#this one is so much better the broken plastic scratching my head on the last one sucked. alas she served me like a decade

[oysterie]

Showered and washed my hair I feel so good

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unmanageable 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Pete Brenner

Summary: your manager sets his eye on your (plus!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’re often the first one in office and unfortunately, the last one gone. That day is no different as you let yourself in through the back door of the bank and lock it behind you. You arrive at least an hour before opening to run diagnostics. Marska or her equivalent, Taylor, often cut it close to the starting time. You don’t mind so much as long as they’re not late.

The silence is soothing where to many it may be eerie. You leave your office door open as a scan runs on your screen. You blow over the open slot of your thermos and groan. You were up a bit too late playing Eldenring. The Godskin Duo gave you quite the headache.

The connection, despite being wired in, seems slower than usual. The last week or so, cell service has also been limited. In Hammer Ford, it isn’t entirely surprising. Sometimes it feels like the world forgets the backwoods village.

You yawn and take a cautious sip of hot coffee. You nearly choke as your eyes are drawn above the monitor by a blurred shape. You pull your mouth off the lid of the cup as Pete leans against the doorway, slightly bedraggled as his floppy hair droops down one side of his forehead and his eyes are ringed with sleep.

“Hey,” his voice is gritty and low, “you’re here early.”

“Same time every day.”

You note that he’s wearing the same jacket as the day before. You can’t see the rest of him past your computer but his tie is gone and his shirt is wrinkled and unbuttoned. You should be concerned but you’re just not. Whatever problems he has, you can’t imagine they’re not self-made.

“I smelled coffee,” he grumbles and scratches the side of his nose.

You put your thermos down softly, hiding it out of his view. You’re not sharing.

“Guess…” He leans back and looks into the bank, “I could make a pot… Marska usually puts one on… her coffee tastes better than mine.” He checks his watch, “how long till she gets in?”

You blink at him. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the manager. Your job is the computers, not scheduling. You look at him and shrug.

“Mm,” he turns back to you, “guess I’ll give it a try.”

His reluctance is clear as he sluggishly pushes away from the frame and drags his feet away from your office door. You have the urge to get up and shut your door but even you know that’s a bit much. His soles scuff as he barely lifts his feet and you listen to him grumble and sigh.

He clanks around loudly with the old machine. You’re always sure to bring your own. They only ever have the cheap brand in the office and when you brought your own, others drained the pot before you got any. This place is miserable. You wonder if they need a technician down at the library.

The shatter of glass breaks the morning lull completely. So much for a slow start. You hear Pete groaning from the next room. You don’t have to go out there, you don’t have to…

Damn it.

You get up and find him standing over the broken urn, only the plastic handle still intact. He hangs his head and grips his hips, pouting over the disaster. You cross your arms as you approach.

“I’m a mess,” he pushes his hair back as he shifts to look at you. “Sleeping in my office, wearing yesterday’s clothes,” he drops his hand emphatically and puffs out through his lips, “now this.”

“Did you cut yourself?” You ask, scanning his hands for blood.

He shakes his head, “no, I didn’t, just… I’m not doing well.”

“Right,” you stare at him flatly, “well, just broken glass. Nothing that can be cleaned up.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, “thank you.”

Then he walks away. Walks. Away. Leaving you in front of the scatter of glass shards. You watch him go incredulously. Does he really expect you to clean up his mess? As he enters his office, you’re assured that he very much does.

You close your eyes and take a breath. Technically, he is your boss. Well, truly, he is a man child.

You go to get the broom and pan and sweep up the glass. Not for him, for practicality. No one else should have to cut themselves for his clumsiness. You dump the glass in a box and put that in the bin. You’ll leave it to him to add the replacement to the supplies sheet.

Marska arrives as you put away the broom. Before she even slips her purse off her arm, she struts to the machine, not acknowledging you until she finds the burner empty. She tuts and faces you, blocking your path back to your office. Your safe haven.

“What happened?”

“Pot broke,” you answer bluntly.

“You broke it?”

“No,” you say.

She scoffs, “no? Well, what happened?”

You point to Pete’s office and shrug, shouldering past her without further argument. She sighs and clicks her heels towards the front desk. Her agitated mutters drone on as you enter your office and rub your forehead.

“Hey Mar,” Pete greets the teller buoyantly, “that’s a nice skirt.”

Absolutely no shame.

“Pete,” she purrs back, “what happened to the coffee maker, baby?”

They’re not as subtle or quiet as they think.

“Mm, yeah, accident,” he says, “you know what time that bakery opens? They do good coffee. You could run over, it’s never busy at open.”

“Pete, it’s always busy at open. That’s when all the old ones do their banking,” she rebuffs.

“Oh…” he sniffs, “I’m sorry, baby. Late night, I…” he pauses, “she knows.”

“What?” Marska’s voice cracks.

“I don’t know how she found out…” his voice trails off, “we should talk in my office.”

“Whatever, the other won’t care. I don’t even know if she understands me half the time,” Marska sneers, “you sure she knows what she’s doing? These fucking computers are slow as hell.”

“Mar,” Pete warns, “let’s go…”

“Well, I don’t have much time or any coffee, so make it quick,” she snaps and her heels tap across the floor.

You roll your eyes and close your own door. You don’t envy the mess they’ve made of their lives and you assume it won’t be long before Marska’s husband knows about it. What do you care? You don’t waste your time on all that. You’d rather get to the Erdtree.

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (8)

My bikini has never gotten as much use as it does here. It seems like the only appropriate thing to wear, with the sun beating down as it does, even for activities that are decidedly not water-based. Like now, as I follow behind Venetia, her copy of Harry Potter and a water bottle tucked under my arm. 

The grass grows steadily rougher and taller as we get further from the house, and begins to scratch at my ankles. “And it’s just a field?” I ask. 

Venetia rolls her eyes, looking back over her shoulder to me. “It’s tradition, Evie. Everyone that comes here for the summer has to participate. No exceptions.”

“It’s just a little weird, right?” I ask. “Getting naked just to sit in a field?”

“You’re telling me you’re not curious at all about what Ollie’s hiding under his shorts?” She says. 

“Not really.” I say, honestly. 

“Farleigh then?” She says, teasing. 

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “No.”

I can tell by her grin that she doesn’t believe me at all. 

As soon as we reach the edge of the real field, the line where the grass reaches my thighs, Venetia starts to strip, untying the strings of her bikini and letting the bits of fabric fall to the grass. A little ways into the tall grass, Felix and Farleigh’s heads can just be seen, Farleigh’s sunglassed eyes pointed in our direction. 

When Venetia’s fully undressed, she takes her book and the bottle from me, and traipses into the grass. Nerves flare up as I start to undress, trying to ignore the eyes in the grass, watching. I let my top drop first, and then the bottoms, and then quickly make my way into the grass, finding a spot between Venetia and Farleigh, just like the dinner table seating. 

“You have a tattoo.” Farleigh says. 

It forces me to look at him, and I steadfastly look at his face and not any lower. “I do.” I’d sort of forgotten about it, considering that it’s not usually out in the open, hidden away on my hip. It’s small - a little set of plastic vampire teeth. 

“What’s it for?” He asks. 

“Halloween.” I admit, a little shamefully. “It’s my favorite holiday.”

On my other side, Venetia laughs. “So American.”

I make myself more comfortable, and bring my sunglasses down from my hair and back where they belong. It’s weird - but I’m not the only one that’s naked, and it’s a good opportunity to get rid of my tan lines. Venetia dives back into Harry Potter, seemingly unbothered by the nakedness. I can’t wrap my head around the dynamic between her and Felix - I would never want to see my brothers naked, much less willingly. 

As subtly as I can, I turn, and take a peek at Farleigh from behind my sunglasses. I can’t help that he’s hot - a bitch, sure - but undeniably hot. Long, lean and gorgeously brown, he’s ridiculously my type - something I’d been missing at Cambridge. Something about being one of the most prestigious schools in England seems to make the student body so… boring. Classic, some would say, but the same Ralph Lauren polo and sweater combination gets tired after a while. 

Still, I’m not sure if I like him. He really is a bitch, for lack of a better word. The way he talks to Oliver, to Pamela - about Venetia, last night on the steps outside - is just plain mean. I can’t know what goes on in his head, but the way he’s so outspoken to Oliver and Pamela, and the way that he so aggressively questioned me last night - he called me a guard dog, but I could just as easily use that on him. Fierce towards outsiders, and barely rewarded for it. 

The rest of this house, eccentric as they are, fall easily into patterns. Farleigh is the one I can’t understand. 

My thoughts are broken by Venetia’s voice. “We’re over here, Ollie!”

Felix perks up as well. “Hi mate!”

I shift, propping myself up on an elbow to get a look at him. “Hey.”

Farleigh stirs, an amused grin coming over his face. “No trunks allowed in the field.”

I expect Oliver to balk, considering how he wears his shirts buttoned all the way to the top, but he strips with almost no hesitation, and continues on his way over to where we’ve camped out in the bush. My eyes widen.

“Well well well.” Farleigh says, still amused, but now in a different way. 

“Leave him alone.” Felix says, gesturing for Oliver to come sit by him. 

“Good for you.” Farleigh says, and then tips his head towards me. “What a twist.”

“I know.” I say, keeping my voice low enough that hopefully only Farleigh and Venetia can hear me. I turn to look at Venetia, peering over the top of my sunglasses with a knowing look. 

“Stop it.” She hisses, shooting me a sharp look, and then flicking her eyes toward Farleigh, turning my implication back around on me. 

I roll my eyes, and move my sunglasses back into place. I hate that she’s right.

< previous part | next part >

[dekuskacchan]

i will follow you into the dark

Rating: T

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy ending, Fluff

Summary: Izuku has finally returned to UA, and Katsuki will never let him go again.

Or: Izuku and Katsuki finally discuss their feelings.

A/N: Hi again, friends! Since chapter 322 is out now and dominating all of our lives, I felt inspired to write. This is intended to be a sequel to my fic "Tell Me I'm Dreaming," and takes place immediately after the events of chapter 322. So, spoilers are ahead for that chapter! I hope you like it <3

I'd also like to note: Izuku ate and took a bath when he got back, I just couldn't figure out how to work that in. Fear not, he is a clean and fed boy :')

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33153718

-

Katsuki watches the gentle rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he sleeps, undoubtedly for the first time in days. He’d fallen asleep the second his head hit the pillow on the small bed in Recovery Girl’s office, and hasn’t budged since.

In the 12 hours Izuku has been back at UA, Katsuki has left his side once, only with substantial convincing from Glasses and Shitty Hair.

“Dude, he’ll probably be out cold for a few more hours. At least go scarf down some food and take a nap,” Shitty Hair said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki retorted, “I ate this morning. And I have slept.”

Kirishima let out an exasperated sigh that irritated Katsuki to no end.

“Did you come here just to piss me off?” he snapped.

“We are concerned for your well being, just as we are Midoriya’s,” Iida said, “you haven’t fully recovered from your own injuries yet. You need to rest.”

“I said I was fucking fine.”

Iida looked at him with knowing eyes and a gentle smile. It annoyed Katsuki even more.

“He won’t disappear if you stop watching him, Bakugou."

“Yeah. We’ll stay with him,” Kirishima added with a thumbs up.

Katsuki gritted his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, they were right. His empty stomach only served to fuel his anger more.

“I hear they’re serving spicy curry for lunch in the cafeteria,” Iida coaxed.

Katsuki had relented at that point, not because it was his favorite, of course, the growling in his stomach was just giving him away.

Katsuki returned less than an hour later. Kirishima and Iida admittedly had reassured him, to some degree, but it wasn’t enough to quell his anxiety. Iida scolded him for refusing to rest, but did nothing to stop him, as if he knew his efforts were futile. The pair stayed with Katsuki at Izuku’s bedside a while longer, but left him to his devices nonetheless.

Half and Half stopped by some time later, tapping on Katsuki’s shoulder and waking him from a restless sleep in a shitty plastic chair at Izuku’s bedside.

“Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to sleep in your bed, Bakugou?” he asked, sitting in a chair adjacent to him.

“I was sleeping just fine before you fucking showed up, you Half and Half bastard,” Katsuki snarled.

“I’ve been here for an hour and a half, actually,” Todoroki stated. Always so fucking deadpan.

“Why the fuck did you wake me up now then?”

“You looked uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine, asshole,” Katsuki grumbled. Todoroki looked unconvinced.

“I figured you would say that. Here, I brought you this,” Todoroki produced a blanket from behind his chair and handed it to Katsuki.

“I don’t need your fucking charity," Katsuki grumbled, but accepted it anyway, silently grateful for refuge from the chill in the room.

“It’s no trouble,” Todoroki patted his shoulder.

“Tch.” Katsuki shrugged him off.

They sat in silence for a while. Izuku still hadn’t budged. Katsuki was worried, but some part of him was thankful that Izuku was finally fucking resting.

“Everyone is proud of you, you know,” Todoroki said quietly.

“Haah?!”

“It took courage, what you did. We know it’s not easy for you to express your emotions,” he paused, considering his next words, “it... doesn’t come naturally to me, either.”

“No shit!” Katsuki barked. Todoroki raised a finger to his lips to shush him and nodded at Izuku, who had grunted in his sleep.

“I’m just saying, your efforts aren’t unseen. We know you’ve been working hard, and that this has been weighing on you for a long time. If it weren’t for you, Midoriya might not have listened to us.”

“You don’t know shit,” Katsuki grumbled, averting his eyes. Katsuki was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t good at this shit, and Todoroki knew it, so why wouldn’t he shut up?

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We can change the topic,” Todoroki said, as if he could read Katsuki’s mind.

“Or we could stop fucking talking altogether,”

Todoroki smiled and nodded, returning his gaze to Izuku. Katsuki’s eyes followed and he frowned.

“He’s such a fucking idiot,” Katsuki muttered, leaning forward in his chair and resting his chin on his hand. Todoroki chuckled.

“He is certainly reckless,” Todoroki nodded, “I’m disappointed to learn he felt he had to keep such a big secret. But, he is my friend, and I will continue to be as supportive as I can. He would do the same for us.”

“No, he’d do more, and end up getting himself fucking killed."

“That’s…" Todoroki frowned, "probably true."

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then Todoroki fucking piped up again, much to Katsuki’s dismay.

“I know Midoriya appreciated what you said,” his voice was soft.

“Words don’t matter. Actions do,” Katsuki’s response was immediate.

“Well your actions have spoken clearly. “You're a better person than you think you are, Bakugou.”

Katsuki whipped his head to glare at Todoroki with an insult on his tongue, but he found himself speechless instead, staring with an incredulous look on his face. He mentally kicked himself for it.

“I just hope you know that, too,” Todoroki offered a half-smile.

Katsuki was frustratingly taken aback. He averted his eyes and looked at the ground with a scowl. That damn fucking Half and Half.

Todoroki thankfully shut his mouth after that. Katsuki wasn’t sure how long they sat together in silence. It wasn’t until the sun had set and the room began to fill with darkness that he heard Todoroki rise from his seat.

“I’m going to go lie down. You should, too,” Todoroki said plainly.

Katsuki sighed. He was right, but there was a sickeningly uneasy feeling in his gut whenever he thought about leaving that he just couldn’t shake.

“I…I can’t,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

Todoroki patted his shoulder again, and Katsuki didn’t push him away this time.

“Thanks,” Katsuki shrugged, “for the blanket or whatever.”

Todoroki nodded. He left the door cracked behind him on his way out.

Katsuki pulls the blanket around himself and reclines in his chair, putting his feet up on Todoroki’s abandoned one. It’s really fucking uncomfortable, but Katsuki knows it would be impossible to sleep if he were anywhere else.

After too many attempts to reposition himself comfortably, Katsuki groans and sits up straight, turning his head to watch Izuku again. He’s still sleeping soundly.

Katsuki leans forward and, without thinking, brushes his hand through Izuku’s hair, pushing back a few stray curls. The moonlight flickering through the blinds illuminates his face, and Katsuki thinks that, somehow, this is the most peaceful he’s seen Izuku in ages.

Katsuki can’t remember the last time Izuku wasn’t at least slightly on edge. He is always looking over his shoulder, as if he’s expecting the enemy to be watching. He spends every minute of his free time training or muttering to himself about battle strategies. The nerd doesn’t even know the meaning of the word “relax.”

Katsuki slides his hand down to cup Izuku’s cheek. His skin is soft and warm, just like last time, and he can’t help but feel an awful sense of dèjá vu. He stays that way for a few moments, just reveling in the fact that Izuku is really here. This isn't a dream, he’s finally here, and Katsuki will never fucking let him go again.

When Katsuki reluctantly moves to pull away, Izuku reaches up to grab his hand, nuzzling into it.

Katsuki is startled, as Izuku is seemingly still asleep. He brushes Izuku’s cheekbone with the backs of his fingers, and swears he sees the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You’re a dumbass,” Katsuki mumbles, propping his elbow on the bed to rest his head in his free hand.

“I can hear you, Kacchan.”

Katsuki jolts up in surprise to see Izuku staring at him with one eye cracked open and a smirk on his lips.

“Shit, did I wake you?” Katsuki tries again to pull his arm away, but Izuku holds on tight, as if Katsuki is his lifeline and he’s barely hanging on.

“D-don’t go,” Izuku stutters, burying his face in Katsuki’s hand. Katsuki caresses his cheek again and frowns when he finds wetness there.

“Are you crying?” Katsuki asks, though he’s not sure why, because he already knows the answer.

“N-no,” Izuku sniffles. Katsuki rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Hey, look at me,” Katsuki whispers, lifting his free hand to Izuku’s other cheek and turning his head to face him.

Izuku whimpers, holding Katsuki’s arms in a vice grip as he looks up. His eyes are sunken and glassy, overflowing with tears that Katsuki wipes away with his thumbs.

Fuck, he looks like a fucking zombie. His face is paler than usual and littered with scratches, and heavy, dark circles line his eyes. Katsuki suppresses a sudden urge to wrap him in his arms and hold him tight.

“What’s wrong?” Katsuki murmurs, stroking his cheeks in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

Izuku’s face contorts and a new wave of tears begin to fall.

“I-I’m so s-sorry Kacchan,” he snivels.

Katsuki holds his face tighter.

“I told you, we get it. Don’t beat yourself up, you’ve already done plenty of that.”

Izuku chokes a laugh through a broken sob and Katsuki counts it as a small victory.

“I a-am pretty messed up, h-huh?” Izuku hiccups, “but so are you.”

“Tch. I’m fine,” Katsuki lies, feeling a familiar twinge of pain in his side.

“I kn-know you better than that, Kacchan,” Izuku meets Katsuki’s gaze, “d-don’t think I didn’t see you bleeding back there.”

“I was bleeding. I’m not anymore, see?” Katsuki points to his newly applied bandages, “The old lady patched me up.”

Recovery Girl had given Katsuki a thorough scolding for tearing his wounds. Something about being too reckless, to stop throwing himself in front of danger because isn't it hypocritical of you to tell Midoriya to look after himself, but you won't do the same? That had pissed Katsuki off to no end, but he’d accepted her help anyway.

“Y-you could’ve hurt yourself-”

“But I didn’t! Quit worrying about everyone else,” Katsuki looks Izuku dead in the eyes, “think about your goddamn self for once.”

Izuku shakes his head frantically.

“I can’t. I said so many terrible things I- I h-have to apologize-,” Izuku tries to get up, but Katsuki is lightning fast as he moves to sit on the bed in front of him, gripping his shoulders to hold him in place.

“You can do that later. You need to fucking relax. Did you forget you were beaten to a pulp?” Katsuki reminds him.

“Kacchan, I’m f-”

“Don’t fucking say you’re fine! You’re not, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter, Kacchan!” Izuku shouts,“I can’t- I can’t just sit here while everyone else is-”

“Everyone is safe,” Katsuki lightly shakes him, “and we’re safer if we're together.”

Izuku presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Izuku repeats himself. His voice is shaking. “I ne-”

“Shut the fuck up. You matter,” Katsuki says firmly, pulling Izuku’s hands away and holding onto them.

Izuku weakly lifts his head to meet Katsuki’s eyes. He looks taken aback, and even more exhausted than before, but Izuku is just as stubborn as Katsuki is, and Katsuki can tell he still has an argument left in him.

“Izuku,” Katsuki watches Izuku's eyes widen as he utters his name for a second time. It feels foreign on his tongue, but he knows the weight it carries, and he'll say it over and over if it makes Izuku happy.

Katsuki pushes back the hair that’s fallen in front of Izuku's face and knocks their foreheads together.

“Izuku,” he repeats, “ You fucking matter,” there’s a sharpness to Katsuki’s tone he hadn’t intended, but he can tell Izuku gets the message. He swears he sees the color return to Izuku’s bloodshot eyes before they squeeze shut, overflowing with new tears.

Izuku buries his head in Katsuki’s chest and wails. Katsuki immediately wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a tight embrace, ignoring the aching pain in his injured shoulder and side.

“I-I’m s-so sorry,” Izuku’s entire body shakes as he clings to Katsuki. Katsuki holds him tighter, rubbing gentle circles on his back.

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay,” Katsuki murmurs, trying his best to soothe him, but Izuku only cries harder. Katsuki’s own eyes begin to burn.

“It’s s’not o-okay, Kac-chan,” Izuku stutters.

“Nobody is mad at you."

“Th-they should b-be,” Izuku insists miserably

“Well they’re not.”

“I think All M-might is.”

“Haah?! The fuck kind of reason does All Might have to be mad at you?” Katsuki is baffled. “I should fucking clock him in the face again.”

“Y-you punched All Might?!” Izuku lifts his chin to stare incredulously at Katsuki.

“Damn right I did. But that’s beside the point. Why the fuck’s he mad?”

Izuku hides his face again, his voice muffled by Katsuki’s now damp shirt and his own sobs, “I w-was so mean t-to him. I told him I d-didn’t need him anymore and r-ran away, I-”

“Breathe, Dek- Izuku,” Katsuki whispers, brushing Izuku’s cheek with his fingers as Izuku begins to hyperventilate. “Breathe. He’s not mad, he’s probably just worried.” He better not be fucking mad.

“I-I have to t-talk to him too,”

“It can wait. Right now you need to fucking rest.”

They stay that way for a while, wrapped in the safety of each other’s arms as Izuku’s cries slowly start to dissipate. At some point, Katsuki isn’t sure when, traitorous tears start to roll down his own face. Izuku notices before he does, feeling the sudden moisture on his shoulder, and he tells him so.

“I’m not fucking crying,” Katsuki grumbles, though his voice is hoarse.

“It’s o-okay Kacchan,”

“Shit,” Now they’re both blubbering idiots.

Izuku squeezes Katsuki tighter as they cry together. Katsuki tries not to wince as he returns the gesture, his shoulder screaming in protest, but Izuku notices. Of course he fucking notices.

“K-Kacchan-,” Izuku’s voice is laced with unnecessary concern as he immediately loosens his grip and starts to pull back.

“Don’t,” Katsuki growls, rubbing his eyes, “Don’t fucking worry about me.”

Izuku sniffles and shakes his head, “I c-can’t help it.”

Katsuki heaves a sigh. “I know.”

Izuku places his shaky, scarred hands on either side of Katsuki’s face in a gentle caress that makes Katsuki’s heart fucking squeeze. When he finally lifts his eyes, he finds Izuku looking at him with a wobbly smile. His cheeks are tear-stained and there's a trace of something haunted behind his eyes, but it's undeniable that a weight has lifted from his shoulders.

Katskui quirks his lips in a half smile. Fuck, he’d missed Izuku.

Izuku yawns and lies back in the bed. “I’m tired again.”

“Well, get some sleep then, nerd,” Katsuki moves to slide back in his chair, but Izuku stops him, grabbing his hand.

“Wait! I- could-” Izuku bites his lip, “could you...stay with me?”

Katsuki squeezes his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, nerd. Someone has to keep your ass in line," he smirks.

Izuku laughs, the first real laugh Katsuki has heard in ages, and Katsuki thinks it might be his favorite sound.

“No, I mean here, next to me,” Izuku scoots over in the bed and pats the space next to him.

“I don’t think-”

“Just until I fall asleep,” Izuku pleads, “...please?”

Katsuki finally relents and slides in next to him. Izuku looks relieved, draping the blanket around them both and curling up to Katsuki’s uninjured side. Katsuki wraps his arm around Izuku’s waist, careful not to dislodge the bandages there. He briefly wonders why this feels so natural.

Izuku’s voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks next. “I- I’m scared, Kacchan.”

“I know. But everything’s gonna be fine."

“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

“No one’s gonna get hurt. We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna figure it out together.”

“I really shouldn’t be here,” Izuku sighs.

“Shut the fuck up. You really wanna be out there? Where people are lookin’ to wring your neck at every turn?”

“Of course not! But that’s exactly why I should be. No one here is safe while I’m around.”

Izuku startles when Katsuki suddenly grabs his chin and lifts it up with his free hand to make Izuku look him in the eyes “Bullshit. I already told you, you can’t win this alone. So stop trying."

Izuku swallows hard, on the verge of tears again. Katsuki tucks Izuku's head under his chin.

"Saving people is how we win, remember? That means you gotta let us save you sometimes, too." Katsuki holds Izuku tight as he cries, gently combing his fingers through thick green curls.

“You should be here," Katsuki continues, "you belong here, Izuku." With me, he adds, but only in his thoughts.

Izuku stills and lifts his head from Katsuki’s chest to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. He's no longer crying. “Kacchan?”

“What?” Katsuki is confused as he watches Izuku’s cheeks flush a deep red.

“I belong with...you?”

Fuck, did he say that out loud?

Katsuki suddenly becomes very aware of their proximity and feels his own face heat.

Their faces are already inches apart, and Izuku is coming closer, cupping Katsuki's cheeks with freezing cold hands. He's close enough that Katsuki can feel Izuku’s heartbeat, his breath on his nose, and fuck, when did their legs tangle together?

Izuku’s thumb lightly strokes his cheekbone and Katsuki finds himself inadvertently leaning into his touch. His breath catches in his throat when he finally meets his gaze. Izuku’s eyes are soft and warm and he’s smiling, a real smile that is secretly Katsuki’s favorite, one that he hasn't seen in far too long. He decides he would sooner die than see it extinguished ever again.

He's embarrassed by his accidental confession, but something about the way Izuku is looking at him, with that soft gaze full of light and wonderment Katsuki knows is reserved only for him, makes the anxiety melt away. The eyes that used to infuriate him now leave him feeling warm and safe, like he has a place in this world, and he realizes there's nowhere he'd rather fucking be than right by Izuku's side.

"Did you mean that?" Izuku whispers, breaking him from his reverie.

“Yeah. Stay with me,” Katsuki grazes his fingers across Izuku's cheek. "...please."

Izuku's smile is breathtaking. It lights a fire in Katsuki's chest.

"I will," Izuku breathes, leaning in to close the distance between them.

Their lips meet halfway in a desperate kiss and a jolt of electricity courses through Katsuki's body. Izuku's hands tangle into Katsuki's hair and Katsuki cradles his face as they explore each other for the first time. It's messy and uncoordinated, but Izuku's lips are soft and inviting and nothing has ever felt so fucking right.

Katsuki's hold on Izuku's waist tightens, pulling him closer, but it's still not close enough. They've been through a decade of miscommunication and separation, unchecked feelings, and the debilitating fear of losing each other. Now that Izuku is here, safe in his arms, Katsuki wants nothing more than to stay in the warmth of this moment forever, to melt into each other and never let go again.

"K-Kacchan," Izuku pants as he slowly pulls away. Oh, right, breathing.

He presses his forehead to Katsuki's as they gasp for air, and they cling to each other as if the other could disappear at any moment.

Katsuki's head is spinning as he looks at Izuku. His cheeks have flushed deeper, lips kissed red and swollen, eyes blown wide as he stares in amazement.

"I missed you," Izuku whispers between heavy breaths.

"Me too,"

Katsuki tucks Izuku's head into the crook of his neck and holds him tight.

“I am….glad to be back,” Izuku murmurs, “it was terrifying out there. I was so exhausted."

No shit, Katsuki thinks.

"Do you want to...talk about it?"

"I-" Izuku pauses, considering. His voice is small when he says, "Maybe later. I don't...I don't want to think about it right now."

Katsuki laces the fingers of one hand with Izuku's and squeezes.

"Okay. But, uh, I'm here if you do. Want to talk or whatever." Katsuki tries his best to sound encouraging. Izuku tilts his head up and nods with a smile.

“Okay.”

There's still so much Katsuki wants to say, but he can't put it into words. He's always been better with actions. He thinks back on all that he said before Izuku passed out in his arms, and wonders if it was enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki notices Izuku peering up at him.

“What are you staring at, nerd?” Katsuki smirks as Izuku averts his eyes, color blooming on his face again.

“I- I’m not, I just- thank you, Kacchan.”

"For what?"

“For everything.”

Katsuki shrugs. “I didn’t do shit."

"Yes you did," Izuku brushes a lock of hair behind Katsuki's ear, "you're here right now. You listened, you encouraged me, you made me feel safe enough to come back here. I wouldn’t have had the strength without you.”

Katsuki is at a loss for words.

"Todoroki was right, you know," Izuku says softly, "you're better than you think you are."

Katsuki feels his face flush and looks away. But then it dawns on him.

"You were listening to us?"

"Uh- just a little...only bits and pieces."

"You were awake? Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to interrupt you," Izuku shrugs. "You and Todoroki never talk, it seemed important. Plus, I was so out of it I thought I was dreaming at first."

"So you were just eavesdropping like a creep?" He teases, snickering when Izuku buries his face in embarrassment.

"I'd rather talk to you than that Half and Half bastard, dumbass," Katsuki ruffles Izuku's hair.

"Sorry, Kacchan."

"Quit apologizing."

Normally he probably would be pissed, but there isn’t even a trace of anger in him right now.

"I'm not the only one who's reckless, by the way," Izuku playfully nudges Katsuki.

"I'm not fucking reckless."

Izuku frowns. "Kacchan, you were stabbed. And you tore open your wounds trying to get to me when you should've been taking it easy. You took off into battle without a second thought."

"Sounds familiar," Katsuki glares at him.

"I know. I admit I don't always think things through….and sometimes I think too much. I never put myself first. You made me realize that. I'm...going to try to work on it. But you can't deny that you do it sometimes too."

Katsuki is silent again.

"And when was the last time you ate? Or slept somewhere other than a tiny chair? You tell me I need to take better care of myself, but you don't do the same."

"I'm fine." Katsuki insists, but Izuku knows him better than he knows himself and sees right through the lie.

Katsuki sighs. Deep down, he knows Izuku and the old lady are right. Sometimes... he can be a dumbass and a hypocrite.

"My body…I told you, it moved on it's own. I just saw you in the air and fucking panicked. You were about to die," Katsuki’s voice shakes, “You were about to die, and it was like… like my entire fucking life flashed before my eyes. There was so much I needed to say to you, I couldn't handle the thought of losing you, Izuku. Especially before- before I had the chance to-, " Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut and grunts in an effort to hold back tears that were threatening to fall.

Katsuki feels Izuku's gentle touch on his cheek again and meets his gaze.

"I know. It's okay. Let's just agree that we're both idiots and try to be better, together. If not for ourselves, then for each other. I can't stand the thought of losing you either, Kacchan," Izuku's eyes are impossibly soft

"I really do appreciate everything you said, Kacchan. It means so much to me. I know it's not easy for you to do that."

"I meant every fucking word," Katsuki says firmly.

"I know. And I forgave you a long time ago, Kacchan. Yeah, things were rocky for a while, but I see you. I see how you've changed, and how much effort you've been putting in. I feel safest and strongest when I'm with you. You're the most amazing person I've ever known, and you always will be."

Izuku's eyes well up with tears again as he smiles, and Katsuki feels like his heart could burst out of his chest. He presses a gentle kiss to Izuku's palm and cups his face, tracing his lips with his thumb.

"You make me stronger," Katsuki stares deep into his eyes.

Katsuki feels his brain short circuit as Izuku presses a gentle, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. Katsuki holds him there as he pulls away, chasing his lips with his own.

This kiss is softer and less hurried, but just as passionate. They're completely enveloped in each other as they revel in the fact that this is real. There’s nowhere in the world either of them would rather be. Katsuki didn’t realize just how badly he needs Izuku until he was gone, and thinks that, maybe, Izuku feels the same way.

It feels like it’s been an eternity when they slowly break apart, and Katsuki can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

Izuku lays his head on Katsuki's chest and cuddles up to his side. Katsuki idly strokes his back, just relishing the moment.

Fuck, he’d missed Izuku.

"I don't mind if- uh, if you keep calling me Deku, by the way," Izuku mutters..

"You don't like it when I say your name?"

"No! No, that's not it- I mean it is a little weird, but uh- I like it? Hearing it in your voice, I mean," Izuku rambles on, and Katsuki finds that he's even missed that too.

"I just, um, I mean- Deku is fine too. It has a different meaning for us both now, you know? It stopped being an insult a long time ago. And, uh, it feels, um...special, I guess? I don't know. My point is, either is fine. I don't want you to feel like...like you're disrespecting me, or something," Izuku's face is bright red as he notices Katsuki smirking at him.

"You're such a nerd," Katsuki laughs when Izuku scowls, and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll call you whatever the fuck you want me to call you.”

“Either is good. I promise.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see then, huh?”

"Yeah," Izuku smiles, then his brows furrow and he pauses. "Katsuki."

They both frown and Katsuki shakes his head.

"Nope. Too weird. I'd rather be Kacchan forever,” Katsuki grimaces.

“I think so too,” Izuku laughs.

"You should sleep, nerd." Katsuki murmurs.

"Mm, yeah,” Izuku yawns, “You should too, Kacchan."

"Yeah, yeah."

"But you'll still be here when I wake up, right?" Izuku looks up at him with pleading eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Izuku breathes a sigh of relief and snuggles closer.

"Tomorrow...tomorrow is gonna be hard."

"Nah. I'll beat the shit out of anyone who tries anything funny. Like I said, we'll get through this.”

"Together?"

"Together."

-------

bonus:

Sunlight is filtering through the blinds of the room's tiny window when Katsuki awakens. He feels more rested than he has in ages. Izuku is still curled up at his side with his head on his chest, snoring softly, and Katsuki can’t help but smile.

“Nice, bro!” someone whispers from the doorway. Katsuki’s head whips up to see Shitty Hair and Sparky, grinning at him with their thumbs up.

Katsuki is filled with white hot rage as his face flushes. If it wasn't for the fact that Izuku has him pinned, he would beat the shit out of those assholes.

“See ya, loverboy!” Kaminari whistles as they bolt out of the room.

Oh, they are dead meat when Katsuki’s hands are free.

--

A/N: I wrote this while listening to "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie and "Make You Mine (acoustic)" by PUBLIC-highly recommend them if you're looking to yearn lmao

The large block of italicized text is meant to be a flashback- I hope that was clear :')

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!! Feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always <3

Also- shout out to @sheiireen for her very helpful advice on this. She's amazingly talented, you should check her out!!

[suicidalslasher]

𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠 ➤  𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙. & 𝑠𝑡𝑢 𝑚.

In which the reader comes home, completely broken-hearted and her two friends, Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, come in to put a smile on her face and show her how much they love her.

WARNINGS:  This is a smut but not well written, lol. It’s mainly just oral, both receiving and giving. (male and female.)  Also, if you squeeze your eyes really tight, you may get a glimpse of slight foreshadowing in which Billy and Stu killed the guy that broke the reader’s heart but blink and you might miss it. Anyways. Enjoy.  

(Y/N) lied upon a soft feather mattress, cocooning herself in the silk sheets. A sad sigh surpassing her lips as the realization settles in, hitting her like a ton of bricks, like a cold bucket of water was thrown on her. She's alone. The room feels empty. Wait, no, scratch that. 

It is empty.  It's dark and cold and lonesome. As many blankets that surround her and although she has many draped around her body, her skin still somehow prickles with goosebumps and she's shivering.  

Though, she knows it's not because she's cold. She isn't shaking because of that. Not really. Before she could stop herself, her eyes start to glisten with tears, the corner of her eyes pooling with water and slowly but surely, they slide down her skin, wetting her cheeks. Goddammit. God fucking dammit, she thinks, reaching over and grabbing the duvet comforter,  she slides it over her head. Broken, silent sobs then proceed to escape past her lips, although she oh so desperately tries to hold them back. She fails miserably.  Then, out of nowhere, she hears a little knock, followed by another.   Rolling over to lay on her stomach, (Y/N) buries her face into the nearest pillow, causing mascara tears to soak and stain the cushion as she continues to cry and sob. Before she realizes it or even can acknowledge it, the window to her bedroom is being pulled up and her friends, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, step inside her bedroom.   "(Y/N)?" (Y/N) is quick to flip around upon hearing her name, her heart hammering wildly against her chest. 

 "S-Stu? Billy? What the Hell are you guys doing here?"  She relaxes, having  seen her friends standing by her bedroom window rather than the man everybody was fearing lately in Woodsboro.  

A masked man with a dark cloak and a spine-chilling voice. She was lucky she hadn't heard what he sounded like, she had enough nightmares as is. It was hard to say whether or not it was a man behind the mask but regardless, whatever sex the person was, they were crazy, inside and out. End of story. (Y/N) makes a mental note, reminding herself to lock her window next time and to keep track of that before she gets comfortable and goes to bed. Especially with what was happening everywhere in Woodsboro. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."  Billy said, walking over to the girl as he sat down next to her,  the mattress sinking beneath his weight. Stu followed, nodding happily as he shows a few VHS tapes, gesturing them over to (Y/N).

 "We brought movies to watch and snacks, too!" He exclaimed as he then pulled out a small plastic bag, dumping out the items onto her bed. 

There was chips and candy and they were all her favorite flavors and brands, too. (Y/N) felt the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes again at the sweet gesture her friends were sharing with her. "Oh... c'mon, don't be such  a cry baby." Stu snickered but he wrapped his arms around (Y/N) and pulled her into a side hug, Billy following right behind, hugging her from her right. 

 "We love you, we've got your back, always, okay?" "What Stu said. Besides, this world doesn’t deserve an angel like you, (Y/N).” "Mhm." Stu nodded.   "I really liked him, that's all..... I should've known it was a set up to get back with his ex." (Y/N) said with a sniffle, running a hand over her face as she tries to rid herself of any left over makeup, especially getting rid of the mascara, although, if she were positive, that and her eyeliner were most likely now resting on the pillow she had cried into rather than on her face. "Well, he's a fucking idiot." Billy growled.   "He doesn't see how perfect you are, (Y/N)." "Billy and I see that, though." Stu said, taking his hand off from her shoulder as he now rests his hand on her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze. It made (Y/N)'s breath hitch in her throat and she bites on her lower lip, nervously. 

What were they doing....? She thinks. “We would do anything for you. Absolutely anything.”  Billy said. "We'd do anything just to see you happy, just to see you smile..." Stu continued. "You deserve nothing but the best, deserve nothing but happiness." "So, please... (Y/N)... let us give you that. Let us show you how beautiful and loved you really are. We love you.... we love you so much-" "We love you so much we'd kill for you." Billy looks over at Stu, giving him a questioning glare and (Y/N) goes to ask what that stare meant but her words are loss and any train of thought she had left the building once she feels both hands of Billy and Stu's on her thighs.

 One on her left, the other on her right. "So.... no movies then?" (Y/N) asked jokingly. Her heart, like earlier, was pounding so loud she swore both boys could hear it against her chest. Her body was trembling as it had done earlier but now, it wasn't from sadness or feeling broken but rather hot and bothered. 

She did always have an attraction to Billy and Stu, she'd be a liar to say she didn't. "We can watch them later. Right now, we want to see those legs of yours sprawled out, give us a view of that pretty pussy." (Y/N) whined softly but she obeyed, and while she did, Billy grunted while Stu spoke softly, "Such a good girl for us. You're our good girl, aren't you, sweetheart?" (Y/N) nodded as she stretched her legs on either side of her. All she was wearing was a thin gown, one that matched her sheets, being the fact both were silk.  

 "Oh.... so pretty, so beautiful." Stu purred, licking his lips, his eyes growing darker while Billy's did the same. "Naughty though.... aren't you, baby? Not wearing any panties." Billy chuckled as he stood up, feet landing on the carpeted floor with a soft thud as he walks over to (Y/N), undoing his jeans and the belt that had been neatly placed in the hoops of the pants.  

"Is it okay if you suck me off, darling? You want to be a good girl, don't you?" (Y/N) says nothing, she's unable to speak. It was as if a cat had captured her tongue and ran off with it, and she couldn't get it back from the creature. She feels paralyzed, too. Everything feels as if it's going by too fast.

 What an odd day.... she thinks. She didn't expect this to happen, not now, not ever. But she wasn't angry at it or the outcome of tonight's misfortune. It was just crazy how fast the night changes. "Baby? I asked you a question... If you know what’s good for you, you better answer me.”   "Y-yes." (Y/N) stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.  "I'd love to suck you off, please, may I?" "Oh!" Stu chirped, giggling as he shook his head from side to side, a wicked grin playing out across his lips. "She's got manners, fuck - we really found the perfect girl, haven't we, Billy?" "Mhm." Billy said, pressing his cock to her lips. "Open up, sweetie. Let's see how pretty you look with a mouth full of cock." While (Y/N) parts her lips open, and as Billy pushes himself in her wet and warm mouth, (Y/N) feels heat against her clit and before she can put two and two together, Stu's devouring her pussy with his tongue and she squeaks, bucking her hips up into his touch.   "Fuck! She tastes incredible. Can't believe I haven't gotten to you sooner." Stu said before pressing his face back in between her thighs, licking and lapping her cunt with his tongue, making her tremble and shake. 

(Also makes her almost choke and gag on Billy's cock as he presses his cock further down her throat.) Above, Billy nodded as he rocked his hips back and forth, eyes half-lidded, not quite shut but not all the way open either, as he grunts out an answer; "She's good with her mouth too, Stu." He said.  

"Not sure I can last long, sweetheart..." He warned and right as the words slip from his lips,  it didn't take less than a second until (Y/N)'s mouth is being filled with Billy's creamy, white load.

 "Oh.... fuck!"  He grunts, pulling back  as he drops down next to her on the bed.

 "Go on, baby. Cum for Stu. You wanna be good for him too, don't you? Go on and cum.... cum all over his tongue, beautiful. I'm sure he'll love the taste of your juices, exploding into his mouth." And fuckfuckfuck.....

FUCK~!!

"O-Oh!"  (Y/N) mewls, bucking her hips into his mouth once more as the sweet release of her orgasm floods out of her and into Stu's mouth. Happily, Stu licks every drop up, pulling back with a very much pleased and satisficed smile.  

 "Both her and her pussy are so sweet." Stu complimented, now crawling up onto the bed and resting beside her, tucking his face into her neck as he presses a few  ghostly kisses on her skin. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

"And what about me?" Billy said with a playful pout.

"I love you too, Billy Loomis." (Y/N) admitted, grinning as she scooted a few inches over, patting the empty spot next to her. "Sleep with us?"  

Billy smiled in reply as he plopped down next to his now lovers, curling up in (Y/N)'s side and kissing the other side of her neck, the way Stu had done previously.  

 "I'll treat you to a good time too,  tomorrow," (Y/N whispered, mainly to Stu but she turned and repeated the sentence to Billy as well. The boys look at each other with a smirk, giving one a knowingly glance before they turned back to (Y/N). 

"Sounds like a plan, baby." The smile she wore across her lips falls into a frown and the boys are quick to sit up, having seen the smile turn upside down. "Baby, are you okay?" "Yeah." "Babe....don't you lie to us." "I'm not." She answers truthfully. "But.... this- I mean, us three, it's real, right?" She gestures in the air with a wave of her hand.  "You won't play with my feelings and hurt me-" "Baby." Billy's voice is rough and cold,  and his grip on her is far from affectionate and soft. "We'd kill for you, remember?" "We love you so much, (Y/N) you have no idea to what limits we'd go to prove that to you.” She didn't understand why the two kept repeating that very first sentence but she didn't question it, didn't think anything of it. She smiled and nodded, rubbing at her eyes now tiredly.

 "I love you both, too. Now... before I get too tired, can we watch those movies you rented?" Billy laughed softly as Stu scrambled up and on his feet, grabbing the candy and the films that had fallen on the bed off of the floor and goes to set the VHS player up, clicking the TV on with a push of a button. 

"You're gonna love these, (Y/N)! It's a new horror movie that came out!" "As long as it's not a slasher with a mask like the one that's hanging around in Woodsboro, I'm fine with anything. Whenever that monster goes away, I'll be fine and more than happy to watch slasher films again... just not now." She says with a laugh. "Don't worry, baby. With us around, you’ll be safe and sound. We’ll protect you.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

[akaashisupremacy]

Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

HQ Masterlist || Multi-fandom Masterlist || Read it on A03

Osamu Miya  x reader  

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

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

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar​

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

[wormstacheangel]

Second part to the mixtape headcanon. Dean’s reaction to Cas being at his door in the middle of the night with the mixtape in hand.  

Dedicated to Liv ( @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie ) sorry it took me a while but here it is. Might not be what you expected but hopefully you enjoy it either way.

Cas stopped short in front of Dean’s door. His heart raced as he held the Walkman to his chest, clinging to the words he just heard, but he knew those words were years old. So much has changed in general, but between them, it felt like a still lake.

Since coming back, Dean has acted as if those dying words weren’t even spoken. Sometimes Cas wondered if he imagined the whole thing, but he knew the truth; Dean didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for them.

It was something Cas has accepted the last few weeks of being in the bunker, being home, but now, with Dean’s secret message, he felt the courage in him bubble up his throat.

Cas quickly knocked three loud, quick bangs with his fist before waiting for a response. He heard a groggy, “What?”

“Dean? May I—Can we talk?”

Cas didn’t hear an answer right away, and for a second, he thought maybe Dean fell back asleep; he knew it was the early morning hours but wasn’t quite sure of the exact time. Still, time never really meant anything to him before, but now, as a human, time has become precious, and he didn’t want to keep wasting it.

He took a deep, shaky breath, raising his fist to knock again, but the door then clicked open. Revealing a disheveled and disoriented Dean.

He leaned against the door frame wearing lemon patterned boxer briefs and a hand up his t-shirt to scratch at his chest, as he yawned before he blinked at Cas a few times, “Dude, it’s 3 am. What can’t wait ‘til morning?”

Cas swallowed his nerves down before looking down at the Walkman to take out the tape. He brought it up to Dean’s face, and with an earnest voice, he said, “You said to come ASAP. So I’m here.”

Dean only looked at the cassette tape; a small gasp of a breath raised his chest, but then his face scrunched up in the familiar fixed glare, so Cas continued knowing Dean won’t talk. Not yet anyway.

He put the cassette back into the Walkman as he talked, rewinding it to keep his nervous hands busy. “I believe I understood what you—what the songs mean, but I am still so new at all this. If I am wrong, I don’t want it hurting us.” Cas took a sneaky look back up at Dean to find him watching the Walkman with the same intensity Cas was.

It only took a few seconds, and then Dean was shuffling in the doorway as the first song, Ramble On, started to play through the headphones. With no other words, Dean opened his bedroom door open just a little more, an invitation to come in, before he walked back over to sit at the edge of his bed.

When Cas walked in, he closed the door behind him but stood awkwardly by it. He broke the silence first as he looked anywhere but at Dean.

“You know what, maybe this can wait until morning.”

“You already woke me up.” Cas looked up to meet Dean’s stare, it wasn’t cold, but it still sent a shiver down Cas’s spine. “So talk.”

Cas opened his mouth, not knowing what words he was even forming, but Dean stood with a hand up to stop him before any words were spoken.

“Actually, first, why are you bringing this up again? I gave you that thing years ago.”

Cas put the Walkman down on Dean’s desk, the music softer but still background music, before looking at Dean with guilty soft eyes, not knowing how to explain himself. “Yes. I just heard—I appreciate the gift, Dean. Thank you but-um.”

Dean seemed taken back by the words, and, by his hardening demeanor, Cas knew they were the wrong ones. Dean was building walls up again.

“You know what, Cas,” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he glared past Cas with an uneasy smile settled on his face. “I can’t do this right now. How about we leave the rejections for some other time? Yeah?”

Cas opened his mouth, confused, but Dean nodded.

“Good. Night, Cas.”

Oh. He was already being rejected. It made sense that Dean’s feelings changed after all this time. He must have been waiting for Cas to mention the message, but it’s too late now. He lost Dean’s love.

Cas reached for the Walkman, but now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen to those songs, understanding why Dean skips them now. So he fists up his hands, leaving the Walkman where it laid, before giving Dean a stiff nod in return.

“Understood. Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything in return, his jaw clenching as he looked at anywhere but Cas. “And take your damn gift with you.”

Cas’s chest tightened at the words. He felt familiar pain spread through his body, one he wished had a physical reason than an emotional, psychological one because a fist to his chest would hurt less.

“I don’t want it anymore.” Cas spit out as he opened the bedroom door and walked out into the hallway. “Throw it away for all I care.”

He slams the door closed behind him and stalks to his room, slamming that door behind him as well.

Then as soon as he is in the safety of his own space, he can feel the pain making itself known, like a hot blade slowly cutting into him or something heavy sitting on his chest. Either way, he wanted it to stop. Wishing he never heard that message or that he heard it at the right time.

Cas laid wide awake in bed, curled up around a pillow he was hugging to his chest. He stared at the wall, wishing he had a better imagination to keep him entertained, but all he could see was Dean’s glare. The glare those green eyes dug into him really digging roots and pulling him apart from the inside out with an invisible pull.

He couldn’t go out there and face him now. Maybe, Cas should have just ignored the long-ago message. It was apparent Dean had lost those feelings for Cas; he would have brought up Cas’s dying words weeks ago if Dean felt remotely the same. Now Cas was left with an awkward situation he didn’t want to be a part of.

He needed to leave.

Cas knew that. This is how it always went. Cas needed to go.

Cas stood up to walk over to his desk to grab his wallet and keys before grabbing his coat, ready to sneak off before the sunrise. He’ll be gone before Dean can kick him out again.

He didn’t even get a chance to open his bedroom door before Dean was striding in with a determined glare, “Okay, fuck this, I think we really need to-” Dean stopped to look Cas up and down as his shoulders dropped. “You’re leaving.”

“I think—I think it’ll be best.”

Dean nodded, his bottom lip being sucked into his mouth as he stared back at Cas. “Sure. Just do what you do best. Runaway.” Dean threw whatever he held in his hand across the room and broke it with a loud bang. Cas flinched as he saw what it was, the Walkman. “Fuck if I care!”

Dean was already turning to walk away, but Cas grabbed hold of his arm to stop him. “Why are you so damn mad, Dean?” Cas walked to step in front of him. He moved until he finally locked eyes with the angry hunter. “I’m only doing this for you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged Cas’s touch away. “Don’t bullshit me, Cas! You’re running away cause you don’t want to face me.” Dean poked Cas’s chest as he continued his angry rant. “Why don’t you start acting like a fucking man and face the damn consequences instead of being a little bitch and running away?”

Cas didn’t stand down as he glared back at Dean. “Enlighten me then. What would those consequences be?”

Cas took Dean’s finger and pulled it away from his chest, but it stayed in his grasp as he took a step forward, never taking his eyes off the familiar angry glare. The angry man he left behind still here after all those years, looking back at him with an ‘I dare you’ stare, but Cas could always read past those words. Dean was hurting.

“Why don’t you stop acting like a…like a little bitch, and just-!” Cas stopped with a loud sigh while he dropped Dean’s hand, along with his stare. Instead, he looked down at their socked feet. Dean was wearing pizza socks while Cas wore matching burger ones. They came in the same pack, and Dean split it up for them. He cracked a small smile thinking of that day before looking back up at Dean with pleading eyes. “Dean. I’m tired of this. Can you please just…Just talk to me?”

“Nothing more to talk about, Cas.” Dean sounded more defeated than angry now. “I got the message. Loud and clear.”

Cas blinked at him a few times. “Well, I’m sorry, but I apparently haven’t gotten the same message.”

“Don’t play dumb.” Cas just stood there staring at him, waiting for him to continue. “Geez, Cas, how many times are you going to fuck with my—I get it, dude, you don’t feel the same! I am doing my damn best here to be fucking normal about this, and then here you come bringing that old relic back as if—Did I fuck up somehow? Am I not giving you enough space?”

“I have enough space, Dean.” Cas tried to understand Dean’s words, process them, but they all felt just as jumbled in his mind as they did, leaving Dean’s mouth. “I—I’m sorry, I just don’t understand.”

“Shocker.”

“Did I understand the message wrong?” Cas ignored him as he asked, turning his head towards the shattering remains of his gift.

He felt his shoulders fall as a pang of sadness hit him from seeing his first gift broken. Cas walked towards it, hoping he would find the tape safely stored away inside the deck of the Walkman. He crouched to pick up the big chunk of plastic in his hand. It was smashed beyond repair, and the eject button was not working. Great, he’s going to have to break it more.

“ASAP,” Dean mumbled to himself, and Cas hummed in response, twisting the part in his hand.

“Yes. That’s what you said, so I did.”

“I told you to talk to me ASAP years ago, Cas.” Cas didn’t have to look up to know Dean was walking closer to him. “Did you just listen to the message?”

“I did.” Cas’s shoulders slumped in guilt. Dean has been waiting for a response all this time. “Sorry.”

“So when you were—when you tried to return the tape, that wasn’t a, um, a rejection?”

Cas looked up at him before he stood up, the broken Walkman in his hand. “I have loved you then like I love you now, Dean. I would never. Is that what you think happened?”

“Yes!” Dean took a step forward as he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes traveling down to the broken shards. “Shit. So wait, when you said you loved me, before the empty…did you mean,” Dean cleared his throat as he walked closer, nervously scratching his beard when he realized he didn’t have any pockets to hide his hands in. “Did you mean romantically? Like, like human romance?”

“I,” Cas felt his throat dry up as he tried to swallow a lump as he nodded earnestly. “I did. Yes.”

Dean looked at him, looking for something, and before Cas could ask what it was, Dean had his hands on either side of Cas’s face—pulling him in close until they were chest to chest. Then lips to lips.

Cas didn’t even realize he dropped the machine until he realized he had his hands on Dean’s skin. Feeling his body lift off the floor until he was being dropped on the bed, and Cas was watching something he never thought he would have or hear.

“I love you, Cas. I love you so much.”

Happiness isn’t always in the having, but fuck, this was so much better by a long shot.

[xneens]

hoe hoe hoe - part one

Warnings: dark!Steve, student/teacher relationship

Word count: 2.2k

Pairings: Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Your dad's best friend isn't exactly who you thought he'd be.

chris evans masterlist

Walking in the front door, the smell of eggnog, and pine hit your nose, mixing in with the warmth of the newly cooked food in the kitchen. Looking around the house, you registered how much decorating you had left your father to do, pondering whether or not he strained his back putting up the Christmas tree. You'd have to make it up to him somehow.

"Dad! I'm home." you yelled out, stepping out of your shoes. Even with the amount of work he had done, he still had the time to shovel the driveway despite the heavy amount of snow that had precipitated last night. The mixed-breed boxer pawed his way to you, the dog panting as he snuggled himself against your leg. "Hey, cutie."

Your father stuck his head from the kitchen, motioning for you to come into the room. "In the kitchen. I was getting worried that you got stuck in traffic. It's an absolute nightmare coming into the city from 122 right now."

Entering the kitchen with Dodger, you went to hug your dad, your arms wrapping around his waist. The man chuckled, giving your cold body a hug back before kissing your forehead. You sighed, pulling away, looking around the kitchen to see the dining room covered with food. "Traffic was a bitch, but I managed to get out of it. Although, I may have made a couple of people mad, but you gotta do what you have to do, right?"

"You got that right, pumpkin." he replied. For someone with a 20 year old daughter, the man was young, having you with his high school sweetheart at 19. He gestured at the food. "You hungry? I made all of this and I'm not sure that everyone at the party will eat all of this."

"Jesus, Dad, were you drunk when you made all of this? This is enough to feed the whole country." you commented, walking up to the table to grab a mini quiche off the plate. Your tongue swirled around the food, relishing the flavor. It was a gift having your father as a successful chef.

"I may have went overboard with the cooking, but I got excited." he explained, chuckling. Pouring some eggnog in a mug, he offered it to you, taking a sip of his own before announcing his news. "An old friend of mine is coming for the party. My best friend in college. He's in town for the holidays, and he'll be staying with us for a few. That okay?"

You nodded, washing the remaining quiche in the eggnog, swallowing it down. "Yeah, that's fine. Who's this friend of yours? Have I met him before?"

"You used to call him Uncle Steve, but he left for Brooklyn when you were four. I doubt you'd remember him but he gave you that necklace last year when he couldn't make it. He's a professor in Brooklyn now, but he wanted to come to Boston, spend the holidays with us."

"Wait, he gave me this necklace?" you asked, holding up the golden angel wings between your fingers. Your dad nodded, untying the knot on his apron. "Oh, wow. Hey, I officially get to thank him for it."

You dad agreed, nodding again as he popped a mint in his mouth, his teeth grinding down on it. "Yes, you will. He'll appreciate seeing you again. He's been talking about seeing his favorite girl—shit."

"Something wrong?"

"I forgot to pick up the ham today. I've been so busy making everything for today that I completely forgot about the main course for tomorrow." said your father, rubbing the bridge of his nose, mentally slapping himself. He sighed. "Can you take the pie out of the oven when it's ready? I have to run to the store really quick and get the ham."

Shaking your head, you stopped him, pushing his clearly exhausted body into the nearest chair, shaking a finger at him when he tried to stand back up. "No, no, no. You're tired and you need to rest. I'll get the ham, and anything else you need. Text me a list."

"Pumpkin, you don't have to do that. You just got home—" he was cut off by your insistent expression, the man relenting. "Okay, fine. Go to the Costco, they have a better selection there. And drive safe, it's supposed to be snowing tonight but with Massachusetts weather, you never know if it'll start early."

"Gotcha. I'll be back soon. In the meantime, you sit, rest, and text me a list of things I need." you said, grabbing the keys from the table. The cold air hit your face, your cheeks stinging from the impact. You winced, wishing home was somewhere warmer.

The drive to Costco was nostalgic, the familiar buildings and roads bringing back memories so deep you forgot they existed. The little ice cream place reminded you of your first kiss with your first grade boyfriend. You had immediately broken up with him the next day, claiming it was the way he walked when he asked if it was his sloppy peck on the lips. You had lied through your teeth.

Slosh was fun, it made it that much gross to walk through the barely shoveled parking lot, nearly slipping as you reached the entrance. One of the employees by the door handed you a cart, giving you a curt smile before returning to his spot.

Pushing the cart down the aisles, you immediately head to the grocery area, getting a text from your dad of all the food to get. With how short the list was, the cart had been unnecessary, but you decided to get all the last minute Christmas shopping out of the way, grabbing a Christmas card to match the present you had gotten for your father.

You had just bent over, reaching for the ham when you heard your name called, the familiar voice making you look up. A few feet behind you stood your history professor, a surprised smile on his face as he took you in. You returned the smile, stunned by the sight of you professor. "Professor Rogers? Hey, what're you doing here?"

The blond raised an eyebrow, his piercing blue eyes flickering to the necklace visible. He smirked inside, his heart warming at the thought. "I'm in the city for the holidays. I'm staying with a friend, catch up with them. What about you? Any exciting plans for Christmas?"

"Just spending it with my dad." you replied, reaching behind you to randomly grab a ham, not looking at the brand, and dropped it in the cart. "To be honest, I didn't think you could even leave Brooklyn. I mean, you practically worship the city, it's a surprise seeing you outside of it."

Professor Rogers laughed, his laughter was what you imagined angels to sound like. To say you had a tiny crush on the hot professor was understandable, although, so did everyone who had eyes. The professor leaned against the freezer, his eyes never breaking from yours. "Brooklyn's nice but it's nice to get out once in a while. That's a beautiful necklace you have there."

"Thanks, I got it from my dad's friend." you said, blushing slightly at the compliment. Taking a quick look at your phone, you noted you had everything your dad had asked for. Glancing back up at the Professor Rogers, you noticed how close he was, barely a few feet away. You gave him a smile. "It was nice seeing you, Professor. I'll see you in class."

Before you could move your cart, the professor placed a hand on it, motioning for you to pause. The blond scratched the back of his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Do you need help with anything? I can help you load this in your car, if you want."

"I didn't realize you worked at Costco, Professor." you teased, earning the cutest blush from the blond. Giggling, you shook your head, enjoying his company a lot more than it was allowed. "Don't worry, it's fine. It's not a lot, and I wouldn't want to bother—"

"You're not." he interrupted, sheepishly staring at the floor. The professor made himself look up, smirking when he realized you were blushing. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to. Humor me?"

Call it stupidity or side effects of Steve Rogers' presence, but you wanted to spend more time with him, no matter how domestic the chore. Your smile widened, if possible, and you nodded. "Alright, if you insist. I've gotten everything I need, so I can tag along with you."

"All I really needed was some coffee," Professor Rogers held up the little plastic container filled with coffee grounds. Your thoughts immediately went to his hands wrapped around the cylinder, mentally slapping yourself for finding the simple action hot. "I'm ready to go if you are."

"Oh, okay. Let's go then."

The wall from the grocery area to the checkout was rather fun, the professor making you blush too many times to count, the smile on either of your faces never leaving. It wasn't a secret how many people fought to be in his class, guys included, mostly trying to "bond" with the professor only to get turned down every time someone had the balls to ask him. But it never stopped anyone from trying. It was almost pathetic, but very amusing in a sadistic way.

Professor Rogers held your grocery bags in his hands, effortlessly carrying them while you tried to take them back, feeling bad for having your professor help you out. The man would wave away your pleas, and you gave up as soon as you neared your car, unlocking the doors, and opened the trunk, Professor Rogers unloading all the bags inside. You bit back a smile, admiring the view, jealously wondering who would be lucky enough to end up as his wife.

He closed up the trunk once he was done, shifting his weight between his feet. "So, are you staying in Boston for the whole break or...?"

"Yup. I haven't spent much time with my dad since summer, and I've been guilted to stay in the cold since he's too stubborn to go somewhere warmer." you answered, playfully rolling your eyes. Professor Rogers walked you to the driver's side while you played with your keys, not wanting to say goodbye to him already. "What about you?"

"Me, too." said the professor, tucking his hands in his winter coat. He sighed, the smile dropping. "It was really nice to see you. I'll see you soon, sweetheart."

You nearly swooned at the nickname, cursing your heart for being so easily affected. "You, too, Professor. Happy Holidays and all that."

He laughed, walking off with a wave, the smile that had fallen now impended on his face as he walked back to his car. Steve turned around to see you get in yours, unsubtly staring at your ass. He sighed once again, a wave of sadness washing over him, the feeling he got every time he had to say goodbye to you. It would only be a couple of minutes, but it didn't make him hate it any less.

You drove off after a few seconds of getting your shit together; seeing your unbearable hot professor made you feel like a disgusting head-over-heels in love teenager. Or in other words, it made you the same as those desperate girls back on campus. You scoffed at the thought, starting your car. Hopefully, you'd see him again before class starts, but you highly doubt it.

Snow was falling, the little flurries making it harder to see through the windshield, only to stop suddenly when you reached your house. You grabbed the groceries from the trunk, easily carrying it into the house, so focused on not slipping that you hadn't noticed a very familiar car in the driveway.

Opening the door with ease, you entered the house, almost getting knocked out by the eager dog, jumping up on you. Laughing, you placed all the bags in one arm, reaching down with your free one to pet Dodger. The dog panted happily, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as it dismounted it's paws off your legs. The house had gotten awfully warm, even for you, and you immediately set the bags down to take off your coat. You hadn't noticed the shoes besides the door.

"Dad, I'm back." you announced, picking up the bags and headed to the kitchen, your gaze on the floor, careful not to slip.

Your father clapped Steve's back, the broad blond's presence gone unnoticed by you while you dropped the bags on the kitchen island. Your dad smiled. "Thanks, pumpkin. Honey, this is Steve, my buddy from college."

You turned around, facing them, a grin on your face, only to drop slightly when you saw who Steve was. There, standing in the middle of your kitchen, stood your history professor, all six feet of him, nonchalantly grinning at you. He engulfed you in a hug, leaving you breathless. "Professor?"

"Hello, sweetheart."

next >

[mae-gi-writes]

My Heart Beats | Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)

Synopsis:

You're dying, all because of the love that Seo Changbin has for someone else.

Genre: hanahaki au! Lots of angst, little fluff, Chan is a good wingman. Happy ending! 

----

There was a lot of coughing, at first.

You weren't exactly sure why your throat scratched so badly that it burned like it was on fire, only downed a few cough drops with the hope that it'd go away after a few days. You told yourself that maybe if you waited it out long enough, it would go away by itself and you wouldn't spend nights lying in bed, practically curling in on yourself as you tried to keep the coughing to a minimum.

It didn't get better.

Of course, the first few times you'd cough into your sleeve, your close friend and classmate Changbin would ask you if you were sick -- with that disgruntled frown that only you could decipher as concern -- but you had merely shaken your head then before batting away his worries with a brush of your fingers.

It had escaped your notice, how your throat clamped up whenever he was close by, how you would suddenly erupt whenever he would play with your hair or brush some dust off your shoulder.

"Seriously Y/N, go see a doctor or something," he said one day after your Photograohy seminar where you had spent three quarters of it muffling your coughs. That had garnered you numerous dirty looks from your classmates, "maybe you're developing an allergy."

"It doesn't come all the time," you replied breathlessly while plastering a smile on your face.

He wasn't convinced.

And then, when you stumbled upon him in the cafeteria sitting across from a girl you'd seldom met before, that had been the last straw.

You had barely managed to make it to the toilet, hand cupped against your mouth and running like your life depended on it, stumbling into the nearest stall to empty the contents of your stomach.

Only, it wasn't.

You watched, horrified, as blood poured out of your mouth like a gushing waterfall filled with bits and pieces of broken branches, plant stems, petals. You couldn't tear your eyes away from it no matter how much you tried, chest heaving and breaths ragged as you gazed at the mess in the toilet bowl with the slow realization sinking into you.

Hanahaki.

You were dying. You were dying because plants were now growing into your heart, taking over your lungs and your body.

That was when you got a second realization:

That you were in love with Seo Changbin. And he was clearly in love with someone else. 

------

"Long time no see.” 

You jolted from your seat, head whipping up and partly expecting to see the said raven-haired man that you had been avoiding most week to be standing there with a scowl on his face. Instead, you were genuinely surprised to find one of his closest friends instead. 

Chan looked down at you with furrowed brows and from the way his eyes skimmed over your features, you guessed he was seeing the side effects of the hanahaki just as much as you were, “jesus, Y/N. Are you sick or something?” 

“Bad cold,” you faked a laugh, quickly scrambling to cover the book title currently spread open for him to see, but Chan hd quick reflexes, arm sneaking underneath yours to yank the said book out of your arms and ignoring your protests. 

He read the title once, twice. Flipped a few pages, frown growing so deep on his face that his eyebrows were practically kissing at the centre, and you were about to make a joke out of it -- to make light of the situation -- when his eyes snapped back up to you. And what you saw in them caused all jokes to die upon your tongue.

“What is this, Y/N?” 

You tried to ignore the shakiness in his alto, or the emotion blazing through his dark irises. Your chest hurt with that same familiar ache you had grown accustomed to over the days, causing you to look away as you murmured out your reply: 

"What it says it is.” 

It was useless to lie. Chan was sharp. There’d be no use lying to him.

He sucked in a breath and you quickly scrambled out, “don’t tell Changbin.” 

Brown orbs boring into yours for a few seconds too long, you forced yourself to return his gaze with a pleading look of your own, and it seemed like he figured it out for himself for he merely dropped his eyes before looking away. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he murmured, “It’s Changbin.” 

Your head bowed. Your silence said everything. His breath hitched, grasping your shoulder so that you turned to face the wetness of his eyes as tears brimmed at the corners, “stop it. You can stop it right? There’s got to be a cure for that now.” 

Oh, how it would be wonderful to believe there was even a cure. But the only solution was surgery and even that came with its risks. Plus, extracting the hanahaki from your heart meant to erase Changbin altogether from your life and as much as it killed you literally to be existing in this state every single day, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving behind all the memories that you and Changbin had built together. 

Thankfully, Chan wasn’t forceful in his argument when you pleaded that you felt more comfortable dealing with this alone. He did, however, constantly check up on you on days where you looked especially gaunt, when the pouches under your eyes were so blue he feared that they would swallow up your whole face, or when he noticed how you left your lunch untouched, opting to sip silently on your soy milk instead. 

“Who is she?” You had asked once, your soprano barely above a raspy whisper, as your eyes trailed over Changbin’s figure leaning in towards what the girl was saying. 

“Her name’s Yoreum,” Chan had mumbled through mouthfuls of his meat sandwich, “apparently she’s a transfer student from Japan, and very interested in Changbin.” 

“Good for him, I guess,” you mumbled. 

A minute later, you excused yourself to the bathroom, palm halting the trickle of blood from your lips.

You weren’t exactly certain how this disease worked. Was it due to your inner feelings? Or did it depend on Changbin’s? Or both? The books you read had told you endless tales of varying consequences and different situations, which didn’t help the matter in the least. In fact, it left you even more in the dark, if that was possible. 

You knew that it would be impossible to avoid Seo Changbin forever for once he set his mind to something, it was a force not to be reckoned with. You had kept up a stream of excuses about being sickly and that it was exams season. But all your efforts were futile after a few weeks when you spotted the said man standing at the front of your apartment complex, tapping his feet to keep the coldness of spring at bay. 

You had half a mind to run away, drop everything and just make a dash for it. But Changbin spotted you before you could do anything and he closed the gap between you two in less than three strides, quickly encapsulating you in a hug. 

Your breath hitched. The itch was back, your throat tingling like crazy. You paused for a few seconds and allowed his scent to overwhelm you, before pushing him away to cough into your sleeve. 

“Damn Y/N. Chan was right. You really are sick.” 

"Wha--" you tried to force the itch down your throat, "are you doing--"

Your body jerked as you felt it give way to the pain that twisted your torso in two and you turned away just in time to clamp a hane over your mouth as you coughed like there was no tomorrow.

Warm liquid splattered over your palm. The metallic stench of blood filled your nostrils.

"Y/N," Changbin made a move towards you, "are you--"

Holding up a hand, you felt him halt as another round of coughs ripped through your already-dry throat. You didn't realize that your legs gave out at some point until a pair of hands quickly grasped the back of your elbows, and though you wished to push him away, pain rippled through your body as you all but collapsed to the floor, blood and branches and petals splattering onto the ground.

You didn't have to look at his face to know that his body was tensed in shock, frozen as he took in the sight before him. Scrambling for words, they all died at the back of your throat when you glanced over at his clenched jaw, the slow reality that blooms through his dark pupils. 

Silence filled the air.

“What--” he choked up, “is this?” 

You opened your mouth to answer, closed it when you couldn’t find anything. Before you, Changbin’s fists curled, clenching at his sides as he surveyed the mess of blood and dried up flowers. 

"Tell me this is not what I think it is,” he whispered. 

Still, you said nothing.

“Tell me!” He bellowed. 

“Changbin, I--” another round of coughs made your body twist on itself as you struggled to answer him, maybe lie through your teeth even though it was too late, “I can explain--” 

“Explain what?! That you’re dying?!” he swivelled around with barely restrained anger and that made you flinch back, “you kept this from me?! Why?! Tell me Y/N--” 

But his shouts were drowned out by your endless coughing and heaving, leaning forward to choke out a few petals dripping with fresh blood onto the ground. Your mind was swirling with excuses, trying to come up with the stupidest reasons as to why your body was behaving this way and maybe telling him that it was all due to someone else who couldn’t love you back. But the more you tried to fight the urge to throw up, the more you kept on gagging on your own blood. 

Arms came around your middle to lift you up, Changbin’s scent surrounding your figure as he managed to haul you to your feet and half-carry you inside your flat. It wasn’t until your body was laid down on the couch that you managed to utter out a soft “thank you”, which sounded more like an apology than anything else.

Changbin grunted, momentarily going out of your peripheral and returning with a sac plastic, in case you had anything more to cough out, which warmed your heart despite the cold harsh truth lingering before your very eyes. A truth that you knew had to be verbalized, sooner or later.

“Who is it?” 

His question caught you off-guard. Glancing up, your throat constricted at the way he gazed back at you, eyes dark and glossy with emotion.

Dropping your head to the floor, you mumble out something incoherent. You wished he could drop it.

“Who is it?” he growled.

Your jaw clenched. There was no escaping him, nothing could salvage the situation. So you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, before finally looking up at the raven-haired man sitting opposite you. 

“It’s you.” 

His anger dissolved into shock. He stared you down, mouth parted, for a few seconds.

When he spoke next, his words were barely above a murmur, “what?” 

He was staring at you as if you had just grown out a second head. But as much as you felt like flinching away, you kept your eyes steady, even when they welled up with tears, even when they burned from the way you caught sight of his expression slowly crumbling as the realization sank into his bones.

“You’re joking,” he whispered mostly to himself as he shook his head, “no. It’s not--What? It can’t be me, unless--”

“I love you.” 

His eyes snapped back to you and your breath stilled in your throat. The buzzing silence in the air twisted, thick with tension and from the remnants of your words that echoed in the distance between your bodies.

“But--” Changbin opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. His frown deepened and his silence conveyed the inner conflict going on through his brain as you sat there with your world crumbling apart, wishing that he didn’t leave you for the last few days of your existence. 

You’d be gone all too soon. And then, and then life would go on. Changbin would go on. After all, he deserved to be loved by someone whom his heart desired. 

“I love you,” you repeated, the words breaking against your parted lips and tearing at your heart with every shaky inhale. You squeezed your eyes shut before burying your face into one of the couch pillows in hopes that this moment would just disappear, in hopes that this was all a well-constructed nightmare.

It felt like an eternity before you heard the rough alto of Changbin’s voice. It was choked, like he was having a hard time keeping himself together and though you wished to do something to ease his pain, you also knew that if you took a look at him, you’d crumble in seconds. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The sentence echoed through your ears, pain tugging at your heartstrings with every second that passed.

Without looking at him, you answered in a whisper, “because it’s not your fault.” 

"Not my fault?” His voice rose in anger, “not my fault? How is this not my fault? You love me, you’re dying because you love me. How--Fuck Y/N! How the fuck am I supposed to live with that?! I--” 

“Please,” your broken soprano flies out between you like a needle that hits him straight in the heart, “please. Not now.” 

If there was any reason why you hadn’t wanted to tell the said man straight up about the hanahaki was exactly for that reason; you loathed the idea of having Changbin beat himself up for the feelings that tormented your heart. It wasn’t his fault, but knowing the kind of person that he was, you were certain he’d feel guilty about not returning your feelings. 

But that wasn’t what you wanted. Not just some half-hearted love. Not a love that got drawn out from pity. You didn’t want him to love you, if that meant that he lost himself in the process. 

All you wanted, prayed for, was his happiness.

And that wasn’t you, as harsh as that was of a pill to swallow.

------

You woke up the next day to find Changbin still on the couch, sleeping where you had left him last evening to hide in your bedroom. When you’d gently lulled him out of sleep, he’d proceeded to make some breakfast while chatting about the most random things and quite frankly, ignoring the elephant in the room. It came to the point where you had snapped and asked what were his true intentions. To which he answered, as though it was the simplest solution: 

“I’m spending some time with my best friend,” he’d glanced over at you from his breakfast plate filled with eggs and sausages, “isn’t that obvious?” 

“But--” 

“Y/N, you’re not the only one who cares about this relationship,” Changbin looked away, before looking back with tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes, “if I can’t change my heart, then I’ll change the way I spend my time.”

You tried again, “I don’t want your pity--”

“Unless you want me to feel guilty for the rest of my life.” 

“You’re..." you watched him, unsure of what exactly was going on inside that head of his. Sometimes, his logic didn’t add up.This was one of those times, “now you’re making me feel guilty.” 

“Do you not want me around?” 

It seemed that your condition might have shaken him up more than you initially thought. His presence had always been a constant and yet up until now, he’d been busier, schedules more packed with activities and socializing with his other course mates whenever he had blocks of free time. He’d lock himself in his studio alone whenever inspiration struck and though you had always respected his personal space, there was no denying that some part of you missed him deeply. But it wasn’t like you could tell him that, knowing that it would merely be selfish of you to do so.

“That’s not what I--”

“Thought so,” and he got up from the table, signalling that the conversation was a case closed and dusted before directing himself towards the sink. You’d only dipped your head back towards your plate, trying hard not to let the heat colour your cheeks the way it always did whenever you found your best friend attractive. It had been getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reacting, and now that your feelings were out in the open, you hoped that Changbin would play along and ignore them altogether. 

Now though, now was different. Changbin actively sought you out; in the library he’d bring you cappuccinos with almond milk and an extra coffee shot just as you liked before sitting down to ‘study’ opposite you, he’d call you up at the most random times to chill at your flat even if that meant basking in hours of comfortable silence while you worked side by side. He’d even drag you to the studio with him, adamant on making you listen through his countless tracks with excuses that he needed a second opinion.

"I have questionable taste. You of all people should know that,” you would argue whenever he’d fight to place the headphones over your ears. You let him though, enjoying the warmth of his figure whenever he leaned over yours to fiddle with the headset. 

“Exactly why I want you to listen,” Changbin’s voice was muffled and yet, the way his breaths brushed against your ear caused your stomach to tingle. 

You wished to believe that his attention was intentional, that it came to him as naturally as breathing. But you knew it wasn’t. Because as soon as he’d walk away from you, you had to rush to the nearest bathroom to cough up more and more flower stems ceremoniously. 

And it was okay, really. It was bearable. You were happy enough to have him for a little while, even though you knew it would last up until the day you closed your eyes for the last time.

Once, he’d invited you over to make sushi -- he’d claimed beforehand that he was a good sushi roller and that this was just an excuse to flaunt his skills -- and he’d dragged you out to the supermarket with him, threatening that you wouldn’t be getting any of the salmon if you didn’t. So you’d reluctantly followed, complaining along the way as you trailed after him like a five-year-old child. 

It was when you were in the middle of looking at the salmon that you were suddenly overtaken with that familiar burn in your throat. Doubling over and trying to breathe as evenly as possible, you turned away from the food display just in time to cough up blood in your palm.

Changbin was at your side in an instant, hands circling your middle while murmuring his concern in your ears while you tried forcing down the pain slowly brimming over your mouth. At this point, you hadn’t realized that your best friend had slid you into his arm while he’d yelled at everyone to get the fuck out of the way, not until you were met with the outside air and was suddenly slammed by a round of coughing that just wouldn’t stop. 

You felt Changbin’s hands against your back, stroking soft circles as you coughed and coughed and coughed. Blood splattered over your clothes, on the ground, dribbled down your chin in a stream filled with flower petals and stems that grated against your lips. 

The more you coughed, the more flowers appeared. You noticed tulips, roses, daisies as well now. Those were new, you thought bitterly as you heaved.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since, nor how you found yourself pressed against Changbin’s chest with your head tucked under his chin. He held you softly, tenderly, and you didn’t have the self-restraint to stop the silent tears from dribbling down your chin.

You loved him. 

You didn’t want to die.

“That’s a pretty big bouquet you just made,” came his soft murmur in the shell of your ear, causing a faint smile to twitch at your lips. Indeed, the array of flowers littering the ground would’ve been nothing less of beautiful, if not for the large amount of blood that you had just lost. 

“Changbin,” you breathed out weakly.

“Hm?” 

"I’m...” your head lolled against his neck when you tried to look up at him but failed, “I’m sorry.” 

His body stilled. Then, he said, “what for?” 

“For taking away your time,” your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not. I spend my time however I want,” his hold tightened, “if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” 

Still. You felt bad. You opened your mouth to apologize once more, only for him to beat you to it by pressing a finger to your lips.

"Don't," he said, "apologize."

Fire had seeped from his finger to litter across your cheeks and you were glad that your face was hidden from view, for you were bound to be the colour of a fire engine, no doubt about that.

Later, when your heart had calmed and your throat had been soothed with hot chocolate, he'd pulled you out into the rooftop and proceeded to sit you down onto his jacket so that you could gaze out at the cityscape.

"Beautiful," you murmured and took a sip of your drink, allowing the warmth to spread through your limbs. Spring weather was ambiguous that way; sometimes cold, sometimes bearable.

"Y/N."

"Hm?"

Changbin took a sip of his beer, "is there anything you'd like to do?"

"What do you mea--"

It dawned on you then. Oh.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

He angled his head towards you, "will you tell me?"

A smile graced your features, though you hoped he didn't notice how it didn't reach your eyes, "sure."

All you wanted though, all your yearned for, was for him.

Not that you'd ever tell him that.

A little later during that same week, you had taken the chance to ask him about the girl he loved. He'd brought you over to the Han River to show you how to skateboard and as you sat in the grass admiring the sun setting over the horizon, you decided to buckle up the courage and blurt out what was haunting your mind for days on end.

"What's her name?"

"Huh?" Changbin had looked at you like you'd really gone crazy then, before you prompted him with, "the girl you like. What's her name?"

He tried not to squirm in embarrassment, and failed as he averted his eyes, "i don't like her," you heard him mumble under his breath, "I just think she's cute."

"Yeah yeah. What's her name?"

"Why should I tell you?" He threw you a scowl, "so that you can make fun of me?"

"It's one of the things on my list."

"What list?"

"List of things I want to do," you propped your chin into your hands and grinned teasingly, "and that's asking you about the girl you like."

He let out an annoyed sigh, "Yoreum."

"Wah, pretty name. What's she like?"

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Why not?" You pouted, "I'll cheer you on even in spirit."

"Don't," he snapped back so suddenly, "talk like that."

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanour, you decided it was wiser to drop the subject altogether, lest it agitated him more. Changbin was known for his moody temperament but he'd been quite generous with you these past few weeks. Maybe because he knew that there was going to be an end. The thought caused another ache to reverberate through your chest and you looked away, not knowing on which foot to dance on for the rest of the night.

As you were walking back home, you felt his eyes constantly glance at the way you kept on blowing air into your hands,  "you cold?"

"Huh? Oh no, I--"

Too late, for his hand reached out to engulf yours, bringing it over to stuff it in his jacket. You stared at him for a full minute as your heart skipped a beat. What...was that?

It was cold. That's why. He was just trying to be a gentleman, your brain kept on reasoning with you. 

Your heart though, was saying otherwise. Maybe he likes you! Maybe he’s realized that--

You coughed. Once, twice. And then, you were falling to your knees as petals fell onto your shirt and dropped stained your clothes, your lap. Everything. Metallic rust engulfed your nose and you gratefully accepted the tissue that your best friend offered you. 

“You good?” his breath brushed against your cheek, concerned orbs ablaze. 

You wished you could get over him. You wished you could steer your heart away.

You nodded weakly, wiping away the remnants of blood and wishing that you could die right then and there from the embarrassment of being so openly weak and disgusting when he was around. 

But he merely grabbed the tissue from your hold and proceeded to wipe away at the corner of your lips. Your heart tugged in your chest, relishing in his gentle touches as you allowed yourself to bask in his attention. Even for a little while.

There was no way you could forget Seo Changbin. Even if you tried.

-----

"How are you really?” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile dancing across your lips as you exited the library with Chan in tow, “you’re such a worry-wuss.” 

“Hey, I’m asking out of concern,” Chan chides in that fatherly manner of his that always made you feel safe somehow, “I never see you around anymore because Changbin steals you away.” 

“Aw, don’t be jealous,” you reached out to ruffle his hair before he had the chance to duck away, “you’re still my secret favourite. But don’t tell Changbin that. Otherwise he’ll just sulk for days.” 

“You make it sound so tempting,” Chan wriggles his brows in a teasing manner while you strode towards the parking lot. It was a late Friday evening and you had planned to meet up at the nearest Burger joint with Changbin and some of the other boys whom you hadn’t seen in a while and it was no surprise that you had decided to take advantage of Chan a your driver for the night. 

“Who else is coming with us?” 

“Changbin said he’d come but you know how he is,” Chan re-adjusted his backpack over his shoulder, “maybe we should call him if he doesn’t show up by the time we get to the car.” 

Evidently, there was no sign of the said raven-haired man as you walked up to Chan’s red Mazda. That prompted you to call him, only to turn and spot his figure by the main flight of stairs with the girl you now knew as Yoreum.

You waited for that ache. For that burning sensation like alcohol was slipping down your throat, hands clenching around your phone. 

The pain was there, you could feel it under your tongue.

But you didn’t cough. Nothing pushed at the back of your trachea.

You blinked, perplexed for a moment. Maybe this wasn’t Yoreum after all? 

Or maybe Changbin was forcing himself to suppress his feelings. For your sake? 

That wouldn’t make sense. Changbin had said so himself. He wasn’t the kind of person to be forcing himself into situations. That’s what you loved the most about him, after all.

You tried not to ponder over it too much during dinner, hand unconsciously going to your chest and feeling your heart slowly beating under your clothed chest. Weird, you couldn’t help thinking. Why?

Maybe you were dying. Maybe you were going to die.

Or maybe...just maybe, you were slowly moving on.

Impossible.

"So are you dating her or not?” 

It was one of your friends-- Felix-- who brought you back to reality, blinking before realizing that the question was aimed at none other than the man whom had preoccupied your thoughts over the last hour.

Changbin leaned over, placing his elbows on the table as he sipped his beer, “we’re not dating.” 

“I thought you liked her,” Minho pointed out.

“Can we not talk about this now?” you would’ve missed the way Changbin’s dark orbs flickered over to you if you hadn’t been paying attention. But you did, and that hurt a little bit more than you liked to admit. You loved him, but that didn’t mean that you wanted to know nothing of his personal life either. 

Nevertheless, you decided that keeping your mouth shut would not hurt either, knowing that it might trigger some more coughing on your part. Nobody knew after all, that you were slowly being eaten away by plants growing in-between your lungs.

More oftentimes than not, Chan would urge you to go see a doctor, “just to see what the condition’s like,” he’d press you constantly, “you never know. Maybe it's getting better. Maybe you're getting better."

"There's only one explanation for that, Chan. And that would be that Changbin doesn't love Yoreum anymore," you smiled faintly, "and we both know that's not true."

Still, you couldn't help hoping that your condition was a sign that maybe you still had a chance at life. Part of you was curious as to whether there had been a change in Changbin's heart -- maybe even in yours -- but there was no denying the fact that it would be misplaced, especially in the context.

As you found yourself spending more and more time in Changbin's presence, you couldn't help but wonder whether he was pushing Yoreum aside just to accomodate you, and that thought was enough to make you feel guilty.

"Why don't you invite her?" You asked aloud once, when Changbin dragged you along for some bubble tea in the late hours of the evening. 

He’d stared at you silently for a solid minute. 

"Why would I do that?"

His question threw you off. You shot him a look as the said shop came into view, "isn't it obvious?"

"No."

You stopped in mid-walk, scowled at him, "I don't want you compromising your time."

"I'm not."

"But don't you want to spend time with her?"

At this point, his expression had morphed from confusion to infuriation and if you didn't know better, you'd say he was getting agitated.

He looked away, "I want to spend time with you."

Your heart stuttered, breath suddenly catching in your throat at his blunt statement. You hadn't expected him to be so forward about it, albeit the fact that he was merely speaking in terms of friendship. So you decided to drop the subject for now and kept on pondering it over in your head as you laid to rest that night. Knowing him, those set of words probably didn’t mean much. To you though? It meant everything.

You tried not to let your heart get ahead of yourself.

When it got warm enough, it was Changbin’s idea to drive you up to the coast when you had mentioned that you enjoyed listening to the sound of the ocean waves after a long, hard week. Especially after a long, hard week. It was no surprise that you were touched at his gesture, yet finding it bittersweet how he wasn’t exactly yours to lose even when he was right here, by your side. 

There was something nostalgic about knowing that your days were counted, and while you had been feeling a little bit better these past few days, your questions had been answered by the internet; that this was just the calm before the storm. 

In other words, there was more chance of you dying than living through that rare disease. 

“Say Changbin,” you spoke aloud when you descended from the car, a pack of beer tucked under your arm and a bag of snacks in his while making your way towards the golden beach glimmering in the afternoon sun. 

“Hm?” you felt his dark orbs on your face. 

You kept looking forward, feeling the sand slip through toes in bliss, “thank you,” you murmured, “for doing this.” 

He was quiet for a few seconds. Then, replied, “don’t thank me. You make yourself sound like a charity case.” 

Isn’t that what I am? You couldn’t help but think to yourself with bitterness. Settling over a comfortable spot and curling your knees up to your chest, you gratefully accepted the cold beer that Changbin handed to you -- after he’d cracked it open like the gentleman that he was -- and let out a soft breath, eyes finding solace in the waves lapping up the shore.

“How’s your coughing?” he broke the comfortable silence.

“It’s actually not bad,” you started tracing circles with the tip of your index finger in the sand, the roughness of particles slightly stinging your skin, “I haven’t had a bad spell since that supermarket incident.” 

He hummed in response, took a sip of his beer, but didn’t say anything in response. The comfortable silence washed over you and you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of the sun prickling at your skin, at the scent of salt in the air with every wave that brushed forward with the current. 

This was the place to be. For a quiet, waking moment, you could imagine that your life was endless. That you’d live till the very end, die old and wrinkly and with a full stomach. 

Your fingers unconsciously clenched around your beer bottle. If only.

If only.

“I know why,” Changbin suddenly blurted out.

Your head swivelled towards him, eyebrow raised, “huh?” 

“I know why,” he hesitated, “why you’re not coughing as much anymore.” 

Something stirred in your chest as you stared him down, cogs already turning in your brain. What was he getting at? 

“I--” was it your imagination or were his cheeks redder than they had been a few minutes ago? You kept on staring him down as he struggled to find the right words, stumbled over them with the clumsiness of a five year old, “I--I realized something. Ever since.” 

“Ever since?” 

“Ever since you told me you loved me.” 

If he was blushing, then you had flushed the colour of a fire engine. God, why did he have to put it so bluntly? 

“What--”You swallowed thickly while turning away to gulp down some beer, if not to cool yourself down, “what did you realize?” 

And that was when you felt the warmth of his fingers ghost over your chin. He cupped it in his hold, turning your face over so that you had no choice but to clash eyes as he slowly traced over your features with a gaze that seemed to speak volumes. That only caused your confusion to grow by tenfold. 

“What?” You spluttered out, not really used to the closeness of his mouth that was hovering dangerously close. You hadn’t realized that his other hand had trailed down to your side until you felt him pull you a little closer, making your breath hitch slightly.

“Cha--Changbin? What--What are you doing?” You all but squeaked out. This was unknown territory. This was Changbin, and he...

He loved someone else.

So why was he cradling you in his hold as though you were the finest piece of silk that he feared would tear apart with the slightest brusque gesture?

And why, oh why was his orbs swimming with that unidentifiable emotion that made your stomach churn and butterflies to erupt through your middle and tickle at your abdomen? Why was he looking at you like that? Why? 

Your questions were soon interrupted by the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

It was warm, and soft, and tentative, and no sooner did you blink that it was over, leaving you to gape at him like a stupid fish out of the water. Changbin, meanwhile, kept on gazing at you, as if gauging your reaction.

The only thing that managed to make it out of your lips was, “What?”

He allowed his lips to respond in his stead. He kissed your next breath away. And the next. And the next. Until your heart almost leaped out of your chest, until your body felt like it was tingling with electricity all over and until you couldn’t help but kiss back slightly, jumping as he let out a soft noise of approval.

When you pulled apart for air, his dark pupils kept on darting back and forth between your eyes and your open mouth and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was resisting the urge to kiss you once more. 

“Changbin?” you whispered, “please tell me...” tears started brimming through your eyes, “please tell me this isn’t...just because--”

“No,” he looked horrified, “no, no Y/N. Of course not--”

“Then why are you doing this?” you were slowly pulling out of his grasp, reality crashing through you like waves, “why are you giving me hope when--when you love someone else--” 

“But that’s it, Y/N,” Changbin’s hands scrambled to find yours, “I don’t love anyone else. I--I thought I did. Maybe I did, because you wouldn’t have coughed so much if not. But then--Things changed, I don’t know. When you told me you were dying, it--it scared me. It scared me so fucking much, Y/N,” emotion clogged up his throat, eyes turning just as wet as yours. It wasn’t every day that you got to see Changbin without his walls up, “I didn’t--I don’t want to lose you. I tricked myself into believing I was into someone else. But when that--that happened, I--” he shook his head, eyes squeezing shut as though forcing himself to forget the pain etched into memory, “I realized I was just trying to run away from what I really wanted, all along.” 

He brought your hands up slowly to his lips before he pressed a soft, chaste kiss upon your knuckles, “I’m sorry,” he croaked out, “I never wanted to hurt you. Seeing you, so much blood. There was so much blood every time you--” 

He couldn’t help but burst into soft, broken sobs and your heart broke to watch him struggle to catch a hold of himself. Arms winding around him to pull him into your embrace, your hands went to stroke the back fo his head as the man in your arms cried like you’d never seen him cry before. It was a scene that literally tore your heart out and wrenched it sideways; to see Changbin in so much pain that he’d had to hold in whenever he was by your side and seeing you hurt. It pained you, it hurt you. So much so that tears silently cascaded down your cheeks, pressing yourself a little closer to him for comfort.

He calmed down after a while, slowly relaxing into your hold so that you were the one holding him close to your chest as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The day was long gone, replaced by the evening hues of deep blue mixing in with vivid purple where the sun met the darkening sky, and though there was a slight chill in the air, Changbin’s strong arms looped around your waist did the trick to keep you warm.

“Don’t leave.” 

He called out your name and you hummed in response, awaiting for his next set of words while playing with his hair. The reality of the situation had slowly sunk onto your shoulders when you’d held him in your arms; that he loved you, loved you enough that you had stopped coughing altogether. 

His voice was laced with so much raw pain that your throat clogged up with emotion. 

“I won’t,” you murmured back, knowing that deep in your heart, you’d try your best to keep pushing forward, to keep loving him.

“Promise me,” he nuzzled his nose into your neck, the action causing your heart to flutter. Then, lifting himself up so that he was hovering above you once more, you couldn’t help but admire the way the moonlight bathed the planes of his face. He looked softer, more ethereal in that light.

Your fingers went up, cradling his cheek in your palm, “I promise.” 

And then he kissed you some more; a silent promise, a reassurance, a way to prove to you that he loved you just as much as you loved him, a way to show you that his heart only beat when you were around.

His heart would beat for you, just like yours did.

[eternalsimp]

Cursed Fears (pt 2)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Word Count: 3703

Warnings: NSFW 18+, Aged up Megumi, mentions of violence, character death, swearing, use of female pronouns and anatomy, angst, slight praise kink, oral sex (f. receiving) Minors DNI.

Author Note: This is a sequel but it can be read as a stand-alone. pt 1 is up on my blog and pt 3 will be posted soon.

Megumi’s POV

Everything was dark and the smell of blood was overwhelming. I couldn’t tell where I was exactly, I knew I was in the domain of a special grade but I was sure I had gone home to y/n. Nobara, Yuji, and I had exorcised a second-grade curse and had called it a night. So where did this domain come from? How did I get here? I could swear I could hear thunder crack every now and then, but I can’t even remember if there was a storm when I was here with Yuji and Nobara. Where was Gojo when I needed him? I stumbled through the darkness blindly before I was met with a sight that made my heart drop.

Sukuna sat lazily on his throne, his red eyes trained on me in a predatory glare, sharp nails tapping impatiently on his temple. “It's about time you showed up, I thought I was going to have my fun without you. Now that you’re here, we can continue.” Sukuna’s mouth pulled into a sinister grin as I stared at the limp figure at the foot of his throne.

“Y/n…” her name came out as barely a whisper, my throat felt like it was closing up. She was at home studying for her statistics class, I know she was. I shook my head violently before pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. This isn’t real.

“What’s wrong little sorcerer? Not feeling so tough anymore are you? You were so confident you could take me on earlier, so come on, take her back. Until you do I may have to play with her a little bit more, show her that she was never safe from me.” Sukuna reached down and pulled her unconscious body up into his lap. He held her jaw with one hand and turned her face so I could see. I wanted to scream at him not to touch her, or to hurt me instead, but nothing came out. Every part of my body was frozen in place at the sight of her tortured body. Sukuna could see me struggling in his domain and smirked down at me. He slowly dragged his mouth up her throat and to the shell of her ear. “Time to wake up princess, our guest is here.” Sukuna squeezed her throat at the same time he nipped her ear and her eyes flew open to immediately fall on me.

“No, please let her go.” The words finally came but I still couldn’t move. She looked so scared, the person I love most is in danger and I couldn’t do anything about it. I forced myself forward a single step but it felt like I was sinking into the ground. Why can’t I move? “I’ll do anything you want, but please don’t hurt her.”

“I told you what I wanted, I told you to come and get her. Show me just how strong you are.” Sukuna taunted. With a firm grip on my girlfriend's jaw and his other hand traveling down her body, Sukuna was in complete control. I know I can’t use cursed energy or shikigami here or I would risk her becoming collateral damage, but I couldn’t stand still and do nothing.

“‘Gumi, help me.” Her voice was shaking, her entire body trembling. I wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to safety. Her eyes squeezed shut as Sukunas mouth attacked her neck and left dark bruises in its wake.

“Time’s running out kid, I’m starting to get bored.” Sukuna’s free hand began to snake over her legs, dragging his razor-sharp nails over the soft skin there, leaving angry red scratches behind. Tears began to fall freely from her eyes and I tried to force myself forward again to no avail. Whimpers and cries for help begin to fall from her lips faster, and god I feel like I’m in hell. All I can do is watch as she cries out in fear, heart cracking at every sound she makes. Finally, she says something that makes me feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest

“You did this to me, this is your fault.” My body felt numb at the sound of her broken words. All I can do is shake my head and beg, beg Sukuna for mercy, and beg her for forgiveness.

“Baby it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“You said you would protect me, why did you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna get you out of here. Please believe me, my love.” I was on my knees before the king of curses now. So close I could pick up on her perfume that smells sickly sweet of roses, but the smell I adore so much was tainted with something else now.

Sukuna clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You know better than to make promises you can’t keep, right?” My whole body was shaking with fear and rage at the curse, but all I could do was bargain.

“Please, I swear I will do anything, just let her go.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, pleading to just see her leave here alive. Sukuna’s nails dug deeper into her throat, drawing blood as it trickled down her neck and chest in small streams.

“I think I’d rather punish you and the brat for trapping me in this vessel. You get to watch as I kill her, and then I’ll switch out with him so he can see what he’s done.” Sukuna leaned down to face me. “This is what happens when self-righteous sorcerers need to learn their place, so don’t blame me for what happens next.”

Fear shot through my entire body at those words. I couldn’t help but scream loudly as Sukuna jerked her head and a loud, sickening crack filled my ears.

I shot straight up in bed as a crack of thunder rumbled through the apartment. My eyes were unfocused as I dragged myself towards the bathroom and a wave of nausea washed over me. I barely made it to the toilet before I was vomiting into it. My knees burned from where they hit the tile but all I can think about was the sound of her whimpers and begs for help ringing in my ears. I was vaguely aware of the shirt sticking to me with sweat as I tried to control my erratic breathing. Thunder cracked again, sounding eerily like the way her neck snapped in my nightmare and I was retching again.

The cycle continued for what felt like hours until I was left coughing and dry heaving. As the panic started to ebb away I noticed the presence of my girlfriend on the floor behind me, running her hands soothingly over my back, and lightly pressing her thumbs into my spine. She had her knees on either side of my waist and was resting her head between my shoulder blades. I reached up to flush the toilet before gently squeezing her knee to let her know I was okay. She wordlessly pulled my sweaty shirt over my head to let the cool air hit my back before lifting herself off of the floor and out of the bathroom.

I shifted my body so I could press my forehead against the hard plastic of the bathtub. After a couple minutes, she handed me a bottle of water and pressed a cold, damp cloth to the back of my neck. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” voice raspy from coughing and throwing up. This wasn’t the first time I had woken her with my nightmares, and I doubt it would be the last. She reclaims her spot on the floor behind me and continues rubbing my back.

“Don’t be sorry, I prefer to be woken up by you going to the bathroom than you throwing up in the bed anyway.” I can’t help but laugh at her teasing and we could both feel the unease begin to fade.

“Yeah, that's a good point. You’re too good to me, you know that?” I moved so that I was leaning back against her chest and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders protectively.

“Nope, I refuse to accept that statement because we are the perfect amount of goodness to each other.” I tilted my head back to rest it on her shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to her neck. I couldn’t help but wonder how I was lucky enough for Nobara to introduce the two of us. It was in the small, intimate moments like these that I knew I would happily go to my grave protecting her.

Reader’s POV

“Okay you know the drill,” you said to him as you held out your hands expectantly. He smiled as he placed both his hands in yours, palm up. You pressed one of his hands to your chest and the other to his so he could feel both of your heartbeats under his fingertips. The first time you did this he scoffed at how cheesy it was, but over the two years of living together, it became common practice for when he was trying to calm down after a nightmare. You didn’t like to press him about the horrors that plagued his dreams, knowing how reserved he was with his emotions, so you found your own ways to comfort him.

“See, we’re both okay. Do you wanna get up to go lay back down or do you need a second?” He shook his head and pulled himself up to sit in front of you again.

“No, I’m okay, but can we do the other thing too?” he asked sheepishly. He turned pleading eyes towards you, and how could you refuse him when he asked so nicely.

“Of course, whatever you need. You or me?”

He took a shuddering breath before whispering “you” so softly you almost didn’t hear it. Your shoulders slumped as that one word told you everything you needed to know. The other practice that became a common occurrence after his chronic nightmares was kissing the other person's phantom injuries. More often than not it was him kissing you, as you were usually the object of his nightmares, like tonight. He liked being able to physically see and feel that the wounds inflicted on you were in fact not real. This nighttime routine often led to some heavy makeout sessions, which then led to very soft and intimate sex.

“Okay baby,” You stand up and move to sit on the side of the bed while he brushes his teeth quickly to get rid of the gross taste in his mouth. While you wait, you find yourself tugging at the bottom of your shorts self-consciously as you shiver in anticipation. After a moment your boyfriend waltzed out of the bathroom and rested his hands on either side of your waist. He bent his head to capture your lips in a slow kiss. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss and you happily oblige him. Your mouths move in a small fight for dominance but a firm hand on your thigh has him easily winning. Your hands trailed up to rest on his shoulders as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down gently.

You gasp softly into his mouth and he brings one hand up to rest at the nape of your neck as he cradles your head protectively. He draws his lips down the side of your jaw, paying special attention to the spot behind your ear that never fails to have you melting into his hands. You tilt your head to give him better access to your throat, allowing him to deliver individual kisses to the spots where you likely had been hurt.

In a swift, fluid motion, he is pulling your tank top off of you and trailing sloppy kisses down your chest and stomach. You lean back onto your elbows as he runs his hands over your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let out a shaky breath as he begins to kiss his way up the inside of your legs. “Just relax baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” He punctuated each word with a kiss or nip to the inside of your thighs, and you could feel the arousal pool at the pit of your stomach.

You forced yourself to make eye contact just in time to see a devious smirk grace his features. Before you could question it he is yanking down your shorts and blowing cool air onto your core. You yelp and instinctively try to snap your knees shut. He chuckles lowly to himself before tossing your shorts somewhere behind him. He brings his face back between your thighs to lick a long, hot stripe up your core. You gasp loudly and let your arms give out behind you. He reaches one hand up to where you are clawing at the sheets to intertwine your fingers together.

“My pretty baby is already so worked up and I’ve barely touched you. What a good girl.” He lowers himself back down to lap up the arousal dripping onto your legs before sucking your clit into his mouth. You arch into him and groan loudly which prompts him to hum triumphantly around the bundle of nerves. He moves his free hand down to expertly curl two fingers into you and starts pumping in and out at a steady pace. After a few pumps of his hand, he curls his fingers to find the spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

The combination of his mouth and fingers working you is dizzying and you can feel it pushing you closer to the edge of your climax. He could feel how close you were and began to move with more purpose, determined to make you cum more than once in the night. With the hand that isn’t intertwined with his, you reach down to tangle in his soft hair. “Wait, I- oh shit- I’m gonna cum.”

He removes the hand that was holding yours from you and brings his thumb down to rub circles into your sensitive clit. “Come on baby, I got you. You can cum for me.” He moves his mouth to rejoin his fingers at your slit to bring you closer to your high. A particularly hard press of his thumb has you crying out in pleasure and grinding desperately against his face. He removes his fingers from you and replaces them with his tongue to help you ride out your high. He greedily drinks up your release until you are weakly nudging him away.

“Do you want me to stop?” He looked up at you innocently, which was contradicting when you remembered the things he was doing mere seconds prior.

“No, I just want to feel more of you.” You could feel a hot blush creep up your body at the realization that he was still halfway clothed, while you laid completely naked in front of him. His brain seemed to process this at the same time because he was quickly ridding himself of his sweatpants and grey boxers.

His hard cock thumps softly against his toned stomach when he stood again and you were having a hard time not staring at the man in front of you. He wasn’t bulky, but the muscles that rippled underneath taut skin were nothing to sneeze at. He glanced up and caught your stare, and returned it with a cocky smirk. “See something you like?”

“I sure do,” you flashed an innocent smile as you sat up and palmed his erection. He gasped at your sudden boldness and leaned onto the bed for support. At this proximity, you were able to tug his earlobe between your teeth and bite down gently. “Please baby, I want you so bad.” Those words snap him back into action and he’s crashing his lips against yours again.

He moves you back up the bed and crawls over your body. He braces his forearms on either side of your head and experimentally grinds his hip against yours. You let out a soft “please” that comes out whinier than you intend. You lean your face up to give him a soft kiss before he reaches down to line himself up with you and slowly presses the tip inside. He shallowly thrusts to slowly work into you, mumbling praises against your skin as he moves deeper.

You can’t help but wince at the stretch his cock always brings you, which would border on outright painful if he didn’t feel so good. Your head falls back against the bed, clawing at his back to try to find something to ground yourself. He glances down to where he is buried deep inside you before pressing his forehead to yours. “I know sweetheart, it's almost there. You’re- fuck- doing so good for me,” he reassures as he presses a soothing kiss to your temple.

When he finally bottoms out he stills his hips to let you get comfortable and adjust to him. He takes this opportunity to pepper your face and chest in kisses and returns one of his hands to your neck where it cradles your head. You bring one of your hands to his hair to tug gently before rolling your hips against him, eliciting a breathy moan from him. “You can move baby, I’m okay.”

He nods and gives a couple of slower thrusts before setting a steady pace. He opted for slower deep strokes which made you feel every inch of him as he thrust into you. His thrusts have his cock brushing all the right spots inside you, and all you can do is gasp and moan for him while clinging to his shoulders. “Megumi, please,” you aren’t even sure what you were asking for. The pleasure has your head spinning and unable to make complete thoughts.

You can tell he is getting closer to his own climax because his thrusts are getting progressively faster and he is getting more vocal. “God, baby you’re taking me so well.” He hooks one of your legs around his waist and the new angle lets him hit your sweet spot with every roll of his hips. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you feel another climax approaching, and Megumi picks up his pace again.

“Is my pretty girl gonna cum for me again?” You bury your face into his shoulder and nod. He moves one of his hands to play with your clit to push you over the edge. You arch into him and let out a strangled moan as your orgasm washes over you. You’re sure you’re leaving deep scratches across his back as you grip him tighter. His hips stutter as you clench around him and he gives a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s cumming too with a loud groan. He unconsciously rocks into you lazily as you both come down from your highs.

“Are you okay baby?” He kisses your forehead and strokes your side to try and bring you back to reality. You nod again, not quite trusting your voice yet. He chuckles and slowly pulls out to not overstimulate you. You squirm at the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs but he’s already moving to the bathroom to grab stuff to clean you up.

When he comes back out he runs a warm cloth along the inside of your thighs and quickly over your center, which has you wincing at the sensitivity. When he's done he pulls out a pair of your pajama shorts and one of his loose shirts for you to wear. He helps you slip the clothes on and tugs his boxers back up before climbing back into bed with you.

You stand up to crack open the window next to the bed before laying with your back against his chest. The cool air from the rain seeps into the room and he mutters a “thank you” into your shoulder, surprised that you remember he runs hot for the rest of the night when he has a nightmare.

The clock on the bedside table shows that it's about 5:30 in the morning, so you estimate that he woke up roughly at 4. “Do you feel okay enough to go back to sleep?” You feel him shrug behind you and you scoot closer to him, pulling one of his arms over your waist to lace your fingers together.

“I don’t know. I should but…” you hear his voice trail off and nod in understanding. He always has a hard time falling back asleep on nights like these. He warned you about his chronic nightmares shortly before moving in together and confessed that he’s had them since he started high school at Jujustu Tech. However, you take small comfort in the knowledge that since living together they’ve gotten less frequent, and his reactions to them have become far less violent.

“Will you feel better if one of your shikigami sleeps in here? Just so you know that nothing will happen.” He considers it for a minute before tugging his hand out of yours, circling his other arm around your waist, and folding his hands to summon his divine dog. Its head pokes out of the shadows under the window. You pat the empty spot on the bed and it jumps up excitedly before laying down and letting you scratch behind its ears.

Megumi chuckles behind you and shakes his head. “You just wanted the dog on the bed didn’t you?” He reaches over to ruffle its soft fur as it dozes off.

“Checkmate,” you crane your head to place a kiss on his cheek before settling back against him. “Now will you please try to go back to sleep? I don’t want to nag you but realistically you can’t function on only two hours of sleep.”

“I’ll try but I can’t make any promises you know.” He tucks his chin on top of your head and relaxes around you. You hum in acknowledgment before slowly drifting back to sleep.

[stardusttrashed]

Lovestruck (Finale)

Part 4

Pairing: Professor Erwin x Fem! Reader, Connie x Sasha

Word Count: 2K

A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who stuck around for this series and showed it some love. also, if you haven't already go check out the playlist I made that gives professor Erwin vibes :)

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Smith,” you squeaked as you squeezed past the door into the old familiar room. “Hope you didn’t haveta wait too long,” you smiled apologetically.

Erwin turned around, looking up from the whiteboard he was writing away on. He smiled handsomely, quietly sighing in relief, “actually, you’re right on time as usual.” He closed the distance between you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “How much’d you spend? I’ll pay you back,” he reassured you as he led you towards his desk.

“You can pay me back by coming to movie night,” you purred, quickly throwing the idea out there as you took a seat on his desk. You rummaged through the plastic bag, taking out two to-go boxes as Erwin rolled his desk chair over. “You’ve been officially invited by Thing One and Thing Two. And they’ll probably lose their shit if I show up without you.”

“Sasha and Connie, right?” he confirmed. You hummed in response. Erwin tensed up momentarily once he saw you sitting on his desk, sinful thoughts running rampant in his mind. He was curious how much of a good girl you’d be for him. Or if you’d let him eat something else for lunch. It didn’t make it any better that you still had his shirt on. A blush painted his cheeks as he pushed the thoughts down, plopping in his seat and scooting closer until he was sitting between your legs, “I’d love to, darling.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, occasionally broken by strings of giggles as you stuffed your faces with the Chinese food you brought. You took turns feeding spoonfuls of each other's food to the other, goofy, uncontrollable, lovestruck smiles printed on your faces. There was so much you both wanted to say to each other, wanting to ask about the other’s day, or ask trivial things, or address what you were. But neither could muster the courage to break the moment. So instead, you spoke through lingering touches and longing gazes.

“Erwin,” a familiar voice said dryly, followed by the footsteps of them entering the room. “Found your sandwich in the fridge in the staff room.” Erwin’s eyes went wide, more surprised about being caught than the actual sandwich. “Figured I’d bring it before you starve.”

You sent Erwin a playfully threatening glare, “you had food?! I- you little,” you quickly hissed, stopping short as Erwin apologetically squeezed your thigh.

Erwin chuckled embarrassedly, removing the hand on your thigh to scratch the back of his neck. “I must’ve forgot.” He looked back and forth between you and Levi, both of you looking back at him with unconvinced expressions. He was busted for sure.

“Right,” Levi drawled out as his eyes scanned the desk, taking in the to-go boxes and how close you and Erwin were sitting. “At least you’re not starving. And glad to see the two of you finally grew a pair and made things official.”

“W-well,” you stuttered, to no avail. Levi was already walking out of the room, muttering something about how you should at least lock the door. Gradually, your shock shifted into overconfidence. “Missed me that much, huh? Pretty lame excuse if you ask me.”

“Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, darling,” Erwin cooed, his blue eyes practically filled with hearts. It felt like butterflies were coursing throughout his entire body as you leaned down to kiss him. It was short and sweet, just a lingering peck, yet you left him breathless. “Y/n, I- um.” He could feel the tips of his ears growing uncomfortably warm. Your soft giggles weren’t helping either. “Hold on.”

You watched as Erwin struggled to hold onto his cool. It was still weird, no matter how many times you saw him grow flustered. He was the gorgeous giant of a man that left men and women alike flustered, yourself included. Yet, you always seemed to be the one to turn the tables without doing anything but being yourself. He wasn’t some Greek God, okay, well looks-wise, yes. And personality-wise. Okay, maybe he was a Greek god, but that didn’t stop him from being a friendly giant or a big cinnamon roll around you.

“I, uh,” he quickly glanced up at you before returning his focus to the journal he pulled out of his desk drawer. “I got you this,” he held the small journal out to you.

You gingerly took it from him. A thin gold rope chain tucked away in the journal as a bookmark tapped your hand as it swayed from the movement. You prayed he couldn’t see the way your cheeks grew warm as you opened the journal to the page the chain rested against. In the center of the lined paper lay a key strung on the chain. The key wasn’t anything fancy, just a plain house key that covered a neatly written note. You glanced up at Erwin momentarily before moving aside the key to read the note aloud. “I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her, and it is the beginning of everything. F. Scott Fitzgerald,” you read, your throat growing tighter with every word.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing anything,” Erwin quickly spoke up once you finished reading. “I just, well, I figured you could use my place as a place to write and get some inspiration. I don’t want to pressure you, though. This can be completely platonic, and we can ignore-.”

You set the journal aside and stopped his nervous rambling with a kiss. Your lips moved lazily against each other, savoring everything from the moment to the taste of one another. Time seemed to slow as you lost yourself in the softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands on your hips. You could feel him surrendering to you, giving you everything he could until he was left with nothing, not even a breath… until you reluctantly pulled away. You rested your forehead on his, your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to catch your breath enough to say something.

“And for a moment, I thought I loved him,” you breathed, altering the quote slightly to fit the situation more. Your breath fanned across his lips, giving him visible chills as you continued, “but I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.”

“Committing Great Gatsby quotes to memory, are we,” Erwin teased, his voice husky as he finally managed to catch his breath.

“Only the most beautiful ones that’ll impress my professors, er, used to be professors.”

“Consider the job done then.” Erwin looked at you like you were the only one, not just now, but forever. His ocean eyes shone like he was looking at the sun, and in a way, he was. You always were a star that he couldn’t help but gravitate to. He lost you for a while, but just like the planets orbiting around the sun, he managed to find his way back to your warmth.

You reached out and pushed a stray hair back into place, “not polite to stare, baby. Even if ya look cute doing it.”

“Dance with me,” Erwin blurted. He needed to hold you, to bask in your warmth. He wanted to do what he should’ve last night, holding you close as you swayed to music that could better articulate the feelings he has for you.

“What?”

Erwin chuckled and shrugged, “dance with me, and I’ll stop.” He stood up with a devilish grin on his face. “Just one dance?”

“Erwin, I don’ think this is the place-” you were cut off by Erwin scooping you up into his strong arms bridal style. You held onto him despite feeling utterly safe as he maneuvered his way out of the classroom. “Baby, where are you taking me?” you squealed with childlike giddy.

“To a place we can dance,” Erwin looked down at you with a wicked smile as he walked out of the building with you still cradled close to his chest. The soft drizzle of rain welcomed the both of you, which made you squeal and hurriedly attempt to cover your head.

“Erwin Smith, take me back inside before I kick your ass!”

“No, can do; you said we couldn’t dance in the classroom.” He sent a kind smile to the people passing by. “Besides, as sweet and sugary as you are, you won’t melt.”

“You don’t know that.” You smacked your hand against his chest, “I hate you right now.” The soft drizzle was gradually becoming a steady stream of droplets that made any efforts to protect your hair futile. With a huff, you gave up, allowing the rain to return your hair to its natural state gradually. “Happy now?”

Erwin kissed the tip of your nose before gently setting you back on your feet underneath a large canopy tree. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes was a stark contrast to the soft apologies that tumbled from his mouth. “I promise, messing up your hair was not part of the plan.” His eyes flitted up to your curling hair, a proud smile forming on his face, “I was right, though. You look absolutely amazing, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping it’d distract from the bashful smile tugging on your lips. “One dance,” you held up a finger for emphasis. “That’s it.”

“Just the one,” he gently pressed his lips against yours. “Unless you beg for more.” His laugh rumbled in his chest like quiet thunder as you playfully swatted his arm.

“Well, Mr. DJ, what’re gonna dance to?”

“No idea,” Erwin admitted with a bashful smile, looking up from his phone. “Just wanted an excuse to hold you close.” The soft, familiar strumming of a guitar filled the air before he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

With an outstretched hand, he looked at you with such genuine adoration that for a second, you forgot how to breathe. You slipped your hand into his, allowing him to guide your hands towards his shoulders. It felt silly, dancing in the middle of campus in the rain, and at the same time, it felt so surreal, like you two were straight out of a book.

“Only fools rush in,” Erwin quietly sang as he slid his hands around your hips. “But I can’t help fallin’ in love with you.” He had a smooth, calming singing voice like he was born to be a crooner. He didn’t sing around others often, not sober at least, but something about you made him feel like it was the right thing to do at this moment. Every word that fell from his lips was for you, and you only as you both sway in time with the music. He was yours, and the look in your eyes told him you were his.

You pressed yourself closer to him, the rest of the world slipping away. He was too warm, made you feel too secure for it to be reality. And yet, here he was, the man you secretly fell for years ago was in your arms singing Can’t Help Falling in Love to you. The increasing heaviness of the rain or people staring didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except him.

“I-,” you jumped at the sound of your ringtone, sending you plummeting back to reality with wide eyes. “S-sorry, I gotta,” you trailed off sheepishly as you pulled your phone out of your pocket before accepting the facetime call.

Erwin paused the music for you, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he played with your newly formed curls. It was hard for him to fight back the awestruck look on his face as your hair seemed to grow curlier by the second.

“Did you do it? Please tell me you did? I’ll do it for you,” Sasha bombarded you once you answered. She paused with wide eyes at the sound of Erwin’s amused chuckle. “Oh, my- is that him? Hi, Erwinie!”

“Wait, she did it?” You could hear Connie yell from somewhere offscreen. “Ha! You owe me twenty!”

You smiled apologetically at Erwin, who seemed quite amused with the situation. “Hi, Sasha,” Erwin cut in, laughing at the way she swooned after he said her name. “If we’re being technical, I was the one who did it.”

“Ha! I only owe you ten,” she exclaimed, sending Connie a face before focusing back on you and Erwin. “She invited you to movie night, right?”

“About that, why don’t you two come over to my place? I’ll even cook.”

“Careful before I steal him from you,” Sasha laughed. She was practically drooling already at the thought of free food.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s only one girl for me.” He looked down at you with a confident smile, “she’s all I want and need.”

“What about guys?”

“Ew, you two are so cute it’s gross,” Sasha talked over Connie. “Get off my phone before ya make me sick.”

“Gladly,” you mused, giggles bubbling in your chest. “See y’all later.” You hung up before they could say anything else and turned your focus to Erwin. “I feel the same way, just so you know. Think you’re it for me.”

“I sure hope so cause I don’t plan on losing you again.”

[someonestolemyshoes]

Come to Me

This is my submission for @levihan-drabbles Trope Tuesday - I jumped firmly on the bandwagon and went with prompt #4: Injured/hurt Levi & caring Hange. Juuuust eeked inside the max word count, but I’ll take it! 

Warnings: This fic does contain some depictions of injury, nothing too graphic, but be aware if this is something that bothers you! 

**

“Who was it this time?”

Hange expected no answer. As such, they were unsurprised at receiving nothing but a grunt and a hiss as they pressed an alcohol-soaked swab to the apple of Levi’s cheek, where the flesh, feverishly red and swollen now, had split like a burst seam.

Only rarely did Levi disclose the particulars of his adventures, and never when prompted. Hange knew better than to press. It wasn’t their role to ask questions, but the silence quickly grew oppressive when left unattended, and Hange would much rather listen to the sound of their own voice than the stifling quiet.

“Do they at least look worse off than you do?” They asked, tilting Levi’s bruised jaw to angle him better beneath the hanging bulb. Levi gave another noncommittal grunt, this one accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder and a grimace that tugged at his bust lip. The forming scab cracked open, and a thin trail of blood dripped towards his chin.

He was quiet, tonight. Moreso than usual. It wasn't in Levi’s nature to divulge too much of anything, but he could be vocal, in his own way. Hange’s poking and prodding was most often met with a grumbled ‘mind your damn business’ or ‘keep your nose out of my shit’ and occasionally, when Hange was in a particularly obnoxious mood, ‘quit jamming your finger into my ribcage’.

There was none of that now. Levi remained perplexingly silent while Hange disinfected the open wounds on his face and knuckles, cleaning smeared blood and palpating the joints, checking the swollen flesh for signs of damage they couldn't hope to fix in their parents' tool shed.

This had been their routine for a little while, a semi-regular occurrence since the first night Hange had found him crumpled over a bench in the park, sucking wet breaths through his teeth and trying in vain to stem the blood flow from a yawning gash on his arm. He had colourfully refused Hange’s offer of calling him an ambulance, and had vehemently denied that he needed to see a doctor, but he had eventually resigned himself to at least allowing Hange to help however they could with the first aid kit in their kitchen and what little medical knowledge they had absorbed from their mothers medical journals.

He had been a relative stranger to Hange, then. They’d seen him around sometimes, in school corridors between classes, or in the lunch hall, or around the back of the science block, where Hange had caught glimpses of him sparking up or stubbing out a cigarette, but besides these sporadic sightings, Hange's knowledge of Levi came only from whispered rumours.

The rumours, more than anything, made Hange worry that this was not a solitary incident.

“Just come to me,” Hange had said, as they'd finished wrapping the bandage around his wounds. “If you need help again. I kinda like my evening walks, and I think it’d ruin my night if I found you dead next time.”

In truth, Hange hadn’t expected him to take their offer seriously at all. Shocked as they were to see him turn up bloody and bruised at their window, they had stayed true to their word. Levi had tolerated their needling questions with surprising resilience, but eventually acquiesced to give some vague answers when Hange had suggested that he might be involved in something highly illegal.

“You’re in a gang,” they’d said.

“Like hell.”

“Selling drugs?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“I got it—human trafficking."  

“For fucks sake, four-eyes! I’m not—no, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hange had accused him of every offense under the sun, but as it had turned out, there was nothing so terrible, nor so immoral or unlawful, about Levi’s affairs.  

“I just get in fights, sometimes. I live in a rough neighbourhood. Tensions are high, people snap easy.”

“Do you? Snap easily, I mean.” Levi had given her a noncommittal shrug.

“Depends,” he had said. “Whether something’s worth snapping over.”

Hange had never asked what held that kind of wealth, for Levi. He had a deceptively calm aura about him whenever Hange saw him in passing; a little grumpy perhaps, with his thin eyes and drawn brows and pouted lips, but he never exuded the crackling energy of a bomb ready to explode.

Now, though, he seemed stormy. There was an intermittent twitch in his jaw where the muscle bunched and flexed. Despite Hange's close proximity, sitting with their knees tucked between his splayed legs, his gaze remained resolutely fixed somewhere over their shoulder. His freshly bandaged fists rested clenched atop his thighs. There was a pallor to his skin, the sickly hue of it exacerbated by the fluorescent glow from above them; the angle of the light deepened the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked, if possible, more sullen than Hange had ever seen him.

Perhaps more tenderly than intended, Hange smoothed their thumb over the last steristrip on Levi's cheek. Something in the softness of the action must have caught his attention, for he drew his gaze towards Hange's face for the first time since turning up tonight. Hange tilted their head at him.

"Are you okay?"

Levi scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

No, Hange thought. You never do. "You've looked better."

"I'm fine."

Hange fought the urge to roll their eyes.

"Like pulling teeth," they mumbled. Levi shot them a look, something petulant and withering. Hange poked their tongue out at him, and winced when he aimed a kick at their ankle.

"Stop being difficult," Levi said. Hange looked at him incredulously, chest swelling and cheeks puffing with indignation. Levi was watching them calmly now, his brow quirked, and Hange felt the futility of arguing with him before they even began. Instead, they blew out a long, calming breath, and began packing the first aid supplies back into the kit.

Silence swelled between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Hange, perhaps with more force than necessary, jammed spare wipes, swabs and bandages into place.

For once, Levi broke it.

"Oi, Hange."

Hange, not looking up from repacking their first aid kit, huffed loudly, and tried their best to ignore him. In the end, though, curiosity won out. "Mm?"

"If—" Levi began, then cut himself off with a harsh huff, and ticked his tongue against his teeth. "If anyone bothers you. Come to me, okay?"

Hange looked up at him, surprised. Levi wasn't looking at them, head turned away and eyes cast down towards the floor.

They weren't friends, exactly. Outside of their strange arrangement, they never really spoke to one another. Hange had, once or twice, caught Levi watching them with a curious expression on his face, but he never spoke to them in public. Hange was mostly at ease with the whole thing. There was an itch of intrigue they longed to scratch, but Levi's responsiveness to questioning had already made itself well known. Excluding their meeting in the park, they had never shared a single word with one another beyond the confines of the tool shed. Why, then, would Levi expect Hange to approach him anywhere else?

"Why would anyone bother me?" It was an earnest question, but Levi met their questioning gaze with a scowl. He opened his mouth with the kind of frustrated ferocity that preceded an argument, then closed it again, and huffed through his nose.

"I heard some things," he said. Hange said nothing, only blinked openly at him, and Levi was pressed to fill the silence. "Someone saying shit. About you."

Hange's brows lifted towards their hairline. "Oh?"

Levi scuffed the toe of his boot over the floor, face twisted in a sneer. Hange found it difficult to tell where his disgust was aimed; at whatever conversation he had overheard, or at himself for bringing it up.

Hange shuffled forward in their chair, one of their knees bumping against the inside of Levi's thigh. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, then up to Hange's face. Hange nudged his leg harder.

"C'mon, you can't say that and not tell me."  

When Levi showed no signs of budging, Hange sat up straighter and folded their arms over their chest. "At least tell me who."

Levi rolled his tongue between his cheeks, deliberating. His gaze flitted over Hange's face as though he was hoping he might find something reflected in it. Whether he found what he wanted Hange didn't know, but after a long moment, he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms to match Hange, and said, with no absence of venom, "Zeke."

Ah. That at least explained some of Levi's seething. He and Zeke had a history. Hange was unclear on the details, and much of the story was based on rumours passed down in hushed whispers, morphing with each new retelling, but what was clear enough was that the two disliked one another. On Levi's part, it was all clenched fists and frosty glances, while Zeke carried himself with a mix of smug satisfaction and barely restrained resentment.

Still, Hange found it hard to believe that Zeke would have anything too terrible to say about them. Their communication had been inconsequential at best—he had an air of self importance that Hange found a little grating, and an overconfidence in his own opinions, but the handful of instances in which they'd spoken to one another hadn't been unpleasant. Hange told Levi so, and watched with interest as a hint of colour rose in his cheeks and his frown deepened.

"He's a creep," Levi said. Hange's brows arched even higher.

"What, did he threaten me?"

Levi said nothing.

"Is he gonna beat me up?" Still nothing. "Did he call me ugly? Say I smell bad?"

"You do smell bad."

"Did he perv on me?"

Levi's response was both fascinating and telling. He tensed visibly, spine snapping straight, fingers curling tight into his palms—even his thigh, still resting against Hange's knee, clenched hard. Hange's grin widened.

"Jackpot," they said. Levi curled his lip

"Well, I'm honoured by your chivalry, Levi. But you didn't have to pick a fight with him just because he thinks I'm hot. It's kinda flattering, you know?"

"He doesn't even mean it," Levi said harshly.  "He's just saying it because I—" but Levi cut himself off again, sharply, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The forming scab tugged, threatening to tear anew.

"Because you what?"

But Levi had had enough. He stood quickly, barely avoiding the low hanging bulb, his chair scraping back with a clatter. The new angle of the light cast his nose and brow into deep shadow, and illuminated his cheeks with a bright glow—despite the washed out look the light gave his skin, Hange could see twin strips of pink on either cheek.

"Thanks," he said. Hange blinked owlishly up at him, their mouth open. They wanted to press him, demand he finish saying what he'd started—and perhaps they would have, perhaps this time, curiosity would win out, and Hange would succeed in wrestling an answer from him for once, but he didn't give them the chance.

He ducked around the bulb and moved to brush past Hange's chair and out the door. Beside them, he stuttered in step and paused; Hange thought—hoped—that perhaps he might be debating telling them the full story. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened, and snorted quietly to himself.

Then he raised a bandaged hand, and ruffled it into the messy hair atop Hange's head.

"Thanks," he said.

And before Hange could speak, could move, could do much of anything but stare ahead in shock, Levi had gone.

**

If, come the following morning, Hange was at all surprised to see the cuts and bruises colouring Zeke's face—a rather delightful collage of red and purple, black, and blue—they hid it very well.

Levi's self-satisfied smirk was far less subtle.

[kimistorm]

[Lee Minho] Cats are the Worst

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Lee Know/Lee Minho x GN! reader

Requested by: AvatarKyarra

Prompts: 6) “That wasn’t supposed to happen” and 9) “Don’t freak out”

Word count: 1.7k

TW: Mentions of food

AN: Lol <1k was a bit of a lie apparently. Anywho, thank you for the request! Sorry if the writing feels a little clunky/repetitive TwT BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, Hyunjin is back!!

“I don’t know, do you think he’ll like it?” you asked your phone that was on speakerphone as you scrolled through the list of recipes on your screen.

You heard an exasperated sigh from the other end of the line, “of course he’s going to love it. You’re his significant other.”

“Yeah, but he’s not that fond of sweets,” you bit your lip and ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

Han let out another groan from your hesitance, at this point, he was probably more frustrated than you, “have you seen him with Felix makes brownies?”

“Okay, but Felix’s brownies can make anyone melt.” You bit back in response as you thought to the cheery blond’s sweets. They always made you feel better, even after a rough day.

“He’s going to love anything you make him,” Han told you with finality, though this would be the fifth time he’s told you this. “But the more time you waste doing this the less time you have to make it.”

You snorted, knowing Han also had streaks of indecisiveness, “when did you become decisive?”

“Since you spent nearly an hour going in circles with me.” You let out a yelp of surprise, not realizing how much time had already passed. “Just make cookies! They’re going to be faster than a cake.” Your black-haired friend quickly told you, hoping to take this opportunity to give you a decision.

“Okay, okay, thank you!” you hurriedly clicked on the recipe with the highest rating and number of reviews.

“It’ll be amazing!” Han rushed to tell you as you fumbled with your phone to hang up.

“Thanks Han! If we have any extra I’ll bring you some!”

“Go, go go!” Han cheered before hanging up. With a determined nod, you ran around your shared kitchen for the ingredients. You frowned when you couldn’t find any more chocolate chips, Minho must’ve eaten them because you could’ve sworn you had some last week. It looks like you’ll have to change your plan and make sugar cookies. You found a simple recipe that allowed for decorating and decided that you’d decorate them. That’d be a cute gesture, right?

With clumsy precision, you measured out the ingredients and mixed them together to form the dough. You frowned as the recipe called to chill the dough for a couple of hours. You weren’t going to have time for that, so you’d have to skip that step and hope things still turned out all right. With the use of a couple of spoons and a butterknife, you were able to scoop out some relatively flat cookies onto the baking tray and pop them into the oven. It was a shame you couldn’t find the cat-shaped cookie cutters that you thought Felix gave you for Christmas, but they were very lost. Now that you think about it, you weren’t sure if you saw them since the day he gave them to you.

It was with a sinking heart when you realized you would have to wait for the cookies to cool before you could ice them. “It’ll be okay, right?” you worriedly mumbled as you glanced at your phone to see how much longer you had until Minho came home and the timer telling you that it would be close. Letting out a somewhat panicked but quiet, “aaaaaa,” you set to cleaning up the bowls and utensils you had used to make the dough. In no time they were on the drying rack and you grabbed a smaller bowl to make the icing.

You fished through to the back of your pantry for the somewhat old bag of powdered sugar that you used to decorate pancakes with and then never used again. You were glad to see it was still powdery and usable. You were measuring out the powder for the icing when a light body made its way to your side.

“Hey Doongie,” you cooed as you pet the cat who leaped onto the counter for some affection. “We’re going to make your dad cookies, what do you think?” dark eyes blinked at you lazily. “Ah, maybe that’s what I get for trying to talk to cats.” You sniggered when you got no response. You turned around to check the next steps of the recipe, but quickly spun around in fear when you heard the hollow ‘thunk’ of something plastic falling to the ground and an indignant ‘meow.’

“Oh no!” you panicked when you saw Doongie sitting cleanly on the counter where you left the white cat, but there was no bowl of powdered sugar. That was spilled on the ground. “Why’d you do that?” you wailed at the cat who you swore was smirking at you. You grew even more scared when you saw the disturbed flour on the ground. It was thrown all over the place and you saw pawprints leading out from the mess. “You didn’t!” you scolded as you followed the trail of white pawprints, already fearing for the mess that was being tracked all over your apartment.

Thanks to the visible trail, you were able to find the victim hidden in one of the cat houses perched on a scratching post. “You wanna come out?” you cooed to the cat enshrouded in darkness. You needed to see the damage that was done. Two eyes seemed to stare back at you from the darkness, blinking only once. You let out a sigh before returning to the kitchen to grab a cat treat. Doongie meowed pleadingly with you, going as far as to put a paw on your arm when you fished out a treat, “no.” You told the cat sassily, “you’ve caused enough trouble.” You swore Doongie rolled their eyes at you as you walked away.

“Come on out,” you gently cooed as you waved the treat in front of the opening to the cat housing. There was a moment of silence, and then a head popped out. You quickly moved your hand away so the cat would have to reach, and gasped when you saw the white cat who emerged. “Oh no Dori!” the normally striped gray cat was almost completely coated in powdered sugar. “On second thought,” you put the treat back into the housing, “you can stay in there.” You were not looking forward to washing the dark cat.

You left the cat to the darkness of the cat house and the treat before returning to the kitchen, letting out another wail when you saw Doongie playing around in the pile of sugar. “No! Bad cat!” you weren’t keen on another set of sugar tracks around the apartment so you slowly came closer to pick up Doongie. The white cat froze and stared at you, nimbly jumping out of the way when you lunged forward to pick them up. “No! Come back here!” you raced around the apartment chasing the white cat.

After a few seconds of chasing them, you decided to give up, hoping Doongie would calm down and sit instead of running around the entire apartment to cause an even bigger mess. You quickly closed the door to the bathroom where the cat was currently taking refuge and closed all the doors to the rooms. Hopefully this would keep the damage contained. With a sigh you set to cleaning up the powdered sugar that had splattered to the ground and somehow onto the cabinet right next to it.

You heard the deadbolt click and your heart sank as the door opened to reveal Minho, “hey,” while you were sad your cookies weren’t ready in time, seeing him always put a smile on your face and you got up from the ground to greet him, “you’re home early.”

“They let me leave earlier,” he smiled as the two of you quickly kissed. There was a meow and he looked down in confusion at the half-white half-gray Dori.

“Dori?” he kneeled down and rubbed the cat lovingly, “what happened?” he asked as he turned his attention to you.

“Don’t freak out.”

His dark eyes widened, “that’s not reassuring at all.”

“I was trying to bake you cookies, and then Doongie knocked the sugar bowl onto Dori.” Minho let out a quiet yelp and began inspecting Dori for any wounds. “Sorry.” You muttered shamefully, you were just trying to celebrate.

“Don’t worry about it,” Minho smiled as he pulled you into a hug, “that’s so sweet you tried to make something for me.”

“I guess I made something.” You muttered bitterly into his shirt, “a mess.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” he told you gently, “they’re self-cleaning,” he gestured toward Dori, “it’ll be fine. Probably.” You giggled at his last comment, relieved to find he wasn’t mad. He was an angel, if your positions were switched, you definitely wouldn’t be as cool-headed as he was right now. “Is something burning?” Minho asked after a moment and you let out a scream, running over to the oven and completely deflating when you saw the blackened cookies.

Minho aided you in opening the window and airing out the open oven so the fire alarm wouldn’t go off, “that wasn’t supposed to happen.” You mumbled sullenly as you took out the cookie sheet and cautiously broke one of them, causing it to completely shatter and reveal how deep the black reached. “I kind of don’t want to scrape off the burnt parts to get to the good stuff.

Minho peered over your shoulder and popped one of the broken pieces into his mouth. His eyes watered at the hot treat and he frantically waved a hand over his open mouth to try and cool it down. “Yeah, it’s kind of bad.” He answered honestly as he engulfed you in a back hug, “and it burned half of my taste buds before I even tasted it.” You deflated at his blunt comment, “don’t worry! Let’s go buy some cookies at the bakery down the street!”

“But I wanted to make you something to celebrate,” you pouted, looking sadly at the blackened sweets.

“Just being with you is enough,” he smiled into your neck.

You hummed and leaned into his touch, “you’re too nice.”

“Come on,” he gently tugged at you, “let’s clean up the cats and get some cookies.”

“I love you,” you told him softly as you gave him a kiss.

“Love you too.”

Masterlist

[little-murmaider]

“You guys take walk-ins?”

The salon was empty save for the girl at the front counter. Her hair was parted deep to one side, the white line of her scalp visible just above her right ear. Loose waves tumbled over her shoulder, dark at the roots but fading into a brassy blonde at the ends. She tossed aside the tabloid in her lap. A bright red, all-caps headline fluttered against the octagonal white tile floor.

“We’re appointment only,” she said, lifting her crossed ankles off the desk and swiveling her chair towards him. “But my manager’s at lunch and I’m bored.”

It was an impulse, to come in. This was a fancier place than he was used to, the kind with smocks embroidered with the salon’s name. She lead him to a wavy leather chaise abutting a sink. It was too short for him, the hump meant to fit just above his lower back jabbing into the middle of his spine. There was a lip in the sink to hold his head and he sat up and laid back three times to position his neck just right. Humiliating. The girl was patient, good-humored.

“What are we doing today, stretch?” She asked as she flicked on the faucet.

“Just a trim,” he answered.

“Good.” The water sank his hair like an anchor. “If you told me you wanted to chop off these beautiful curls you would’ve broken my heart.”

The girl’s name was Meredith, like the main character of the medical drama he refused to admit he ardently watched. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils, the gentle fizz of bubbles popping along the crescents of his ears.

“You should really consider investing in a clarifying shampoo.” She scratched at his scalp and he realizes with the clarity of a fist to the face how long it had been since he was touched. “Helps to break up all the gunk that gets stuck up here.”

He shifted in his seat, the heel of his boot sliding off the end of the lounge, crashing into the opposite wall.

“What’s the occasion?” She asked, wringing his hair dry.

“Job interview,” he answered. “Tomorrow. Teaching position.”

His reply was a stretch, and an omission. But the girl was just being polite. She didn’t need to know any more. Better she didn’t.

“You’re gonna nail it,” her scissors grazed his shoulders, and he felt a weight drop. “I can tell. You and me? We’re people who just need a chance.”

While she snipped he remembered a joke. Not his, someone else’s. Every time he went to the barber (bi-weekly) Magnus would ask, did you get a hair cut? And every time he would respond, glowing with dorky smugness, I got them all cut. He hated it, he fell for it every time. His hair always looked the same—neat, slick, symmetrical—yet Magnus always noticed. Often he fantasized about meeting him in the wild, some time far in the future when he was less of a failure. Maybe at a high end grocery store, somewhere he could afford to pay premium for avocados. He’d see him in the produce aisle, and he’d reverse the joke. But the fantasy fell apart there. It had been so long. There was know way he’d know how long Magnus’s hair had grown, or how much he had cut.

“I’m not going to charge you for the blow out,” the girl said, fluffing his hair in a claw-like plastic contraption. “Don’t tell my boss.”

She finished, and she did a good job. He tipped her as much as he could, under the percentage she deserved but all the contents of his wallet. He stole one last glance of himself at the mirror and saw someone different, confident, successful. He has a job interview in the morning, and it was going to go well.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.�� 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[sleepyseguin]

tyler seguin | i still see your face (nsfw)

summary: you and tyler break up. it’s harder than you thought it would be. 

a/n: highly recommend listening to driver’s licence by olivia rodrigo to get the whole vibe. my spotify must think i have a problem by the constant repeat. 

It’s not like you haven’t had a break up before. It’s just that this one feels different. Raw. A ragged edge that’s been torn. You drink too much beer and sleep too little. Your friends rally around you, of course they do, drag you to clubs with too many teenagers, tell you they never liked Tyler anyway. But the lie is thin, and in the dim bathroom of the bar one says, but why did you guys break up? What happened? You blink at her, mouth tasting of tequila. I don’t know.

-/-

Of course you know. You’re an adult. You made this decision together, sat on his couch. One of his throw pillows hugged to your chest so he couldn’t see the way your hands were shaking.

“If this is really what you want,” Tyler had said, and you could hear the scratch in his throat, the way his eyes shone too bright. Unshed tears.

 You hadn’t been able to speak, tongue too thick, hot tears on your cheeks, fresh ones ready to replace as they dried sticky on your chin.

 He was away from home too much. Your lives were going in different directions. You had opportunities to travel with work, and it’s not like he could come with you. It was best to do it now, a clean break, rather than struggle on, slowly tearing.

 You’d cried all the way home from his house, struggling to keep the wheel straight. Your mother would have been horrified by the reckless driving. When you’d finally dared to look at your phone, that first night alone, Tyler’s text made you sob all over again. I love you. Always.

-/-

You talk to him, sometimes. You can’t help yourself. It’s like an itch that becomes unbearable. You have to scratch. Meaningless text message chains. How are you? Fine, you? I’m okay. I miss you. I miss you too. You know it’s not helpful, not the path towards healing that your married friends preach. But it makes it easier to sleep. Knowing he’s still out there. It’s a blissful kind of agony when he texts you unprompted, in the middle of the night, sometimes the middle of the afternoon. I think of you all the time or I dreamt about you or I thought I saw you at the game. Your own misery overwhelms. Winter sets in. You struggle through grey days, take the long way home to drive past his street. Pray you don’t see another car next to his.

-/-

You cry on the phone to your mother, great big sobs like a child does when they’ve lost their favourite toy. She tells you she’ll fly out.

 “No, it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can do this.”

 “You can,” she assures, but the surety seeps away as soon as you hang up. A bottle of wine in front of the television. Take out. You’re either starving or not hungry at all now. You only watch ten minutes of an episode before you’re switching to the NHL channel. It’s too hard to forget the schedule. It’s like a reminder in your brain when you wake up in the morning, he’s playing today. You used to nap together, in the afternoons before games. The weak sunlight, the dancing dust mites. A Friend’s episode turned low. Tyler would reach for you in his sleep, nuzzle into your neck. Like he could never get close enough. Like he knew you would leave one day.

-/-

A mutual friends birthday. You’d tried to make excuses, but even you didn’t believe them.

 “It’s worse to avoid him,” your friend says, “It will only make it harder later.”

So in an effort to do the Right Thing, to be a Big Girl, and Move On, you find yourself drinking too strong punch, pieces of apple and orange floating in a plastic cup, leaning into a guy you just met and laughing too loud.

 And it is fun. For awhile. A mix of old friends and new. Loud music. And for most of the night, he’s not there. He’s so late you think he’s not coming. And you pretend you’re crying because you’re relieved and not because you’re disappointed. You’ve been smart enough to take yourself to the bathroom for the small meltdown, bent over the counter and taking deep breaths. You’re too old to be getting this smashed at a house party. It’s hard to focus on yourself in the mirror, bending light. It’s a good thing he’s not coming, you tell yourself, and wish you could believe it.

 You’re headed to the kitchen, the sink full of ice and hiding your drinks. Tyler is there. Tyler is there, standing in the hallway, talking to the host. His big hand makes the beer he’s holding look like a kid’s toy. He’s laughing, crinkly eyes, the sound reaching you. Slapping the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the joke. He’s so happy. How can he be so happy?

Dark eyes meet yours, the fall of his mouth from the grin. He goes to say something, call out maybe, but you’re turning away already, pushing back into the lounge room, the backdoor. Fresh air. Cold crisp of a Texan winter. The weather reporters are saying it might snow this year. He finds you. Of course he does. In the back-garden, looking up at the moon, counting stars. Your name in a familiar voice. The way he says it makes your heart hurt. You can barely look at him, the grass moving under your feet as you turn to face him. Curls peeking out from under a beanie. Black hoodie, dark jeans. You recognise the hoodie. You used to wear it to bed sometimes.

 “Hi,” you say, trying to be causal, wanting desperately to be, but at the same time you’re reaching out, clinging onto his arm. Don’t ever let go again.

 Tyler smiles, sad and small, “It’s nice to see you.”

 “Yeah,” you breathe, head back, gazing up at him. The moon has nothing on Tyler. Come back to me, you want to say, but this is your fault. You did this. You made this happen.

 “I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and you think yes, yes, just ask me, I’ll come back I promise, “I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. It’s too hard.”

 “Oh,” you say. It suddenly seems so much colder out here. “Okay.”

You watch him walk away, back into the house, the light of the party. And if you cry in the Uber on the way home, no one else has to know.

-/-

The first time you sleep together, afterwards, you could almost convince yourself it’s an accident. Not talking hadn’t lasted long. A loss, a commiserating text, a wish to just go back to the way things were. We can, you’d said, just for one night.

 It’s almost awkward, the way he’s a stranger around you again. He looks tired, sore, sweatpants and a hoodie. Pink cheeks from the cold outside. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling around his ears. You want to stay here, like this, forever, letting him sit you down in the bed, holding your face in his big hands to kiss you from where he stands between your knees. The way Tyler says your name, wanting, needy. The press of his body on yours. You missed this. You missed this so much. It would never be the same with anyone else. The way he touches you, so carefully, so purposefully. He knows just how you like it, just how you work together.

 It’s a habit, for you to be on top after a game, not worth making him expend any more energy. But he fights you for it, doesn’t let you settle, rolls you over onto your back again. You protest, mildly.

 “It’ll make you sore,” you say, can’t stop touching him, his hair, his face, his back, his chest. His skin is warm from the hoodie.

 “Don’t care,” Tyler says, a crooked smile, nudging his nose against yours, “I want it like this, want to see you properly.”

 Your heart is broken and remade simultaneously. It’s all you can do not to pull the doona over both of you and hide forever, keep him here like a prisoner. Cherish him for an age. His mother would never forgive you.

 Your body aches for him, as he nudges open your legs, kisses your mouth, your neck, your breasts. You should take your time, enjoy it, the last time, but you can’t help but surge towards the end.

 “Want you inside me,” you whisper, fingers on his hips, angling him.

 “Yeah,” Tyler rasps, aligning himself, “Fuck. Yeah, please.”

The relief of him sinking home, the opening of your body to him. It’s too easy, almost, the rhythm he settles into. Your legs tight around his waist, groaning when he pulls one up over his shoulder, finds a new angle. A big hand palming at your breast, the way he says your name, thick and low. You come a few moments before him, get off on the way he watches you, holds you, fingers caressing just above where he slides in and out of you. It takes everything not to cry, the final release, the drop of endorphins.

 Tyler shakes when he comes, a whole body shudder as he holds himself deep, panting against your ear. You stare at the ceiling and blink away tears. How could you ever have walked away from this? Nothing feels right unless he’s here.

 Later, he gets up to leave, but you reach out before he can get out of bed.

 “Please stay,” you whisper, pathetic. Tyler’s a shadow in the dark, but he’s warm when he slides back under the covers, gathers you up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat as you fall asleep.

-/-

It takes you another week to swallow your pride. You call your mother, again, cry on the phone, again.

 “I think I was wrong, I think I made a huge mistake.”

 “If he is who you say he is,” she counsels, “He’ll forgive you.”

 “What if he doesn’t?”

You’re convinced that someone will be in your parking spot the whole drive to his house. A new car. A girl’s car. You can’t breathe along his whole tree lined street, until you see the empty spot. Like it’s waiting for you. Like it has been this whole time.

 You almost slump into him when he opens the door, the relief, the grief. He’s surprised to see you. Sleepy. Got in late last night from a Roadie. The dogs are everywhere at once, bumping you into each other as they try to get a cuddle. Tyler stumbles into you, forced by Marshall’s heavy tail. Your hand on his ribcage, steadying. Are you really going to do this? On his front step? Behind him, you can see your red coat on the coat hook. So that’s where it was. You’ve been looking for it in the cold. And he’s kept it, this whole time. Waiting for you.

 “I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tyler shakes his head, confused, furrowed brow, “What’s going on?”

 “I made a mistake. I made a stupid mistake. I got scared, and I panicked. The truth is. I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And it’s scary. I’m so scared. But I shouldn’t have taken it on you like this. It was wrong. And if you can’t. If you can’t forgive me I understand. But. I really, really want you, too.”

 He says your name, quietly, prayer like. Your hand is still on his chest.

 “Are you sure?” He asks, and the dogs are still all around you, the front door is wide open. Tyler’s socked feet on the porch.

 “I’m so sure.”

And he’s laughing. He’s laughing. And he’s kissing you. Warm and fresh and familiar. And then you’re laughing and then you’re crying and Tyler is just holding, holding, holding you.

And along the street, a warm breeze blows through the trees. The promise of summer.