper of the heart with you even though he wanted to start with ponyo instead.

the same boy, always the same boy, no matter how much time passes. even though he’s all grown up now, features more defined. voice deeper and huskier. hands larger, with rougher skin.

he’s changed, just like you have — but he’s still just suguru. just that cool, sweet boy. a dorky guy who never, ever lets you fall too far behind.

a tremendous softness seeps through your veins. a kind of love, old and matured, carefully nurtured. the blinks you indulge in are slow, and your eyes shine with tears. it’s overwhelming, seeing him so up close, but you still can’t look away. he’s so beautiful it hurts.

”suguru…” is all you can sniffle, meekly.

your best friend is still smiling, fondly. wrapped up in you, as close as he can be. a familiar warmth, like a big fuzzy blanket draped over your shoulders; smelling of cedarwood and earl gray, and just a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. tailor-made just for you.

suguru never breaks his promises.

”but… you can’t,” you croak out, gasping as if searching for air. ”you don’t know if —”

”i do,” he cuts you off, gently. ”i do know.”

a breathless inhale of air, as you grasp tighter onto his nimble fingers. you feel meek, lost. not sure where to put your hands, or what to believe. ”how?” you ask, terribly fragile.

suguru takes a deep breath. oxygen enters his lungs, exiting as he breathes out. a soft flicker of life. his thumb goes to wipe away the stray tear that trickles down your cheek, his touch delicate. and then comes his response.

”— because i need you the way i need air.”

and, really, it’s a sappy thing to say. a little pretentious. he’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the soft flicker of the moon, the intimacy of the moment. he simply couldn’t bear not to tell you the truth — even if you end up bringing it up tomorrow, just to tease him. he can deal with a little embarrassment, every once in a while. just for you.

fortunately for him, no thoughts of teasing run through your mind. maybe if you were in a better headspace, a little less of a wreck, you could muster the will to make fun of him a little. who do you think you are, shakespeare? i knew i shouldn’t have lent you that copy of romeo and juliet. — something light and amused, just to distract him from the rapid beating of your heart.

but right now…

all you can do is take a deep breath. and you think you understand what he means, when that breath of life courses through your lungs.

”i’ll never leave you behind,” he continues, words so very self-assured that it leaves you reeling. rubbing comforting circles into the skin of your palm, without thinking. muscle memory. ”can you trust me on that?”

connected to his gaze, you stumble for something to say. anything.

but then he smiles, again. that familiar, familiar smile. as soothing as a mother’s caress. and only one single word makes it past your lips.

”… okay.”

you do trust him. more than anyone else in the world. so you take that leap, no matter how frightening it is —

and the world narrows down to just the two of you.

just you, and him, in this one single moment. illuminated by the light of the moon, lying side by side and looking into each other’s eyes, on a roof you always find yourselves at one way or another. laughing and sharing secrets until the sun begins to rise; a silent promise that needs no words.

(the promise of tomorrow. a summer that never quite seems to end.)

suguru cups your cheek. his touch buzzes with warmth, trickling down his wrist and through his veins — and you melt into his palm, eyes fluttering shut instinctively. the sight makes the corners of his lips curl up, hopelessly.

leaning close, he plants a kiss on your cheek. delicate, tender; his lips against your skin, a silent whisper of i love you. fervent, full of devotion. of a love that’s as steady as the sea.

”i’ll always, always be by your side,” suguru repeats, like a mantra. hoping you’ll feel his conviction through the whisper. ”you’ll always have me to fall back on. i promise.”

a little smile breaks out across your lips, meek and teary. as fragile as a sheet of glass, but still persisting in the dead of night. your voice wavers, as you raise your pinkie, right in front of his stupidly pretty face.

”pinkie promise?”

it’s a childish gesture. something to lighten the mood a little, make it all easier to chew. you expect him to roll his eyes, or raise an eyebrow, or tease you a bit. but he doesn’t.

instead, suguru raises his own pinkie, and curls it around yours. then he smiles. sweet and boyish, painted over with a rosy, tender nostalgia.

”— pinkie promise.”

and you believe him.

you believe him, because suguru has a way of making you do so, even when he has no idea what the hell he’s talking about. with that confident tilt of his voice, that makes it sound like he has all the answers in the universe — that flicker of genuine faith, in every word that falls from his lips, that tells you he truly does believe in them.

you believe him, because suguru is the only person in the world who’s never once broken a promise he made to you. not a single time. and some part of you suspects that if he ever did, he really would be okay with you cutting his pinkie off. a little frightening, the depths of his devotion. the pure loyalty that courses through his veins.

so you believe him.

you believe him because he’s suguru. and, just like you can't exist without him, he can't exist without you. never one without the other.

on instinct, you inch a little closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him extra tight. face hidden away in the crook of his neck, just like you used to do when you were kids. he’s bigger now, harder to properly embrace — but still so very, very warm.

and he squeezes you back, just as tight. comforting and grounding, and so, so secure. tugging you closer, like he needs to have you near to properly breathe. like he needs to feel that you’re there to relax, melting into the hug with a soft sigh. relieved, that you’re still with him. relieved at the promise that you always will be.

wherever you go, he’ll follow. to the roof of his home, to the seaside, to the ends of the earth. the same way every star in the sky orbits around the center of the galaxy, endlessly, before burning out into the night.

the smell of cedarwood and earl gray floods your senses, filling your lungs as you nuzzle into his neck. he’s warm, and soft, and your very best friend.

you close your eyes. indulging in his body heat, every familiar sensation that’s been etched into your bones for as long as you can remember. and you can tell he’s doing the same — breathing you in, arms resting securely around your back, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

and maybe it’s true, after all. maybe suguru really does need you, just as much as you need him.

and maybe that’s all you really need to know.

the moon rests in the sky. smiling down at you, unchanging. a living proof that some things really do stay the same.

— you hug suguru tighter, and decide that his presence is proof enough.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto suguru x you #geto hurt/comfort #geto angst #geto x reader #geto x you

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interesting-interludes · 10 months ago

Text

the comforts of creatures (6)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→ pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→ genre: supernatural!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→ word count: 4k

→ summary: you share a meal with your rescuers.

→ trigger/content warnings: PTSD (nightmares/flashbacks, mistrust), mentions of torture + forced sensory/sleep deprivation

→ a/n: a little comfort before more hurt

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part 6: the first breakfast

The last thing you want to do is sleep. Bad things always happen when you fall asleep.

You remember all the times you were strapped to the chair, headphones taped onto your ears, blindfold blocking out every bit of light, completely devoid of all outside stimuli. They would keep you there for hours, waiting until your head lolled or your body sagged, any indication that you weren’t wide awake.

Then came the electricity, flowing through your veins like liquid fire, shocking you awake. Again and again and again, until the mere thought of sleep made a jolt run through your body.

All the times they drugged your food, sinking you into a deep state of unconsciousness, then waking up with whip marks and bruises that felt bone-deep.

Then there was the nightmares. Unspeakable nightmares.

No, you can’t sleep. You don’t care how safe this place may seem, you still can’t let yourself slip.

You sit there in that massive bed for what feels like hours, feeling the strange sensation of a cushioned mattress and soft sheets. To feel warm and comfortable is still completely foreign to you.

You don’t dare lie down or rest your head on the plush pillows in case you fall asleep. Or worse, someone sees and punishes you for being on a bed and not on the floor where you belong.

The men here don’t seem bothered by it, but something deep in your mind tells you it’s all a lie. They’re only pretending to be so kind, so generous. It will all come crashing down soon enough.

So you shuffled off the bed and pressed your back to the wall, wrapping your arms around your legs with your knees tucked under your chin.

The strange feeling in your chest is back, and you don’t like it.

You watch as the moonlight seeps through the curtains and crawls across the walls, shifting with the changing hours. All throughout the night, the feeling in your chest blooms and dulls, like a pulsing radar that senses something random and unknown.

This whole thing is so strange. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do yet. Stay or leave, run or linger. There’s no guarantee that you’ll find someplace as accommodating as this one. There’s also no guarantee that the men here are exactly what they seem to be.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyeing the smooth cool linen you were just surrounded by.

They didn’t show any sign that they were bothered by you using their bed, dirtying their sheets with your non-human skin. But you still don’t want to risk it.

Sleep tugs at your resolve, it makes your eyelids flutter and your mouth hang open. You have to fight it off, rapidly blinking your eyes back open and straitening your posture so you don’t go limp.

You can’t be asleep, you just can’t.

After the moonlight fades, you busy yourself inspecting the rest of the room, crawling on the ground so no one will hear you snooping around. Even the carpet is plush and pillowy. This place is so soft, it doesn’t make sense.

Almost the entirety of the room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows covered by gauzy curtains. The ceiling too has a large skylight that shows the dark sky above.

You can’t remember the last time you were in a room as open and airy as this one.

There’s the massive bed with all its fluffy pillows and plushies, like the giant stuffed bear and cute yellow duck tucked in the corner. Along the edges of the bed are some little tables with softy-lit lamps and candles.

There’s a simple fireplace against the opposite wall, surrounded by two large bookshelves. Overhead is a projector mounted to the ceiling, pointing to the blank wall directly across from it.

By the time you’re done inspecting the room’s every nook and cranny, the first few rays of pale sunlight are starting to peek through the clouds.

You crawl over to the closest window and gently draw back the curtain.

Morning mist drapes over the dense forest and rolling hills. The sky behind it is gray and cloudy, showcasing the chill of the outside air.

It’s then that you decide to stay here another day. You’d rather take your chances here for just a bit longer than venture out into that wilderness. Because by the looks of it, this place isn’t near any obvious civilization.

Curiosity stirs within you. Your hand hovers over the latch to the window, asking a silent question you’re not sure you want answered.

A flick of your fingers, and the latch comes undone without protest. The window slides open with ease, and a gust of fresh wind hits your face.

You aren’t locked in. You aren’t trapped.

The wind is sharp and refreshing. There’s the faint smell of pine, then a brisk slightly floral scent that makes the breath in your chest hitch slightly.

It’s a luxury you’ve dearly missed.

You stay there for a while, just breathing in the outside air, until a deep growl from your stomach makes you realize that you haven’t actually digested a proper meal in a long time.

Then the empty glass and pitcher of water on one of the side tables catches your eye. Another luxury you haven’t known for a long while: clean water.

You grab the glass and shakily fill it to the top, tipping your head back to down the entire thing in a few gulps. The thought that it might be spiked does cross your mind, but you figure that if they wanted to drug you they would’ve done it by now. So you drink until the dry ache in your throat has subsided.

The door is still open a crack. Holding your breath, you push it open a little more and peer through the gap.

The hallway is empty. You poke your head out, cautiously looking around before stepping out of the room.

You don’t know where you’re going, but there’s an appetizing smell tugging you in the direction of the grand staircase.

Slowly placing your foot on each wooden step to make the least amount of noise, you enter the living room. It’s empty too, and also lit up by morning light from the tall windows lining the walls.

The smell draws you into the kitchen, where Jin is standing over the sizzling stove.

He doesn’t turn around when you enter the room, but he knows you’re there. His heightened hearing picked up on your soft footfalls from upstairs.

“Good morning,” he says warmly.

It startles you a bit, shocked that he noticed let alone acknowledged you.

Jin gives you a smile over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his expression open and nonjudgmental as he waits for your answer.

You nod after a hesitant pause.

Jin’s chest lights up with pride at the fact that you’re starting to feel comfortable expressing your wants and needs.

You feel the shadow of it in your own chest, but to you it just feels like a strange dull ache. It’s confusing and slightly alarming, but you keep your face expressionless.

“Have a seat at the table if you want and I’ll get you something to eat,” he says, setting a large kettle on the stove and turning on the burner.

For a minute, you just stand there watching him, almost mesmerized. He has broad shoulders that add to his naturally commanding aura, but the way he moves is nothing but calm and steady. There’s a fluidity to everything he does, and a timeless grace that’s somehow just as firm as it is gentle. Maybe it’s because of his vampiric blood.

He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down, polished black dress shoes on his feet. His hair is neatly styled, bangs pushed back from his forehead.

There’s no denying that he’s a very attractive man.

The feeling in your chest starts to burn again, and you hurriedly make your way to the large dining table before he notices your discomfort.

You shift your attention to the details of your environment.

The table occupies the open space between the kitchen and living area, so you can easily see into both rooms. Dried herbs and hanging plants drape from the kitchen ceiling, along with the modern yet elegant light fixtures.

You almost can’t fathom the sheer size and quality of this house. You suppose seven men would need a lot of space, but you can’t help but wonder how they maintain it all.

Because something deep in your memory tells you that you came from humble beginnings. You don’t belong in a house like this.

The next second, a small bowl is being set down in font of you. A scoop of vanilla yogurt, fresh blueberries, a sprinkle of granola, and a drizzle of honey.

“Let’s start with this,” Jin says. “And if you can keep it down I’ll get you some else, okay?”

You nod, briefly meeting his eyes before looking down at the table again.

He steps back into the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle and release a swirling tower of steam into the air.

You bring a spoonful to your lips and swallow it down, pausing for a few minutes to see if it will crawl back up in a fit of nausea. After nothing bad happens, you quickly shovel the rest of it down. It’s sweet and juicy and smooth down your throat.

Footsteps sound from the hallway. The man called Yoongi enters the room, looking half-asleep. His dark hair is tousled, eyelids drooping as he waddles over to the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants. The clothes are so big they make the man seem small and even...cute. Despite the fact that he seemed so intimidating before.

Jin doesn’t look up at the sound of the younger man’s bare feet padding against the tile, but he does extend his arm to brush against Yoongi’s back as he walks past him.

“Go sit down, love. I’ll make the coffee,” Jin says, carefully spooning dark powder into a stovetop espresso pot.

The dark-haired man blinks sleepily, looking like he wants to protest, but he eventually stumbles over to the table and sinks down across from you.

Jin knows that Yoongi is probably still drained from the effort it took to break through the wards of the facility. A spell of that magnitude takes an immense amount of strength, especially for a single caster.

Under any other circumstances, Yoongi would’ve stayed in bed to rest, but he felt the same twinge in his heartstrings that Jin felt when you responded to his offer for food. He dragged himself out of bed to see how you were doing.

He doesn’t doubt that the others felt it too, they’ll probably be joining them any minute now.

Yoongi tries to give you a warm glance, but all your attention is directed down at the table.

By the time Jin sets the freshly packed espresso pot on the stove, you’ve practically licked the bowl clean.

He’s quick to notice, at your side the moment you set down your spoon.

“Ready for more?” he asks with another calming smile.

He thought of simply bringing you more food, but he didn’t want you to think that they expected you to finish everything they put in front of you. He wants you to know that you have choices here, and hopefully it will make you more comfortable expressing yourself.

You nod, and both Jin and Yoongi feel their chests swell.

Jin glides back into the kitchen to grab the still-sizzling pan and steaming kettle from the stove. He pours the boiling water into a large white teapot on the table, already prepped with tea bags, and slides the cooked meat onto a large tray.

It’s then that you notice that the table is set with enough plates, glasses, and mugs for eight people. There’s a pot of fresh rice in the center of the table, along with a platter of cut-up fruit and a plate stacked with some kind of fluffy pastry.

The next moment, two more sets of footsteps sound from the stairs. It’s the fair-haired man, Jimin, and the muscular one. Both of their faces are puffy, their eyes half-closed as they stagger down the stairs. Jimin’s form is dwarfed by an oversized hoodie, while the muscular one is wearing a white tank top and sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

Usually Jungkook would forgo the shirt and sometimes the pants, walking around the house in just his boxer-briefs. But then he remembered that even though you’ve seen his body thousands of times, you’re essentially a stranger to them now.

Jimin looks at you from under his hood with sleepy eyes, through the tufts of fluffy hair, and waves with a smile.

The chest-feeling is getting more distracting.

He sinks down beside Yoongi, who is sat directly across from you, and Jungkook moves to sit next to you on the other side of the table, but chickens out at the last second and sits in the chair one space over.

“Did you sleep well?” Jimin asks, tearing open one of the pastries and spreading jam onto the flaky layers.

A beat of silence passes before you realize that he’s talking to you.

Looking, they’re all looking at you. Lungs hitching, you fix your gaze on the wood of the table and clench your teeth.

You didn’t sleep at all, but you’re not about to tell them that.

You probably couldn’t get your voice to work if you wanted it to, so you sit in the awkward silence, praying that their eyes fall on anything but you.

“I slept pretty well. You, hyung?” Jimin replies to his own question nonchalantly, quick to dissolve the tension.

“Like a drunk rock,” the older man answers just as casually.

Jin glides back into the room, placing the now steaming espresso pot in front of Yoongi and adding more cooked meat to the tray in the center of the table.

“Like a tranquilized rock. I could hear you snoring from across the hall,” Jin quips before practically floating back to the kitchen. His steps barely even make noise as he walks.

They all know that Yoongi only snores when he’s in the deepest of sleeps. People of Yoongi’s kind don’t technically need sleep, but after the effort it took to break down those wards, he definitely needed it.

“I think it’s going to rain today,” Jungkook says as he plucks pieces of fruit from the platter and pops them in his mouth.

It’s a pretty obvious statement. It’s early spring, so it rains almost every day here. They can all see the dark clouds and brisk, cutting wind through the windows, but it’s an attempt at small talk. Because JK can hardly stand how uncomfortable you look. It makes him want to snatch you up and hide you in his room and smother you in all the affection you missed out on while you were gone.

But he knows he can’t, and it makes his heart sag as you shift uneasily in your seat, eyes downcast.

Because you can’t help but wonder how can they just sit there rattling off pleasantries when you’re a stranger in their beautiful house.

You’re an outsider, a charity case. You can’t even tell them your name, and they’ve let you invade their peace without so much as a unfriendly glance.

Just as a burning question starts to crawl up your throat, another set of footsteps enters the room.

Hoseok, the lean dark-haired man, shuffles to the table. His eyes are barely open and his lips are puffed up in a groggy pout.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice tinged deep and thick but still cheerful.

Jimin pulls him into the seat next to him, playfully ruffling his already messy hair.

Namjoon is right on his heels, sauntering into the room with his nose in his notebook. He’s already dressed in a gray suit, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, pen twirling in his right hand.

He takes a seat at the left end of the table, looking up to give you small smile. You would’ve missed it if his presence wasn’t so demanding of your attention.

“Lovely sight first thing in the morning,” his husky voice calls, and it seems to send warm sparks of...something throughout your chest cavity.

Jin appears again, coffee pot in hand, circling around the table and filling everyone’s mugs. He then takes a seat at the right end of the table, so him and Namjoon can survey the rest of them.

They’ve all started loading their plates, sweetening their coffee with milk and sugar and caramel drizzles.

Jin pours himself a cup of tea from the large white teapot, spooning an almost ridiculous amount of honey into the amber liquid. But the honey suits him. Warm-tinged, naturally sweet, heavy on your tongue. He seems to leave a trail of it wherever he goes, along with the tangy scent of citrus.

Namjoon looks up from his notebook, scanning the table.

“Where’s—” He’s answered a second later when the curly-haired man descends down the staircase. He looks just as sleepy as the rest of them. Well, maybe not Jin and Namjoon, but his eyes are dark-rimmed and his mouth is set in the same half-awake pout.

But all of that seems to flicker away in an instant when he catches sight of you. It’s like your face is a bucketful of ice water, chilling him into a strange sense of alertness.

He surveys the table, noticing that the only open seat is the one directly next to you.

You look away before you can see the realization play out on his face. Reading people isn’t exactly your expertise, but you can tell when someone looks at you with disdain. Of course you do, it’s all your scattered memory can recall. And you know that Taehyung doesn’t like you.

He ducks his head as he reluctantly sits down at the table, stiff in the limbs.

If the others notice, they don’t show it.

Jin is busy making a plate for you: seared meat on a bed of rice, a side of sliced fruit, and a pastry smothered in butter.

He places it in front of you with that same nonchalance. It says eat what you want, no one here is going to judge you.

It’s a little surprising how easily you believe him.

You hesitantly pick up the fork beside your plate, eyeing the others to see if they react negatively. None of them do, there’s only slightly curious and attentive expressions thrown your way.

They’re trying hard not to stare, trying hard not to look hopeful as you survey the food.

You poke at the meat, mouth watering at its savory aroma.

You bring a forkful to your mouth. Just chewing the protein makes you feel more full than you have in months.

The boys try to contain their joy when you start to eagerly eat mouthful after mouthful.

Jin and Namjoon exchange a near ecstatic glance across the table. The others look at each other too, endeavoring to suppress their excitement.

You don't know it, but this is a significant moment. Breakfast has always been important to all of you. Jin and Namjoon leave for work early in the morning. The rest of them are freelancers, but they wake up early so you can all eat together at least once a day, in case Jin and Joon aren't home in time for dinner.

This is the first time you've all been together to share a meal like this since your disappearance.

A comfortable hush falls over the room as everyone eats and sips at their coffee, with the occasional comment or question tossed into the air.

You barely hear it, too focused on the food. It's all so luxurious, the well-seasoned meat, the fresh fruit. You can't remember, no matter how hard you try, the last time you had a meal like this.

Your mind starts to clear once your plate is licked clean, and thank heavens it seems to be staying down.

The men, they're talking about the weather. Here you are, a stranger, a nuisance, at their table. And they're talking about the weather, treating you like you're one of them, when everything inside is screaming that you are anything but.

The slam of silverware, and everyone looks up in slight shock. It's only after a few seconds that you realize it was you who made the noise.

Everyone's eyes on you, but you don't care. The questions itch too bad.

"What now?" you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts.

They all look at each other.

"What do you mean, love?" Jin replies, his expression calm.

You scan each of their faces, trying to answer the indefinable question floating in your mind. They're all looking at you with something heavy and strange in their eyes.

"What happens now?" you say, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

"Well, you're still getting used to things. I'd say the next step is a brain scan, to see if there's any more damage, and maybe if we can recover some of your memories," Jin answers.

You want to ask how he knew that you were missing your memories, but Yoongi interrupts the thought.

"Today we can show you around the house, maybe you can meet the pets if you'd like," he says.

They'd kept the animals separate from you, knowing that they'd all rush to jump all over you after your absence, especially the dogs.

You look down at the table.

"What other questions do you have?" Jin asks kindly.

You can still feel their eyes on you, but your gaze is fixed down at your empty plate.

"Why were you there?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

A pause, and you look up to find a mixture of confusion and hesitation on their faces.

"At the facility. Why were you there?"

You remember them busting down the walls, mowing down guards, Jin cradling you in his arms like you were a long lost lover.

"The F&F has a reputation for taking atypical prisoners. We were hoping to rescue them," Namjoon says. It's not a lie, they did free all the other atypicals in the building, but he left out the fact that they were there looking for you.

"Why?" you ask. There's a heavy sensation in your chest.

"Because the F&F deserves to rot in hell for what they've done," Taehyung blurts out before he can help it. Jungkook puts a hand on shoulder, a gentle warning not to scare you.

Namjoon sighs when confusion clouds your features.

"Because we look out for people like us," he says.

You don't know what to say to that. A moment of silence falls upon the room.

"Well," Jin says, wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin and getting up out of his seat. "I think it's high time we show you around."

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stellocchia · 2 months ago

Text

I've been bullying my boy Killer too much lately, so you guys are getting some fluffy headcanons for a change:

At some point, he picks up body painting. Color's bones are too sensitive for that kind of stuff (paint getting into the small cracks would NOT be fun) so Delta is his favorite canvas

Dust, Cross, and Epic also get themselves painted sometimes (Dust does face only, while with Cross and Epic it depends on their mood), while Horror has the same issues as Color. That said, Horror and Color appreciate the view, and Color has gotten plenty of cool pictures out of it

Killer can see Beta, XChara, Phantom, and all of Color's souls, mainly because they're all somewhat connected to the players/creators. As in they're a direct result of their actions. He uses this ability for evil exclusively (aka pulling pranks on his friends and getting them to snoop for him so he can know what the perfect present would be for them)

He doesn't remember his original birthday at all. He remembers very little of his life. Still, his friends insisted that he couldn't be without one so he chose the 20th of April (4/20, because he's a dumbass). Epic approved. Everyone else groaned

He hates surprises, so his first birthday was meticulously planned and approved days in advance. He loved every second of it. They took him to a natural reserve in an AU he never explored before and they hiked there the whole day. Killer got to pet a bear. Even the guide was surprised he didn't get mauled for it, but Killer gets Disney Princess privileges

He says his comfort food is specifically the grilled cheese sandwiches Horror makes. Truthfully, he can't taste anything, but Horror is so happy any time he hears it and any time he's cooking them (he used to make them for his bro all the time before the food crisis) and that's enough to make them Killer's favorite

He loves using makeup. He met an Underlust Sans one time at a shop who is also a small content creator and he started appearing in his videos as literally just a canvas for all the experimental makeup. He's quite the heart-throb with the viewers. He's got pretty boy privileges. (His friends were just happy to see him becoming more social, because he clearly is a very extroverted guy and he was suffering mostly staying inside all the time)

He and Color sometimes disappear for days at a time, getting lost in their explorations, so their friends have gotten them any piece of equipment they could think of that could aid their survival. And Horror has been learning how to make dehydrated food so it will be easier for them to pack more provisions

Stage 3 has built an excessive amount of dens, all filled to the brim woth pieces of clothing belonging to its friends. This is partially because all of those fuckers keep enabling it. They see those big empty eyes staring at them and immediately give it a pile of clothes they're not using at the time. Stage 3 has several dens in each of their homes

At some point, Stage 2 gets particularly clingy with Delta (may have something to do with Delta punching Nightmare in the face for daring to get close to Killer again). Both of them deny that that's what's happening, but it's common to find them latched onto each other in the weirdest of places. Their favorite place to totally-not-cuddle is the top of the fridge

Stage 4 finally gets some friends. Not owners, friends. They're kinda like its pack. It would have hated that at the start, but, after a while, the responsibility of keeping its pack safe became enough to keep it happy and in line. Color's still wearing the heart locket just in case though. But they usually don't need it

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seramilla · 24 days ago

Note

Fluffy/angsty Chaggily idea for the Emily in Hell AU: Emily mostly adjusting well to her transformation but still feeling a little self-conscious about it sometimes, but Charlie and Vaggie are good girlfriends about it.

A little twist on this, because there wasn't quite enough angst. For @tanema123 and @xellas-the-wanderer, and for dealing with the crisis mode I've been in for months.

Before Sera fell, Emily spent plenty of time feeling sorry for herself.

She had every right to. Forced bodily changes and broken bones aside, Emily had been literally thrust out of the only home she'd ever known. That sense of security and safety in Heaven, by Sera's side, stolen from her in the time it takes to inhale a breath. It had been more than the young angel could handle.

Everything she'd ever thought to be true about Heaven -- about goodness, and holiness, and glory, and eternal love -- had been snuffed out forever by a single brash decision from the elders.

She'd spent days in Charlie and Vaggie's bedroom at the hotel, bones and body healing and getting used to her new form. (Or had it been weeks? She couldn't recall at this point).

The once happy, boisterous Seraphim of Joy, reduced to a puddle of blankets, random animal limbs, and wings curled up on the oversized mattress in the fetal position. Charlie wanted to stay with her, and comfort her, but she and Vaggie had official hotel business to run. Their patrons needed them. Life didn't pause for anyone, and that went doubly for the princess of Hell.

Keekee stayed at Emily's side at all times, providing her some companionship and comfort when her girlfriends couldn't. Charlie and Vaggie checked in on her often (mostly Vaggie), every hour on the hour, bringing her food and water, just making sure she was safe and had her basic needs met.They did their best to make her feel cared for. So that she didn't…wouldn't try to do anything stupid.

Emily wouldn't. She couldn't. She loved them too much. Even if she didn't love herself anymore. She ate, and drank, and bathed, and tried to maintain appearance as some semblance of a person. For them. Even if she didn't feel like one.

But often, she succumbed to the grief, and there was nothing more to be done than to hide from the world.

One afternoon, Vaggie slips into her and Charlie's bedroom, silently and gracefully, a tray of sandwiches and water balanced precariously in one hand as she opens the door. The room is dark, curtains drawn tight, and only a small sliver of red, hellish sky seeps in past the heavy fabric. That telltale lump of blankets on the bed known as Emily barely stirs.

"Hey, Em," Vaggie says barely above a whisper. "You missed breakfast today. Are you hungry? I brought you a snack."

The only response from the little Seraphim is a slight shifting of fabric, a back-and-forth movement of the material that looks like Emily is shaking her head "no". Her blueish-silver lion's tale peaks out from under the covers, the tufts of fur at the end all fluffed up. Her tail flipflops across the bed animatedly, like an annoyed cat's. Vaggie does her absolute darnedest not to make any sound in response at all.

It's adorable. But Emily isn't ready to hear that yet.

"C'mon, Em," Vaggie says, putting the tray on the bedside table, and sitting on the side of the mattress next to her.

Vaggie touches Emily's tail lightly, so gently, barely playing with it between her fingers. It flits in her hand with a life of its own, and Vaggie strokes it affectionately. Vaggie is the only one who's been brave enough to touch Emily casually since she fell. She's the only one Emily will allow touching her right now.

Other than carrying Emily back to the hotel that first day, Charlie has barely been able to look at her, let alone touch Emily's new form. But that bond Emily and Vaggie had formed in Heaven for centuries is still there, and she doesn't shy away from touching Emily to comfort her, or help her bathe, or cuddle her at night, or perform any number of basic self-care tasks. It doesn't bother Vaggie. It doesn't gross her out. Emily can barely look at herself, so she lets Vaggie do most of the care-taking.

"C'mon, sweetie," Vaggie repeats, pulling up the edge of the blanket enough to get a view of Emily's butt. She's wearing one of Vaggie's T-shirts and a pair of Charlie's shorts, with duckies on them. They'd cut out a hole for Emily's new tail to fit through, so she's more comfortable.

"I don't want to," Emily pouts, her little hoofed feet pushing herself deeper underneath the covers. Vaggie can see a pair of dark, ocean-deep eyes staring back at her from the shadowy depths of the blankets. They blink at her slowly, like a frog. Vaggie thinks they are so pretty, in an ethereal, otherworldly way.

"Why not?" Vaggie asks.

"I just…I'm not hungry!"

Emily's stomach growls, loudly, like a lion in its den.

"That's a lie," Vaggie chuckles.

"Charlie hasn't been to see me today!"

That statement from Emily makes everything go quiet again. The fact that Charlie hasn't visited yet surprises even Vaggie. Normally, she and Charlie take turns; if one of them is more preoccupied, the other will pick up the slack. Charlie has been busy with her dad all morning, fussing and mussing about the hotel, but certainly, Vaggie thinks, she should have visited Emily at least once by now.

"She's been working this morning. I'm sure she'll come see you as soon as she's done." Vaggie's voice sounds uncertain and unconvincing, even to herself.

"No, she won't!" Emily stutters. Her voice is quaking and muffled now; she's obviously crying, face buried in her pillow, soaking the fabric with tears. "She hates me! Every time she comes, she can barely even look at me!"

"Sweetie, she doesn't hate you," Vaggie says, leaning over Emily to stroke her head (or what she thinks is her head) softly through several layers of blankets. She can feel the hard bump of one of Emily's horns, so the Seraphim's head is in the general vicinity of where her hand is, at any rate. "Charlie just feels guilty about everything. And when she feels guilty, she throws herself into her work. She doesn't mean anything by it. I promise."

"Then why doesn't she touch me, or kiss me, or...something?! All she does is apologize, and cry, and...and pity me! It makes me feel horrible! For causing you all so much pain! I wish I wasn't here anymore! I wish the elders had killed me instead of doing this! I'm a monster!"

Suddenly, there is a sharp sob from the doorway, and a crash of metal and ceramic clattering to the floor. Vaggie jerks her head around, and sees Charlie standing there, a tray of her own that she'd previously been carrying now in a heap upon the floor. The princess ignores the tea soaking into the floor, and the shattered teacups and pitcher. Her eyes are filled with tears, one hand over her mouth in shock, failing to hide a pained, exasperated expression on her face.

"Emily..." Charlie says. She's obviously overheard at least part of their conversation. Most certainly that last part, with the way she looks like she might collapse onto the floor, herself. The princess looks broken. Hurt, and miserable, barely holding it together. "Is...is that...what you really think of me? You think I hate you?"

Realizing Charlie's in the room, Emily scrambles under the sheets, desperately trying to free herself from the tangle of fabric trapping her limbs. Her head finally pops out of the blankets, hair askew and round ears twitching in irritation. She looks over at Charlie in disbelief, the princess' knees looking like they are about to buckle beneath her.

"Charlie! Wait! No, that's not--! I didn't mean that--!"

Emily barely has a chance to respond. Charlie sidesteps the mess she's made and is suddenly rushing to her beside, practically crawling on top of Emily in her desperation to get to her girlfriend. Emily's legs are still tangled in blankets, but Charlie grabs her around the neck, stopping the angel before she can even attempt an escape.

Not that Emily wants to go anywhere. Not now that Charlie is here, holding her fast to her chest, and sobbing into the fallen angel's hair as she frantically tries to make her stay in her arms...leaving this bed is suddenly the last thing on her mind.

"I'm sorry!" Charlie weeps, tears soaking into Emily's hair; her hot breath makes Emily's sensitive ears ache. She kisses Emily's moist cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Emily! I had no idea I was making you feel that way! Of course, I don't hate you! I love you! More than anything! I just wanted to give you your space, and I didn't know what to say, and I got carried away with work. I'm such an idiot. Please, don't leave!"

Charlie's grip is harsh against Emily's skin. Ever since her transformation, Emily's senses are heightened, and every little stimuli feels like so much. Everything is on overdrive all the time, including the way Charlie's claws dig into her back and shoulders, where her wings normally appear. Charlie's pleas and sobs are overwhelming, but Emily sits there, and she takes it. Because for the first time in days, Emily can feel the full force of Charlie's love all around her. She never wants to let it go.

"I'm sorry, too!" Emily cries out. She doesn't know why she's apologizing, but she can't seem to hold her emotions in anymore. She squeezes Charlie around the waist, and buries her face in the princess' suit jacket, being mindful of her horns and trying not to poke her girlfriend with them.

Emily succumbs to the emotional weight of it all. Her wings pop out, appearing in a flash of light, and flecks of gold from the transformation sparkle all around them. Blueish-silver and gold feathers wrap protectively around herself and Charlie, keeping the other woman close to her, afraid to ever let go of her again.

Charlie's hand strokes the feathers within reach, carefully and tenderly, and Emily basks at the light touch. Emily brings Charlie's other hand to rub against her cheek, soaking Charlie's palm with fresh tears. Charlie also takes the chance to touch one of Emily's small horns, wrapping her hand around it, and admiring it. It's smooth, like ivory under her fingers. It feels good to have it touched.

This is the first time Charlie's laid comforting hands on her in days, and she's doing it while Emily looks like this. The sheer force of that fact makes Emily want to cry all over again.

"Please don't apologize to me," Charlie sobs. "You needed me, and I closed myself off inside my own head. I love you, no matter what you look like. You'll always be beautiful to me, Emily! Please don't forget that."

"Okay. Okay! I won't."

Emily won't. Not anymore.

Being mindful of her wings, Emily rolls onto her side, pulling Charlie down to lie next to her. She's missed this. Missed her princess. Missed the type of attention that only Charlie can give. She kisses Charlie passionately, and Charlie kisses her back, and both women get lost in the moment. In themselves. Vaggie looks on affectionately.

Vaggie carefully scootches over to sit behind Charlie on the bed, laying her hand comfortingly on Charlie's head, stroking her blonde hair while the taller woman makes these adorable half-whimper/half-crying sounds into Emily's lips. Emily's still pretty emotional, too.

Vaggie chuckles. "You knuckleheads are so hopeless, you know that?"

Leave it to her girlfriends to cry while they're kissing each other, Vaggie thinks. They choose to ignore Vaggie's teasing, and go back to sucking one another's faces. Vaggie smiles, and leans down to kiss each of their exposed cheeks, in turn.

"Love you guys, too."

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #emily hazbin hotel #vaggie #chaggily #charlie's angels #ask #anon #keekee hazbin hotel #emily stays in hell au

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birinboom · 1 year ago

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Post-Apocalyptic Shopkeep Bakugou

This came from me being tired and skimming a prompt for another piece - coffee shop/bookstore au or dystopia au with Bakugou - and my eepy brain turning it into ‘dystopian bookstore Bakugou’. I ended up imagining less of a bookstore per se, and more of a shop from a dystopian/post-apocalyptic game where you’d buy weapon upgrades, treasure maps, etc from an older and incredibly tired Bakugou.

WARNING! This is quite a bit darker than what I usually write, it contains mentions of blood and death (the reader recalling seeing someone being shot).

Shopkeep Bakugou, linguist reader Post-apocalyptic au, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mild swearing, fluffy ending 🌸 1,204 words

Making the trek across the dried-up seabed was always a challenge, even as civilization slowly expanded, creeping closer and closer to the old shipwreck. You adjusted the piece of fabric you’d tied over your nose and mouth; the dust kicked up with every step was hazardous if inhaled. It would cut your lungs to shreds - or so you’d heard. You didn’t want to take any chances.

Finally you spotted the wreck, tucked into a dip in the ocean floor. As always, you took a short detour to marvel at the bones jutting from the ground close to the wreckage. You always liked to imagine that this giant creature was the one to take down the ship, tearing it to pieces before letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it died from its wounds? Maybe it had cut itself on the metal of the hull and bled to death? Or - much more likely - the creature was a victim of the ocean drying up, completely unrelated to the wreckage. You shrugged, reaching out to touch the sun-bleached bones. It didn’t matter what the truth was. You’d never find out anyway, and the idea of a battle between ship and sea monster was fun.

Moving on, you started the climb onto the shipwreck, careful to not cut yourself on the rusty metal. Your gaze crept up to the bow of the ship where the name had once been painted. It had bleached enough over the centuries that it was almost invisible, all you could read was ‘MS Ba--’ Maybe that was why he’d picked this place. Far enough from civilization that only serious buyers would make the trek. You had started to think of the wreckage as the ‘MS Bakugou.’ Another thing to amuse yourself with. And amusement was exactly why you’d come.

The air cooled around you as you moved deeper into the wreck. Finally, you reached your destination, a door with the words ‘stay the fuck away!’ painted on it. Ignoring the warning, you began spinning the handle, your labored breath almost drowning out the muted sounds of the latches clicking into place on the opposite side of the door. Then, you heaved the door open, instantly raising your hands as the door clanged against the wall.

A battle-hardened crimson gaze bore into you over the barrel of a shotgun. You stood still, knowing well that moving before he’d recognized you might cause him to pull the trigger. You’d seen it happen when some idiot decided to attempt to raid the wreck while you’d been present. His rattling breath still haunted your dreams.

“It’s just me,” you said softly.

“You again?” His voice had a tinge of irritation, but he lowered the gun.

You entered, carefully stepping over the tall threshold, lest you trip like you did on your very first visit.

“What do you want this time?” Bakugou’s voice was tired. You couldn’t remember when his tone had changed from the snark it’d that first time, when the hard edge had appeared. But you supposed that it happened to everybody over time.

Placing your hands behind your back, you looked around the room, inspecting the shelves.

“You got anything new?”

Bakugou gestured behind him before he picked up an oiled cloth and a rusty handgun receiver. “Bought a couple of crates from a traveler yesterday. Haven’t had a chance to look at them properly yet.”

Slipping behind the counter, you crouched next to the crates, slowly searching through the contents. Despite how irritated Bakugou had sounded when you showed up, it was testament to his trust that he allowed you to be behind him. It had taken years of visits before he’d stopped watching you like a hawk, longer still for him to relax in your presence. Turning your head, you just watched him for a while, watched his broad, scarred shoulders move under his tattered, sleeveless shirt as he cleaned the rusty handgun, gaze focused on the weapon. His movements were fluid with decades of practice. Hypnotizing.

Bakugou spared you a glance. “Found anything?”

“Not yet,” you replied, eyes snapping back to the crates.

You heard a soft chuckle but chose to ignore it as your fingertips brushed over something papery. Digging your hands further into the crate, you pulled out a stack of books, their pages yellow with age.

“Bakugou, look at this!”

He turned, one eyebrow rising when he saw the stack in your hands.

“Heh, only a nerd like you would be so happy over books.”

“I’m a scholar, you old fart!” you retorted.

Bakugou bundled the oiled cloth in his fists, preparing to throw it at you as punishment. His hands sank when you took no notice of him, too busy looking through the books. He had to fight to keep the fond smile off his lips when you looked back up, your eyes shining with glee.

You held a book out to him. “Check this one out!”

Bakugou just looked at you for a moment. “You know I can’t read that old-ass language - what did you call it again, English? People like you pick up the most useless skills.”

You shrugged, looking back at the book. “It’s useful for treasure hunting. And you know my lock-picking skills are excellent.” Tapping the cover, you added, “It’s a book of fairy tales.”

“Keh, children’s drivel,” Bakugou replied. “Sounds like it’ll be right up your alley.”

Ignoring him, you moved on to the next book. “And this one… ‘maps of the contiguous United States.’ Okay, this one is useless.”

Looking through the rest of the books, you deemed everything but the book of fairy tales unworthy. Holding out the book again, you asked, “How much?”

Bakugou scoffed. “You can have it. Can’t sell that shit anyway. Might as well give it to someone who’ll enjoy it.”

You beamed at him. “I’ll read it to the kids at the village in your honor.”

He shrugged, returning to his gun-cleaning. “If you must.”

Settling on the lid of one of the crates, you spent a moment looking at the movement of his shoulders again.

“Why don’t you ever come to the village? It’s safe there, and I’m sure your fighting experience would be appreciated. You don’t have to live by yourself.”

Baugou stopped for a moment, just staring at his hands, fingers flexing. “I don’t get along with people,” he finally said.

“You get along with me…”

“You’re an exception.”

You looked at the book again, fighting to keep the heat from rising in your cheeks from the unexpected compliment. Looking over the faded cover picture of five mice dancing around a cat, you then opened the book to the first tale.

“Want me to read it to you? It’ll let me practice reading for the kids.”

He shrugged again. “If you want.”

You started reading, pausing on occasion to think of a good translation or to explain some archaic term. During one of these times, you noticed that Bakugou had stopped working. He was leaning on the counter, hands still, eyes soft and unfocused as he listened.

He frowned, his eyes slipping back into focus. “Why’d you stop?”

“Just thinking.”

You continued reading, a smile blooming on your lips.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks (on and off anon) are always greatly appreciated! If you like, you can check out my other works here. Love, Em 💖

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #post apocalyptic au #tw: blood #tw: death #mild swearing #bakugou #bakugo #bakugō #bakugô #katsuki #x reader #x you #drabble #drabbles

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chronicowboy · 1 year ago

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let's build this house (into a home, baby) | 25k

aka the dilf next door neighbours au

The day both Buck's tomatoes and chillies germinate is also the day the universe decides to give him a little nudge. He's sitting out in the backyard with a book on octopuses and a beer, soaking up the last of the day's sun as his attempt at Bobby's six cheese lasagne bakes in the oven, when Christopher pops up over the fence.

"Hey, buddy!" he calls out with a grin. "Did you know that octopuses actually is the correct plural form of octopus not octopi?"

"Cool." Chris smiles, but it fades just as soon as it appears. Buck dog-ears his page and sets his book down.

"Everything okay?" he asks carefully, crossing to the fence.

"Yeah, I'm just hungry." Christopher sighs. "Dad burnt dinner. Again."

Buck glances through his open back door to the dining table with three mismatched chairs, and bites his lip. He's got no excuse today, the evening sun leaving him lethargic but not exhausted, the hour reasonable.

"Hey, I've got an idea." Buck winks at Christopher. "Stay there, okay?"

Buck grabs his beer, book and folding chair, setting them just inside the entrance. He makes his way to the front door, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix his curls into something a little more presentable, and walks the few yards down their adjoined porch to Christopher's door. With a deep breath, he raises his hand and knocks.

The door swings open a few seconds later, and Buck's mouth goes dry at the sight that greets him. Buck was distantly aware that Christopher's dad was training to be a firefighter, distantly aware of the physique that comes with the job, but had been expecting, you know, a dad. Socks and sandals, cargo shorts, a Henley. This is most definitely not the image of Christopher's father he'd conjured in his mind because he's not just a dad, he's a downright DILF. Socked feet in sliders, sweats that leave little to the imagination, and, yes, a Henley—forest green and hugging the meaty curves of his biceps in a way that makes Buck feel a little feral with the urge to just bite. And then there's the guy's face. Fuck, its unholy, illegally attractive. Tan skin stretched smoothly over perfect bone structure, fluffy waves falling over his forehead and looking softer than anything Buck can imagine, lips plush and pink and inviting, a light dusting of stubble across his jaw that Buck desperately wants to feel—not fussed about where exactly he feels it.

As his eyes crawl back up to the man's face, he catches the guy's gaze dragging up his own body. He preens a little, something hot pulsing behind his sternum. When their eyes meet, Buck gets a little breathless. Christ, if the rest of him was divine, his eyes are transcendentally beautiful. Brown as Buck's perfect cup of coffee right in the middle of a non-stop shift and just as warm, brown as earth and with a gravitational pull all of their own, brown as chocolate and just as tempting. Buck thinks he could spend hours getting lost in those molten eyes, thinks he could curl up in those irises quite comfortable for the rest of his life, thinks those eyes could be the last thing he sees and he'd be happy.

"Buck!" Christopher's voice startles them out of their staring match, and Buck watches as the guy looks between them with a frown.

Fuck, maybe Chim was right. Maybe this is weird.

"You're Firefighter Buck?" The guy asks him, raising an eyebrow, and, oh God, his eyes are practically sparkling with amusement.

"Expecting something else?" Buck asks, holding his arms out in what is hopefully not an obvious request for the guy to look at his arms.

"Maybe someone a little shorter and more imaginary," he murmurs with a darting glance at Christopher.

"No, I can assure you I am very real."

"I can see that," he mutters to himself. Buck flushes and ducks his head to hide his pleased smile

taglist <3: @danielsousa @diazass @gracelcdomas @shortsighted-owl @juliaor @blazeturbo102 @i-spit-on-fire @alyxmastershipper @disasterpans @virtualstudent16 @hippolotamus @ebdaydreamer @scarcrossedbuck @buffaluff

#sami rambles #she's finally done the sexiest au i might have ever written #i adore this fic so much #hope u guys enjoy!!!#911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #buckley diaz family fic

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rontra · 2 months ago

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do you happen to have other comics or maybe even just writing you have compiled before? I think your failteacher au is one of the only things to make me genuinely cry reading (even if not intended) and i really like just how invested you made me in these character's journeys and its kind of ruining me

😭😭im honored my work had such an impact on you!! thank you for the kind words!!! hands u a tissue

im very much a Brainworms Creative so when i fixate on a project to the degree i have on failteacher comics i tend to make it the only thing i really work on. so its like yeaaa i do but im not updating those other things rnnn HBJRDMKSJB (SORRY TO THE READERS)

i dont have any persona stuff anywhere its my first rodeo. my pinned has an (ongoing, not yet finished) arknights au comic if you like my comics tho! you can tell its a bit older but its in full color (mostly). it does presume more familiarity with arknights and the specific characters involved than failteachers does with persona. BUT you get to see a doggirl with a phd lose her lucrative tech job and get dragged by her ex and im sure some of you would find that entertaining regardless of lore knowledge (her cute fluffy tail! her sullen demeanor! the way everyone hates her for her numerous ethics violations in the name of science!)

that pinned post also has a (ONGOING NOT YET FINISHED...) pirate au rwby fic that demands Comparatively little since it has to adapt the lore it's using to a very different setting (Big Boat.) and also it's about two women in their 40s who have never met in the actual show. my usual fare. repulsively slow slowburn but i did write an E rated spinoff that isnt canon or even about the main couple.........

(covers mouth in shame) i was actually like 14 pages deep in an adastra update when the failteacher train t-boned us. sorryyyy. but adastra has been thru lulls before... its resilient... 🫡

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chocosnowflake0 · 10 months ago

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im sorry but is that narinder's cloak thing sown onto corrupted bishop! lamb's outfit?

i don't know if it's cause i have had an emotional morning but genuinely trying to hold back tears right now fuckkk, aAAaa the implicATioNsss, trying to piece the story through the design and every detail is just making me wanna cry moree why does lamb have so many cat skulls is it like an in memory/trying to keep nari's memory close or or i fhujfesihr

your art design is absolutely gorgeous op, wonderful work and as always your style is so pretty, dunno why i always love how you draw lamb's snout if that makes sense

it's very shapes/pos

hello anooon And yes! thats Nari's cream cloak, the upper part of it at least. Their cat's gone and now its time for the Lamb to keep going by themselves which... didnt go well btw. I mentioned somewhere in a post some weeks ago that the Lamb would be kinda lost without Narinder by their side and imma holdin' onto that idea. Fluffy soft thing rolling into madness once they noticed they (for some reason) are not able ot revive Nari 👀

THEYCRYHEREHEREANON /PATSPATSINTENSIFIES tysm, honey! <3 Here to gib y'all some furry floofy lamb to enjoy Also,,, sum au sketches ; )

The Fox here to give terrible advises -> corrupted Lamb starting a whole cat genocide campain thanks to him. the cats skulls are just victims trophies since skulls arent the type of bones needed for rituals -

/dissapears sorry if my english slipped somewhere, its rusty af

#cotl #cotl au #user post #myart #hotcocoasan #ASKKK

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evermourning · 1 year ago

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𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 - kim seungmin

pairing: kim seungmin x reader, lovertober entry v

genre: non!idol au, will they/won't they, enemies to lovers, camp counselors!seungmin and reader

wc: 5.6k

warnings: ends kinda suggestive, making out, language, mentions wooyoung from ateez, yunjin from le sserafim, mina from twice, reader has an ego in the beginning, seungmin and reader were academic rivals in high school

a/n: pretend its still summer

from the moment you met him in the 10th grade, you absolutely and instantly disliked kim seungmin. with every bone, fiber, and cell in your body.

you had grown up with these people around you, watched as their faces slowly matured into the versions of themselves you saw them as now. however, you couldn't help but pity them.

compared to you, they were essentially idiots.

you were the top of your class, year after year after year. this was probably the big thing that set you apart from them. you spent your days studying, as opposed to partying. you jugged student council, clubs, and your grades so that you could graduate and lead a better life.

this journey was set back the day you met seungmin, though.

you could remember what he looked like as if it was only yesterday that you two locked eyes for the first time. fluffy brown hair and glasses, and braces adorning his pearly white teeth. he looked like an angel. a sweet, quiet kid that all the teachers adored.

but he was something much, much, much more sinister.

"yn, this is seungmin. he's new, so would you mind showing him around?" your teacher asked, and you graciously accepted. he was quiet as you aided him in his tour, making small comments here and there and asking questions if necessary. he became more acquainted with the people around you in the blink of an eye.

but you could feel something off about him. you just couldn't tell what.

he'd been sat down next to you in your math class, and instantly shot up in rank after tests to the spot right behind you. he was naturally gifted, getting almost perfect grades without lifting a finger.

it wasn't just math. it was every single subject. one after the other, they fell to his whim like measly pieces of chess.

he played it off with a simple "oh, i guess i studied this topic a bit extra" but in no time, he was hot on your trail for the top spot.

and you liked the thrill. you knew at the end of the day, you'd place first and everything would be normal, and this kid would learn that you were not to be messed with. you had to admit, as much as you shit talked him to your friends and made tons of claims that you probably couldn't back up, his banter was enjoyable.

until it wasn't.

your 11th grade year, seungmin became mean.

something happened over the summer. he'd grown taller, although he bore the same features, there was something so peculiar about him. he was lean and toned under his uniform, and became the star pitcher of the school's baseball team. immediately he was thrust into the spotlight you'd worked so hard to achieve. you were so annoyed. how was it easy for people to just like him? you made good grades, you tried to be courteous and respectful, and he was over there being crowned king of the school for fucking breathing.

he'd make offhanded comments about you, too, to your face and behind your back. the kinds where you'd just have to awkwardly laugh it off to soothe the aching pain inside your chest and the tears threatening to fall in big, ugly glops.

but you shook it off. you knew that it would only lead to worse events if you let him get in your head all the time. you tried to still be kind to him, but eventually, you gave up. if he was nothing short of an absolute dick to you, then there was no need to waste your energy interacting with him.

your interactions with him after that were minimal. passing glances in hallways, partner project where you simply split it up and didn't communicate at all, short questions in class. you weren't really out for him or anything.

until the end of 11th grade.

it was the time where final rankings for grades were announced. you were sitting at your desk, hardly bothered to check them. you knew you'd be first. you had been so confident, you just went back to work. however, something was off. usually, there would be cheers and groans, but all that you could hear were hushed whispers echoing through the classroom. when you looked up, lazily twirling a pencil between your fingers, you noticed something odd.

they were staring at you.

something wasn't right. these were people you'd known since grade school. they were used to you taking the top spot, right? right? you had to go find out what was wrong.

as you got up to look at the list, the crowd parted. the students looked on nervously as you marched up to the bulletin board where the fated list awaited, a thumbtack keeping it in place. you used your finger to slide up and down the list until you found your name.

next to it was your rank.

you had fucking placed second. for the first time since...ever. you scanned the list desperately again, looking for some sign that it was rigged or faux. but it was the genuine article. you slid your finger up to see the name of the person who had stolen the position right out from under your nose, and you had to bite back a scream of pure rage when you saw it.

Kim Seungmin

that son of a bitch. he finally beat you.

and as you turned, there he stood leaning against the doorframe of the classroom, that smug smile prominent on his face. did he have a death wish or something? you did not like this at all.

later that day, as you were leaving, somebody stopped you, their hand grabbing you by the sleeve of your uniform. it was seungmin. you shook him off, shaking your head as you walked towards the gate.

"what's wrong? cat got your tongue?" he asked you tauntingly. you rolled your eyes with a huff, opening your mouth to shoot back with some sly remark, but he kept talking. "did you know i beat you by a tenth of a point? it's so fucking unreal. one tenth."

this comment sent you over the edge.

"you think you're so fucking funny, don't you? relishing in my pain, acting like i'll joke around with you as if we're friends. well guess what: you don't mean shit to me, kim seungmin." seungmin's eyes widened slightly, but his eyes settled into a hateful glare.

"so be it. just to let you know, yn, you fucking suck. give yourself a high five, you fake bitch."

and just like that, your eternal rivalry with kim seungmin began.

thankfully, your rivalry was cut short when you went to different colleges. however, you knew all about what he was doing. somewhere along the line, his friends became your friends. he was in law school now, studying to become a persecutor. you hated to admit it, but you were honestly impressed. however, you couldn't complain, as you'd received a full scholarship to an accomplished university. you lived in the city during your term, enjoying its lively bustle and bright lights. you'd always enjoyed the summer better, though.

in the summers, you'd drive two hours up to the mountains to work as a camp counselor for a childrens' summer camp, named camp aspen. it was a lovely little place, tucked away near a small town, surrounded by acres and acres of wilderness. it was so serene, the crisp air feeling amazing in your lungs.

this was where you were now. your third summer as a counselor was about to begin. you parked your car on a beaten road near the cabins, walking into a lodge to say hello to the director. the rest of the counselors were sitting in the office, and when they saw you, they excitedly enveloped you in a warm group hug.

there were six counselors at camp aspen, each accommodating one of the three cabins, one for each age range. two counselors would stay in each cabin. the place was going to be renovated soon, but thankfully, the cabins had two large, separate rooms.

it would be the same as always, with your counselor friends. wooyoung and mina stayed with the oldest kids, you and soobin stayed with the preteens, and jisung and yunjin kept an eye on the littlest ones. this is how it always was.

until you only counted four of your friends.

"where's soobin?" you asked, looking around. wooyoung took your hands in his and sighed.

"don't freak out, but..." he sighed, seeming to brace himself for your possible outrage. "soobin is studying abroad this summer, so we had to find a replacement who will be staying with you."

you wanted to scream and also kinda smack wooyoung too. but, you didn't want to lose your job, so you decided to flash a smile through gritted teeth.

"it's okay, woo. why didn't you tell me?"

"well, we just learned today, too. it happened so suddenly, i guess soobin forgot to mention it to the director until the last minute. while you were driving up, it was so scary. mina and i were fucking scrambling to find a replacement. thankfully, she showcased her amazing problem-solving skills to find us a replacement. her friend's friend's...friend, i think. it's weird." mina blushed at his words of praise. "but anyways, he'll be here later, so go get your stuff all unpacked."

you sighed, jisung and yunjin giving you reassuring smiles before going back to their intense game of gamepigeon 8-ball. as you departed, you stole one last glance at your friends. this was going to be the best summer ever.

when you got to the cabin, you immediately began laying the sheets and blankets on your temporary bed, preparing your place of rest for the weeks to come. you'd strung little fairy lights along the bedposts and finished off with comfortable pillows. you loved making this bed your own year after year.

you sat down upon it, laying back and sighing as your head it your pillow. you had time for a quick nap, right? you set an alarm and drifted off. you wondered who your partner would be. would he be kind? would he be rude? he'd be kind probably, if he was somehow connected to mina, a total sweetheart. the older kids loved her. she'd sit with the girls in a semi-circle around her as they listened to her tell stories, interest gleaming in their eyes.

you just hoped he wasn't a total dick.

after your alarm went off, waking you up, you blinked and saw jisung dead asleep at the bottom of your bed, curled up.

"what the hell are you doing?" you asked, laughing. he laughed sheepishly.

"sorry, your bed is comfortable...and i was supposed to be telling you the new guy just got here but i said i'd rest my eyes for a second and now here we are."

you chuckled, getting out of your bed and slipping into the bathroom so you could check how you looked. once you deemed yourself presentable, you walked with jisung out to the parking lot, catching up about how life was. he was always very fun to talk to. jisung had the natural aura of a storyteller, of someone fun. he radiated warmth and kindness, probably why he was such a role model to the little kids.

when you made it to the makeshift parking lot (in reality it was only a wide rectangle of gravel you parked your cars near) there was a new car there, much nicer than the rest. it was sleek and black, although you had no idea why someone would be driving such an expensive-looking car in the mountains. from your current location, you could see awfully well that wooyoung was chatting amicably with the mystery guy as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk. and then, wooyoung turned and called out to you two so you could come down and meet him.

with jisung by your side, you nervously walked over to the car. a head popped out from where the trunk was.

"by the way, wooyoung, where am i stay-" the boy stopped abruptly when he saw you. "-ing."

your blood ran cold.

it was kim seungmin.

of course it fucking was, because without even trying he'd made it his life's mission to completely ruin yours. all your high school memories came flooding back, but something else was there, curdling horrifically in the pits of your stomach.

his hair was a lighter shade of brown now, with streaks of blonde in his bangs. his braces were gone, and his face no longer was cute and round. he was jawdroppingly beautiful. but this was the person you'd wished to avoid ever since that day in the eleventh grade.

wooyoung, that poor boy, grinned. "you'll be staying and working with one of my favorite counselors. seungmin, meet yn. yn, meet seungmin."

"i know who they are." seungmin said quietly. "and they know me. we went to the same high school." wooyoung lit up at this information.

"perfect! that makes things easier. yn, please show seungmin to your cabin."

as you walked alongside him, carrying a few of his things, the tension was so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. the heavy silence hung in the air, until seungmin awkwardly spoke up.

“i’m glad i know someone here. it’d be so awkward if i was rooming with a stranger.” he said, a little laugh escaping his lips.

“did you know i was going to be here?” you asked rather accusingly, and he shook his head, readjusting his hold on the suitcase.

“nope. mina, she’s the one who hired me, has a friend, sana, who’s really close with one of my best friends. do you remember him from high school? chan?”

yes, you did. chan was probably one of the most popular guys at your school. he’d been the captain of the varsity football team, the homecoming king three years in a row, and was notorious for being the reason many girls dumped their boyfriends. he wasn’t known as “mr. steal-your-girl” for just any reason.

him and seungmin became good friends seungmin's sophomore year, while chan was a senior and they remained close since then.

"i remember him." you responded, not wanting to hold a conversation with him.

"yeah, well sana reached out to chan, who reached out to me. and i needed some extra money, so here we are."

he was really starting to bug you. how could he just talk to you like he wasn't so terrible to you in high school?

"is this how it's going to be all summer, then?" you said to yourself, but he heard it.

"pardon?"

"you, acting like nothing happened between us when we were younger? like your words didn't burn my skin and mine didn't cut deep into yours? i'm not an actor, seungmin. i can't pretend that the things you said to me didn't happen. i can't just will them out of my head."

he scoffed, his true personality shining through. you knew it was down there. he could only hide it for so long. that son of a bitch.

"you're so overdramatic, yn. name one fucking thing i said about you that was so terrible it ruined your vision of me for the rest of your life." he meant it sarcastically, but he didn't realize you had an answer.

"in our junior year, you were talking to chan, and you called me a stuck-up, airheaded bitch who would cared too much about school. you said...you said i was going to push everyone away and then nobody would care enough to weep when i died. not even my own parents." recognition was prominent in his brown eyes as he remembered his own words.

"...i didn't think you knew about that."

you were on the verge of slapping him.

"how could i not? you texted it to chan. do you know how easy it is for a text message to be screenshotted and sent? chan sent it to minnie, who sent it to me. do you know what it's like to learn someone says shit like that about you? i sobbed for three hours straight." you dropped his stuff down right in front of him. "from now on, only talk to me if you need something." you stormed off, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.

so much for camp being your safe space.

the first week of camp was a little rocky. seungmin stayed true to your ask and only spoke to you if he needed help with something, but other than that, it was like you didn't exist. the kids obviously noticed it too. regardless of the fact that the week went well, at the end of the day, wooyoung still sat you and seungmin down and decided to have a chat with you.

"what is going on with you two? i thought you said you knew each other. i thought you'd have it in the bag, but you're singlehandedly ruining the experience for our campers, and that is not the type of energy we need counselors to have."

"if i may, woo," you said, and he raised an eyebrow. "we never specified if our relationship was good or bad, you just went with us knowing each other."

"and you didn't tell me this to correct me?" wooyoung sighed. "i'm disappointed, yn. you've been here three years. you should've contacted me instantly." you nodded at his words, a little embarrassed that your somewhat childish rivalry led you to not be rash when decision-making.

"i am not the oldest at this camp, but i have the most experience. this is my fifth year as a counselor, and i am sitting here now with authority you two don't have. i'm going to have to ask you to work this out. we are so short on staff that we can't afford for either of you to leave camp. understand?" seungmin gave his confirmation and you shot wooyoung a look (which he returned quickly) before agreeing.

this was how you were sitting cross-legged on your bed across from seungmin. he stared at you, challenging you to speak first. when you didn't, shooting him a nasty glare, he took the initiative.

"we're gonna listen to wooyoung's request and work things out. and if we can't...we'll find a plan b. deal?" you crossed your arms and slightly nodded. "let's see...let's do it like this: you're going to tell me why you don't like me. be raw and honest, and then i'll tell you why i don't like you. if there's any misunderstandings, that's what we'll know."

you sighed, knowing this was rational, and began.

"i'll be honest, yeah. when we were in 10th grade, you felt off to me, but i didn't really focus on that because i liked the adrenaline rush i got from comparing grades with you and our banter. but then in 11th grade...you were so terrible to me. all the things you were saying...and then you beat me. i know it was only by one rank but i lost it. i felt like my grades were the only part of my identity and without them...i was nothing. so that's why i haven't forgiven you, because you said all this shit and i'm still hung up over that." you admitted, staring at your feet.

“even if you didn’t have your grades, it wouldn’t have mattered. you were popular. everyone was always falling over themself to be friends with you.” seungmin pointed out, and you shook your head.

“i was not even close to popular, seungmin. people just used me for homework answers and i was too nice to say no.”

“no, no. that’s not possible. everybody was always talking about you, how kind and funny you were…and that’s why i didn’t like you.” his voice broke. “you had everything i wanted. i came to that school with absolutely nothing. you were at the hub of everything, there were always people around you, and i hated it. i hated how you didn’t have to wear a mask to get what you wanted. i hated how you were like some revered god of intelligence. i hated it so much. and then…the final straw was when i was having a fight with my mother in october of our junior year, because she didn’t like that i had changed so much because i’d grown popular and was spending my time with ‘bad influences’. and do you know what she said to me?”

“no, i don’t.” you were frankly a little embarrassed that this was a whole misunderstanding, but you listened anyways.

“she said she wished i was more like you. i didn’t even know how she knew you. and i wished nothing but the worst upon you after that. and now i learn i did all that on a whim?”

”no, you didn’t. you did it because you were upset, and you didn’t know any other way than to lash out. i’m sorry for how i treated you, and if you’re sorry, then let’s go tell wooyoung we worked it out.” you caught his hands in yours, and he flinched. you kept his palms between your hands as if you were keeping a canary in a cage, and when you let go, he felt free.

“i’m sorry for saying all that shit about you. if i had known you weren’t like that, i wouldn’t have done it. you don’t have to forgive me for that one.” he replied quietly.

“yeah, that one’s going to take a little time.” you laughed awkwardly.

for the first time, seungmin realized what people saw in you. how your eyes crinkled when you laughed, your smile absolutely gorgeous. even if it wasn’t even a normal laugh (you were quite literally awkward as shit), he began to feel something churning in the pit of his stomach. what was it?

thankfully he had time to figure it out before you left him behind.

after working things out with seungmin, you couldn't help but admit that your camp experience got better. he was honestly a perfect choice as counselor. the kids loved him, and he was really sweet and considerate towards them in return. it was noticeable that in the years since you last saw him, seungmin had unmistakably matured into a fine young man. you were glad his dick phase was over.

but something was different about him, now. since he didn't treat you even remotely terrible anymore, you began to enjoy his presence. kim seungmin was hilarious, his smile a ray of sunshine that forced the clouds away. you couldn't help but feel giddy when you saw it, but you reminded yourself constantly that this was your sworn high school enemy.

but would it really be so bad?

one sunny wednesday, you and seungmin took the kids out to play some sports. they voted on a simple game of baseball, which you knew seungmin would gladly agree too. but when they started chanting your name, pleading with you to join the game although you had zero baseball experience, you knew you were doomed.

"alright, yn, you be pitcher." you stared at the little boy who deemed your position incredulously.

"honey, i can't throw at all." you replied, and the kids started laughing. seungmin walked over to you on the makeshift diamond, gifting his teammate a plastic bat.

"i'll help yn learn to throw, okay?" he said, and the kids whined.

"that's cheating!" seungmin chuckled at their complaining.

"okay, so first you're going to take the ball and hold it like this." seungmin explained, his fingers gently sweeping over yours to move them to the right place. his touch was soft and sweet, like a juicy watermelon slice on a warm summer's day. once he got your fingers to a good position, he continued his lesson. "good, now place your feet shoulder-width apart. and uhh..hold on."

you felt your face burning as seungmin's hands slid up and down your body, moving certain parts of you into place. you were like putty in his hands, your heart fluttering when his long fingers grazed your waist. you tilted your head slight to see his face right in between your head and your arm, staring right back at you.

this wasn't the first time you had insane tension with kim seungmin. but it was the first time the energy was like...this. your lips were so close to his. you could feel his breath on your exposed skin and it felt good. if it was in a different setting, maybe...

you stepped back, flashing a dazzling smile to try and ease the uncomfortable silence. thankfully, your campers brought the focus back to them before things got too weird.

the entire game, your mind was somewhere else.

he wanted to kiss you. you'd seen his eyes, staring at your lips like they'd vanish if he blinked. you'd seen the way seungmin looked almost out of breath, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed ruby red.

you couldn't be imagining it. there was no way.

after everything was cleaned up, you snuck away to wooyoung's cabin, where he sat lazily on his bed as a sixteen year-old girl told him about her situationship. he looked relieved as you pulled him aside.

"i'm glad you worked everything out with seungmin." he said, patting your back reassuringly. "i knew you had it in you. i really am the best, aren't i?"

you shook your head.

"not right now, woo. something happened earlier today that was really weird, and jisung didn't want to hear about it so now it's your turn." wooyoung's eyes lit up at the mention of your drama, and he shooed his camper away, eagerly patting the spot next to him.

"tell me all about it."

and so you did. you explained everything: from your original drama with seungmin in high school, to how you solved it, to what went down while he was teaching you to pitch. wooyoung's jaw was dropped.

"you two went through all that tension just for him to not even finish teaching you to pitch? that's so fucking embarrassing. you needed that lesson." wooyoung tsked, theatrically hanging his head low.

"hey! i'm not that bad at sports." you retaliated.

''yes, yes you are. do you remember last year when your 'star pitch' broke yunjin's car window? i don't think she forgot about that." you rolled your eyes with a huff, and he laughed loudly. "but that's not important, because this could be the romance you always read about in your poorly written books. maybe you're having your own enemies-to-lovers trope right now! you'll be with him tonight, correct?" you nodded.

"alright, then shoot your shot? trust me, nothing bad's going to happen if you don't overthink it." he squeezed your hand excitedly. "i believe in you. use condoms!"

later that night, the director was holding a movie night for the kids in the lodge, allowing counselors to get a much-needed break. when the sun dipped below the mountain range in hues of deep blues, you sat at the dock with seungmin, splitting a liter bottle of some soda you couldn't read the title of. the moon was at its fullest, glowing ethereally as it cast a bright light upon the water. you swung your feet slightly, the cool water lapping against your feet a lovely contrast to the summer air. fireflies light up like lanterns all around.

"it's so hot," you complained, swatting at an unwelcome bug as it tried to land on your skin. "ugh, i feel like i'm burning alive."

seungmin took a swig of the soda, simulanteously running a hand through his sweaty brown hair.

"let's go for a swim, then." he suggested. you looked at him like he was crazy.

"in...the lake?" he nodded vigorously.

"where else would we swim? this camp doesn't have a pool. c'mon, it'll be fun. there's nothing that can hurt you in there. no amoebas, no snakes, no nothing. i'll keep you safe." he curled his pinkie around yours in a joking promise.

you sighed as you lowered yourself into the water. it was cool on your skin, resulting in you slightly shivering from the contact. however, once you grew accustomed to the temperature, it was rather nice. there was one problem, though.

the water was pitch-black, and you were still in your clothes. so when you felt something slimy touch your ankle, you let out a screech and jumped higher than a kangaroo.

"easy there." seungmin's voice said into your ear, and you startled at the sound. "relax, it's just me. the only think that touched your foot was seaweed. you'll be okay. it really only grows in one area of the lake, so let's stay away from there. sounds good?"

his words of soft and gentle reassurance, paired with a gentle touch on your waist made you want to erupt into flames even in the water. as he guided you to the center of the lake, you had to start treading water. however, seungmin was completely fine.

it was quiet for a bit, peaceful and serene before you broke the silence with a groundbreaking question."

"hey seungmin...were you planning on kissing me earlier?" the boy in question was silent for a bit, thinking about his answer, before finally speaking again.

"yeah, i was. how could i not? we were so close, and you know i could never resist you, yn. aphrodite herself turns green with envy at the mere sight of you." you felt your heart rate speed up at his words. so you decided to take the initiative.

"i'll be honest, since we became close, i've noticed this tension between us that wasn't there before. you're so handsome, and you know it, and i know it and i want to make out with you so bad, but i've been having all these reservations because i can't get over what you said about me all those years ago."

seungmin spoke up instantly, rebutting your claim. "i can proudly say now that the lies i spewed about you were instantaneously false, the moment they left my lips. see, i said back then that no one would weep if you perished. but now, i would. i would sob until the soil beneath me has turned to mud and it stains my clothes and my hands. i would leave you flowers and gifts every single day. now that i know you, and i know how you truly are, i'd kill myself if i lost you."

the sound of your tears hitting the water's surface, aligning with the incessant chirping of the cicadas, turned the sounds around you into an exquisite and melodious symphony. you threw your arms around seungmin, holding him tight.

"i'll say it now, seungmin. i love you. i'm in love with you. it happened so quickly, i'm scared it's faux. but i want it to be real. i want and crave you with every bone, fiber, and cell in my aching body."

seungmin's strong arms wrapped around you, and he grinned mischieviously.

"well, i'm not to great with my words, but i want you really bad, too. i'd personally like to, uh, ravage you? and you said something about making out that i am quite personally very down for."

you laughed, a smile gracing your features. seungmin wanted to see that face every day for the rest of his life, he decided.

"god, you're such a dork." you giggled, and pulled him in for a kiss. it was warm, fiery as passionate as your lips crashed against each others' like waves crashing against a rocky barrier. the change in gravity from the water made it easy to hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. seungmin's hands drifted down to your ass to keep you in place, and you steadied yourself as your hands held his cheeks. god, you could feel his jawline from there. eventually, your tongues began to battle for dominance.

after ten minutes or so, you parted lips, a string of saliva still connecting you two. the moonlight reflected off of it as it snapped. seungmin watched in awe.

"that was so fucking hot...but um, what are we now?" you asked. seungmin laughed out loud, patting your soaked head.

"let's determine that later. right now...i lowkey want to fuck your brains out. think we can do that?" he teased.

"in a lake??" you shot back.

"there's a first time for everything." seungmin teased. once he was sure you gave your consent, his fingers went to the bottom of your sopping wet shirt, carefully lifting it over your head. "until then, i'll enjoy the view."

"and that's our cue to leave." wooyoung commented from his vantage point. yunjin stood beside him. he turned, grinning as he outstretched his hand. "pay up, buttercup. i bet that they'd get together before the end of the summer, and look at them! that twenty dollars is mine."

yunjin grumbled, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill out of her back pocket and handing it to him.

"seriously though, those one-liners were horrific. the confession was cute though." yunjin laughed.

"oh, hell yeah. just for that, they're on bathroom cleaning duty. and i'm hoping and praying they remember what echoes are so we don't have to awkwardly explain what was going on to the little campers." wooyoung sighed. yunjin looked up at him.

"you are straight-up evil, jung wooyoung. have you seen those bathrooms?"

"exactly why they're on bathroom duty. i may be evil, but i am one hell of a matchmaker, aren't i?" he shot back, playfully nudging her shoulder.

"whatever you say."

taglist: @darkypooo , @hyunbae-35 , @kpopmenace143 , @stateofdelicategrace , @elizaschuyler18 , @lillithathecat , @imastraykidsfan , @nightimescapes , @mal-lunar-28

#ren writes!! <3 #evermourning #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #seungmin imagines #enemies to lovers #lovertober <3

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existentialcrisistime · 1 year ago

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Nic's AOS McKirk fic recs part 1:

longer (mostly 10k+ and/or multi-chapter), more plot-focused works

There are SO MANY excellent McKirk fics out there, and I'm only scratching the tip of the iceberg with these ones, but these are ten of my top favourites (you know, the sort of fics where you have to either yell in the group chat or stare into space for a bit afterwards, then think of it constantly for the following week?), so I hope some of the ones in here become your favourites too.

And remember, be kind, leave kudos/comments where you can, and enjoy!

In no particular order, we have:

jim kirk's guide to starship management: how to work with people you don't like by espressohno (E, 23k)

Jim has an anonymous hookup (read: the best sex of his life) with who else but the one and only Leonard McCoy, who's scheduled to start as the Enterprise's CMO the next day. Hijinks (emotions and miscommunication) ensue. A great exploration of Leonard and Jim's relationship, based around the question of: what if they met under slightly different circumstances?

unscrew the stars by espressohno (E, <10k)

Jim, lamenting his inability to pursue personal relationships due to being Captain of the Enterprise and under Starfleet's fraternisation rules, believes he's found a loophole that allows him to sleep with his CMO. Leonard, however, wants something more. Another one by espressohno, and honestly I'd recommend pretty much anything by this author.

Ask me again in the morning by @torsamors (G, 26k)

Time loop fic: Bones is stuck in a time loop. This fact upsets Jim every time he finds out, but Bones definitely isn't having a fun time either. An excellent getting-together fic told from the perspective of Jim outside the loop, with plenty of hurt and comfort.

One Little White Lie by laughter_now (M, 71k)

Jim lies about being married to Leonard after an accident which leads Leonard to losing his memory, which quickly spirals out of control. An incredible, emotional exploration of the fake marriage and amnesia tropes, becoming so much more than the sum of its tags. Another one for the fellow fans of Bones Having a Real Bad Time, with plenty of Jim angst in there too.

A Wish in the Dark (for a bulletproof heart) by drmcbones (T, 18k)

Without giving too much away: one close call too many for Jim has Leonard at the end of his tether. Somehow, a mysterious medical/magical ailment links the two of them together - how long can they keep it secret from even each other? I say this about every fic on the list, but this one is absolutely excellent - a really interesting plot I hadn't read much like before.

Catching Fire (The Firehouse AU) by kel_1970 (E, 46k)

21st Century fire department AU. Paramedic Leonard McCoy flees a disastrous break-up in Savannah and ends up working at a fire department in Iowa where he meets Jim Kirk. I know this one is on pretty much every McKirk rec list, but for good reason! A beautifully-written, emotional rollercoaster of a fic with rich settings and side characters. Will rip your heart out and stamp on it, then carefully piece it back together again. I read this one over a year ago and still I think of it on a regular basis, it hurts so good.

I Will Hold As Long As You Like by @excavatinglizard (T, 18k)

The Lighthouse fic. Set post-Into Darkness, Leonard takes Jim to a lighthouse to convalesce. Together they learn to weather the storm. A beautiful, emotional character study with rich settings that paint such a picture in the mind. Also comes with (beautiful) art and a playlist to really set the scene. Another one that I read over a year ago, as it was being published, and still think of on a regular basis.

Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight by EntreNous (T, 26k)

Vetenarian Bones AU. Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy get off on the wrong foot as soon as they meet. So if Jim wants another shot with that gorgeous but grumpy veterinarian, he had better get his hands on some pets who need vet appointments, right? Such a fun, sweet, mostly fluffy fic of Jim getting up to some absolute (mostly unsuccessful) antics to win Leonard's heart

three sundays by espressohno

The fight club AU. Not Fight Club the film so much as a literal fight club: Leonard goes to fight club to get his anger out. Jim goes to fight club to get hurt. Leonard realizes this, and decides he doesn't want to hurt Jim anymore, but he doesn't want to stop seeing him, either. Plenty of hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of aftercare.

palimpsest by @fireinmywoods (E, 61k)

What can I say about this one that hasn't already been said? Such an incredible story, even if the final chapter did make me yell out loud the first time around (and I mean that in the most affectionate way). I've read this one twice now and got something completely different out of it each time - an enjoyable read the first time but even richer with hindsight, so cleverly constructed. As for the plot - the Enterprise is sent to negitiate readmission to the Federation with an isolationist religious group known as the Kindred. While there, Jim notices that some of the children seem to be gravely ill. The Kindred do not allow a doctor to be brought in, and so Jim... well, he improvises. + 9 (so far) further, shorter works to flesh out the whole Palimpsest verse, which I enjoyed just as much as the original story - especially aganorisis (E, 15k), which I guarantee you'll want to read right after. Can mostly be read out of order, but you gotta read Palimpsest first, I promise!

And that's it for now! Thank you for reading, please tell me which ones you enjoyed the most (or your own favourite longer/plotty McKirk fics), and keep your eyes peeled for part 2

#mckirk #fic recs #aos mckirk #star trek aos #aos #nic watches star trek

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year ago

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Tiramisu

Summary: A few days after you find out about his daughter, Marc takes you to a play and then dinner afterwards to talk to you about a few things.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: A continuation of the universe from this single dad au drabble. Don't look at me I switched POVs. This can be read by itself or with the other part for more context.

Warnings: fluffy, angsty, talk of lawyers and custody, brief allude to Marc's childhood, multiple mentions of smutty times (no smut), swearing (it's Marc), reader is oddly possessive

There's a strange comfort that you find in Marc Spector's presence. The minute, everyday movements of his body that would go unnoticed in anyone else but in him, to you, meant the difference between life and death.

Right now, it's the barely there motion of his temple as he eats. It's going up and down in time with his jaw, the same interweaving pattern his heart and his lungs share with each other.

He's taken you out for dinner tonight. He got free theatre tickets and he took you as his date.

Maya, he said, was too young for the subject matter.

And besides, he felt he hadn't seen you in ages, though it's only been ten days since you saw him last, since you've found out about his daughter.

You can't help but feel that it's a step backwards however. You feel hurt that he didn't take you up on your invitation to make him dinner, though you tried chalking it up to difficulties in trying to find someone to look after Maya.

Should he stay the night.

A more irrational part of you had been hoping he'd invite you back to his apartment again. Had thought you had crossed the line between public and private dates last time.

Last time, after cooking you dinner Marc had poured you another glass of wine and let it rest on the table, leaving a circular stain around the glass. He had taken you to bed, just as you had hoped it. He had taken you to his bed and fucked you.

He fucked you and then he made love to you and then he fucked you one more time, just because he could and just because you wanted him to.

You had left Marc the next morning with a delicious ache in your body, his cologne lingering on your skin. Your lips were a little wet from his kiss before he sent you on your way, weak-kneed and doozy.

Maybe it was irrational. Maybe it was more than a little girlish, but that didn't mean you didn't think it.

The heart wanted what it wanted, despite the cool-headed whims of reason.

And your heart wanted Marc.

Despite everything that told you you already had him.

You did have him, you mused, looking at his temples moving up and down as he ate his salad.

You have his temples and the warm, roughened palms of his hands. You had him enough to know of Maya.To see her photos on his walls and know that she’s been taking ballet classes for about two years now.

Despite your best intentions you think for longer than a passing interest about the other people Marc's dated, if they knew of Maya too. If they had met Maya to the point where they felt they could call her theirs.

You swallow done the jealousy with some water, in favour of wine, to keep an illusion of reason about you, so you could pretend you didn't know what he groaned like when he was close to release, what the soft pudge of his dad-belly felt in the palm of your hand.

In time with his temple, the hinge of his jaw bobs similarly up and down. It draws your attention away. It also makes you feel considerably warm inside. Another bit of the man you've come to deeply care for that you can revel in and enjoy. A piece of him that you can kiss and nudge into its proper place of the puzzle inside your chest that paints a pretty (but as of yet incomplete) picture of him.

Marc inspires in you a severe need to learn human anatomy. The names and systems of bones, muscles, ligaments and veins, so you could look at the hinge of his jaw, the bob of his temple and rattle off names in Latin.

To seek comfort in a dead language because it speaks the parts of Marc's body, his living, breathing one whose hand held yours in crowds so as to not lose you, as if you were something worth hanging on to, and spoke to his daughter in soft intonations.

"Good?' He's looking up from his kale and at you; he's chewing a half bite with the right side of his mouth. His gaze is beady and intense as it flicks from your plate to your face multiple times, but his voice is gentle and casual, as if he really was just making small talk.

As if this were a regular date, as if he were a regular man and as if you felt for him a regular amount.

The main course will arrive soon and you realise you've barely made a peck in yours while he's almost finished.

You find yourself in a pickle.

Marc's taken a gamble on the restaurant tonight, he grumbled about it as you had waited for the play to start. Had trusted (which you know now means more than most mean it) the word of a co-worker that this was a good, new fusion place.

He hadn't even looked over the menu before coming.

For him that was as good as a death sentence.

You know the choice of restaurant and play had been hard ones for him. Both of them having essentially been decided for him by someone else. Yet it conversely meant that you would, supposedly, be judging him off somebody else's choices.

And you know that won't settle well with him. Settle just the way raspberries do in his stomach.

You want to tell him, on one hand, that his cooking was better. But that also meant his hamster-wheel of a mind would spin it into thinking you implied that you'd rather be at his place.

Pushing at his boundaries like that was the last thing you would ever do.

Besides that strong moral line, your answer would have had another insinuation between the lines.

It means you don't like the restaurant. The one he hadn't scoped out ahead of time. His co-worker's favourite restaurant that you now will think was his. Even if he’s never come here before, even if he usually checks menus before going.

And Marc took his restaurants, like everything else, very seriously.

Of course, the other, more plausible and normal option would be to say that the salad is good.

If there was anyone besides Marc sitting in front of you.

You've barely fuckin’ touched it.

You can hear his voice in your ears now. Can see the displeased little downturn of his mouth which he tries and fails miserably to hide.

Marc builds forests out of salads.

You've become attuned to not only his funny American accent and his funny American swears you usually only hear on TV nowadays, but his way of thinking. Which is neither funny nor American in the slightest.

It's instead the beauty that is the mind of Marc Spector.

It means both calculus-like computations over salad but it also meant his owl-like observations about the costumes, the lighting, the delivery of the lines in the play. It means that he goes beforehand and reads not just the menu of the restaurant but the play itself, even if you highly doubt he has the time to spare to pile through pages and pages of dense dialogue and sort out the meaning underneath, what with a full-time job and a daughter to raise.

You had sneaked a glance at his copy, at the notes scribed in the margin in his all-caps cramped handwriting.

You didn't need much to figure out just one jewel more about him.

Marc worked in a business consultation firm.

But he had a talent for whatever he put his mind, or pencil, to.

"Honey?" You've gotten lost in thought again and smile at him, he looks nonetheless worried. He looks back at the salad, at the play program sticking out your purse, then at you. "I woulda ordered the Greek if I knew you didn't like kale."

You shake your head and smile helplessly. You've left him alone with his thoughts for too long and he's jumped to conclusions like a frog on lily pads. "The salad's great, and I like kale. Don't worry."

You pick your fork back up to continue eating but you're not sure it'll do much to assuage his worries.

Like clockwork, the divot appears between his eyebrows. Had you been at his place or yours you would have dared to press it away.

In the blinding spotlight of the public, you sit on your hands instead.

"You've barely fuckin' touched it."

He points out the obvious to catch your bluff. And in some sick and twisted way, to tell you to give him the hard, ugly truth and rip the band-aid off sooner than later.

It's so predictable that you feel like laughing but you keep your face intentionally neutral.

"I like it, I really do," you reach forward with your free hand to press on top of his. His temple and jaw are working over time chewing his kale to a pulp. If you looked under the table, his knee would be bouncing up and down, consistently and tightly. "I was just thinking..."

Of him.

But when were you not?

"Of the play?" This is your chance to right your previous wrongs over the salad and you snatch at it, since it wasn't really far from the truth anyways.

You're also a little shy to tell him that the movement of his temple is something that comforts you.

"Yeah, it was great. Thanks for inviting me."

To an untrained eye, it seems nothing has changed in his expression. To you, his eyes give him away, victorious, satisfied, put-at-ease. His temple calms down a little, he lets himself swallow whatever is left of his food.

True to your word you start eating again.

"'Course, honey. "

That was also new. Had started just this evening when you thanked him for opening the door for you.

Marc called Maya baby; he called you honey.

It's the fact that he's doing it publicly, in front of the watchful eye of the restaurant that gives you the courage to press away the frown on his forehead.

He pauses.

Swirls your action around in his mind like a salty ocean wave stuck in a bay.

He likes it. There are faint twitches of the delicate muscles of his face that let you know he does.

Like a teenager he's flustered. He flusters you and makes heat rise all over your body.

The entrées come as a saving grace to those bashful half-glances that were soon to follow.

The two of you need some time to adjust to the renegotiated boundaries of the tulips blooming between you. The silence that falls isn't awkward or misplaced.

It's right. Necessary.

The up and down of his temple is sweeter than caramel to your soul. You're not sure you can do dessert tonight with the way you've hyper fixated on the movements his head makes when he chews.

You glance up at him from your salmon, him from his lentil curry bowl. You catch his eye and smile furtively. There might as well have been an adult chaperone on your right.

He sends you a wink. An otherwise confident and flirty gesture that coming from him, like that, was only a direct reflection of how you were feeling.

Honey.

You liked how that sounded in his voice. His voice soft and like fresh towels thrown into the dryer to get hot. Its effect on your heart like spun sugar or cotton candy.

You wonder what kind of sweet pet names you can dole out now, like you would tiramisu.

In heaping spoonfuls.

"The main actor was great," he offers up. He's latched onto the one thing he thinks you enjoyed for certain out of the evening and driving that main point home, making sure you remember the good stuff only. "You see the way he switched in those last two scenes? Phenomenal."

He's talking like he's a full-time drama critic, one that had his own column he wrote for every week.

Though you doubt he finds the time to go to the theatre every week.

"I liked the sisters as well," you offer back. Tilting your head to the side you think for a moment before adding on, "Really strong cast."

"That's all in the writing," he wipes his mouth with his napkin. A little less surely he tacks on, "You wanna borrow my copy?"

"Sure, sweetheart, that'd be nice."

Sweetheart.

That's nice.

Seems to have the same effect on him as honey has on you.

He reaches into his briefcase and passes you his book, the cover blue and a little worn at the edges from being used. You treasure it and tuck it away in your purse, not for the words of the playwright, but the words Marc has layered on top of them like lace trim.

"Look I-uh..."

The waiter comes and asks for the plans for dessert.

Marc always lets you choose and you always get the same thing, if it's on the menu. Otherwise something with chocolate.

Tiramisu.

Nowadays when you eat it by yourself at home, you think of his creamy, coffee kisses after your dates. You think of the tiramisu brown of his eyes, warm and vulnerable every time he's done kissing you.

You ask for tiramisu tonight because they had it and turn back to Marc as the boy walks away.

You feel he's going to talk to you about something important.

He's hinted at it gently and implicitly all night.

So you tune your attention into him like a radio station.

"I-uh wanted to talk to you..." the words are the beginnings of your living nightmare. The threads in his jaw and neck rub on top of each other and he runs a comforting hand over his clean-shave as he prepares to keep talking. "About Maya."

"Alright," you lean forward. The sounds of the restaurant have all but faded away into ether.

He seems taken aback by your answer, frowning again, "You-uh, don't have anything to say first?"

Your heart lurches in your throat, "Was I supposed to have thought about something?"

"No!" He flinches at his own voice, and clears his throat, calms down. "No," he shrugs and looks down at the table. "I just thought that maybe you'd-" he hears the rest of his sentence and shuts down. "Ah, forget it. It was stupid anyways."

He reaches up and tugs at his curls, rubs his neck.

"Marc, sweetheart," you take his free hand in yours. "It wasn't stupid, and I won't think it stupid if you want to share it with me."

He looks you deep in the eyes and then shakes his head again, makes a dismissive gesture with his hand that makes your stomach drop.

"Just thought..." he ruffles his curls the way a bird inadvertently does when trying to groom itself. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk about it the other night. Thought maybe after it settled in you might have had a change of thought."

It bothers you to no extent that he's thought you wanted to end things with him and all the while he's still taken you out to dinner and will for sure insist on paying for it afterwards.

"Well, I don't," you say it as assertively as you can. "I...well, truth be told, I like spending time with you, Marc. I like where this is going and Maya seems like a sweet girl."

"She is.” The times when he’s talking of his daughter are one of the only instances you hear his voice so self-assured and relaxed. "And you like having her in your future? With me?"

You nod, reach for his other hand, "I've always liked kids."

"You want some of your own someday?"

It seemed a little early for the kids and marriage talk, but you see the worries inside Marc like pearls in a clam shell and you touch their shiny, translucent surfaces one-by-one.

You shrug, but you make sure to not look away, "I wouldn't be opposed to it."

He tsks, clearly not satisfied with the ambiguity of your answer, "Maya's mother, she was never in the picture. Left as soon as she could."

"Oh, Marc-"

"Well, that was what we agreed on. She'd carry the baby to term if I took full custody," he looks down at his hands. "We even got a lawyer to make sure it was all sorted out, even if we were never married."

"How old were you when Maya was born then?" The image of him in the hospital, forever ingrained in your mind, conjures itself all over again.

"Thirty, I think."

That made him a handful of years older than you. The greys in the curled roses of his hair speak testament to it.

"Did you want kids?"

A flushed waiter shuffles over, mumbling something about a broken espresso machine, plops an extra plate of dessert in front of you to make up for it. Then he's going, going, gone away with haste.

It makes you both laugh at the intrusion, those stomach-clenching eye wrinkles of his showing up again. You wonder if you could touch them the way he let you press away his frown.

"Well," laughter hangs around his voice like morning dew and sunshine on a sidewalk after a hot day. "No, never really thought of them. Till Maya's mother that is. Then it seemed that it was all I wanted."

You wish the place had booths, so you could slide in beside him and kiss him the way you want to. To make him laugh and touch his face, his throat to feel the vibrations of it in your fingers.

"It must have been hard, raising her by yourself."

“Oh, well,” he laughs, shrugs in a way that makes a lock of his hair curl down into his forehead. “She was a good baby. Hardly ever cried.”

“Did you have any help?”

Marc has never mentioned his parents to you, nor has he brought up the names of any siblings. There was a cousin he’d told you about last time.

He seems to you a very lonely man.

There’s a strange ache in your chest as you think of Marc again, alone with a baby. Barely getting any sleep and making formula milk at three in the morning.

Your stomach twists in unknown ways as you think of the way his shoulders must have moved as he tested the temperature on the delicate skin of his wrists, of his hair curling every which way, the way it looked like the morning after he had sex with you three times.

Marc tenses up, looks to his side, the top of his cheek twitching, “Yeah-uh, here n’there.” There’s a crack in his voice that sounds like a tectonic plate shifting.

You reach over the table, cupping his face. Though you don’t move, it makes him shift to look back at you. There are sand dunes of emotions in his eyes, morphing into one another and shifting every second you look at him. There’s too much there for you to understand, for you to be able to help with.

The helplessness that drowns you binds your lungs together.

“She’s a great kid,” you know what he’s going to say again, but you press against the boulder of an excuse. “Great parents raise great kids. You’re doing so well by her-”

He scoffs and looks away. His hand comes up on top of yours and places it back on top of the table, gives it two reassuring pats and you a raise of his eyebrows. “Yeah…well-”

“She’s happy, Marc,” you swat away the mosquitoes of his insecurities, the cockroaches of his excuses. “I’ve never met her, but I know that much. You can’t hide that kind of happiness...or fake it.”

He pauses, glances at you to let the words sink in and then looks at the tablecloth. “I never really got any help with her,” he says grimly. “My cousin moved…maybe a year or two ago. Before that, it was just me n’Maya.”

You reach forward and take his hands in yours and squeeze them. You’re quiet for some time, the sounds of a jazz band tuning up in the background almost like static. You’re hardly even vaguely aware of it.

Marc squeezes your hands, catches your attention again, “And you.”

You frown, the thundering of your heart not sure what to make of it, to believe him or not.

“And you, now,” he repeats again. “Me, Maya…and you,” there are nerves trailing at the edge of his voice like shorelines, his eyes are warm like the coloured pieces of floor when the sun hits stained glass. “That is…if you want.”

“That’d be nice,” you want to say that his words set alight butterflies all over your body but that would be inadequate. There are flocks upon flocks of geese, squawking and flapping every which way, you can barely think over the sounds they’re making.

And you, now.

“I want that, Marc,” you smile, and then let out a nervous little shudder of a laugh. An easy breath, after the taught tension that had begun to build up.

“Yeah?” the depths of his eyes light up, the delicate skin around them creases.

“Yeah.” It comes out breathy and awkward. You think you said yes to your first kiss much the same way.

“Ok,” he laughs, the tightness draining out of his shoulders, a smile growing on his face like cherry blossoms. “Ok, that…that went better than I expected.”

“I’m glad,” you don’t dare to ask what he’d expected, to see what kind of image yourself you’d portrayed and how he’d built it up inside his mind. Underneath that as well is the insinuation that this hasn’t gone the way he’d hoped before. Meaning that he’s done this before, meaning that there was someone that sat across from him, just as you are right now. That he cared enough about them to tell them about Maya.

You don’t mean to be so nit-picky, so jealous and possessive.

It just sort of happened to you.

One day, Marc was the guy you were casually seeing, the one with the pretty smile and the intense loneliness that poured out of him like sludge, and the next you were here, talking about your future together, one that had his daughter in it as well.

You had never been one to get attached so easily. It concerns you how easily and quickly this came to you, like a newly-hatched turtle already dragging itself to the ocean.

You wonder what’s made Marc different from the rest of the people you’ve gone out with.

The question strikes an unpleasant nerve, one that’s embedded deep into tissue and muscle, and you leave it alone. Instead, you pick up a spoon and start to pick away at the long forgotten dessert.

As you’d expected, it’s too sweet for you right now, even the bitterness of the coffee doesn’t manage to balance it out.

Maybe you’ll take this to go, enjoy it in the morning and pretend Marc is sitting in front of you at your table, frowning as he looks down at his phone.

In your little daydream, there’s a faint giggle that sounds like what meringue tastes like, a gentle patter of children’s feet approaches the table and-

Something bumps into your table at the restaurant. It makes Marc’s knife hit the base of his wine glass and draws you out of your thoughts again, heart pounding, heat rising to your face, feeling as if you’ve done something wrong.

An older couple apologises to the both of you and they swirl away again, dancing to the rhythm of the music.

Though they’re not exactly the picture of grace and elegance, their movements jerky from dried and rusty joints, there’s a certain light that radiates from out of them. It draws your eyes towards them, brings a smile to your face.

“Hey,” Marc’s voice is soft like the espresso-soaked ladyfingers of the tiramisu on the table. Though his palm is gently roughened over, it’s even softer than his voice as he lets it rest on top of your hand. “You wanna dance?”

You look back at him, then down at the table shyly, hiding behind your wing, “I don’t know how.”

He shrugs, gives you a reassuring squeeze, “I don’t know how either.” Having made the decision for the two of you he stands up, takes your hand and leads you towards the dance floor.

The warmth of his arm around your waist reminds you of the passion he showed you in his bed. It makes you shiver, draws your body to his the way a compass is drawn to the North.

You don’t do much of dancing, if you’re being honest. Nothing compared to the intricate footwork patterns the other couples are doing. Marc holds you and sways with you, your feet shuffling together awkwardly.

He hums along to the music, his voice is gentle and soothing. You can feel the vibrations of it in your chest, the warmth of his body spilling into yours like a waterfall.

Then, with his hand curled around you, he draws you in closer, almost imperceptibly if you hadn’t been able to tell by the brush of his clothes against you. You’re so close now that the only reasonable choice is to press your head onto his shoulder, to take in the smell of his cologne and his skin.

There’s the wave of a sigh that comes and fades away. His exhale rolls over your shoulder, curls around your heart like a cat’s tail. Though he doesn’t speak, there are words that come with his breath that you can hear.

You place your cheek against his and hope that he hears your response.

You fit together like puzzle pieces, a lock and key.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

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